#letter never sent (1960)

[stellacadente]

Неотправленное письмо | LETTER NEVER SENT (1960) dir. Mikhail Kalatozov

[sesiondemadrugada]

Letter Never Sent (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1960).

[cocoacave]

Letter Never Sent / Неотправленное письмо (1960) dir. Mikhail Kalatozov

[hooked-on-elvis]

What is your favorite part of the '68 Special?

Pictures: Singer Presents  ... Elvis, commonly referred to as the '68 Comeback Special. 1968.

For me, undoubtedly I say my favorite part of the '68 Special is the sit-down concerts, specially the reunion between Elvis and the remaining members of Elvis' former band, the Blue Moon Boys, Scotty Moore and DJ Fontana.

I wonder if the fans, not the specialized critic such as musicians and general people in the business but specially the fans, back then, while watching this TV special for the first time, understood or merely felt the significance of this moment. I wonder if they were surprised in seeing Elvis not only back onstage after a while but back onstage with Scotty and DJ Fontana by his side. Man, that was special! To me, the most special portion of the '68 Comeback. ♥

Bill Black, bassist, unfortunately passed away in 1965, while Elvis was still full time engaged with his Hollywood career. Fans only wish Bill could have been there with Scotty and DJ. He had that irreverent performance that fascinates me, surely he would've been a great asset to the show. I only feel sorry Elvis, neither Scotty or DJ, ever mentioned Bill on the '68 Special, but its understandable the reason why. It wasn't about the Blue Moon Boys more than it was about Elvis returning to the stage. Even so, had Bill made it to this moment, man! That would've been something else. Even more meaningful than it already was.

Scotty Moore: His memories on the '68 Comeback Special and 'behind the scenes': Elvis and The Blue Moon Boys performing in Europe?

Source: Excerpt of the documentary "Elvis: The Birth of Rock n' Roll" (2004)

Scotty reveals Elvis asked him and DJ Fontana if they would agree to go on the road with him again, this time performing overseas, in Europe. Curious enough, to that question, Scotty says Elvis called him and DJ Fontana to another room in his home, so they could talk in private - which was something unusual for him because "usually anything he had to say, he'd say no matter who was around".

For the longest time, performing around the world was something Presley aimed. Ever since he had been stationed in Germany with the US Army during his service time, a period he did paused his career therefore he didn't perform while in Europe between 1958 to 1960, reporters asked him if and when that moment would come when Elvis would go back to Europe but this time for live concerts, to the thrill of his passionate fans overseas who followed him career from afar, many since the 50s. Unfortunately touring outside US (other than few performances in Canada in 1957) never seemed the get the right time.

Once Elvis begin performing live again in 1969, after he was out of the movie contracts, Elvis' manager, Colonel Tom Parker, would always have excuses on the tip of his tongue for why an European tour, or world tour for that matter, would not be a such good idea. When Elvis received some death threats coming his way through letters sent to his crew occasionally, starting from 1969 on, those incident perfectly fit to Colonel Parker's intentions for his gold boy. Parker would use the incidents to manipulate Elvis to believe they couldn't do his security properly out of the US. Colonel would tell Presley how it would be too dangerous for him, besides they could make just as much money performing home as they have been doing so far.

Elvis never had this one dream of performing overseas coming true in his life, as much as another reunion between him and the Blue Moon Boys never came to be after the '68 Comeback Special. Scotty says that private conversation in Elvis' home (in 1968) was the last time he was together with Elvis like that, which makes this moment in history one of a kind.

During the '68 Special (sit-down concert), Scotty submits a special request to Elvis for them to play "Lawdy Miss Clawdy" together.

The song was recorded by them on February 3, 1956, at RCA studios in New York. It was released as B-side to the EP "Elvis Presley", out in September 1956. The cover shows Elvis, Scotty Moore and Bill Black performing together.

Later, the song would be featured on the LP "For Elvis Fans Only" released in 1959. Elvis would frequently include "Lawdy Miss Clawdy" to his main setlists from 1970 to 1975, occasionally performing it in 1976 and 1977.

No wonder Scotty picked this song. Maybe a subtle way of honoring late Bill Black. ♥

About their performance of this tune during the '68 Comeback Special:

As they jam together, Scotty gives a cue and Elvis tears into “Lawdy Miss Clawdy” with a raw assault of mixed emotion. His performance is so intense that it almost—in the best way—scratches the ears. Vocal cords that, so far, have proved their owner’s mastery with smooth singing are pushed to the point of fraying at the edges. As Greil Marcus noticed, when Elvis lurches into the number, what he experiences is a feeling that is both joshing and liberated. At one point, as the musicians jam together, it’s possible to hear Charlie Hodge getting carried away with laughter, as if bobbing in the fray of a heady, almost oceanic moment. In his underrated 2004 pocket volume The Rough Guide to Elvis, Paul Simpson describes “Lawdy Miss Clawdy” as “Elvis’s answer to Jack Kerouac’s On the Road.” Taking on this old staple in the Comeback, what the singer delivers is lusty, passionate, and commanding, yet also desperate, angry, and sad. He conjures with immense powers. — Mark Duffett (Counting Down Elvis - His 100 Finest Songs, 2018)

Again, what is your favorite part of the '68 Special?

[be-my-ally]

Snowballs and Kisses

Hello darlings!! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone celebrating has a wonderful day, and everyone for whom it is a usual monday has a better than usual start to the week!! 

I have been MIA the last few weeks on here, but never fear I have been busy behind the scenes and hopefully more things and fics will be finished very soon!! I cannot wait for my little new year break, and *finally* catching up on all the stuff I've missed!! In the meantime as a ittle teeny tiny Christmas gift please enjoy this timeskip for my Splashing Around ‘verse to Christmas Eve 1960 and my shameless OC self insert of what I’d like to gift Elvis. 

a/n not totally accurate weather references: it didn’t actually snow in memphis in the latter half of 1959 but, this is fanfiction after all and it *was* very cold november 18th 1959. (I also cut a whole 4k of angst that will come out at some point as a separate chapter, Anita getting a poodle, and the colonel dressed as santa because honestly i just wanted to write and read fluff, but here's a warning that there may end up being more festive fics posted…a little late). 

warnings: 18+, smut lite; gentle fingering and references to cumming in pants. UNEDITED

Graceland - December 1960 

The excitement of having Elvis back at home for the festive season was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that it was his first Christmas at home without his mother. He’d not really tried to celebrate properly in Germany; sure they’d done the best they could, and he raved about the gift of a fully dressed tree for weeks,  but it hadn’t been the same as it would have been at home. 

This year though, Elvis seemed determined to restore the festive spirit. Perhaps even further than just restoration - an attempt to make it as bright and jolly as possible in response to both his mother’s passing, and missing the last two. He’d bragged to anyone who would listen about how excited he was to give out presents, his plans for even more lights than ever before; signs and lawn decorations.

While Louise was excited, it had left her in an almost constant state of anxiety, Christmas wasn’t just about the gift-giving… but it was a large enough part of it that it’s where her mind immediately went. From the moment he suggested they hang at Graceland that first year, from the first time they’d all pored over the letter to Frances, and his promises to “have a ball next Christmas”, giggling and whispering about what fun they were going to have the following year. From all of those times Louise had been preoccupied with what to get him and whether her secret plan was good enough for Elvis of all people. 

That first year he had reiterated to them all and was absolutely adamant no-one needed to gift him anything and wouldn’t hear of anything being sent over to him. But his frequent calls and mentions of the upcoming holiday belied his actual feelings and besides, Louise wanted him to feel special. Wanted him to know they’d been thinking of him as much as he must have missed being home. It wasn’t until the 27th of November and the slightest of snowfalls had occurred, tiny little snowflakes, delicately falling down when the temperature had dropped just enough for the rain to crystallise when a flash of inspiration hit her. She couldn’t send it, so instead she’d waited patiently, adding to her bundle throughout the months. Now that it was almost time to give it though she was second-guessing that two year decision. Was it too juvenile? It’s just so tricky to buy for the man who literally has anything he could ever wish for. As the festive period hurtles on she resigns herself to having to hunt for a back-up gift…maybe a nice sweater. Maybe that will do.  Or maybe it’s best to have options. 

Elvis’ melancholia about the holiday doesn’t seem to stretch into Christmas Eve, and he encourages them with all the enthusiasm he’s ever had. The party starts from mid-afternoon and stretches long into the evening and night with all the makings of an excellent time from the music to the food until eventually they all find themselves around the extravagant tree to exchange presents. It’s a little chaotic, so many people about and frequently someone’s having to dive from room to room to fetch people or hidden gifts. Louise finds it almost dizzying when she finally manages to take a seat on the long sofa, catching her breath from being sent to find someone. She was already finding herself struggling to think whenever she glanced over at Elvis - he looked outrageously good in a white shirt, black trousers - well, he looked outrageously good all the time at the moment - but there was something about the feeling in the air of the day that made it all the harder to act natural around him. Elvis had been quiet for a moment, but now he was sat on his armchair across the room, looking for all the world like a king on a throne ready to bestow his generosity on the peasants. Except, that’s not the feeling in the room at all; it’s jolly and wonderful, picture perfect - all of them slightly tipsy on champagne and vodka cocktails and finding the evening all the more entertaining for it. He announces he wants to give the presents that he’s bought everyone before he opens his own, and Louise dips her eyes when he hands her a little bow-tied box. No-one else’s comes with a ribbon and she strokes it, feeling a glow emanating from her stomach and chest as she imagines his nimble fingers tying it on, totally ignoring the fact that she knows someone else probably wrapped it for him. Still, she tugs it off to hide from the others - not wanting to be teased about how such a little gesture has made her blush so strongly - and tucks it into her palm, fully intending on slipping it into her shoe or around her wrist in a moment, knowing she’ll keep it forever - wear it in her hair like a declaration.

When she looks back up everyone has a similar box and she opens it quickly in case they’re all the same - she doesn’t want to ruin her surprise. There, nestled in a little velvet box is a ring, a huge, gaudy red stone in the centre, almost too big for her finger.  Louise is transfixed, staring at it, barely a thought in her head as she tries to wrap her head around the way it sparkles in the light. Despite the size of the gem, the band was more than a little small when she tries to slip it on, and she quietly puts it back into the box, not wanting to draw attention to her apparently larger than expected fingers. She glances around, suddenly coming out of her shocked obliviousness. Her face falling when she realises that everyone around her is unboxing similarly precious jewellery. She’s resigning herself to having to sneak it off to get it resized and hating herself a little for it, wondering if there are exercises she could do or maybe a special diet to shrink her fingers to size, when she suddenly realises all the other girls are turning each-other around, kissing Elvis on the cheek in thanks, or asking him to clasp their new necklaces. Louise looks back down at her box and the others. What does a ring mean? It’s been gifted with such casualness that it can’t possibly mean anything can it? When she looks back up Elvis is staring right at her, and she makes eye contact with him - her wide eyes meeting his laughing ones. He winks, and turns back to Red. She tries her best to distract herself from it, ooh and aahing over everyone else’s and keeping quiet about the little box clutched tight in her hand. 

Half hour later Elvis is admiring his own little haul, when he catches her eye again, 

“You forget about me Lou?” Louise cringes at being called out so publicly, 

“Of course not!” She looks around the room, at the large group gathered there, “No, uh, why don’t you, well I’ve gotten you something else….It’s a sweater. It’s not great really, but I… your real gift I’ve made you, but,” She swallows building her courage, unsure why she’s so nervous suddenly when she’d been so excited for so long; the whole idea just seemed juvenile and silly now. “… you’ve gotta follow me for it.” He stares into her eyes for a second, before nodding and standing up, gesturing at her as if to say ‘lead the way’. 

He grins at the boys when they walk out, making a salacious movement as if to suggest her gift may not be all too family-friendly to accompanying guffaws of laughter. She ignores it, even as her tummy churns; should she be offering that? Is that what he wants these days?

“Don’t laugh.” She asks nervously as they walk into the little pantry. Elvis looks bemused to find himself there, leaning against the wall of the tiny space 

“I won’t” Louise nods, shutting the door, only to hear Elvis giggle, “You tryin’ to get me alone, doll?” 

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“One hell of a christmas present! to be locked in a cupboard with a pretty little gal.” 

She rolls her eyes, wiggling past him to get to the freezer, 

“Close your eyes.” He obediently does so, and she reaches into an old box of ice-cream to pull out a Tupperware, “Hold your hands out.” And she puts it in his cupped fingers, “Ok…open.” He blinks down at the Tupperware.

“Um. Well, thanks, I’m uh, sure this will be useful.” Louise rolls her eyes, impatiently tugging off the lid herself, “Oh.” Elvis goes silent, staring at the three perfect, teeny snowballs balanced in the tub. Each resting upon a little piece of paper with Louise’s very best cursive handwriting spelling out the date; December 12th 1958, 18th November 1959, and 20th December 1960.  

The silence stretches as Elvis stares at the box, and Louise starts to ramble nervously,  “I was starting to panic this year, but at least I’d thought to pick some up back in January — it snowed so heavy on the 5th.  I think it was, or maybe the 15th? I’ll have to check my diary… so I mean it isn’t entirely accurate that it’s all from the 20th - but I mean, I had to have something and well I know how much you loved it when, when your mother… and I wanted you to know I’ve been thinkin’ of you non-stop while you were away. So, here, the first snow from the garden from every year you missed.” Elvis is still staring at the box, one finger poking each little round ball. 

“This really snow from two years ago?” 

“Uh-huh… I mean I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it now, but it really is… been in that box in the freezer this whole time…I hid it from everyone. Every time someone said they wanted some ice cream I panicked.”  

“Lou.” 

“‘M sorry this is really stupid, god - what are you gonna do with some snowballs, I should’ve gone in with the other girls, got you something really good… I just - well, I thought you’d like it and I know you misse-”

“Baby, I don’t, I don’t know what to say. I… I didn’t think anyone would think of me like this, like mama did, ever again. I - well, thank you, Lou darling, this is, well, its the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.” He grabs her arm, tugging her to him - pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, the force of it surprising her.  “I’m gonna show everyone - c’mon - quick before they melt.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving Louise to follow meekly behind. 

He shows them off like he’s a new father, proudly holding them up in the box, delicately picking one of them up and sighing at it, holding it up at the light for everyone to marvel at. It’s a little ridiculous in some ways - everyone in the room had been gifted something hugely lavish, and yet the thing  everyone was talking and gossiping at was a snowball. 

Hours later the party finally winds down enough that Louise realises she’s one of the last few stragglers of a night so late it’s turned into Christmas morning. How she’d ended up in this position she’ll never know, and she questions it herself as she stands quietly in the doorway, watching Elvis fumble on the piano. Just his fiddling is beautiful, little snippets of remembered carols, before he hammers onto the keys, singing along to Santa Claus is Back in Town. Louise can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes her and he looks up at her, smiling almost teasingly, perfect glint in his eye as he pauses for a second to run a hand through his hair before he continues for another verse and a half. He stops almost abruptly, standing up to stretch before turning to her. She’s trying to find the words to explain how beautiful it was, how perfect he sounds - how she can feel it throughout her whole being, but before she can express those sentiments he’s in front of her and grasping her hand. 

“C’mon,” He tugs her over to the armchair he’d been sat in earlier in the evening, “Over here hon, that’s it - you’re the last.” Elvis throws himself onto the chair, holding onto her, pulling her stumbling body against his. “You’re the last of my girls left…” He sighs melodramatically and Louise giggles uncontrollably back at him. She’d had an illicit two glasses and a half of champagne earlier in the evening; Elvis had playfully wagged his finger at her as she’d accepted it from Red although she’d seen him have more than a few drinks himself. She can feel the bubbles still settling into her tummy and head, fuzzing her thoughts a little and making her giggly and affectionate. Still, she wasn’t so tipsy she couldn’t call out his overdramatic behaviour. 

“They’ve just gone home for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure.”  She shakes her head. He ignores her, crying out, 

“I’m all alone!” He tugs her by her elbow, catching her as she stumbles into his lap, pulling her onto him, flattening her wide skirt. It wasn’t really the fashion anymore but while she’d been momentarily hesitant about her holiday dress she wasn’t self-conscious, and she liked how it made her shape look. Some might suggest the bow and petticoats were juvenile, but it made her feel more adult than the tighter styles that were starting to become popular with her peers, more herself than playing dress-up. 

She snuggles under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, cheeks pressed against the little buttons of his shirt. He pretends to choke at her hair brushing his nose, using his free hand to flatten it under his chin and she grins, shivering against him as his breath tickles her skin. They stay cuddled for a few moments, sinking into the kind of happy exhaustion that seems to only occur on holidays. It feels different than before, although Elvis is more similarly carefree than she’d seen him in a long time. He’d grown up a lot over the years she hadn’t seen him, or so it felt, and his adultness didn’t match the image of him playing and fooling around that she had in her head. It’s an awful feeling, she thinks, that even with him right there, surrounding her, she still longs for a little more of the playfulness of the past.

Suddenly though Elvis shifts, interrupting her thoughts and murmuring against the top of her head, 

“Y’hear that?” Louise stops breathing, and all she can hear is the solid thump-thump of his heart against her ear, he waits a second but she can’t work out what he’s referring to and doesn’t respond, he gasps “There it is again! Do you hear it?” 

Louise shakes her head against him, frowning a little, “No?” She tries really hard to listen out, but other than the faintest hint of the music from the boys in the other room she can’t hear a thing. “The music?”  

“No! No, listen.” He puts his finger to his lips, shushing her,

“I really don’t hear anything Elvis.” He wraps his arm around her waist a little tighter, tugging her up so she was sat more upright on his knee, her face close to his. He whispers into her ear, 

“I think I hear hooves…” Louise frowns, 

“Hooves!?” God, it would be just her luck that he’d gone and bought her a horse or something, and she’d have to act grateful even though she was terrified of them.  

“Mmhmm, that’s right.” His hand rises up to brush across her back gently, fingertips dancing around her side, “Hooves. Hooves and bells.” He pauses for dramatic effect, jabbing his finger into her side in a tickling poke. His voice dips lower, as his arm squeezes around her, “Someone must have been a good girl this year.” 

Louise grins when she realises what he’s implying and couldn’t bring herself not to play along. 

“…You think it’s Santa Claus?!” 

“Hmm, definitely…who else would it be, on the roof with hooves and bells on Christmas eve?” She giggles, both in response to his kind-natured teasing and his fingers poking her side with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I wonder what he’ll leave in my stocking…” Elvis hums against her hair, 

“Mmm. Coal.” 

“Nooo!” She giggles back to him, “You just said I’ve been a good girl!”

“You’ve been a very good little girl.” His voice has hit that low pitch that immediately sends a jolt down her spine, right into the pit of her stomach and she swallows, trying to keep up with the joke. 

“Well, I’m, uh, I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.” 

“Mmhmm….” His hand brushes up her leg, “Bet ya I’ll like what’s in your stockings more…” 

“Elvis!” She shrieks, playfully batting his hand away, he pulls it off of her, smoothing down her skirt, and resting it onto her lap for a moment. Louise feels her breath catching as he presses a kiss to the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way and shifting her on his thigh so that she’s facing him. It’s almost a struggle for her to meet his eyes, she felt so desperate for his attention - but there was nowhere else to look that made her feel any less heated. His hair, god even his eyebrows were Elvis-enough to make her squirm. It’s only a second of him kissing her jaw, before she’s gasping for him, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s grabbing his hand and shoving it back on her thigh. 

She’d kept herself for him, even as it felt that she’d been playing before, doing it for someone who would never notice or care - ostensibly in general, but really if she was truthful - for him. She’d touched herself, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation, especially after his deep voice came through the phone - but the other boys, the boys in school, the ones with blue collar jobs and careers, had all lost their appeal whenever she imagined kissing them, and her imagination interposed the image and feeling of him, his slippery body in the pool, the feel of him in front of her on the bike. He was thinner now, even still, than he was before, puppy fat replaced with lean muscles. His face shape changed just the tiniest bit, perhaps unnoticeable to some, but so very obvious to her, cheekbones and chin more angular than before. But his lips feel the same as they did before he left, and since his return home - she’d expected they’d have lost their eager nature, but still she can feel the hint of desperation as he presses them against her jaw.

She gasps, rocking against him as he roves down her neck - a place no one else has ever touched, tiny points of pressure feeling like a heat was expanding across her neck and chest, matching the clench of her thighs. His hand gently strokes up her stockings before he hitches her up, capturing his mouth with hers and shoving her underlayers up to her waist in the abrupt movement. Louise moves with him, desperate to stay in contact with his lips and she moans in upset when he starts to pull away. 

“C’mon baby,” He whispers, “C’mon, Lou-Lou let me - let me say thank you,” He’s barely audible as he speaks against her lips between pressing bruising kisses onto them, “I just - wanna, wanna make you feel good, Lou doll.” She gasps out her agreement, eyes falling closed and her head falling into his shoulder as his fingers find their way to rub against the silk of her underwear. He shifts her again, balancing her so she can rock against his thigh and his hand, whilst also rubbing her leg against his covered crotch. Louise is almost surprised at the heat of him against her thigh, but her curiosity has no chance to be satisfied when he hooks a finger under the leg band of her panties, totally distracting her from anything but the feel of him under her and attempting to stay somewhat upright. His finger feels softer than she’d imagined, and yet, in comparison to her own the pads feel foreign, rougher and surer than hers ever were sliding into the wetness they find there.

“God, you’re so soft baby, so fucking soft in here, perfect for me, you been waiting on me, honey?” 

“Uh-huh, waited, waited so long for you Elvis - didn’t, I didn’t want anyone but you.” He groans in response, his fingers moving faster. Until he’s forced to stop, tangled in the fabric and he growls in frustration. Louise feels it go straight down her body, and her thighs clench, trapping his hand even more. He pauses for barely a second to manhandle her up, just enough to roughly tug her panties down enough that it’s now entirely her bare skin rubbing against his hand and clothed thigh, the fibres of his trousers almost giving her a friction burn with her rapid movements. He continues as he was a second earlier, but now with far easier access he’s able to swipe his fingers across her clit, taking her to the edge almost immediately. She has no idea if this was something he’s always done well, or if this is a trick he’d picked up while he was away, but whatever the reason she was grateful. She doesn’t even consider how they were still, essentially, in public, too distracted by his slender fingers to be concerned about her now partial nudity. The only noise to break up their combined breathy moans is the layers of of taffeta rustling between them, as she continues to rock against his thigh, but this all changes when he delves his thumb into her wetness, bringing it back up to stroke circles on her clit, gently but repeatedly running it over her. 

“Oh, Elvis?” She cries out,  

“What baby? You’re so - I can feel you’re close,” His own breathing is getting heavier, and he holds her steady with his other hand grasping her thigh while his thumb continues to stroke her, 

“I don’t - I don’t…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, and before she manages to turn it into a complete sentence she’s shaking on him as she rides out her orgasm. He sees her through it, continuing to stroke her with the same pressure before rapidly shoving his hand down his own pants, roughly rubbing himself off to quick completion. She watches him closely, unable to do anything but stare as his own eyes slide closed, head falling back against the couch and mouth opening as he gasps out a high-pitched moan. It was about enough to make her shudder again against his thigh, the look on his face, his mussed hair, open collar and the noises of sheer pleasure. Louise finds herself bouncing on his chest as he breathes rapidly from the effort, and he holds her tight for a few moments while they both regain use of their limbs. Louise feels almost a little shell-shocked and she only really comes to her senses when Elvis shifts, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace and patting her thigh, 

“Gosh that was, I, um, thank you El,” He grins at her, clearly pleased with his success, and he pats her leg again, 

“Thank you, honey, for just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me earlier baby, it was just - I’m gonna treasure them snowballs forever, you’ll see.” She grins back at him before an unstoppable yawn takes over her face, “C’mon lil girl, time for bed.” She gulps, thinking about all the people on the house - worrying what will happen next, 

“D’you…where am I gonna sleep?” Elvis frowns, little furrowed line marring his previously relaxed face, 

“With me?” 

“Oh,” Louise swallows, “Um, I think my parents will be expecting me - you know, Christmas morning’s all about -“ 

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll drop you home at the crack of dawn,” He winks, “-gotta make sure the house is all in order in any case anyway.” Elvis pauses, “Or, or you could invite your mama and pops over. They’d be more than welcome…nothing my mama liked more than a full house - especially at Christmas.” He’s looking at her with that earnest little boy expression again and it takes everything in her not to just suggest she should stay forever, it was so absurd that he’d want her to stay, instead of the other way around. 

“Well…maybe I could stay. And, well, I mean, I could come over in the evening? If you swear you’ll make sure I get home in time -“ He’s quick to interject, 

“Cross my heart darling,” She hums at him, and he motions the crossing of his heart across his chest, solemnly holding eye contact, “I swear.”

“Ok then, I’d love to stay.” 

Somehow, and (despite his promises) to Louise’s surprise, she’s dutifully shaken awake and dropped off home, albeit not by Elvis himself, only a few very short hours later. Coming up the driveway of her childhood home it feels almost inconceivable that she should have spent the day and night how she has, and she wonders for a brief moment if she hadn’t knocked her head or something and just hallucinated the whole affair. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t yet notice, as she traipses past the lounge and kitchen where she can hear her mother singing to quickly change, a new set of boxes under the Christmas tree. Elvis’ script on the gift tags declaring “To Louise, a very good girl, from Santa.” 

taglist: (it's been so long that I've lost the list for this verse - lmk if you want to be added, or taken off!)

@lialocklear @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @shakerattlescroll

[regencyofhell-if]

Looking for information

This is my grandfather - let's call him CPL Tony. He was a veteran of the Marine Corps and fought in several battles in Japan during World War II. I received his military file two years ago and have been trying to get in contact with someone who can help me find some information about a possible award he may have won that he never got. So I'm posting to all my social media in hope of someone somewhere knowing what I should do next.

Here's the story.

In his file, I found a copy of a letter my grandfather sent to the Marines HQ back in the 1960s. In the letter, CPL Tony told an incredible story of how during the battle of Okinawa, he saved seven men from ambush while under heavy fire. His commanding officer told him afterward that he was going to put Tony up for a medal, but Tony was wounded shortly after and evacuated from the front lines as a casualty and before he knew it, he was shipped back home to the States. He never heard anything more about the medal and didn't start thinking about it again until he read an article twenty years later that advised any veteran who thought they had won an award but never actually received it to write to Washington. He was curious and wanted to know, but he never got his answer.

My grandfather died of a heart attack in 1976 without ever getting the information he wanted. Now I'm continuing his search. I've contacted the Marines directly and even submitted a request online to see if someone can give me an answer to whether my grandfather really was ever put up for that medal, but never got a response.

I get it; current veterans and their affairs are more important than those that have passed on in the larger scheme of things, but after two years of waiting for contact, I don't know what to do.

My grandfather was a beloved family man who loved practical jokes, had a soft spot for animals, and was always ready and willing to help others. In our hometown, he is remembered fondly as chief of our fire department. I'm hoping to find closure on this matter for my family and myself as well as him, especially with today being Memorial Day and what would be his 102nd birthday approaching.

If anyone reading this knows how I can find out if my grandfather really was issued an award and where I can get in touch with someone who would be able to assist, please send me a message. I and my family would be forever grateful.

[justforbooks]

Letters by Oliver Sacks

The kaleidoscopic world and polymathic interests of a great neurologist brought to life in his correspondence

In 1960, Oliver Sacks, a 27-year-old University of Oxford graduate, arrived in San Francisco by Greyhound bus. Born in Cricklewood, London, Sacks spent the better part of his 20s training to be a doctor, but came to feel that English academic medicine was stifling and stratified. A “tight and tedious” professional ladder, he thought, was the only one available to aspiring neurologists like him.

A young queer man with a growing interest in motorcycle leather, Sacks had other reasons to leave. The revelation of his sexuality had caused a family rift: his mother felt it made him an “abomination”. And so he looked for escape across the Atlantic. America, for him, was the wide open west of Ansel Adams photographs; California was Steinbeck’s Cannery Row. The new world promised “space, freedom, interstices in which I could live and work”. This is how we meet Oliver Sacks in Letters: as an immigrant undertaking an internship at Mount Zion hospital, the first step in a career on US soil that would span another five decades.

Sacks’s San Francisco years also marked the beginning of his life as a writer. The city wasn’t an arbitrary choice. As he eagerly confessed to a one-time lover, Jenö Vincze, his true motivation for travelling to California was to force a meeting with an artistic idol, the British-turned-Haight Ashbury poet, Thom Gunn. Gunn’s The Sense of Movement (1957) spoke to and stirred Sacks’s predilection for motorbikes. Moreover, it performed on Sacks the kind of private miracle only poetry can: it helped decode “the babble” of his emotional life. “There is a queer, colossally big London Jew called Wolf,” Gunn wrote to his partner in 1961, after first meeting Sacks (who used his middle name, Wolf, as a nom de guerre when frequenting the city’s gay bars, wise to its lycanthropic resonances). “[He] came out to be a doctor here because I live here.” Sacks shared his writing with Gunn, whom he found a ruthless but tender critic, later crediting the poet with first impressing on him that he had real literary talent; a pivotal moment for a man who would go on to publish a dozen books.

“I am not a good correspondent,” Sacks wrote to his parents in 1961, “because I speak and write at people rather than to them.” This is an apt summation of Letters: 52 years of outgoing mail sent (or left unsent) to family, friends, scientists, writers and later, fans and celebrities, a panoply of addressees as diverse as the subjects Sacks writes “at” them about. Unleashed in a self-described “volcanic logorrhoea” that typifies his writing style, these letters variously consider botany, etymology, entomology, geology, neurology, and literature; the tussle between xenophobia and xeniality in Star Trek; the “phantasmagoric-comic unconscious” of actor Robin Williams. Edited by Kate Edgar, who worked as Sacks’s editorial assistant for over 20 years, Letters represents a mere fraction of the total in his archives, which runs to more than 200,000 pages.

Many of the included letters are incomplete, with ellipses denoting gaps whose editorial logic we must take on faith, even when they occasionally appear to interrupt tantalising trains of thought. In a 1984 letter to Lawrence Weschler, for instance, Sacks’s conflicted reflections on strike action in hospitals that might put vulnerable patients at risk feel prematurely curtailed. Despite these excisions, Letters leaves one with the overwhelming impression of a brilliant and vivid mind, a man whose intellectual appetite was vast, and whose professional and creative passions – far from being the self-absorbed obsessions of a pedant – were first and foremost an act of reaching out, the means through which he sought to communicate with others, a “love affair with the world”.

Sacks is an endearing and entertaining prose stylist – inquisitive, often funny, never obtuse – and the organisation of Letters, separated into broadly thematic, chronological chapters with concise editorial introductions, provides narrative momentum. The resulting book is far more engaging than the unwieldy reference text for Sacks specialists it could have been. It might, in fact, serve as a more affecting autobiography than his On the Move (2015), which occasionally slides into sentimentality. Letters is crammed with off-the-cuff profundities, moments of elevated perception that briefly unriddle the more inscrutable aspects of human nature. Here he is on grief, after the passing of his mother in 1972, an emotive state he deems “so unlike depression: it is so filling and real and expanding and uniting and – (it sounds an almost blasphemous word) – nourishing”.

Letters also draws an illuminating line from Sacks’s neurological career to his unlikely emergence as a bestselling author. In the late 60s, having relocated to New York, Sacks treated a group of patients suffering from encephalitis lethargica, also known as “sleeping sickness”, with an experimental drug, L-dopa. This experience informed his second book, Awakenings (1973), which married scientific research with storytelling through case studies of his patients’ lives and their responses to the treatment – a hybrid genre that irritated his colleagues just as it struck a chord with general readers. The literary attention Awakenings received set Sacks on a course to public renown.

“Brevity has never been a quality of mine,” he wrote to Mrs Miller, a physical therapist who helped him regain mobility after a leg injury in 1974. Indeed superabundance – the instinct toward excess – is everywhere in these letters. As a man of 30, dallying with powerlifting, Sacks routinely bragged to his parents about his weight, how much he could lift, the amount he ate – “I love to shake the pavement as I walk, to part crowds like the prow of a ship.” At Mount Zion, special scrubs had to be made to accommodate his bulk, and he found himself in disfavour with his superiors for stealing patients’ food.

But his overconsumption wasn’t always dietary. During the following 10 years or so, Sacks took a prodigious amount of amphetamines and psychotropics – “every dose an overdose” – with one trip producing visions of the “neurological heavens” so intense it inspired him to write his first book, Migraine (1970). By the 80s, following Awakenings and an appearance on The Dick Cavett Show that boosted his profile, pumping iron and popping pills had been replaced by correspondence. “I receive at least fifty or sixty letters and phone-calls a day,” he told his father with the same pride he formerly felt after squatting 575lb, “and, if anything, this number is increasing!”

What was Sacks trying to satiate? His substance abuse, the workaholism that eventually displaced it, speaks of the addict’s need to fill or stuff a void, an effort to forestall the unbearable loneliness that might accompany a moment’s rest. And loneliness certainly runs through these pages. Sacks once felt that his very existence was only made tolerable by rejecting intimacy and becoming “impersonal or supra-personal”; relationships, he said, were a forbidden area for him.

Late in life, he cited internalised homophobia as the driving force behind this isolation, a heart-rending admission, given that he temporarily felt liberated from this oppressive “social matrix” during that short-lived 1965 love affair with Jenö. It wasn’t until 2008, after 30-odd years’ celibacy, that an epistolary meet-cute with the writer Bill Hayes precipitated a loving, intimate companionship, one that would last the remainder of Sacks’s life. It’s a touching if bittersweet moment that arrives towards the end of Letters, the coda to this portrait of a man who, half a century earlier, had travelled across the world hoping to meet a poet who might truly understand him.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[petervintonjr]

"I had no role models because nobody ever publicized them, not that they didn't exist. George Washington Carver and Percy Julian and others had preceded me in science, but nobody ever publicized their accomplishments, and, therefore, many of the minority students didn't know that they had a future in science because they figured it was something that was not for them."

After a bit of time away from this project to make room for convention appearances and other shows, I now return to the subject with a look at the life and accomplishments of physicist George Robert Carruthers, on this, what would have been his 85th birthday.

Born in 1939 Cincinnati, Carruthers's father was himself a civil engineer at Wright-Patterson AFB, but the family soon moved to the more rural location of Milford, Ohio. Carruthers was described as quiet and focused --intensely interested in space travel stories and comic books (my people!), and a devourer of the science articles in Collier's magazine (even penning a fan letter to Dr. Werner Von Braun, to which he received an unexpected and encouraging personal reply). At the age of ten Carruthers built his first telescope, constructed from lenses he obtained by mail order. After George's father died in 1952, the family moved to Chicago but his fascination with spaceflight did not diminish. Encouraged by wonderfully observant teachers, he eventually graduated from the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign in 1960, then earned his MS in in nuclear engineering in 1962, and then landed his PhD in aeronautical and astronautical engineering in 1964.

While working towards his PhD, Carruthers worked as a researcher and teaching assistant, studying plasma and gases. In 1964, Carruthers took a postdoctoral appointment with the Naval Research Laboratory (NRL) in Washington, D.C., focusing on far ultraviolet astronomy. In 1969 he received a U.S. patent for inventing a form of image converter; an instrument that detects electromagnetic radiation in short wavelengths. In 1970 his invention recorded the first observation of molecular hydrogen in outer space (which he described as "a very big deal at the time.")

Far and away (literally), Dr. Carruthers's greatest contribution to science is his development and construction of an ultraviolet electronographic telescope, which became the first (and to date still the only) astronomical instrument sent to the surface of the Moon; more properly known as the Far Ultraviolet Camera/Spectrograph. The camera was brought along on the Apollo 16 mission in 1972, set up to observe the Earth's geocorona (outermost atmosphere) from a vantage point never before possible. A short time later a variation on this very same camera was brought aboard Skylab to photograph the near approach of Comet Kohoutek, the first instance of a comet being recorded in ultraviolet. A flight backup of the Apollo 16 instrument, along with the original mission film canister, stood for many years as part of the lunar lander exhibit at the National Air & Space Museum, until it was later transferred to a more protected exhibit to guard against corrosion.

Dr. Carruthers's success and notoriety from the Apollo mission led to his creation of the Science & Engineers Apprentice Program, offering disadvantaged high school students the opportunity to work with scientists at the Naval Research Laboratory. His research into ultraviolet spectroscopy continued --in 1991 one of his ultraviolet cameras was used in multiple experiments aboard the Space Shuttle Discovery (STS-39). He retired from the NRL in 2002 and in 2003, was inducted into the National Inventor Hall of Fame. In 2013 was awarded the National Medal for Technology and Innovation by President Barack Obama. Dr. Carruthers died on Christmas Day, 2020.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I never admitted to anybody during my entire military service that I had been an actor. I was terrified that I would be put in charge of Ensa [Entertainments' National Service Association]. Not even my closest friends knew I was an actor. I told them I was reading English at St Andrews University.

- Richard Todd

In his heyday in the 1950s and 1960s, Richard Todd was Britain’s leading matinee idol. If you love old movies, you’ll have seen Todd in one of his starring roles in “The Virgin Queen” opposite Bette Davis, “Stage Struck” with Marlene Dietrich, or “The Dam Busters” for which he won a Golden Globe Award. He was the tough little Scotsman in the wartime weepie “The Hasty Heart” and had audiences madly hunting for hankies.

Those were the days when Todd streaked across North American film screens as virtually every romantic hero from Rob Roy to Robin Hood. Ian Fleming chose him to play James Bond in “Dr. No” in 1962, but a schedule clash meant Sean Connery stepped into the role.

Little less known is the fact that he was also among the first British soldiers and the first Irishman to land in Normandy on D Day. More specifically, he participated in Operation Tonga during the D-Day landings in Normandy on 6 June 1944.

So it must have been surreal for Richard Todd the hearthrob actor to find himself playing Major John Howard in the epic movie ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) based on Cornelius Ryan’s book. Not least because he served with Howard and took part in the fighting at Pegasus Bridge that Major John Howard was tasked to secure on D Day.

Richard Todd was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1919. His father was a medic in the British Army and, as his posting required, the early years of his life were spent in India. The family settled in Devon upon their return to England, and Richard was educated at Shrewsbury Public School, in Shropshire. The theatre was his first love, and he furthered his dramatic skills at the Italia Conti school, thereafter moving to Scotland where he helped to form the Dundee Repertory Theatre. When War was declared, Todd went to St. Andrew's University on the following day to volunteer. He was not a member of the University, but he not only convinced the selection unit that he was, but also added that he had been reading English there for six months, and that he had obtained a Cert A in his school cadet corps; a key point to being accepted as an officer. Despite success in passing off this invented career, Todd was to be disappointed by a lack of interest in him thereafter.

Becoming increasingly desperate to get into the War before it ended, he sent numerous letters to the War Office to press his case, which, in June 1940, was finally noticed.

Accepted by the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, Todd went to Sandhurst to receive his officer training. He had a very lucky escape here when he was in a corridor on the second floor of a building when it was hit by a bomb, and he was blown into the garden outside by the blast. He got to his feet in the darkness and did not feel particularly affected by it, but an examination by torchlight revealed that his whole body was covered in blood from numerous small wounds.

A spell his hospital delayed his passing out from Sandhurst until early 1941. Celebrating in London, he narrowly avoided death again when he found his usual haunt, the Cafe de Paris, was too crowded to admit him and so he went elsewhere; it was hit by a bomb that same night and 84 people were killed.

His Battalion, the 2nd/4th Battalion The King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, was posted to XII Corps in defence of Kent, where a German invasion if it came would almost certainly land. Todd was given command of the infantry in the Dymchurch Redoubt, a fort of the Napoleonic era mounting two six-inch guns.

In the event of an invasion, this would certainly have been a primary target for the enemy, and those manning it were told that, with the main defensive line far to their rear, they would be left to fight to the end. General Montgomery commanded XII Corps at this time, and his characteristic emphasis on training and preparedness led to the formation of the first Battle Schools. Richard Todd attended one of these, and the experience allowed him to run his own School when, in December 1941, he was sent to Iceland with the 1st/4th King's Own Light Infantry to be trained in arctic and mountain warfare. Returning to England in September 1942, he eventually ended up in the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion of the 6th Airborne Division. He was among troops of the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion who, at 00:40 hours on 6 June 1944, landed behind the Normandy beaches in a cornfield, perilously close to tracer fire.

Todd scrambled into a wood and with 150 other paratroopers reached Pegasus and Ranville bridges, vital crossings to allow Allied forces to break out from the beachheads into Normandy. They had been seized by a glider force from the Ox and Bucks Light Infantry under the command of Major John Howard, who needed reinforcements to fend off ferocious German attacks.

In his memoirs, Caught in the Act, Todd would write of the carnage, “There was no cessation in the Germans' probing with patrols and counter-attacks, some led by tanks, and the regimental aid post was overrun in the early hours. The wounded being tended there were all killed where they lay. There was sporadic enemy mortar and artillery fire we could do nothing about. One shell landed in a hedge near me, killing a couple of our men.”

Todd would go on and see action at the Battle of the Bulge and push into the Rhine into Germany. After VE day, his division returned to the UK for a few weeks, then was sent on counter-insurgency operations in Palestine. During this posting he was seriously injured when his Jeep overturned, breaking both shoulders and receiving a concussion. He returned to the UK to be demobilised in 1946. 

In 1962, Todd was given the part of Major John Howard in the film adaptation of Cornelius Ryan's book about the D-Day landings, ‘The Longest Day’ (1962). Due to the nature of cinema, it was impossible for the film to give a thorough reflection of the role of the 6th Airborne Division during the Invasion, and as such their activities were solely represented by a reconstruction of the capture of Bénouville Bridge by Howard's coup-de-main force. Although briefly mentioned, the role of the 7th Battalion in the defence of the western bridgehead was largely ignored, and so it appeared as if the defence of the bridge rested only on Howard's men.

Naturally, the omission of their fierce defence of Bénouville caused some resentment amongst veterans, not least because one of their own was championing this re-working of history. Todd, however, regarded ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) as a film rather than a documentary, and his part in it was simply that of an actor doing as he was told.

Richard Todd would never have guessed, that in 17 years since he was on Pegasus Bridge as a paratrooper that he would standing there again as an actor portraying Major John Howard who was given the order: 'Hold,… until relieved'. It had to be Richard Todd’s 'twilight-zone' moment.

The ‘relieve’ for Howard had to come from Lord Lovat and his troops, who had landed on SWORD Beach, and were legging it towards Pegasus Bridge.

Before the shooting of the scenes were started at Pegasus Bridge, the film producer of The Longest Day, Darryl F. Zanuck, had the real life Lord Lovat and Major John Howard brought over to meet the men who were going to portray them (Peter Lawford portrayed Lord Lovat). The men had not seen each other since 6 June 1944.

Photo (above). From L-R: Peter Lawford, Lord Lovat, Richard Todd, Major John Howard.

[mogwai-movie-house]

The 10 Best Russian Films Of All Time

I'm amazed to discover that every one of my favourite Soviet-era Russian films is available to watch for free in HD on the Mosfilm YouTube channel, so I can make a list here from which you can actually watch all the films themselves. Oh the wonders of technology.

Expect some of the most stunning cinematography of all time, and a hefty dollop of propaganda, here and there.

01 - The Cranes Are Flying (1957) ★★★★★★★★½☆

02 - Ballad of a Soldier (1959) ★★★★★★★★½☆

03 - I Am Cuba (1964) ★★★★★★★★½☆

04 - Andrei Rublev (1966) ★★★★★★★★½☆

05 - The Destiny of a Man (1959) ★★★★★★★★☆☆

06 - Stalker (1979) ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

07 - The Ascent (1977) ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

08 - Letter Never Sent (1960) ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

09 - Solaris (1972) ★★★★★★★☆☆☆

10 - Ivan The Terrible (1944/1958) ★★★★★★½☆☆☆

Ivan Part 2 here

[stellacadente]

Неотправленное письмо | LETTER NEVER SENT (1960) dir. Mikhail Kalatozov

[she-is-ovarit]

Hey, I hope your day is going well. I just wanted to say that I really value your perspective on women-specific issues, especially as it relates to transgender people. I have begun doing my own digging/research into this growing trend and found it concerning and disturbing. I have spent the last chunk of time reading your long posts and opening up some JSTOR resources to read myself. I'd like to read more concrete, primary info about Hirschfeld and Gohr...whatever his last name was. Do you know where I could access that?

Also, if you have any other primary reading, I'd love to take a look at that.

Thank you!! ❤️ (I also sent this in a DM, but then noticed you may not see it)

Hi - my apologies for what was likely a long delay, I have been on hiatus from Tumblr.

To be honest, surfing through research databases is probably your best bet, using their names plus any keywords you're wondering about. There is also a book published that at the very least mentions a bit about Hirschfeld - I haven't read it. It's called "Racism and the making of gay rights".

Malcom Clark seems to have gone down a research path about Hirschfeld. Treat this more as an opinion piece and follow the links: https://malcolmrichardclark.substack.com/p/transing-theholocaust

Something in addition to these men that I have found - even Dr. Hamburger, the sexologist who transitioned the first U.S. man (Christine Jorgeson) and fanned the flames in popularizing transsexual surgeries after he published 400 letters to his medical community (likely without the consent of the patients) by homosexual people asking to transition (and do keep in mind the 1950s was a severely homophobic time period), was also very much a eugenicist. He was also another sexologist performing "sex changes" in Germany.

Chrstine Jorgeson was a homosexual man who disavowed homosexuality due to his patriotism.

"A dual concern to cure the deviant individual and to protect society was echoed in the paper (“Transvestism”) which Jorgensen’s Danish clinicians, Drs. Christian Hamburger, Georg Stürup and Dahl-Iversen, wrote for the Journal of the American Medical Association in 1953. Preben Hertoft and Thorkil Sorensen who have studied the medical files and interviewed psychiatrist Dr. Georg Stürup claim that “the original intention of the medical team was not to change a man into a woman, but to help a man who suffered from his homosexual impulses” (167). Hamburger and his colleagues revealed their anxiety about homosexuality when they commented: “At any rate, from a eugenic point of view it would do no harm if a number of sexually abnormal men were castrated and thus deprived of their sexual libido.”"

This source also explains how the culture changed for the patients seeking these transsexual surgeries, too. Originally the trans patients (overwhelmingly male) still considered themselves as gay men and wanted to be considered as gay men - just simulating the appearance of a woman. It was in the 1960s or so that conservative doctors began pushing that they were never the sex they were born as to begin with because they believed it was the only way that this subset of patients would be able to live "fulfilling heterosexual lives".

https://www.jstor.org/stable/43308827

[multi-lefaiye]

SALVATORE INKTOBER 8-9. OLD WORLD LEGACY

Clarence O'Malley (1903-1983) was a mountain of a man, the older brother to Leslie's mother Anna. Whereas Anna was never closely involved with the family business, Clarence was from a very young age. The Emerald Devils hit their peak during Prohibition, and this was when Clarence made his fortune smuggling whiskey around the United States. He very quickly rose through the ranks, soon becoming a key enforcer and overseeing many of the Devils' operations. Even when Prohibition came to an end, Clarence maintained his authority, ruling with an iron fist and a switchblade on him at all times. In the late 1920s, Clarence met his future wife, a spitfire of a woman named Daisy MacCarthy (1906-1980) who came from old money. Initially, Clarence pursued her for her family's money and influence, which she was fully aware of, but over time the two began to form a close bond. Within five years, they were engaged, and only a few months later, they were married. Their marriage was never particularly tumultuous, but they were rarely openly affectionate with each other. When Anna ran away to be with her little boyfriend, Westley, Clarence was disappointed. He and his sister had never been particularly close, but he missed her nonetheless, and he saw her choice a shortsighted cowardice. He had his men keep tabs on her, reporting back to Clarence regularly on Anna's whereabouts. If she ever noticed, she never said anything to him about it. Anna was stubborn, but so was Clarence, and so this continued for nearly 20 years. Then, in late 1959, Anna reached out to Clarence. She sent him a long, tearful letter, several pages long. In it, she lamented her decision to leave the family behind, begging Clarence to come see her. She couldn't take care of four children on her own, and she needed his help. Clarence, of course, accepted, happy his foolish little sister had finally come around. And so, in 1960, he paid Anna a visit for the first time in years.

aaaand another inktober!!! once again combining a couple prompts that work together thematically, as the two characters are directly linked. the original prompts are "lessons in masculinity" and "never fit for motherhood," and i combined them to be "old world legacy." basically referring to salvatore's mom's side of the family's *long* history with organized crime, haha!

i'll explain more about clarence and daisy in day 10's prompt, but for now, this is just some backstory about them. :D surely nothing will go wrong here. (something will go very wrong)

i did this in a pretty messy style just to get it done tbh... who needs neatness right now

art taglist: @skitzo-kero @anexor @chaieyestea @jezifster @transmasc-wizard @lychniscitrus @lower-ones-eyes @astral-runic @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @albatris @rosesandartss @invaderskoodge @lesbian-apple-yogurt @approximately20eggs @kingkendrick7 @presidentquinn

[david-goldrock]

Okay so this is a background post about Text encoding, ASCII and Unicode

Text encoding is the process of turning characters to numbers. text encoding allows one to save text as computer data, and to move this data around.

It was understood very early on, that if every user will define their own encoding, no interface could use the data of another because one interface's "a" would be another interface's "p", and so the text would be read as gibberish.

and so, a long time ago (in the 1960s), in a continent far, far away, a standard for text encoding was invented: the American Standard for Character Interface Interchange: ASCII.

ASCII used the fact that in english, almost no characters exist, and so only needed to use 128 characters: each character took 7 bits (1s and 0s), and was sent over a wire. (notice, not everything is a character, there are also character like "delete" and "go down a line" here. this is not for displaying, this is for every interfaces)

Something to remember for later: the number 0 is encoded as NULL, basically "nothing". This is useful because sometimes you want to enter text with an unspecified length, and so you stick a NULL in the end, and the interface reading it reads until it sees a NULL, and all is well. this will be important later

Standard explained, technical info for nerds, go to the next red section to pass

ASCII is a wonderful standard. remember: everything in electronics is easier with powers of 2 (1,2,4,8,16,32 etc.) because of the way we save data (if you want I can explain this further); the first 32 characters are the control characters. want to check if something isn't a control character? check if it's 128 or bigger than 32, and you're done (both powers of 2). the lowercase characters are 32 + their uppercase counterpart. all the numbers have a byte in common. truly, a marvel of engineering.

Standard explanation end

All was well until computers hit the scene not too long after, and used bytes. a byte is basically a whole number whose value can be only from 0-255. they are the standard building block of computer memory, and they have 8 bits.

some countries, like France, used encodings compatible with ASCII, and used the final bit to encode their language's characters. different countries used different versions of encodings, some countries (like Japan) had multiple encodings for the same characters. each encoding used a different number of bits, and different letters for each bit.

But that is fine since, well, how often do you need a computer in London to use an interface in Tokyo? all is well.

Then the World Wide Web happens, and suddenly computers speaking different languages read and write complete garbage everywhere.

So an organization called the Unicode Consortium tries to solve the problem, and to create a unified symbol for all languages. They called the standard utf-8

This standard supports 1,114,112 different characters. at present, only around 10% of this data capability is actually used. this includes dead languages, and emojis (which is a wonderful story)

Standard explained, technical info for nerds, go to the next red section to pass

Issues to tackle in a universal text encoding standard:

The protocol must be backwards compatible with ASCII: if you are writing text in English, which is the language most users used, because ASCII is the standard for this language, your new standard must be readable as ASCII as well

The protocol must never send 8 zeros in a row, except for the NULL character, otherwise old computers will stop reading in the middle

You must be able to minimize space wasted: to create a universal standard one can just make every character 32 bytes long and call it a day, but you would waste a bunch of space that way, and space is expensive

You must be able to pass from letter to letter easily. no saving the index of each character in some sort of list.

english characters are just ASCII. no thinking there. the first bit is set to 0 and so it is very easy to spot

if not, here's what you do:

the first byte has its first bit set to 1, so it's not ASCII. from that point onwards, you count the number of remaining ones until a zero appears. in this case, 1. this is how many more bytes will come. from there on, the rest is data. the first 2 bits of every next byte would start with 10 until the character ends

let's say your character is 2 bytes long, here is how you would represent it:

110somec , 10haract

and when removing the headers, you'll have

somecharact

which will be some character.

let's say your character is 3 bytes long, here is how you would represent it:

1110some , 10charac , 10ter___

and when removing the headers, you'll have

somecharacter___

which will be another character.

if you wanna go back 1 character? just go back bytes until you find one that starts with something other than 10

no excess Nulls will appear because the only way to get 8 zeros

Standard explanation end

[mercuryytheraven]

What is a movie you like that you feel is not super well known? What do you like about it?

There's an older like 1960s movie called the Russians are coming. It's a comedy but also emotional. I liked the comedy and the happy ending (and Alexei and Alison).

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer within a certain amount of time or at all.*

Not a movie nor obscure but I recently rewatched She Loves Me and you get to hear about it.

It’s a musical about two people who are sending anonymous love letters to one another but then they start working in the same parfumerie and they HATE EACH OTHER anyway it’s absolutely hilarious, the guy who plays Georg in the Broadway recording is so fucking funny, and I love my trope-y happy endings. I originally watched it in a theater class and we had an assignment where we had to write letters (romance oriented or otherwise) between two of the characters and I shipped the best character by far (Arpad) with an unnamed waiter who is only in one scene but is ICONICCC and iirc in my letters Arpad had to go to WW2 and it was hella dramatic and he DIED and never got to send his last letter back confessing his love. Anyway yes I got an A+ for writing gay fanfiction.

Also I just wanted to say I love all your different colored text. Here’s some for you :D