#keeping quiet on some assumptions I have about the WHOs of this album based on what we know of Paul’s career and relationships.

[rivetgoth]

Genuinely cannot get over Lead Into Gold’s The Eternal Present. I’ve probably listened to it all the way through like more than a dozen times in the last month. It’s probably my album of the year. Genuinely so impressed by it not just technically, sonically, and lyrically but how it’s structured and presented thematically. Paul Barker said in an interview the name is kind of a pun and it has me thinking a lot about the different meanings of “present,” an eternal present being both the ever-present moment, the way the past and future don’t actually exist, now is the only thing that’s real etc, but also the idea of a gift that just keeps giving, you know? Like forever carrying with you what you’ve received from others. Which in and of itself is kind of an interesting contradiction, thinking about influence from the past versus the current moment being all that matters or all there is.

I’m particularly interested in the album being seemingly organized backwards (?) at points, telling a story of a failed relationship, and the aggression and anger at the opening of the album—“This is how crime begins” as the opening line in the opening title, the song ending in the death knell sounding. Followed immediately by describing a failing relationship where everything is completely falling apart in “The Final Blows”—“outside the world is burning now, inside your world is burning down”—but he’s trying to hold it together—“Even those are not the final blows.” The album mellows gradually as we get these songs that are more introspective, and finally we end on the last two tracks, where one describes this really intense, passionate, successful relationship that feels like it’ll just keep getting bigger and more intense and last forever (“who’s to say the fame can’t get much brighter as we balance on the stage, as though we watch the infinite”) and he specifically makes allusions to fire again, even in the name being “A Thousand Licks,” but this time he says “Who’s to say the flames can’t get much brighter as we stare into the blaze,” it feels like it posits itself as squarely MOMENTS before “The Final Blows.” It’s that same relationship and that same intensity and that flame is building but he’s already shared that the fire burned too bright and everything was charred to ash… He even says “Before we immolate” after the first chorus…

AND THEN he ends on “Tell Me Again,” where the final lyrics are “Tell me again, could it ever fail? Would it ever fail? Is it possible?” And then the album fades to 15 seconds of uninterrupted silence. I like legit get chills over that ending lmao 😭 I love the seeking reassurance from an unnamed other. And like. I think the use of the word “again” there (and “before” in the song prior) feels so pointed in suggesting this cyclical nature of the story and maybe even (as the album title suggests) time itself. Like the album creates almost a time loop in its structure. Or like, in the goofiest of comparisons it almost feels like the classic “This is me; you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation” trope. Or, a classier comparison, Gaspar Noe’s Irreversible. I’m not even sure if we’re actually supposed to interpret the story as this truly being the before and after of the same relationship or thinking more about repeating cycles (IMO it’s both), but either way a clear before and after—or, after and before, actually—is posited. And I think it makes the “Could it ever fail?” so poignant to have the album open with “This is how crime begins” and all the anger and disillusionment that comes with the death (or even, murder?) of something you really believed in and potentially even believed could last forever. And this cycle repeating over and over and over. “This glamour always seems eternal.” Phew.

[usmsgutterson]

LAVENDER HAZE- Nikolai Lantsov

Okay! First fic for the midnights event! For those who don’t know, Midnights is the album by Taylor Swift that came out a week and a half ago. In short, a bit of chaos between @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r​ and myself ensued and here we are!

I have a few things to clarify before we jump in, however. None of the fics in this event are song fics. Some of them will have lyrics from the song somewhere or the song title referenced, but I primarily based them off whatever the like, vibe of the song is? The fics will hopefully match the songs aesthetic pretty well, but if they don’t, I apologize in advance. 

Fic type- fluff

Warnings- none

The largest part of being a royal was being under public scrutiny near-constantly. At every single dinner, every gala, every time you showed your face, had an opinion to voice, you were critiqued. Notes about your outfit were made by journalists who’d later critique them in their gossip newspapers. Notes about the way you stood, what your expression was as you stood in front of a crowd.

People even made it their own prerogative to assume things about your relationship, to make assumptions and then to treat those assumptions as the truth, only to be confronted by the real truth when it smacked them across the face. They were hurt when it finally did, when the writers of the gossip newspapers saw you and Nikolai in public, hands interlaced, grins on your faces and love clear as day in your eyes.

Nikolai and yourself had been courting since before the civil war. You’d been around as long as he’d known Dominik, your relationship having begun at sixteen. The three of you enlisted in the First Army together, and when Nikolai took to his boats and the identity of Sturmhond, you’d been at his side, his partner in all things, love and war included.

“How do you do it, my love?” Nikolai asked as you stepped out of the carriage. The two of you would enter a building, enjoy two minutes of private time while you walked down a long corridor before you met a crowd. “How do you handle all of this with such cadence as you do? I wouldn’t mind knowing a few of your tricks.”

“You get used to it,” you said with a laugh. “I would’ve presumed you knew that. You’ve been handling this all your life, have you not?” Nikolai offered a mere shrug as the two of you proceeded up a long marble staircase.

“You seem to handle it better than I sometimes,” he said. “You handle it beautifully, Y/N.”

You took his hand, interlacing your fingers and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “I thank you for your compliments, but I’d rather not be blushing when we face the crowd, Nik. It’ll become all the news if I am. The writers will assume you’d told me something scandalous beforehand.”

Nikolai laughed, an easy, open laugh as the two of you reached the landing and the doors for the venue opened.

“Heaven forbid I make the love of my life blush when doing so is just so fun,” he said. “Oh, the gossip writers! Their dresses and suits will certainly be in knots if we dare!” You laughed, giving his hand a squeeze as he straightened his shoulders. About a minute into your walk down the corridor, Nikolai would straighten his expression to convey what seemed to be happy indifference, though the two of you both knew that you would rather be anywhere else than addressing a crowd.

“I love you, Nik,” you said.

He grinned as the two of you stepped past the venues threshold.

“I love you too,” he said.

The walk through the corridor was quiet, the pair of you heading down it and putting up the royal façade like it was second nature. Your shoulders straightened, expression nullified into simple indifference.

You’d long learned what to do to keep your relationship private, to keep the writers and their gossip from assuming much of anything. The people got what you gave them in terms of your relationship with Nikolai. They got your loving gazes as you watched one another across rooms, the fact that you didn’t shy away from holding hands or just looking like a couple when you were seen taking walks on tours throughout various Ravkan cities.

It was funny to you, really. Every single gossip column that you’d read in regards to yourself had always had a specific point of speculation. When would there be an engagement? You’d been seen with rings on your finger before, could that possibly mean that the Ravkan royal you loved had finally proposed, after nearly ten years together?

The doors to the crowd were opened, and you let yourself cast a look to your lover as the two of you stepped past the threshold and onto the stage. He met your gaze, grinning at you for only a moment before the both you had to turn your attentions to the crowd.

You found yourself fighting an eyeroll as you recognized the faces of several gossip writers. There was respect for them somewhere, but to be in attendance at an announcement about the reduction of the debts Ravka owed to other countries? There was nothing worthy of note there, unless they were going to treat the fact that the debts Ravka owed had gone down by thirty percent as a rumor, as something only being said to ensure that the Ravkan royals still looked good to the citizens, even though the thirty percent decrease was precisely the truth.

Or, perhaps, it seemed likely that they’d comment on you. Your outfit, your expression. How many times you glanced at Nikolai or how many times you glanced away from him. How long you kept your eyes on the crowd, because how dare you look at the group of people whom your spouse is addressing? The gossip writers liked to make scandals out of anything, and they’d surely find a way to make a scandal out of that. They’d twist a detail so that it looked how they wanted it to, take something out of context or just blatantly make something up. It was all that gossip writers tended to be much good for, anyway.

The announcement finished, and once again, you and Nikolai found yourselves walking down that corridor. You couldn’t hear it, but you knew that the gossip writers were rushing outside while you and Nikolai walked, prepared to shout questions, demand answers, and remain upset when no answers were given.

“You’re ready to be asked if we’re engaged for the umpteenth time?” Nikolai asked, steeling his shoulders as though preparing for it. “Oh, the gossip writers never stop, do they?”

You laughed, leaning your head against Nikolais shoulder for a moment. “They never do. I just don’t think it’s in their nature, but yes. I’m ready to face it. I’ve become more than capable of facing it since the civil war, have you not?”

The rumors of engagement, the talks of coronations and marriages, they’d been happening since Nikolai was crowned king. The two of you had long learned to ignore them, content to remain in your bubble of romantics away from the rest of the outside world. You were content to remain there and you would’ve preferred staying there rather than having to face the writers of the gossip mags who showed up where they weren’t needed.

The doors opened, the two of you stepped out, and instantly, you were bombarded.

“King Nikolai, you do realize that you need to find someone whom you can rule alongside in the coming years? You need to provide an heir to the throne before it is too late to do so!”

“King Nikolai, what is your relationship with your honorable consort like? Can you tell us any of the details?”

“Y/N, you were spotted with a ring on your finger just last week! Can you tell us whether or not you and the king are engaged? My readers would love to be the first ones to have such information!”

“Y/N! When is the wedding? Have you begun the planning process yet?”

“Y/N, how well have you accustomed to royal life since the start of the civil war?”

The words drowned out all others as the two of you cascaded down the steps, both of you eager to get to the carriage and a safe distance away from everyone who wanted every piece of your life, including the ones you remained unwilling to give.

As the carriage doors opened and the questions continued, Nikolai said the words that made a silence ring true over the crowd.

“My partner and I do not wish to comment on your questions, which were asked at a grossly inappropriate time. You may consider that an engagement would be so obvious that questions would not have to be asked. You may also consider that my partner and I do not owe you explanations of any kind. We thank you so much for your time, however, and bid you all good day.”

With the word, Nikolai and yourself both climbed into the carriage, grinning triumphantly as the doors closed and the voices stopped. He leaned across the space between the two of you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and one to your hand before sitting back and closing his eyes.

“We did it,” he said.

You laughed. “Back to our perfect romance we shall go.”

Nikolai opened an eye, gave you a charming grin that had you falling head over heels all over again.

“I can’t wait,” he said. “I love every minute. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Nik.”

The romance you had with him was perfect, certainly, the lavender haze was worth every minute of fighting. Every minute of disagreement was worth it for all the perfect moments in between.

[alexswift13]

Some days, things just click. You're on your 'game'. There's a flow. Almost magical. That's what happened on Feb 9th 2014, the day Taylor and I met. Just a few days before, I was in Iceland taking promo shots for my latest album Sparks with Jeremy Cowart. Here's a video Jeremy put together of our shoot. Michael (my fella, love of my life) and I also took the opportunity to have a mini break in this magical country, where not only did we catch the northern lights but we also surprise bagged a baby! Eight and a half months on, Taylor's new album is out and any day now, so is gonna be whoever's in my tummy...wait... was that a contraction?? Anyway... I digress... so I got a phone call saying Taylor Swift was in London, she'd love to work with me and the only day she could do (between 4 sold out 02 arenas!) was the day after we got back, Sunday. It was both unexpected and not at the same time as I'd heard Taylor was a fan a while back via this Time magazine piece but somehow didn't think it would actually happen. I love co-writing and producing for other artists and I was really itching to get back into the studio for something completely different after the marathon that was Sparks too....plus, you don't really say no to Taylor Swift do you?? So, Michael and I landed, he went off to shoot a film that week and i dusted off my studio in preparation for my day with Taylor. now... I was a bit tired after travelling and it was all rather surreal, so maybe I dreamed some of this but this is how I remember it. Taylor was dropped off at around midday and we greeted each other with what seemed appropriate, a big hug. I was half expecting such a massive star to have a huge entourage but very pleased to discover it would be just Taylor and I. Guitar in hand, this tall, immaculate, relaxed and friendly young woman (with from memory some big assed heels on) walks in and we go into the kitchen for the obligatory English welcome cup of tea. We get chatting away. It's cold in February here in this old house, so 'd lit the fire in the dining room and we continued in there. Taylor pulled out her guitar, saying she had a song idea that if I liked it, maybe we could work on that one. Great! I thought... a beginning. Because without a beginning, you have to conjure up one out of thin air and we had so little time. Taylor strummed and sang a first verse and a chorus. It sounded really good to me already, so I suggested we just go straight down into the studio and I'd start throwing some sounds at it. Maybe we could demo it up for a later time to finish? I made a session in Pro-Tools, we set the tempo we felt sounded good against her singing it in the room and I started to record noises. I really felt a driving simple bass line just following the chords would be good. Warm, bendy and a bit buzzy. That and a simple snippy beat created the backbone for me to build on with some instruments in my 'toy room'. For some reason I gravitated first to my set of BoomWhackers (a set of tubes you hit on the floor or against each other and they make a nice percussive sound). Taylor liked these and so in they went. Then, some of my trusy mbira. Such a lush sounding instrument and with very little can really bring some twinkle to a song without it becoming cheesy. Every sound that ended up on the song was preceded by sounds of delight from Taylor. That was my queue she was happy and for me to move onto the next sound or part. I've worked in the past with a few heavy handed producers (when I was around 17-20) which I really hated. With those experiences, It's very important to me that they are with every decision. We're in this together. That seems obvious perhaps but there are many artists who just get trampled on by various producers and perhaps that's ok with them but I can't stand it and I don't want to do that with anyone else. Anyway.. something tells me, Taylor wouldn't let that happen in a million years. I was editing and mixing the bits in, meantime Taylor had written the 2nd verse! Good going gals! Teamwork! It was time for a late lunch. I have to be honest here and say I had ever so slightly not done my homework on Taylor Swift but had done what I HATE others do of me, which is to pre-judge a person based on assumptions. I had assumed Taylor didn't write too much of her own music (as is the case with many young, extremely successful artists these days who sell shed loads of records) and was likely puppeteered by an ageing gang of music executives, working to formulas and spread sheets. How wrong was I? Totally clued up from a very young age (I had no idea what a publishing label even was at the age of 14 never mind moving my family to nashville so I could pursue a song-writing career!), hyper driven, hard working, really talented and a genuine lovely soul, with a few more boy troubles than she most but you can't get it all right all the time! So... lunch was fun and now back to the studio. We still needed a middle section. I fancied really stripping it down, quite moody. So we tried a few things out. One of which had me going over to the keyboard to suggest a slightly 'odd' chord progression as I do like a bit of that on my own records. I played it to Taylor and she quite clearly said "I think we're going to lose them at this point" and I said... 'wow... that I why you sell millions of records and I don't!' She is Taylor Swift and she knows best, so we stuck to the chords, I created a bit of tension in the music instead and then we could woosh into the final chorus from there. I learned that lesson again, keep it simple. I just never seem to remember it! Taylor, again knowing what she wants, fancied some Heap backing vocals, so first I had her sing in her now finished lyric and melody (of which she wrote pretty much all of by herself)... which she did in a couple of takes (and what you hear on the album) and I sang a load of Heap style harmonies, textures, rhythmic chants and things, which she loved. We then had a quick dinner, came back down to the studio and I 'bounced down' what we had recorded that day to a stereo file for her to take away with her. Taylor left about 8pm and we'd managed to demo up an entire song from scratch, whilst still managing lunch, dinner and chat! Quite amazing. Some times it just flows like a dream! Which is what it all felt like after she'd got in the car to go back to London. Here's what she wrote in an email to me that night. I'm sure she won't mind me sharing it. "Imogen, I've listened to Clean over and over and I can't thank you enough for today. It was one of the musical highlights of my life watching you work. This will be such a special song on my album and I'm so happy this all came together. Hope to see you at a show and if not, I'll come visit next time I'm over here! Taylor" I was so excited by the whole thing, I worked until 4am, singing in more vocal backups (my favourite being the last chorus 'and then the... ' line up high), tweaking sounds here and there and then sent it over to Taylor (hoping I hadn't gone toooo far) to which she replied.... "THIS VERSION IS AMAZING! I'm in love with all the vocal parts you added. Can't stop listening on repeat!! This song is unreal. Well done!" So there we go! High on life for a long while after but had to keep it quiet was torturous but the surprise was Taylor's to share for sure. I so enjoyed the whole experience and it gave me a new kinda energy having worked with this mega woman, force of nature. I can't thank her enough for taking a chance on me (I'm not exactly Max Martin you know!) and am so happy the song made it on the record (and feel lucky it's the closing track, coz that's a special spot) as I love it and would have been sad to see it 'sit on the shelf' (as some co-writes I've done in the past have!). I went to see her play live at the 02 the night after with a few friends. She was completely brilliant and we all adored her. Here's a photo we had taken after the show. Felt I wanted to share the experience, as it was a special one. I've also been reading the odd report or tweet here and there that the reason these lyrics to 'Clean' are so good is because I wrote the song with her but FOR SURE they are all hers she deserves all the credit! So congrats to you Taylor (if you're reading this) on the release of 1989. I hope it's a huge success (it's looking that way already) and brings you much happiness. I look forward to news of a man who's swept you off your feet and to introducing you to our baby girl/boy next time you're in town and fancy a cuppa in the english countryside! We will find out any day now! Thank you for everything. Soon to be, mama Heap. xxx

Imogen Heap’s day with Taylor.  a lot of people have collaborated with @taylorswift but none of them have explained the writing/collaborating process in details like Imogen did. 

A photo at Red Tour backstage!

and polaroid while making Clean!

[sweetcontradiction]

Bottle By My Bed

CHAPTER FOUR

“We’ll say a quick hello, eat something and head off, okay?” Anderson suggested carefully as he parallel parked their truck outside of the Nashville restaurant. “Just tap my shoulder when you’re ready to leave and I’ll make an excuse.”

Miranda smiled as she leaned up to leave a peck on his cheek as a thank you. She had been quiet since they left the clinic: too wrapped up in her own thoughts to speak and Anderson was too worried about her to want her force her into any conversation.

As they entered the small yet fancy restaurant, Miranda looked around to locate her husband’s friends. As usual they were sitting in the middle of the floor at their favorite table. The same thing happened every month and every time she wasn’t on tour she would happily attend. Especially since Anderson had cut down his touring in order to dedicate more time to the baby-making and so she savored the catch-ups.

“Hey, look who it is!” Jonny joked as he saw the sheepish looking pair walk in. “Y’all are late! Where have you been?”

“We slept in!” Anderson quickly noted. In his preparation to come up with an excuse to leave later on, he had completely forgotten to come up with something to avoid mentioning the fertility clinic.

“Slept in….sure. Still making the most of the newlywed deal then…” Scotty offered, winking at the pair. They let it go, figuring it was better they thought that than to know where they actually were. Realistically they knew their friends would be nothing but supportive of their situation but Anderson couldn't take any more pitiful faces — he got enough of those from his wife. Besides, any more sympathy would drive Miranda over the edge.

“We were waiting for y’all before we ordered, so choose quickly.”

Anderson’s heart broke as he watched Miranda scan the menu, avoiding her usual burgers. Her eyes went straight for the fish and egg-based meals. He had watched her do the research in depth, studying which foods supposedly would help her get pregnant. Personally he thought it was all nonsense but if it helped Miranda get through the day and make herself think she was helping her chances of getting pregnant, he wouldn’t say a word. She didn’t even like fish, or particularly have a taste for eggs but she ordered it anyway.

As the five of them got to talking about work, teasing Anderson about the amount of time he was taking off, Miranda tried to keep her face straight. She sipped on her water, wishing there was some sort of alcohol in there but she had put herself on a strict policy. If her husband could give up smoking, she could most definitely give up her love for adult beverages.

“You don’t want a glass of wine, Ran?” Aaron questioned, his eyebrow raised as his friend’s wife sipped on water.

“It’s too early for me…” she lied.

“That’s never been a problem before!” they all laughed simultaneously, minus Anderson who bit his lip nervously, scared Miranda might overreact and blurt something out that she’d regret.

But he was proud as she laughed along with them and politely refused the drinks they offered. Part of him was even relieved when the meals came along and the conversation was reduced. He loved his friends but he didn't need any more questions on his lack of touring, which he did feel guilty for, they needed that job as much as he did but Miranda always came first.

As he ate his own burrito, Anderson made sure to look at Miranda, who almost seemed to be choking on her fish. She clearly didn't like it — even trying to wash it down with her glass of water but there was no telling her to stop. It would cause a breakdown that he really didn’t want her to go through again and especially not in public.

“How’s the kid?” Jonny asked, making Miranda’s head rise up from her plate. She watched on as the question was directed at Aaron, who smiled proudly.

Whipping out his phone, he passed pictures he had taken of his son around the table. Miranda grinned as she clicked a video of the baby’s first steps. She could hear the shrill voices of his proud parents in the background and the content look on the brown-eyed boy’s face as he pleased the two people he loved the most. But her heart ached as she passed it to Anderson, knowing that they didn't have that. Despite their desperate attempts, despite giving up the things they loved for something they would love even more, despite the clinic visit. She couldn’t even look at her husband as he watched the video, his breath hitching in his throat when he complimented his best friend.

He wanted to be that proud of a creation of his own. Before it had been his albums, the tours, hell, even the dogs. But now he wanted something more. He wanted a product of himself and his wife making new feats everyday.

“When was the last time you slept?” Scotty joked as he voluntarily flicked through the rest of Aaron’s camera roll and found pictures he had taken of himself with deep bags under his eyes. He received a laugh.

“Not since he was born!”

“I thought so! You’re ageing like a president!”

“You don’t realize how much work babies are! Don’t get me wrong, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me but I think I love sleep more sometimes.”

Anderson watched as Miranda’s face fell. His best friend wasn’t taking his child for granted but he could tell by his wife’s face that she would happily never sleep again if it meant having a baby of her own.

“Are you thinking about having any more?” Jonny piped in.

“Brooke will kill me if I tell y’all…”

“She’s pregnant isn’t she?”

“No comment.”

“DUUUUDE!!” Scotty screamed, outstretching his hand to pull Aaron in for a congratulatory hug. “That’s awesome!!!”

“When did you find out?”

“Last week. It’s still early days and we haven’t told our families yet so don’t say anything. As far as y’all are concerned, you know nothing.”

“Gotchya!”

Through the celebratory drinks and hugs, Aaron barely noticed how subdued the Andersons were on the other side of the table. When he had announced the news, Miranda had gripped onto her husband’s thigh, her hands and legs violently shaking. Of course she was thrilled for them but how could they make two babies in such a short space of time when she couldn’t even have one? The final nail was put in the coffin when Aaron added an extra detail.

“We weren’t even trying, that’s the funniest part!”

“You’re bullshitting!” Scotty laughed.

“Nope. I thought the wife had food poisoning so there we are at the doctors and they ask if she could be pregnant. We hadn’t even thought about that… and the rest is history!”

“You poor things.” Jonny laughed. “See this is why Miranda and Mike are careful. They don’t want to end up with a house full of little people who only cry and shit.”

Miranda immediately raised her head to the ceiling to stop her tears from falling. Nonchalantly, she raised her hand to Anderson’s shoulder and tapped it. She needed to get out of there. Their friends didn’t know anything so the jokes weren’t meant to be offensive but that didn’t stop her heart physically tearing in two. The mere assumption that they didn’t want babies, that they didn’t need that inconvenience in their lives tore her to pieces.

“Mike…” she whispered softly.

She didn't get a reply but when his tear-filled eyes looked into hers, he nodded his head to let her know he got her signal. But they couldn't leave now, not with this news. It would look too suspicious.

“How long have y’all been married now?” Scotty asked. “10 months?”

“And they’re still only parents to those dogs.”

“That’s the dream life.” Aaron laughed, looking over at the couple and not noticing they were seconds away from breaking down. “Dogs love you unconditionally and they can’t back chat. Y’all have the right idea.”

“And Miranda’s the best dog mom there is. She knows them better than humans! Why have a human baby when we’re the worst species?”

Closing her eyes, Miranda took a deep breath to compose herself. She couldn't let herself break down, she just couldn’t. And she especially couldn’t allow her husband to break down as a result of her own instability. But when one last comment was made, she couldn’t take any more.

“So are y’all sticking to the sex, drugs and rock n roll life forever or are y’all actually gonna make babies and make us uncles anytime soon?”

Desperately pushing her chair out behind her, Miranda muttered a coarse apology as she grabbed her purse and ran out the restaurant. As she choked on her tears which were audible for the entire restaurant to hear, Anderson winced when he saw everyone’s head turn toward the blonde — and not just his table.

“Did I say something?” Scotty asked nervously. “If I said something to offend her I —“

“Time of the month.” Anderson lied, knowing it was an easy way out. They wouldn’t question that. “I should really go get her.”

As his friends nodded in agreement, Anderson took his coat off the back of his chair and threw it over his shoulders before digging into his pocket and leaving a hundred dollar bill on the table. Just as Jonny was about to insist he didn’t pay for them all, Anderson shrugged him off saying it was the least he could do.

“I’ve gotta go find her.” he reiterated. “We’ll catch up later! And congrats, man. I’m so so happy for y’all!”

Aaron gave him a smile but he didn’t miss the hoarseness in his best friend’s voice. Whether he was upset over his wife’s outburst was unclear but he had a feeling something was up.

“See you later, Mike. Give Miranda our love.”

Nodding his head, Anderson ran out of the small building, finding Miranda standing by the truck, her head in her hands. Clearly she forgot that he had the keys.

“Honey…”

“I’m so sorry but I couldn’t take it any more! The babies, the jokes, do they really think we won’t be parents? Do people really think we aren’t cut out for that?”

“Ran, they never said that…” Anderson trailed off, approaching an upset Miranda. He held out his arms and felt his heart rise when she accepted the embrace. As she buried herself into her husband’s chest, her sniffles turned to violent sobs. She couldn’t take how unfair this whole situation was. How their friends could get pregnant by accident and she had tried everyday for over a year to have just one baby. How people shot down her maternal instincts. She cursed herself for self-creating that image over the years. But since meeting Anderson that had all changed. She wanted a proper life: a husband, a secure marriage, babies. She wanted to be the soccer mom everyone bitched about, or the overly protective parent who her own mom would roll her eyes at. It seemed that everyone had what she wanted and they were all completely oblivious to her own situation. But as much as it hurt, she could never admit their struggle to anyone.

“I just want a baby, Mike.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’ll be our turn someday…”

He didn’t know if he believed it but right now Miranda needed encouragement of any sort. If it came down to deserving motherhood, his wife would be top of the list.

“Do they really think because I’ve waited that we don’t want the same?”

“They don’t know about us, honey. If they knew, they’d never say those things.”

Miranda nodded her head solemnly. She knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It was just one more reminder that she was childless.

“Let’s get home. The dogs will be missing us.”

A small smile formed on Miranda’s lips but Anderson could see right through it. In her ideal world, she would be going home to something more. But he knew cuddling with her fur babies after her stressful midday would be the best medicine.

[tango-uniformed]

Viv vs A Road Trip

Yes this sucks I still don’t know how to write these characters and I forgot how to write

#

The distance between the Kennellys’ small town in East Tennessee to Los Angeles, California, was 2150 miles and change.

This translated to over 33 hours of driving time. Over 33 hours of driving time, cross country, in Bobby Kennelly’s horrible 1998 Chevy pickup-truck. They did not stop at landmarks, nor did they sleep in motels at night; the three of them simply rotated between shifts of driving and then dozing off in the cramped backseat. There were times that they stopped for food, or stopped at rest stops to stretch and use the bathroom, but those were kept minimal. It was utterly inhumane and the worst travel experience in Viv’s life. By the time they made it to Southern California (less than 48 hours after they left Tennessee) he was already trying to repress every memory he had of this ‘road trip’ made with two people he had known for less than a week.

The trip had not been without incidents.

The night of their hasty departure (a less optimistic person might call it ‘flight’) from Jepthah, Tennessee, they had barely made it through Nashville before the first incident. And of course it was in Nashville, considering the subject of that first road trip hiccup.

Just a few hours in. The road around them was nearly empty since it was nearly 3 AM. The lights of Nashville shone invitingly, promising music venues and acoustic guitar lessons. In another life, one where he was not driving across country in search of his brother’s mysteries, Viv would have made a day trip of the city. He’d always wanted to visit, if only to check out the ‘Grand Ole Opry House’ and Ryman Auditorium. Country music wasn’t his thing, but he had an appreciation for its history.

Viv pulled his phone out of his pocket with the intention to listen to some music that was his thing. He figured that the Kennellys wouldn’t mind. It would keep them all awake and it would introduce them to a little bit of culture that he was sure they would learn to appreciate.

“Do you have an auxillary cord?” he asked, eyeing the sound system that most certainly had not been installed in 1998.

Bobby, in the driver’s seat, kept his eye on the road. “No.”

Arlene was playing Candy Crush on her phone with her long legs propped up on the dashboard. “We lost it a year back, last time we cleaned out the truck.”

The truck had been cleaned a year ago? The detritus of fast food wrappers and empty beer cans seemed to say otherwise. The pathological stereotype in Viv’s mind for smart, particular guys like Bobby Kennelly was synonymous with ‘neat’, but he didn’t want to make any offensive assumptions.

“You wanna listen to the radio?” Arlene asked him.

“No,” said Bobby again.

“I can play my music on my phone-- I have Spotify premium.”

Arlene turned around so that she could look at Viv. She looked pretty put-together for a woman who had just blown up the side of a building with her mind less than 5 hours ago. Her wavy brown hair appeared more unkempt than it had that evening and there was a smudge on her nose, but apart from that? Viv had seen more magical damage on a kid from his theatre who had attempted to levitate part of the set. Arlene probably had a much stronger inherent ability. Her expression was not curious and he could tell that she was not interested in what he had to say. She was just making conversation with him because it was the polite thing to do, even in the middle of the night after they had all almost died. Viv didn’t know if that put him at ease or disturbed him. “You pay for that?”

“I do. I don’t like the stuff on the radio, I’m particular about what I listen to.” Viv started to pull up his carefully tended playlists.

“Because you went to music college?”

‘Music college’. Viv smiled tightly. “Sound design at Boston University, but yeah, kind of. It’s more that my mom really nurtured an artistic environment for me and my brothers when we were kids and we were exposed to so much music from--”

Bobby Kennelly cut him off by honking loudly at an 18-wheeler in front of him that was going too slow. He swerved sharply into the other lane in order to pass it. Both Viv and Arlene were jostled in their seats, and Arlene quickly took her cowboy-booted feet off the dash.

What a dick.

Without thinking too hard about it, Viv selected ‘Seasons of Love’ by the original cast of Rent and pressed play. And then, because it was what he naturally did when he was in a car and a musical was playing, he began to sing along.

Within 10 seconds the atmosphere in the truck felt like the inside of a space shuttle that had been depressurized. Arlene’s politely disinterested expression turned into one that resembled that of a woman who had just eaten a large bug. Bobby looked over his shoulder in shock and almost crashed into the car ahead of them.

“What the hell are you doing?” said Bobby. He corrected his course then looked back over his shoulder. “Turn that off and quit singin’.”

“In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of-- come on, don’t you guys know Rent?” Viv shimmied his shoulders while making eye contact with Bobby, who looked away to focus on the road. Arlene, still staring at him, smiled uncomfortably. “You know, Rent? Based off Puccini’s opera? La vie boheme? Come on guys, you know Rent. Hey, we could listen to the whole album tonight if you haven’t heard of it before.”

“Yes, we fucking know what Rent is,” Bobby snapped. “So turn it off, I’m tryin’ to drive here, I need peace and quiet on account of, if you don’t recall, almost gettin’ blown to hell this evening!”

Viv turned the song off. It wasn’t fun to mess around like he normally did during road trips if Bobby was going to have a nasty attitude. He sighed.

“So...was that like, Glee or something?” asked Arlene.

Viv looked out the window at the flashing lights of Nashville as they passed him by. Whoever Levi Monday was, he had better be a good lead on Christian if he was going to drive joylessly across the country to get to him. It had been a struggle enough to get the Kennellys to help him, but it had not been difficult, not in the way he had thought it would be. After all, he had only blackmailed 2 drug dealing rednecks into giving him the information he needed. After that, their assistance on his ‘mission’ had sort of fallen into his lap due to their mutual interest of not getting murdered. Chances were, Monday was a different breed of criminal. Christian’s dossier had labeled him as an ‘enforcer’-- whatever that meant in real life, Viv wasn’t sure.

He drifted off to sleep in the silence of the backseat.  

In the morning, a bit after 7, they reached Memphis, and Viv woke up to a brand new discomfort about to start.

Bobby pulled up to a McDonalds and parked. He got out of the truck without saying anything, and stalked inside without looking back. Viv sat up and rubbed his eyes. The truck’s door shutting had been what had woken him up.

“What’s going on?” he asked blearily. “Where are we?”

The sun had barely risen. All he could see was a bleak McDonalds parking lot.

“Memphis,” said Arlene glumly.

Viv did not know anything about Memphis, and his brain was too tired to contribute a snappy remark or small-talk. He hadn’t taken his contacts out before going to sleep, so he started rummaging around inside the meager bag of possessions he still had for saline solution. “Is your brother getting us some coffee?” he asked. The saline solution was nowhere to be found. He must have left it at the motel along with his toothbrush, deodorant, and everything else that was necessary for a human being to function. “Hey, we need to stop at the next gas station to pick up some hygiene products, I just realized I grabbed my headphones but left every basic necessity. Talk about priorities, am I right?”

Arlene shrugged. “We’ll get some stuff, I guess. Truck stop or something. I didn’t grab anything except my purse. Bobby’s got shit in his bug-out-bag but it’s, well, not exactly necessities.”

That meant guns. Viv didn’t want to think about it. He rubbed his eyes some more, wondering why he hadn’t had his vision corrected like Christian did when he had the chance.

“You get any sleep?” he asked conversationally, but not really caring. “Are you driving next?”

“No,” said Arlene. “I mean, yeah.”

“Which one?”

“I didn’t sleep but I’m drivin’ next. Just to Little Rock, not far.”

Viv nodded amiably. He watched the parking lot for any sign of Bobby and hoped that he would bring back some egg Mcmuffins along with the coffee. That was the thoughtful thing to do, right? Was Bobby Kennelly that thoughtful?

“Are you going to use the restrooms?” Arlene asked him.

Viv laughed. “Yeah, after I drink my coffee.”

“Do you mind going now? It’s just I could use some privacy.”

“Why?” Viv, like most people, found that coffee made him have to use the toilet rather urgently and preferred to wait. He didn’t expect a complex answer; if she wanted to smoke a cigarette or something she could just go outside, not him.

Arlene didn’t look at him. “Oh, I’m like, going to call my sponsor to let her know I left town and that I won’t be back anytime soon.”

“Your--” Viv froze. The word ‘sponsor’ had several meanings that his brain cataloged frantically but in this context she could only be referring to the awkward one. His hand scrambled for the door handle. “Oh, sure, totally, totally, totally. Cool. Yes. I’ll go in and check on the egg Mcmuffin situation going on, you want anything?”

“Milkshake would be nice.”

“You got it!” Viv practically jumped out of the door and slammed it, cursing when his feet hit the pavement because his legs had fallen asleep. He power walked across the parking lot, too uncomfortable to wonder whether the people of early morning Memphis would judge him for wearing beat up old sweats from the day before.

It felt very, very hot and the sun was not even up.

A few things had suddenly fallen into place. Viv sat down on a bench outside, which was sticky with condensation. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to hurriedly type a few notes-- what was a story, even in a journalistic capacity, without conflict and character development? Was that exploitive? And if it was exploitive, was it really so bad if he got thousands of subscribers out of the story.

Even if he didn’t find Christian, even if he didn’t get to the bottom of that particular mystery, what he had been through and experienced so far was good enough to produce hours of engaging material that people would eat up.

And then he shook himself. ‘Even if he didn’t find Christian’-- then what was the point of all this? The boundaries between personal and professional couldn’t get twisted up in his mind like that. He couldn’t be like...well, like what Bobby Kennelly was shaping up to be.

Viv stuffed his phone back into his pocket and stood up, entered the McDonalds. It was nearly empty and looked exactly like the McDonalds he went to in Baltimore. Two old African-American men sat near the door with their coffees and newspapers and they looked up at him and nodded when he walked by. Again, Viv felt like an outsider and it frustrated him. He saw Bobby up by the registers, taking a bag and a tray of three coffees from the cashier. He hurried up to him.

It looked like Bobby had washed his face and put water in his hair while in the bathroom, because the dark curls that stuck out beneath his hat hung limply. “You’re awake,” he said blankly.

“Yeah.” Viv knew he sounded hostile. Bobby scowled at him.

“You take cream and sugar? Probably, I was thinkin’. No offense.” He said ‘no offense’ in the way that someone says it when they mean to offend you.

The cashier had turned away to tend to her other duties and the old men by the door were chatting. Viv took one of the coffees and began pouring little containers of cream into it; he took 3 creams and 3 sugars. “Is your sister ok?”

“What the hell you asking me for?”

“I mean, is she in NA or something?”

Bobby’s eye narrowed. He grabbed the paper McDonald’s bag off the counter again with a sudden ferocity and held it close to his chest. He sniffed, adjusted his hat with his free hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Until you showed up.”

Viv could not think of how to respond to that. All he could think of was the profound wave of dislike that washed over him as he looked at Bobby Kennelly in front of him, puffed up and preemptively denying blame. He shrugged. “Whatever man,” he said. “I’m getting a milkshake.”

Nobody said much until they got to Little Rock and stopped for gas.

At the Shell Station they stopped at, high above their heads, there was a single billboard. It was blank and white, save for the center where a bright blue nazar symbol stared out at them. Underneath of the nazar was a simple inscription, a Bible verse: Matthew 18:9.

“Reminds me of The Great Gatsby,” Viv commented, gazing up at it. He doubted that they would get the Gatsby reference, but said it anyway because it made him feel smart. “I’ve actually seen some of these things back home too, and there was one in Miami last summer when I went to visit family. Wonder what it’s advertising.”

“Church,” said Arlene. She stretched and touched her toes. Her short shift of driving had been more pleasant than her brother’s; she didn’t honk every 15 minutes like he did. “What’s that verse say, Bobby?”

Bobby, who seemed entirely focused on filling his tank up with gas and had not looked up at the nazar, didn’t answer. He tapped the pump’s rapidly climbing numbers as if that would make the gas come faster.

“He used to know all the Bible verses back when we were little,” explained Arlene. Viv saw Bobby keep tapping on the gas pump. “We’d go to Sunday school and he’d get prizes every time and our Mama--”

The gas pump clicked mercifully. It put a natural end to a conversation heading down the inevitable road toward discomfort, and Viv was grateful for that. It was his turn to drive and he didn’t need the added distraction of learning about what he could guess was a childhood marked by poverty and absence.

He drove through the Ozarks for hours while Bobby napped fitfully in the passenger seat and Arlene curled her long body up in the back. From time to time he glanced at them, wondering how these two people had gone from strangers to accomplices in his life so quickly. The bottom line was that they had nothing to lose. As he passed the foreign rock formations and plant life of a land that he had never thought he’d find himself in, Viv felt his throat grow dry as he realized just how little he had to lose as well.

Usually Viv needed music to drive, but he passed this time in a daze. He found himself thinking about Christian, and how little he actually knew him. Whatever had happened to his brother before he left the military had changed him, but in a different less palpable way than it had changed their father.

Their father talked about his time...doing whatever it was he did...like it had been the best time of his life despite the clear physical toll it had taken on him. The last time Viv witnessed someone ask Christian about his service had been a couple years ago during the last Christmas the whole family had spent together. Will’s (now ex) wife innocently asked Christian about what kind of food he and his buddies ate while over there. It had not been one of Jennifer’s worse faux-pas, but a faux-pas nonetheless. And Christian had just laughed his loud fake laugh and made a joke, but the tension had been there for everyone to see and nobody talked about it.

Because nobody ever talked about anything in his fucking family.

Viv didn’t know if normal families talked. Probably. He wondered if Bobby and Arlene talked to each other about important shit, but doubted it.

He reached Oklahoma City a little after 1 in the afternoon and almost didn’t want to stop since the Kennellys were sleeping so peacefully and the hours he had spent driving were the most peaceful ones he had experienced in what seemed like a hundred years. But he was hungry and knew that they would be as well.

After some debate, they settled on ordering Chick-fil-a, and ate in the parking lot. Viv thought about saying something about how unethical he found the company to be, but didn’t want to rock the boat too much more than he had to. They already knew he was gay, didn’t they?

It was a good chicken sandwich and he hated that it was good.

Bobby ate his sandwich faster than Viv had ever seen anyone eat one, then he finished off his fries in a heartbeat. And then he ate Arlene’s fries. “Tell me about this Levi Monday fella,” he said. He was back in the driver’s seat, seemingly fine after only 5 hours of sleep. Sure, he was a variant, but how was this guy functioning? “Apart from him bein’ a criminal who your brother may or may not have been involved with.”

“Oh, Christian was involved with him alright.”

“The way he was ‘involved’ with us?” Bobby shook his head. He had since changed out of his camo and into one of the t-shirts they had obtained from a nearby gas-station. It was too big for him (like most things were bound to be) and read ‘OKC basketball’. “No. There’s a connection we ain’t seein’. Maybe you’re hunting your brother, but he’s hunting someone else. Maybe it has to do with whoever laced my product with fentanyl and got that guy, his buddy, to OD. If his other dead friends were in L.A. and Boston, same as Monday and the Calderon girl, I’m betting they got set up just like us.”

Viv shrugged. “Maybe. Except the guy from Boston, Blue, he isn’t dead. Calderon attacked him a few years ago and put him in the ICU, but she’s incarcerated now and he’s fine.”

“I bet he isn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Viv snapped. He didn’t put much stock in the ‘drug dealer getting framed by mysterious bad guy’ theory, but thought it very likely that Christian was hunting someone or running from someone. “All I have are the Google Docs he sent me the night before he went missing, ok? I’m working off of that and it’s not like meeting you two provided much new information other than how all the shit I saw on Justified is real life. Levi Monday is an enforcer for a small criminal organization in LA, he had connections to one of my brother’s friends, I have his address, and that’s it. That’s all I know.”

“How’s a man with a name like ‘Levi’ get to be muscle for a gang in LA?” muttered Bobby. He took a long sip of his soda. “Sounds like he should be laundering money instead.”

“Oh my God, don’t say that,” said Viv, acting shocked when he had been thinking the exact same thing.

“I’m just sayin’, all the guys I met in prison who were named shit like ‘Levi’ were all a buncha j--”

Arlene saved the day from any potentially anti-semitic microaggressions by leaning up from the backseat with her phone. “Think I found him on Instagram,” she said. “Want to look?”

Both men tried to grab her phone to look first, but Viv was slightly closer and had the advantage of not having hands covered in chicken grease. He looked down at Monday’s instagram profile and froze.

Levi Monday was the most attractive man Viv had ever seen. Beautiful, even.  All he could do was stare at one of his selfies, spellbound. The picture was lit softly, romantically, with the subject gazing at something off camera. It was only of his head, neck, and shoulders, but even from that it was evident that he was a broad, well-muscled man. Monday had dark skin and a mass of naturally textured dark hair, kept out of his face in a pony tale, with a few softer curls floating down to frame his high cheekbones. In the picture he was smiling gently, and his sharp incisors spoke of him having some small variance. His eyes were heavy lidded and green, with long lashes. He wore a few necklaces, but they hung too far down on his chest to see.

A single picture of this man took Viv’s breath away. For a second, all he could think about was whether or not Levi was into guys, and if so, would he have a chance with him once they got to LA…

Bobby grabbed Arlene’s phone away from Viv and peered down at it suspiciously. He put his funny broken glasses on in order to see it better. “What the hell?” he said. He started to scroll through other pictures. “What’s wrong with this guy?”

“Let me see!” Viv tried to grab the phone again but Bobby swatted his hand away. Arlene craned herself around and over the seats to stare at Monday with her brother.

“This is the wrong guy,” said Bobby, with finality. “You found some guy named Levi Monday, Arlene, but he ain’t our guy. This is one of them California liberals who do fuck all except do yoga and take selfies of themselves drinking smoothies.” He held up a picture of the alleged Mr. Monday posing in vriksasana in front of a yoga studio.

Seeing Monday in yoga pants made Viv feel sweaty. He had to look away.

“Not a criminal,” said Bobby, with finality. He handed Arlene’s phone back to her and looked at Viv like he had done something wrong or made a mistake. “Either there’s a different Levi Monday at the address, or your brother was wrong about the guy and we’re about to go talk to this idiot about something he knows nothing about.” He paused heavily. “Or, your brother was wrong entirely and we’re on a wild goose chase here.”

The same anxiety, thick and ugly, had churned in Viv’s stomach since he started searching for answers in the first place.

“No,” he said, not fully believing himself. “Christian was always good at hunting. He’s never wrong about stuff like this, stuff like finding people.”

“Or he was,” said Bobby, who clearly did not understand how his statement lacked basic human empathy and social skills because Arlene jabbed him with one finger immediately. “What? I’m just sayin’. Guy like that disappears, it means he’s dead.”

Viv put his new, cheap, gas-station headphones in, leaned back in the passenger seat, and closed his eyes.

He slept until they reached Albuquerque.

They were at a truck stop again. The desert air was cool and dry and unlike anything he had ever breathed before. Viv stepped out of the car to stretch his legs and decompress. He sat down on the curb, looked up at the night sky.

Bobby and Arlene were arguing about something by the truck. Bobby pulled his huge duffel bag out of the back and dug through it, looking for something. Whatever he had in there wasn’t good. He’d brought his gun, which while uncomfortable, was fine because of his concealed carry permit-- if he truly had one as he had claimed. Why did he need a gun anyway, if his sister could blow things up with her inherent abilities? Viv suspected that Bobby Kennelly had at least one other firearm with him, and likely a small amount of methamphetamine which he intended to sell now that he was without income and on the run for his life.

It would be very, very bad if they got pulled over by the police.

Viv spent a frantic minute typing questions into his phone, looking for answers about whether or not being around someone who possessed a felony amount of illegal substances counted as a felony. Then he remembered that he had been an accomplice to someone who blew up part of a house the day before.

If he got in trouble, real trouble, he just had to pray that his father had some of his connections and could pull him out of it. That’s what happened when his RA found weed in his dorm during his freshman year. Was this so different.

Yes. It was.

He stopped watching the Kennellys do whatever-it-was they were up to and texted Will. He hadn’t talked to his brother since he went to Tennessee. Baltimore had a 2 hour time difference, putting it at about 5 AM, when Will woke up to freak out over his blood sugar anyway.

>u awake?

A few seconds later, Will’s read receipts popped up, but he didn’t seem to be answering. Viv tried again.

>omw to LA. I’ll call you when I get there. Some new shit’s come up, I know u dont want to hear it but its important.

No read receipts this time. What a prick. Will acted like he didn’t care whether his family lived or died, like they had ruined his childhood, his marriage, and his future. He had actually been to therapy for it. As if he didn’t understand that he had sabotaged his own life without any help from anyone else.

Viv went into the truck stop and bought several cans of pringles, some gummy worms, and ginger ale. He went to the restroom to splash some water on his face and freshen up. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw his tired, scruffy reflection and all he could think about was how ugly and out of place he was going to be in California if he didn’t get a shower the second he got there.

He got back in the truck, sat in the backseat, and ate pringles as he waited for the Kennellys to get themselves together and get back on the road. It hit him that he was eating pringles at 3 AM, on a road trip he hadn’t planned for, with people he was not sure he liked or even tolerated. Viv got the urge to laugh but restrained himself, since it would have made him look like an insane person larping as a journalist. He typed that note in his phone and could only hope that his subscribers on Patreon would eat this up by the time it was all finished.

800 miles to go.

He could only hope that this was all worth it.

[themoneybuff-blog]

Inspiration from 7 Up, Lauren Oliver, Julien Baker, and More

Once a month (or so), I share a dozen things that have inspired me to greater personal, professional, and financial success in my life. I hope they bring similar success to your life. 1. Thoreau on happiness Happiness is like a butterfly, the more you chase it, the more it will evade you, but if you notice the other things around you, it will gently come and sit on your shoulder. Henry David Thoreau I spent a lot of years of my life chasing happiness, believing that I could somehow build a happy life. What I learned is that such an endeavor is basically impossible. Instead, you should try to build a life thats in line with what your values and principles are, and what youll find is that happiness naturally bubbles up as you get closer and closer to that destination. Happiness is a side effect of doing something worthwhile. When you do worthwhile things, happiness occurs naturally. If you chase happiness for happinesss sake, youll never actually catch it. [embedded content] From the Wikipedia entry on the series: The Up Series is a series of documentary filmsproduced by Granada Television that have followed the lives of fourteen British children since 1964, when they were seven years old. So far the documentary has had eight episodes spanning 49 years (one episode every seven years) and the documentary has been broadcast on both ITV and BBC. In a 2005 Channel 4 programme, the series topped the list of The 50 Greatest Documentaries. The children were selected to represent the range of socio-economic backgrounds in Britain at that time, with the explicit assumption that each childs social class predetermines their future. Every seven years, the director, Michael Apted, films material from those of the fourteen who choose to participate. The last installment, 56 Up, premiered in May 2012; Apted has stated that filming for 63 Up will occur in late 2018, for release in spring 2019. Apted has also been reported as saying: I hope to do 84 Up when Ill be 99. The aim of the series is stated at the beginning of 7 Up as: Why do we bring these children together? Because we want to get a glimpse of England in the year 2000. The shop steward and the executive of the year 2000 are now seven years old. The video embedded above (if you cant see it, you can reach it by clicking on the link) is the full documentary 7 Up, which covers the fourteen children as they were in 1964, as seven year olds. Each subsequent entry in the series revisits most of the children at seven year intervals in their lives, as things go in different directions for them. I watched these for the first time as a marathon in around 2002, when 42 Up was the newest entry available; I watched the entire series again a few years later after 49 Up was released, and yet again with the making of 56 Up. Each time it utterly charmed me and left me thinking about the fragility and difficulty and beauty of human lives. A few days ago, a friend of mine pointed out that all of the films were freely available on Youtube, so theres no reason not to dive in. This Youtube list contains the entire series, starting with 7 Up and continuing through 56 Up, the most recent entry. 3. Lauren Oliver on the whole of people I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people; to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole. Lauren Oliver I feel like this is a good quote to pair with 7 Up, actually. In that series and in fact, throughout our lives we get only relatively small glances at these people. We see only little slivers of their lives. Even with the best efforts of the filmmakers, this would be true; a filmmaker visiting a person for a few days once every seven years cannot capture their true nature. Yet, as I watch those films, I cant help but draw some conclusions. I think I would be friends with some of them, and Id probably avoid other ones. Those quick takes may or may not be accurate. Im making them based on really limited information about a person. I might be seeing that person at their best or at their worst. I might be seeing a quirky moment thats not emblematic of them as a whole. Its impossible to really tell. What I do know is this: some of the worst mistakes Ive made in life have been due to snap judgments about people, almost all of them more negative than they ever should have been. I drew some very negative conclusions about people and guided my behavior regarding them based on very little information mixed in with my own ideas and assumptions, and it has cost me many potential dear relationships over the years. The tiny part of a person that you actually see is a pretty poor representative of the whole. This article by Jason Fagone chronicles the store of Jerry and Marge Selbee, who, in their retirement, discovered and then exploited holes in the Michigan and Massachusetts state lottery systems. I found myself reading this article one evening while Sarah was busy grading papers, and I couldnt help but mention to her that this is literally the kind of thing that I can see us doing in retirement. Were both curious people who like to understand how systems work. We arent afraid to take big leaps of faith on things that we feel certain about. Id like to think that Sarah and I, in our later years, will go on a lot of quirky adventures, like Jerry and Marge. Im also sharing this because its just a fun story, a well written one by Jason Fagone. This ones really worth your time. 5. Benjamin Franklin on apologies Never ruin an apology with an excuse. Benjamin Franklin One of the hardest things to do is to genuinely apologize when youve made a mistake and not turn it into an excuse or an avenue for blaming others. Anything beyond I messed up is simply a way to deflect blame off of yourself and, in the process, make the apology a lot less valuable. An apology that ends up being nothing more than a redirection of blame or an excuse of a mistake is a worthless apology; in fact, youre often leaving things in an even worse state because the other person perceives that you wont own up to your mistakes. When you mess up, apologize sincerely without excusing your mistake or blaming others. Admit that you messed up, state that youre sorry for it, and that you want to do what you can to make it right and to make sure it wont happen again. Make it clear that its on you, not on anyone else. Its hard to do that. Its much easier to just shovel the blame onto someone or something else. If you do that, though, you eliminate virtually all of the meaning of the apology and look pretty weak to boot. [embedded content] From the description: Do you know what you want when you die? Do you know how you want to be remembered? In a candid, heartfelt talk about a subject most of us would rather not discuss, Michelle Knox asks each of us to reflect on our core values around death and share them with our loved ones, so they can make informed decisions without fear of having failed to honor our legacies. Life would be a lot easier to live if we talked about death now, Knox says. We need to discuss these issues when we are fit and healthy so we can take the emotion out of it and then we can learn not just what is important, but why its important. This whole video harkens back to a big theme Ive come to really understand in my life in the last few years. The best time to talk about something is when youre as far away from emotion as possible regarding that thing. So, for example, dont talk about death when youre sick. Talk about it when youre healthy and vibrant, so theres as little emotion as possible in the subject. When youre talking to your parents about aging, dont do it at their moment of weakness. Wait for a time of strength, when theyre feeling as healthy and unemotional as possible, and then have that discussion. Dont talk about a marital problem when youre both riding the wave of that problem. Talk about it when youre getting along well and youre far away from that problematic area emotionally. This is a key life lesson, one that has stuck with me over the years, and this video really highlights that idea. 7. Roy T. Bennett on self-improvement and criticism Let the improvement of yourself keep you so busy that you have no time to criticize others. Roy T. Bennett Unless criticism is asked for, criticism of others is rarely a worthwhile endeavor. It achieves very little and often has the opposite effect of what you desire, with the recipient ignoring the content of what youre saying and just being upset with you. Hold it in. If you dont have something worthwhile to say, then dont say it at all. That doesnt mean that one should never criticize. A person should definitely criticize from time to time, but it should generally be at the invitation of the person who seeks criticism and is looking for ways to improve. Brutal honesty doesnt achieve anything worthwhile. [embedded content] From the description: In March of 2016, just a handful of months after her debut album Sprained Ankle was released, Julien Baker came and played a quiet, thoughtful Tiny Desk concert that went on to become one of our most popular and certainly one of the most-talked-about Tiny Desk Concerts of the year. (Its now approaching two million views on YouTube alone.) Fast forward to the summer of 2017, when I heard that a new record was imminent. I dont usually ask an artist back for a second Tiny Desk Concert simply because they have a new release but for Julien, I had to make an exception. With all the love that surrounded her first visit to the NPR offices, I reached out to ask if she would be willing to do something different this time around. Last fall, she delivered. All the songs for her return to the Tiny Desk come from last years Turn Out The Lights. Just a few weeks before the albums release, she came to Washington; we tuned our piano, she brought violinist Camille Faulkner. The first two songs, Hurt Less and Even, were accompanied by Camille, with Julien on piano for the opening tune and acoustic guitar on the second. Its quite stunning, as she sings: Putting my fist through the plaster in the bathroom of a Motel 6 I must have pictured it all a thousand times I swear to God I think Im gonna die I know you were right I cant be fixed, so help me For the last, Julien put together an arrangement of Appointments that begins on electric guitar, which then was looped as a backdrop to her on piano and voice. Julien Baker is a massively talented songwriter with a deeply caring heart and a perfectionist streak all of which delivered to her a career-making year. We are so thrilled to have her return. Set List Hurt Less Even Appointments Shes just fantastic. Well worth a listen. 9. Inspirational notes For the last several months, about once a week or so, Ill stick a note inside of one of my childrens backpacks. Its a note card in an envelope with their name on the front, and on the inside, I just write a short note saying something I admire about their character and how I hope they share that with the world. It takes me about ten minutes or so to do this. I just stop for a little bit, think of some truly worthwhile characteristic that one of my children possesses, and then Ill write about it. Ill tell a quick anecdote about when I saw that characteristic used in a positive way, how I am incredibly proud that Im their parent when I see them using that aspect of themselves, a gentle encouragement to use that characteristic in other aspects of their life, and a general reminder that I love them. Thats it nothing fancy. I know that my kids have read the notes because of comments Ive overheard, but not one of them has said a word about them to me. I do know that theyre read, though, and I do know that theyre thought about, and thats enough. Will it make a positive difference? Maybe. I think it will, given enough time. Dont just get inspired. Be an inspiration. 10. Muhammad Ali on the pebble in your shoe It isnt the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; its the pebble in your shoe. Muhammad Ali Its often one or two little details that make the difference between success and failure. You might be able to perfectly nail everything else you need for a diet, but its that mid-afternoon wave of hunger that you thoughtlessly indulge that undoes things. You might have perfect control over your spending except for that one little linchpin. Maybes its online spending at a particular website, or maybe its regular splurging on food. Whatever it is, theres often some little detail that puts a big scratch on the beautiful surface of your progress. The thing is, its far more meaningful to stop and pull that pebble out of your shoe than to keep on running for a little bit longer and just quit. Fix the little problems before they become big ones. [embedded content] From the description: When trying to come up with a new idea, we all have times when we get stuck. But according to research by behavioral and learning scientist Marily Oppezzo, getting up and going for a walk might be all it takes to get your creative juices flowing. In this fun, fast talk, she explains how walking could help you get the most out of your next brainstorm. Going on walks is unquestionably my most powerful creative tool. I dont have anything else in my repertoire that really compares to it. Its part of the reason why winters are often very hard in terms of writing productivity the weather rarely cooperates with the kind of long outdoor walk that I enjoy. While I enjoy winter in small doses, I wouldnt be surprised at all to find Sarah and I living further south in the winter months when we are older. I think it agrees much better with both of us. Still, I cant laud walking enough if youre trying to piece through a difficult idea in your head or youre trying to brainstorm some solutions. 12. JFK on strength Do not pray for easy lives, my friends. Pray to be stronger men. John Fitzgerald Kennedy Hoping that the future will become easier wont really help very much. Its very likely that the future wont become easier. Instead, recognize that your life right now probably is easier than it will be in the future and plan accordingly. Work a little harder today so you dont have to work quite as hard tomorrow. Save a little money today so you dont have to scramble tomorrow. Dont hope for an easier life. Work for a stronger you. https://www.thesimpledollar.com/inspiration-from-7-up-lauren-oliver-julien-baker-and-more/