#one thing about me is i love when verbs like fucking are juxtaposed with the softness of emotionally driven intimacy

[dallonwrites]

16. 29. & 48. for the ship ask game!! 🙏🏿

16. Would they ever get matching tattoos? If yes, what would these look like?

Omggg I actually don't think they would seriously like I think if they actually did it would be an impulsive drunk decision in their shared ~reckless~ era with not much thought put into it 😭 they'd wake up together and realise they both have some shit like just MADONNA <3 tattooed on their wrists

29. Describe their nighttime routine.

Okayy one thing I am excited for with RR book 3 that I haven't fully figured out yet is that Beau and Felix live together then and! The potentials for domestic night routines!! I don't know what it looks like but I feel like it's quiet. I need to know their dish cleaning routine and what shows they're watching. But in lieu of a specific answer for that here's Beau wandering about routine in a Lover Boy flashback of the first night they spent together (cw for sex but I don't think it's NSFW just ~sensual):

Felix fell asleep first, and Beau knew he wouldn’t sleep much, the room still unfamiliar even in its welcoming, but he found himself content to lay there like this, cuddled against the coolness, his fingers curled into Felix’s hair. He found it easy to lay there, familiarise himself with the rhythm of it, and wonder if this was all going to be a routine, going home together. Going out together knowing they would then go home. The wine and the new records, soft arguments over which song was better, Felix’s animated excitement over a bridge, an arrangement of synth. Making each other laugh in that sharp way, where you’ll never remember what it was all about but just the laughter, collapsing into one another. The kissing, all the kissing, across their hushed bodies, finding new ways to press together, the quiet fucking amongst the ambience of this carbonated city, where they can hear the outside but the outside can’t hear them, can’t hear Felix’s breath hot and urgent at his ear, whispering God, you’re everything, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. He’d kept his window open, cool air gauzed around them, because he must have known, how Beau falls asleep better with the window open, and he must have remembered being told that, found it important, even though Beau does not remember admitting it.  

48. Do they talk about their future together? Why or why not?

In RR it is a very important point that they do NOT talk about it, not intentionally avoiding it but like, in RR their relationship is a lot more intense and obsessive and very present driven, especially because they're also leaning on each other as a means to try and avoid all the things happening around them + in the future that they can't control. Meanwhile in Lover Boy all the things they were scared of happening back then have already happened and being on the other side of all that + knowing how they behaved before has them. a bit more considerate of these things! So there's probably going to be a lot of dialogue just talking about future possibilities and I think it'll contrast RR in that they actually find it comforting/grounding to do so

ship ask game

[nosunsetsjustsilence]

The Manics and Gender Identity, Part 1

There is a lot to unpack in Nicky and Richey’s early lyrics pertaining to gender, particularly in terms of identifying with women. Richey approaches the subject — as he is wont to do — with regard to the exploitation and degradation of the female image, while Nicky’s attitude is more inquisitive and casual. Both use lyrics to express their own personal “What if?”

Make no mistake: I’m not claiming that either Nicky or Richey is/was non-cis or trans or anything other than curious. But it’s clear from their personal lyric struggles and hard-won lifestyle choices that this was a different time they were living in. In the 1990s, gender identity was not a topic with any kind of mainstream recognition, at least beyond those who wanted a “sex change” or girls who were considered “one of the boys”. I think it’s fascinating, at least from my perspective, to go back and examine the themes of gender dysphoria, identity, and frustration in lyrics written before any of it was part of popular conversation, and in a way that emphasized the then absolute cultural disconnect between desire and society.

Also, it’s important to note that both Nicky and Richey have presented gender in ways that don’t have anything to do with lyrics. Nicky is comfortable in traditionally female clothing and wears dresses on and off stage; both band members wore makeup and feathers on a regular basis. I’ve tried to write about gender in terms of lyrics only, but at times I do take examples from visual media.

Finally, keep in mind that yours truly is non-binary, and the discussion will hopefully not reek of a cis person watching queer men from behind bars in a zoo.

Special thanks to @sinisterrouge for vetting this before I posted <3

Little Baby Nothing

Although Richey seemed to find comfort in claiming that his lyrics were about the larger world — in the case of Little Baby Nothing, feminism and the way women are perceived in media — a closer look usually reveals a personal stake. When I discussed the meaning of this song previously, I emphasized that the “Little baby nothing” in question is clearly Richey himself, writing in the first person and deconstructing his own image to align with a kind of mindless female groupie used for sex.

My mind is dead, everybody loves me Wants a slice of me Hopelessly passive and compatible Need to belong, oh the roads are scary Hold me in your arms I wanna be your only possession

Richey often refers to himself as a “slut” and a “prostitute” and uses self-referential porn star imagery in his lyrics (So Dead: ��You need a fix I’m your prostitute”, Yes: “there’s no lust in this coma even for a fifty”), aligning the industries of pornography and music performance in very vivid ways most often pertaining to exploitation. Appropriately, singing pivotal stanzas on this track is none other than Traci Lords, arguably most famous (especially in the early 90s) for an underage porn scandal.  

What’s more, in the lyrics booklet for Generation Terrorists, there is a quotation or excerpt included for each song. The following corresponds to Little Baby Nothing:

“The male chromosome is an incomplete female chromosome. In other words the male is a walking abortion; aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.” -Valerie Solanos.

Ninety percent of what the Manics said and did in their early years was intended to be shocking and/or ironic. Of course they were trying to incite anger and riots, the questioning of institutions, and a teardown of normalcy. But the fact that Richey later used part of this radical statement as the title to one of his songs (“Of Walking Abortion”, natch) proves that he took it somewhat seriously, even if only in the most simple sense — that part of him resented his own maleness.

Life Becoming a Landslide

This is another song I’ve previously discussed, mostly in the arena of Nicky and Richey individualizing their distinctive voices into lines that can clearly be attributed to one or the other. In a song about nature vs nurture and the plastic confines of greater humanity cracking down on who or what someone is really supposed to be, we have:

Life becoming a landslide Ice freezing nature dead Life becoming a landslide I don’t wanna be a man

As far as writing style goes, Nicky was always fairly straightforward. Richey loves to convolute his message with proper nouns and alternating verb cases and a lack of a subject just to throw  people off, but here’s Nicky, my boy, just saying, “Dude. Being a man sucks. I don’t like this.”

He could mean that being human in general sucks. But, since his attitude towards women leads me to believe he would not abbreviate humanity in this way, and given his and Richey’s track record with gender and Nicky’s well-documented gender presentation, I think it’s clear the lyric means that he doesn’t want to be male. Because he feels it doesn’t suit him, for whatever reason. And that nature failed by making him a man instead of a woman.

Yes

‘Yes’ is an incredible song. Its major-chord melody juxtaposed against Richey’s raw portrait of degradation is truly a thing to behold. The theme? Being used, prostitution both literal and metaphorical (“For sale? dumb cunt’s same dumb questions”), exploitation in the name of capitalism (“In these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything”), and reaching the lowest possible point of existence (“Purgatory’s circle, drowning here, someone will always say yes”). But the chorus — the chorus boasts one of the rawest images of sexual violence the band has ever used:

He’s a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want

Wow. Okay. Where to begin? The implication here is that gender, along with everything else, is mutable if you have enough money and power to abuse people. However, it appears the change would be made not to entertain others, but to appeal to a specific person, sexually (“fuck him”). The “you” in question is clearly attracted to women, so the narrator offering to mutilate himself to please them can be seen as a last-ditch act of desperation. (“It feels like this massive defeat,” said a friend. “You can make him a woman to pleasure someone, but what’s left to change after that?”)

Richey wrote most of the song; “Rita”, obviously, is the name used for an alternative female identity. But who would Rita be? Richey seems to be wondering. Would she still be me? And would the change even be worth the affections of whomever he’s speaking to? If the means are so drastic (and difficult to picture without experiencing secondhand pain), that answer would usually be “no”. But the song is called “Yes”. I would say yes to anything at this point, Richey is saying, even the most extreme sexual violence imaginable, if that’s what you wanted.

4st 7lb

This is an extreme example of Richey using world issues to examine his own nature. Although anorexic himself, Richey writes “4st 7lb” from the point of view of an obsessive young girl admiring thin models. There could be multiple reasons for this, not the least of which is that when a person fails to fit the “classic” case of an eating disorder, they are often ignored. So, Richey says, you need me to be a teenage girl? I can do that. 

(Note that in 1994, when this song was written, any eating disorder demographic outside the “white girl who loves fashion too much” model did not exist by medical standards and was usually subject to ridicule.)

Karen says I’ve reached my target weight Kate and Emma and Kristin know it’s fake Problem is diet’s not a big enough word I wanna be so skinny that I rot from view

Embodying the anorexic female stereotype allows Richey to criticize both the world and himself; by creating a parody of a young girl with an eating disorder, he creates commentary on how ridiculous and counter-intuitive her thought process actually is. The song is brutal and often focuses on nudity and sexual imagery, as it has been suggested in studies that eating disorders occur in those who are trying to annihilate their own puberty. Though Richey was well into his 20s when he wrote this, he often expressed a loathing of aging and the entire concept of adulthood.

Stomach collapsed at five Lift up my skirt my sex is gone Naked and lovely and 5 stone 2 May I bud and never flower My vision’s getting blurred But I can see my ribs and I feel fine My hands are trembling stalks And I can feel my breasts are sinking

Ultimately, “4st 7lb” hits hard as both an experiment in identity and a vicious satire of the rich white girl eating disorder cliché. Although the lyrics do not express a desire to become female, they do indicate that Richey feels everything might be easier and fit more neatly into a box if he were a girl.

[Coming in Part 2: The Girl Who Wanted to be God, Tsunami, Born a Girl, and Pretention/Repulsion.]

[vinylandcoffeecollection]

Notes On a Conditional Form- The 1975

(This is my review of Notes, which, obviously, I adore)

People tend to have a fixed idea of what the 1975 are, love or hate them. To some, they’re a plastic pop band who write (great) 80s-influenced songs like “The Sound”. To others, they’re the millennial Radiohead or U2 (pick your comparison depending on how much warmth you feel towards Matty Healy), obsessed with chronicling and holding forth on the State of the Nation, embodied by perhaps their best and most critically lauded song “Love It If We Made It”. The mixed reviews of their fourth album probably stem from the disappointment of both camps above: for the first group, superstar single “If You’re Too Shy (let me know)” is evidence that the band could continue to be great if only they mined this genre more. The second camp desperately searched for proof that Notes... has Something to Say, didn’t really find it, then concluded that it’s a weak or inferior album. In reality, though, 1975 are neither of the ostensibly polar identities above. As they are fond of saying, they create as they consume, and they consume a vast landscape of music constantly: it’s their life’s passion and one that has been apparent since their earliest EPs. Even though their last two albums appear on the surface to be perfect examples of the plastic pop (ILIWYS) and political polemic (ABIIOR), in reality each blends both and throws in some ambient instrumentals and other left field moments for good measure. No one who has heard Matty Healy and George Daniel talk about their creative influences and processes could ever confuse them with any other conveyor belt pop band or be in any doubt about their commitment to their art.

Following up 2018’s critically lauded A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships was always going to be a tall order but the 1975 can always be relied on to do the unexpected. This is a band who by the point of becoming massive had given up on ever actually becoming massive, so made a first album full of songs that they loved, that they now admit they might never have made if they had had any idea that global stardom was beckoning, because it’s just a bit weird. They apply the same kind of logic to Notes...: on the back of huge critical acclaim from A Brief Inquiry...they went inwards and simply made the kinds of music they loved consuming and playing, heedless of expectations. Notes.... has long been spoken of by the band as a metaphorical notebook, a looking back to their roots, collected and recorded around the world on their global tour last year. Originally due in May, then August 2019, then February, then April 2020, it’s been a beneficiary rather than a victim of unimaginable global circumstances, more relevant and strangely prescient than ever now. It turns out it does have something to say, but in lowercase rather than capital letters, and it’s a better album for it. Any capital-lettered statement, after all, could only have appeared completely outdated and irrelevant in the midst of a global pandemic.

Conditional verbs are “if” verbs, used to imagine events in certain conditions, and this is what Notes... is: a collection of songs posing questions and examining sets of circumstances and relationships that make us who we are, for better or worse. It’s an ending to these four albums of sorts (“I just wanted a happy ending,” Matty pleads in “If You’re Too Shy,”) but also an exploration of the impossibility of tidy, definitive endings. The final track of A Brief Inquiry... , the vital and unexpectedly uplifting “I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)”, began with the line “I bet you thought your life would change but you’re sat on a train again.” That’s where we are on Notes and why its third track, not the final track, is called “The End”, to underline the point. This instrumental re-works the instrumental track “HNSCC” from the band’s 2013 EP Music for Cars, making it more orchestral. It’s a lovely way to develop this theme: that everything that happens to us is conditional to other events in the past, present or future. It also explores the idea that concepts of linear growth as people are artificial. Notes... embraces the lack of any kind of coherent narrative in life that we can tie our experiences together neatly with, the struggle to know and accept yourself, to be that person that you present to the outside world.

Anais Nin wrote: we do not see things as they are; we see them as we are. A Brief Inquiry.... is a great album but it also captured a moment in time both culturally and for the band, particularly Matty Healy personally. Having derided him for years, there seemed to be a huge will amongst the press to make this album succeed because of everything he had been through with addiction and rehab between 2013-2017. That was the narrative- he’d fucked up, now he was clean, gleaming and healthy in tasteful fitted jumpers and suits, with the haircut of a Mature Man, and they’d made a Political and Important album. The band were apparently finally deserving of the acclaim afforded to serious artists. But there were notes of caution: an interview Matty did where he spoke of being wary of being a poster boy for sobriety because he hadn’t been sober for long enough. I remember worrying about him when listening to all of this- what if he couldn’t hold it together? What then for him and the position in culture that he and the band were now occupying? It was almost a relief when he confessed in a 2019 interview to briefly relapsing: it was honest and it was real.

Notes sees Matty embracing the honest and the real like never before, and it’s apt that the album moves through the idea of Endings to “Frail State... “ “Streaming” and “The Birthday Party”, a hauntingly beautiful song about sobriety, questions of shifting identity, growth and relationships (“We can still be mates because it’s only a picture,” is the narrator’s rejoinder to a friend taking the piss out of him for buying an expensive artwork that the friend can’t relate to). It’s a song that narrates a tale, in the tradition of A Change of Heart, Milk or Paris, that is both humorous and devastating, particularly in its last line: “I depend on my friends to stay clean. As sad as it seems.” Maybe you do need to be knowledgeable about the band’s personal circumstances to understand that “The Birthday Party” isn’t just a dull and over-long tale about being bored at a party, as Rolling Stone appears to have taken it, but to paraphrase “Frail State of Mind”, it seems unlikely. In any case, Notes.... is a deeply honest album, one that paints Matty Healy in as unvarnished a form as he has ever appeared, talking candidly and literally about piss, shit and erections. As he has said, it’s an album without ego.

Appropriately for an album looking back, making notes on all those “if...then”s, Notes... is more eclectic than ever before, a distillation, as the band say, of their previous sounds as well as the music that has inspired their own creativity over the past nearly two decades. The reaction of the album’s detractors to this has been to see it as a jumbled mess of Too Much-ness, which is to completely miss the point. Notes... is deliberately and thoughtfully structured, each track including threads and connections to other songs and iconography of the band’s world, an intertextuality that is sometimes darkly humorous, sometimes poignant and very much underlining that theme of honesty. “I never fucked in a car, I was lying,” opens “Nothing Revealed/Everything Denied”, Healy lacerating his ego by referencing Love It If We Made It’s memorable opening line as well as their early song “Sex”, and later “you can’t figure out a heart. You were lying,” undercutting the swagger of 2013’s 80s-maximalist “Heart Out”. More poignantly on “Roadkill”, again recalling the lie of linear growth and maturity, he sings “if you never eat you’ll never grow. Should have learned that quite a while ago,” looking back to one of the band’s most loved and most “apocalyptic adolescent” songs, as they term it, from their debut album, “Robbers”. The intertextuality is there in the music too, from the re-working of instrumental track “HNSCC” in “The End” (a connection missed, unforgivably, by seemingly every critic) to the inclusion of original demo of standout track from A Brief Inquiry... “It’s Not Living (If it’s not with you)” at the start of the surreally titled “Shiny Collarbone”. This is the largely instrumental EDM track sampling Cutty Ranks that for a number of critics seems to represent the fact that the band have lost their way and just started putting out random filler. They haven’t on either count, and the sample is a lovely reminder that even when farming seemingly the furthest reaches of the 1975’s discovered land, the music is always quintessentially theirs.

Perhaps the farming metaphor isn’t the most appropriate though. The band have spoken before about the choice that they have as artists to be “cowboys or farmers”, to keep re-working old ground or move forward and discover new places. To the charge that the songs here are just not as good as their earlier albums, well that depends on your perspective. Even the poor reviews aren’t quibbling with the strength of “If You’re Too Shy...” but truly that’s not the best songwriting on display here. The 1975 can write songs like “Too Shy” while knocking about having a laugh, stoned out of their heads. As they say themselves, it’s not a stretch. They’d rather push themselves, which they do. Regardless of genre, though, any band will stand or fall on whether they can write a catchy tune or not. The 1975 have always been able to write a catchy tune and it says something that over 22 tracks, each one has that catchiness and each one is distinctly itself. “Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy)” begins with a pitched up sample of “Just my Imagination” by the Temptations, it’s a love song in the 1975 tradition: bouncy and irresistible major key melody juxtaposed with an emotional sucker punch: “She said they should take this pain and give it a name.” They cleverly subvert the genre, pairing the beauty of the melody with the brutally honest: “Tonight, I think I fucked it royally.” It’s one of the best songs on display here and another perfect example of how the 1975 can take that most over-done of genres, and make it completely their own.

Because of the evolution of the album, seven songs, not including “The 1975” with Greta Thunberg, were already well known before its release. “People”, the first of these after Greta, is fantastic pop punk, a track that has lost none of its impact in the 9 months since its original release. “Nothing Revealed/Everything Denied”, the self-referential track referred to above, is a catchy treatise on the search for meaning in our lives, fusing a soaring choir-sung chorus with Matty’s witty rapping. A trio of tracks explore what some critics have labelled “emo garage”: a thread that begins with the pulsing and affecting “Frail State of Mind” (“Go outside? Seems unlikely,” and is followed through with the standout “I Think There’s Something You Should Know”, surely a future single that would be perfectly at home on Radio 1, and “What Should I Say?” In the instrumental vein, the George Daniel-created masterpiece “Having No Head” transports the listener to another sonic world. There are several throw-backs to the band’s previous emo-indie incarnation Drive Like I Do with “Then Because She Goes” and “Me and You Together Song”. And then there’s a couple of gorgeous ballads: the profound “Jesus Christ 2005...” and the love letter to the band “Guys”. In a way this closing track is almost a microcosm of the band: love them and this is a beautifully turned love letter to friendship and loyalty in the face of life’s challenges. Hate them and it’s a cringeworthy, naive irritation.

Of course, there is no happy ending or neat bow tied round Notes.... at the conclusion of its 22 tracks. We leave Matty still struggling with himself, life and his conflicted desires but with two tracks- the gentle “Don’t Worry”, a Tim Healy- penned song that is performed as a father/son duet, and “Guys”- we are reminded that it’s our relationships that will help us through, the connections we build. We are all conditional forms in this sense.

The vinyl of Notes... is poignantly inscribed with the words 'If this is to be read in the future, please know that this was us trying'. It would be very easy at this stage in their career for the 1975 to put out albums filled with variations on “Chocolate” or “The Sound”, and it might make some fans and critics happy, but they don’t want to. They are triers. Perhaps it’s this very workaholism, their obsession with pushing boundaries and experimentation, speaking up and refusing to stay in their lane that so riles up those ready to sharpen their critical knives. They are those too clever and too keen kids at the front of the class, annoying the fuck out of those who can’t be bothered or just can’t compete. Having spent last year taking political stands on issues ranging from misogyny in music to abortion laws in the US to the treatment of the LGBTQ& community in the UAE and doing their bit for the environment by commanding fans to be quiet and listen to a Greta Thunberg monologue for five minutes at their live shows, selling recycled merchandise and planting trees for every ticket sold, they are still unable to rest in the midst of a global pandemic, engaging with fans through Twitter listening parties and an interactive website called Mindshower where fans can create their own music and artwork and reflecting on what live music might look like in the future when we can finally get out there again. It all sounds a bit like Radiohead in the 2000s, except Radiohead never made an album as sonically beautiful or coherent as Notes... either immediately post-OK Computer or in the 19 years since. The 1975 are many things but they’ll never allow themselves to become stale or apathetic or lazy and for that at least they should be recognised: they simply care too much. And as for that vinyl inscription, in the future they won’t just be remembered for trying but for achieving what most bands never do even in a lifetime of striving.

[purple-spring]

the vocabulary of us

Summary: Sometimes, words won't suffice to describe a love like theirs. Unless, of course, they're in alphabetical order. (Part 1 of 2)

Author’s Note: This is my tribute to the amazing David Leviathan, and his incredible book The Lovers’ Dictionary. The dictionary format that this fic has taken is not mine, and I use it here in homage to Leviathan.

Furthermore, this is a work of fiction. While it is based on a number of real-life events (filming of Riverdale 1.06, the Antelope Valley shoot, Comic-Con, the SH Hawaii trip, among many others), it is purely speculative, and was not intended to upset or offend.

Thank you to @jandjsalmon and @theatreofexpression for your incredible beta work, and to @stark, @gingerheel, @a92vm and @amab1060 for reading over this at different points and your valuable input.

Read under the cut, or on Ao3. 

aperture (noun)

I wanted to capture you on film the moment I first met you.

The lighting, at least from a photographer’s perspective, wasn’t ideal; you were lit by nothing more than the fluorescent gleam of the lights overhead. There was no natural sunlight in that audition room - just an artificial pallor that made all of us look greyish and pale.

Not you, though.

That day, you were radiance and lustre and fire. Beyond the sudden certainty in my gut that I wanted to look at you for an unusually long period of time, there was something about you that day that drew me in. I averted my gaze - I didn’t want to come off as a creep - but every nerve in my body insisted on the contrary. I ignored them. Reluctantly.

What was it, though, that pulled me under? Perhaps it was your steely conviction, or your absolute, unflinching belief in yourself, both so evident in the way that you kept your head down, your eyes fixed on your script. Whatever it was, it was palpable - glaringly apparent to anyone who saw you (ask Cami. She was there. She knew it, too).

I didn’t photograph you that day. But maybe it’s for the best.

There are some things that are better captured by the unfiltered, evanescent lens of memory.

…

banter (noun)

Should I have been surprised at the rapid accumulation of teasing remarks between us? My underlying, deliberate flirtation and your coy return?

One time, I threw out a joke - a half-insult, really - that would’ve thwarted a lesser being. To see if you would take it. To see how far I could push you.

I wasn’t prepared. You smiled, drew yourself up like a pistol, then roasted me so magnificently that my friends gasped, and couldn’t stop laughing for ages.

I fell so fucking hard for you that night.

…

confirm (verb)

When I sensed the turning of the tide, I FaceTimed Dylan. He was puttering around his apartment, occasionally turning towards his phone, which was propped up on the kitchen benchtop. I asked him when he’d be back in LA.

“Two weeks, if the meeting with the William Vale contractors goes well, otherwise I’ll have to stick around here and push the trip back,” he said. “Why?���

“I want you to meet her.” I cleared my throat. “Lili, I mean.”

At the mention of your name - a name he had heard many a time over the last few months - he turned right around. I stared back at him, hoping that the implication was obvious enough that I didn’t need to elucidate why I wanted him to meet you . My once-mirror image, his hair golden as mine used to be, fixed his eyes on me and nodded sagely.

“Alright.”

That day on the beach, you couldn’t have been more perfect if you tried. You cooed over photos of Magnus. You asked him about the brewery. Your interest didn’t even waver as he segued into an impromptu lecture on how to use squash blossoms to infuse mead. You both discovered an affinity for laughing at my expense, which I didn’t mind (at least not from you; he just likes being a dick).

When you left, he and I hung back at the beach in companionable silence, staring at the horizon while finishing off our beers. He spoke up first.

“So… did you need, I don’t know, my blessing or something?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to know what you thought of her.”

“You want my honest opinion?”

I sat up. “Yeah. I do.”

He polished off the rest of his drink, then looked at me, his face absolutely deadpan. “Cole, I’m sorry. She’s way too good for you.”

I laughed my head off. “Fuck off, dude.”

“Love you, too, baby bro.”

...

draft (noun)

In my mind, I wrote and rewrote what I was going to say to you. It needed to be heartfelt, but not too sentimental. Articulate, but not overly verbose (as I often tend to be).

It haunted me, the thought of this hypothetical speech.

...

envelope (verb)

It would all prove futile.

I wanted to enrapture you with my words.

Instead, I wrapped you up in my arms.

…

found (verb)

Had I been lost before that moment? Because as I slipped in behind your sleeping form and you tensed for a brief, fearful moment before melting achingly into mine, I felt as though I existed only in the places where our bodies touched, and all the rest of me was smoke.

We fell asleep together on the couch. Actually, that’s a lie - you fell asleep while I grinned stupidly at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. I felt like I was discovering someone new that night. Not you: I was already learning you like most things I’ve learned in my life - passionately, persistently, obsessively.

I was discovering myself. Like a man seeing his reflection in the mirror after months in the wilderness, I was startled by the person I’d become.

He was happy. At peace. And he was falling in love.

...

green (noun)

When I was in college, I took a class on art theory and criticism at Gallatin, where we did a whole two weeks on colour symbolism. Red is passion, anger, lust, love. White is purity, innocence, perfection. Etc, etc. You get the point.

Now, as for green.

“The etymology of green is simple,” my professor - the artist Meleto Mokosi - said as he paced around the lecture room stage. “It comes from the Old English word grene, which has the same root as the words grass, and more significantly, grow. This explains many of our symbolic associations with the colour: nature, energy, freshness and growth.”

He clicked on his laptop and an image of an Egyptian painting filled the large screen behind him. “The Ancient Egyptians, however, were onto this long before Old English even existed as a language. To them, green symbolised more than growth. Its hues painted the face of one of their chief gods, Osiris, the god of the underworld. It represented vigour and health, but more importantly, it represented regeneration. Rebirth.”

How apt. That the fervent green of your eyes was all I saw before I leaned in to close the distance between our lips for the very first time.

I was reborn in that kiss.

…

historical (adjective)

It didn’t occur to either of us to mark the date. We only realised this months later. You were frantic. We need a date, Cole. And I understood that - the need to commemorate, to pay tribute.

But history is more than a timeline, is it not? And it’s more than just facts and people and places. It’s about feel. It’s about zeitgeist. It’s about what the senses recall.

I don’t need a date to remind me of the scent of your skin, the soft pillow of your mouth, the gentle pull of your teeth on my bottom lip, your hands on my chest, your wrists still caught in my grip.

The memory of you transcends chronology.

…

inarticulate (adjective)

Sometimes it’s a look - an upward, innocent glance or a slight, playful glint in your eyes. Other times, it’s the maddening curve of your waist, or the shape you take as you turn off the light and move slowly towards the edge of my bed, your smile palpable even in the hushed darkness.

It’s in those times when you render me - yes, even me - speechless.

...

juxtaposed (verb)

We were driving somewhere. I had one hand on the steering wheel, another on your knee.

“So you went to school to escape acting, and I escaped from school into acting.” Your eyes sparkled as you drew that contrast between us.

I turned to smile at that. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“We were going in two completely opposite directions, essentially.”

“Yep.”

Silence. Then: “Huh.” You let out a rush of breath. “That’s crazy.”

I stole a quick glance at you. “What is?

“Just… that somehow, in the briefest window of time, we met in the middle.”

...

keepsake (noun)

You thought you’d lost it - your white shirt, from the first night you stayed over.

I kept it for a while. I wanted to preserve the memory of its removal.

…

ladder (noun)

A kiss triggered it - the deluge of questions that we had managed to ward off in the haze of each other.

Our first onscreen kiss as Betty and Jughead was supposed to be simple and straightforward. We’d both made light of it in the lead-up to filming. After all, we’d kissed plenty by that point. What’s another one, right?

But on the day, I stood at the bottom of that ladder while Steven, our director, talked me through what he wanted. Slowly, it was becoming anything but straightforward.

“Jughead’s putting himself in a vulnerable place,” he said. “Yes, he summons up the courage to kiss this girl he’s been rapidly developing feelings for, but down here, your character’s still in a place of nervousness and anxiety because he has no idea how the hell this is gonna turn out. It’s a big move for him. The ladder has nine steps on it, but really, the emotional equivalent of what he’s going through spans the distance of a thousand miles.”

I nodded in agreement. The wheels in my head were already turning, anticipating his direction.

“It’s a pivotal scene, and Jughead is driving it. He’s acting out of his own agency, exercising initiative over one of the only areas in his life in which he can have power - his feelings. So I guess what I need from you as an actor is to access that same vulnerability. To tap into your own emotional memory. Is there a place in your life where that vulnerability exists? I want you to go there. Safely, of course.”

So I did. There were plenty of moments in my life in which I’d felt vulnerable, but none of them felt particularly safe to delve into unless I had some sort of epic therapeutic debrief afterwards.

Then I thought of you, and how you made me feel reckless and exposed and exuberant all at the same time. And then it hit me.

I was about to kiss this girl that I was falling in love with in front of a crew of twenty people.

My head started reeling.

Does this scare her as much as it scares me - all the noise that surrounds us?

What if the noise overtakes us?

What if it becomes too much?

What if we crumble under the pressure?

If I wasn’t feeling exposed before, I sure as fuck was feeling it now.

Suddenly the nine rungs leading up to Betty’s room stretched out to infinity, and the journey there felt like a quantum leap.

...

metaphor (noun)

I kind of botched the kiss. You thought I’d forgotten my cue, saying your line (“What?”) twice - the second time, more forcefully - because I probably looked as lost and worried as I felt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Britta flipping through the script, unsure of what to do or whether it was supposed to play out the way that it did.

But your lips were my ballast in the storm, and as I went in for that kiss, I felt the chaos in my mind subsiding, my vision narrowing to only you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that we were surrounded by twenty people, with three cameras pointed in our direction, because the only thing that carried weight in that moment was me and you.

I always think of our process for filming that scene as a metaphor for us. Or at least for how I feel about you. We’re constantly surrounded by so much noise, but you are my touchstone for clarity.

In the contented silences of our drives home, I remember this: that you are the quiet in the clamour, the stillness that steadies me.

…

north (noun)

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

You gave me a lazy smile from where you were lying down, near the foot of your bed. “I’d be right here. With you.”

I rolled my eyes and chortled at that. “Obviously. Besides here.”

You sat up, the sheets bunched around your body. With your hair all messed up and the sunlight hitting you just right, you looked ethereal. “Wait, don’t answer just yet,” I said, grabbing my camera off the nightstand. “Hold that pose for me.”

You kept your eyes forward, away from the lens, already accustomed to the way I worked. “Honestly, how many photos have you taken of me, Cole?”

I snapped a couple. “Not enough.” I put the camera down and crawled over to you. “Okay. Back to the question.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your lower lip. “I’d have to say… Antelope Valley. I’ve never been.”

I scoffed. “Really? That’s like an hour from here, Lils. You could’ve picked, I don’t know, Hawaii or something.”

“Well, Hawaii is such a dream. That’s on my ‘someday’ list.” (I took note of that.) But I like my fantasies accessible.” I smiled and opened my mouth to make a crack about accessible fantasies, but you clamped it shut with your hand. “And please, have a little self-respect, Cole: the joke’s too easy. Don’t even bother going there.”

(Have I ever told you that I love it when you call me out on my shit?)

“Alright then,” I said, taking your hand and kissing your open palm. “Why Antelope Valley? Why would you want to go there?”

“You’ll laugh.”

I shrugged. “Try me.”

“Alright. It’s a little self-indulgent, but… you know the poppy fields up there?” I nodded. “I want to go there, dress up like a fairy princess, and walk amongst the flowers and have my photo taken.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Your face scrunched up in embarrassment. “Is that... lame? That’s lame, right? Like, total Manic Pixie Dream Girl bullshit.”

“No, it’s actually…” The first word that came to mind was ‘adorable’. Which was woefully inadequate. I felt as though I had to resort to some insanely specific German word, one that meant “an overwhelming desire to fulfill the dreams of a lover, fuelled by intense feelings of warmth and affection.”

Because even then, mere months into our story, I knew that I wanted to indulge every whim and wish of yours. That I would do anything in my power to make you happy.

“You there?” You waved your hand in front of my face.

I turned to you. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“What?”

“It’s about an hour’s drive up north from here, and you’ll probably have to change there, but I guess you can always—”

You launched into me so quickly that our teeth knocked together, and I’m pretty sure I bit you by accident.

We laughed about it afterwards. Right before you went on to research every fast food outlet and candy store on the route to the valley. Right before I promised myself that I would do this more often - take adventures with you.

…

obsess (verb)

I traced the soft muscles on your back with my hand, the black dress you wore on the day accentuating it perfectly. Unfairly.

“Get in the car,” I whispered.

In the backseat, I followed that same path with my lips - the one my fingers had made - inhaling the scent of the valley and of your skin.

Creating an addiction from which I could never recover.

…

proprietorial (adjective)  

There are unspoken protocols in archaeology about what to do once you’ve found something incredibly valuable. The first priority is obviously protection, and archaeologists take this seriously; some use code words when talking about the found artifact (like “buttons” for gold, or “lemons” for silver) to avoid the constant threat of public theft, while others employ guards around the clock to preserve the excavation site. The more valuable the artifact, the more serious and intensive the protection.

It might be the archaeologist lying dormant in me, but I guarded the secret of us with a fierce protectiveness. Like a treasure goblin clutching its horde, I held on to the intimate knowledge of our relationship, reluctant to impart it to anyone else beyond my family and closest friends.

Because unlike so much of my life that is co-owned by my brother, or has been co-opted by the public, this thing that we had was wholly and completely mine. Or rather, ours. And I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

There’s something sexy in that. In the secrecy. In what is hidden.

In looking at you from across the room, and knowing that no matter how beautiful you looked in that moment, you were still more transcendent in my arms that morning.

…

quell (verb)

“Tsk, tsk. Be careful, dude.” Mad appeared at my side, a cocktail in her hand. The Comic-Con shindig was our last media obligation for the weekend, and it was pleasing to see her there - one of mine and Debby’s friends from LA, and now one of yours, too.

I gave her a look. “‘Careful’? Of what?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Seriously? You have no idea what you look like right now?”

“Well, I am wearing a nifty red suit--”

“I think technically, that colour’s called oxblood.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to red.” Mad rolled her eyes at me. “Besides my nifty RED suit, I haven’t the faintest idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

She leaned in. “Look I’ve known about it for ages now, so I’m not particularly surprised, but when you’re making those desperate bedroom eyes at Lili...” I scoffed dismissively. She ignored me and went on. “When you’re doing that, you’re pretty much broadcasting your relationship to the whole room. Actually, scratch that - to this whole fucking town. ”

I wanted to brush that off, but she may have had a point.

Comic-Con had been fun, but difficult. Both of us knew that we were under scrutiny, and had zero interest in responding to any rumour or speculation that had nothing to do with the show itself.

Even then, with that in the back of our minds, we just barely managed to suppress ourselves from enacting the normalcy of our relationship. Every time I was in your vicinity, I had to pull myself together, because after months of retaining the memory of your skin, I could barely trust myself not to touch you.

So instead, I sought you out in every interview, every crowded room. It didn’t matter where you stood or sat, whether you were close by or seated far away from me: I always found you, and somehow willed you to look my way. I didn’t really need much more than that - just the assurance that you were there was enough.

The party, however, felt different. As my eyes settled on you - as they were now trained to do - my gaze was drawn to others that had you in their sights. Particularly one - a brash industry type who none too subtly shifted course and crossed over to you and Cami.

Usually, I’m a fairly chilled out boyfriend, but it was the end of an insanely busy week, and I was exhausted and in no mood to look at other guys gawking at you. Or, in this case, brazenly chatting you up.

I put my beer down on a table next to me, my body steely with resolve.

Mad read my mind and nudged me sharply with her elbow. “Hey. Friendly reminder that it’s an Entertainment Weekly party.” The implication was clear: the place was swarming with reporters. Technically off-duty, but obviously still tuned in to any whiff of gossip. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging off my blazer. “Fuck it. Tell them we were canoodling.”

I could still hear Mad’s bark of laughter as I walked through the crowd, blazer in hand, driven by purpose. Your back was turned; Camila had to tap your arm to get your attention.

You raised an eyebrow at me as you turned around. “Cole?”

I needed an excuse. Anything. “Are you cold?”

“Cold? Um, I guess...?”

I stepped forward and reached around to drape my jacket over your shoulders - a signal, clear as day, for anyone who cared enough to read into it, including this poor, irrelevant fuckboi who had stupidly attempted to launch a flirtatious offensive your way. As he slunk away, I stayed where I stood, inches away from you, uncaring as to who saw us standing that way, that close.

In your eyes mingled incredulity, confusion and delight. What are you doing? Do you know where we are? “Um. Are you okay?”

Was I? All I knew was that I was with you. And I’d been wanting to do just this one thing all night. Because I was tired of the pretence, and I needed my girl.

I leaned in and kissed you, right there in the middle of that crowded room. You went rigid with panic before melting against me, your lips soft and trusting and pliant in mine.

“I’m fine,” I whispered against your mouth. “Never better.”

…

recurring (verb)

Yours or mine?

At the beginning of every weekend, you asked that on the drive home, your overnight bag sitting in the back of my car.

Yours or mine?

I didn’t mind either. My PS4 was at my place, but at least your washing machine actually worked.

(Okay, so mine just hadn’t been used.)

Yours or mine?

From a Friday ritual, it became a nightly one. Until nights turned into consecutive mornings. You’d go home to get more clothes. Eventually, you bought a toothbrush and left it on my bathroom sink.

One day, you leaned over and whispered at the end of a long day at work, I’m tired.

Let’s go home.

...

surprise (noun)

I gave you a sleepy, lingering kiss goodbye before I left for my weekend shoot in LA. Making sure you were still asleep, I adjusted the folded printout of our Hawaii flight itinerary, propping it up on the nightstand, with a Post-it note stuck on top.

“You and me. New Year’s.”

I wish I was there. I wish I’d recorded it somehow, heard the screams that triggered the complaints to building management. As it turns out, all I received was this, a text message in all caps:

“YOU SNEAKY FUCKER I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH.”

...

trick or treat (noun)

“So this washes off, right?”

“For the fiftieth time, Cole, yes.”

You were carefully drawing my skull teeth lines over the thick white base you’d applied to my face. I poked at your stomach. You looked up, close to the edge of your patience. I’d been doing that to you the entire time.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, I just…” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re really good at this, you know? I love that.”

I watched as your hard, focused expression softened into appreciation. “Thank you, babe.”

“Also, we can still kiss with this on, right?”

You frowned. “It’ll smudge.”

“But how much are we talking, though? Like full-on smearing, or just a small streak here and there? Because if it’s just a streak, do you think—”

“Cole!”

“No kissing. Got it.”

I shut my mouth, clasped my hands neatly on my lap, the very picture of perfect behaviour. You giggled at the sight.

“Alright, you big baby. Just one more before I have to shade the black in.”

Like a kid being told that he could finally eat all his Halloween candy, I didn’t need to be told twice.

...

uneventful (adjective)

But, in all honesty, so much of who we are dwells in the mundane.

In passing out together on the couch after a long day at work. In the gaps of silence as we trawl through Instagram before settling in for the night. In the text messages compiling the grocery shopping list for the week. In the exasperation as I trip over one of your heels in the dark. In seeing your face dotted with pimple cream. In the arguments over whose turn it was to pick the driving playlist.

Between monotony with you and thrills with anyone else, I’d pick being boring with you. Every single time.  

…

validate (verb)

I rubbed my eyes in frustration and looked at the kitchen clock. 2 am. Fuck. I had an early call time, too.

“Cole?” You came out of the room, bleary-eyed and wrapped in the duvet that you’d dragged off the bed. “You’re still awake.”

“I am.” I swivelled around in my chair to face you. “Everything I’ve taken sucks. It sucks, Lili. I’m sitting here trying to edit my photos, and I’m dying of cringe.”

“Oh, come on. You’re only saying that because it’s two in the morning and you’re your own worst critic. Here, move over.” I shifted a little in my seat as you sat on my lap, duvet and all.

You scrolled through the photos on my laptop. “Okay. Look at this one. See the way you’ve framed Sam here? In the rips of the white plastic?”

“It’s super pretentious, right?”

“No! God, what is wrong with you? It’s stunning. And see how he stands in the landscape, beyond the confines of the plastic? That’s like, a gorgeous metaphor for his process as an artist, how he’s broken free from the mold, how he’s his own man now.”

I sat there silently.

“Oh, and this one? The way you’ve tilted the horizon, and captured the sweep of his trenchcoat, the top hat in his hand? The lines in this are so bold and--”

“Brash?” I grinned at you.

You rolled your eyes. “I was gonna say ‘striking’, but sure, you can go with that.” I hugged you close to me. “Your work is amazing, Cole. Don’t you ever doubt yourself.”

“Thank you.” I kissed your shoulder. “How do you know so much about photography, anyway?”

You gave me a cute little shrug. “I learned from the best.”

…

whipped (adjective)

See: COLE SPROUSE.

...

xenophile (noun)

I thought I was the nerd. But I wasn’t the one who loaned James Michener’s Hawaii from the library and took it out to read on the plane.

It was adorable. But also, it made me want to take you everywhere. To spark your curiosity, to ignite your discoveries, to stoke the wonder.

If there was anyone who could be by your side as you found that the world was your oyster, please, let it always be me.

...

yes (unclassified)

We’re light years away from the fact, but in my idle moments, I imagine it. I imagine how I’d do it - where, and when, and even who might be there.

Maybe our friends. My brother. Your family. Definitely a photographer. In my more delirious flights of fancy, a specially trained pug.

And you. Obviously you. Your hair caught up in the breeze, your eyes widening in surprise before crumpling in the weight of the moment.

Saying yes.

…

zenith (noun)

We stood at the summit, the warm air punctuated by pockets of sea breeze. So many people think of the beach when they think of Hawaii, but - as we found out ourselves - its lush, verdant mountains are just as amazing and sublime.

I held your hand in mine as we looked out over the gorge and at the sea beyond it, the vivid cerulean of the deep bleeding into the viridity of the shallows. There was no-one else around, just us. I pulled you in, holding you in my embrace, relishing being alone with you.

I thought of the year that had passed, and my mind wandered to where I was when midnight struck over to 2017 - running down to the lobby of the William Vale while my brother and our friends waited outside the room we had locked ourselves out of, eating the remains of a pizza off the floor. You and I had tried to call each other to wish each other a happy new year, but in the tangle of signals and the confusion of the room situation, we didn’t make it, settling for a text message instead.

Thinking of the marked contrasts between then and now, a thought began to formulate in my mind - that this was it. That I had hit the proverbial jackpot of fate. Standing there, on the peak of a mountain in Hawaii, holding you in my arms, I had the very best that life had to offer.

But then you tugged at my sleeve and excitedly pointed out a pod of dolphins swimming in the waves, and there and then, I realised that my earlier assumption was wrong. Or at least it wasn’t entirely right. There were surprises around every corner. New heights to be scaled, new adventures to pursue. All of them with you.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” you asked.

I did, Lili. And I saw you. And realised the truth.

Our best still lies ahead of us.

[miasswier]

miasswier’s ultimate glee ranking: no 88

88: Pilot

Written by: Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuck, Ian Brennan Directed by: Ryan Murphy

Overall Thoughts: I have a love-hate relationship with this episode. Before it was announced that Darren would be on Glee, I was told by several family friends that they thought I would really like Glee. So, I gave it a try. The first time I watched the pilot I think I got… ten minutes in? I had to stop. I was so bored. A few months later I was recommended Glee again, and I though, well, that’s like four people now that have told me to watch this show – I should try again. So, I did. I got maybe fifteen minutes in. I just could. not. do it.

I only managed to finally watch this episode the whole way through after watching several other episodes that gave me more of a feel for what the show was actually like, and made me curious enough to actually stick the pilot out. Plus, my favourite actor was going to be on the show, and I needed to catch up. I think I’ve watched this episode all the way through a grand total of three times.

That being said, I didn’t actually mind it this time around. It does feel draggy at parts, but what pilot doesn’t? I felt very nostalgic watching it, especially since we got “2009”, which filled in a bunch of this episodes gaps. Finn’s stuff, especially, was fun to watch, albeit heart-wrenching. Honestly, I think nostalgia is part of why this episode is where it is on this list. If it weren’t for the nostalgia, it would probably be a lot lower. Plus, there’s some pretty funny parts.

What I Like:

They do a good job of introducing Rachel as an obnoxious character, but also creating sympathy for her. The MySpace scene in particular tugged at my heartstrings. The words she’s speaking are so annoying, but when you watch her read the mean comments it really makes you want to root for her. Lea Michele does an amazing job at saying so much with just a little frown.

“I’ll pee in a cup. I’ll pee.”

Finn <3 As much as it frustrates me that they had him start out by being a passive bully, they do a pretty good job of showing some good character development, even just within these 50 minutes. You can tell that Finn wants to be more than what he is. Also, I’ve always found it sweet how much he obviously cares for his mom. Even though the whole “Finn finds a father figure in Will” storyline pisses me off, at least they never tried to act like Finn’s mom wasn’t enough. It’s clear he loves her, respects her, and wants to do right by her.

Great foreshadowing on the Kurt/Finn crush storyline! This is the first time I’ve noticed, but when Finn first starts singing in “You’re the One That I Want” and Rachel looks over at him and smiles in interest, Kurt is doing the exact same thing. It’s cool that they obviously already knew where they were going with that story.

The introduction to Emma’s OCD. I like that this was introduced in the first episode, and wasn’t just dropped as the show continued.

Howard Bamboo. I really wish he’d been a bigger character on the show. He’s hilarious, and adorable.

This isn’t really something the show did on purpose, but I find it really funny that Sue says that Will is “blurring the lines” while “When I Get You Alone” plays in the background.

“There’s nothing ironic about show choir.”

“Being a part of something special makes you special.” Oh, right in the nostalgic feels.

What I Don’t Like:

Quite a bit actually.

First things first: it’s too long. It’s only about 5 minutes longer than a regular episode, but it feels eternal. So much of it just drags on, and on, and on. Ugh.

There is way too much focus on Will. You can obviously tell that Finn and Rachel are going to be the main teenage characters, but they really paint Will as the protagonist in this episode. Having seen the whole show, it’s clear that Rachel is the main protagonist of the show, and that starts to come out relatively early on. I wish that they’d made that more clear in the pilot. Also, I hate Will.

The way Terri was characterized always pissed me off. She’s almost more cartoony than Sue in how absolutely horrible she is. The dichotomy presented in this episode of “Terri – Bad; Emma – Good” is annoying. I get that she’s a terrible person, but did she have to be that terrible? I mean, aside from Will saying that “she used to be so full of joy” there’s no indication as to why he would be married to someone like Terri. Plus, the way that the show always tried to push the “Will needs to get away from Terri because she emasculates him” narrative has always bothered me, and that comes across from minute fucking one. Basically just the beginning of this shows weird obsession with masculinity and “what it means to be a man” or whatever.

Emma’s creepy crush on Will, and Ken’s creepy crush on Emma. Like, I get having a crush on someone, but the way both of them act around the people they’re crushing on is really weird. They’re adults, not teenagers. Yet, the way that Emma acts around Will is dangerously similar to the way that Rachel acts around Finn (even just in this episode). I don’t know if they were purposefully trying to parallel the Finn/Rachel and Will/Emma relationships, but it definitely comes across that way, and it’s pretty weird. As for Ken, he’s just pushy and licking Emma’s door handle was just gross and immature.

Sue’s characterization. You would not know from this episode that she’s being set up as the show’s main antagonist. Yeah, she’s not that nice about the Glee club, but neither is Ken. In fact, Ken comes across as more of an antagonist here than Sue does. I mean, come on, she’s got like two scenes in the whole episode. I feel like they didn’t really know what to do with her yet.

Puck and Quinn. I find the mean popular kids character so annoying, and Puck and Quinn are just ridiculously exaggerated. Puck especially is not characterized as someone who interests me, or who I want to root for. Watching this episode, I don’t care if he has character development. It’s kind of the same with Quinn. Unlike Rachel, the show doesn’t juxtapose their obnoxious behaviour with something that makes you want to cheer for them. They’re just straight up mean.

There’s actually a lot of offensive stuff in this episode – ableism, homophobia, transphobia, to name a few. I mean, it’s cool to see this and contrast it with the end of the show when these issues had been dealt with, but it’s still shocking to see Quinn calling Rachel “RuPaul”, or listen to Figgins refer to Artie as “a cripple”. Yikes.

Will instantly making it clear to the audience and to Rachel that she’s his favourite student. He literally tells her that she’s the best singer in there. I feel like this would be more acceptable if the show hadn’t become such an ensemble show. Within the episode it doesn’t seem too out of place, but when looked at in the context of the whole show it’s a pretty shitty move. Also, he goes out of his way to blackmail Finn just so that Rachel will stay in the club. That’s pretty ugly.

Will’s Spanish. “Que hace en tu verano pasado” literally translates to “What it did in your previous summer”. It should be “Que hiciste el verano pasado”. I know a lot of people might not catch this, but it’s kind of frustrating that they didn’t try and make sure he was using the correct verb tense. I mean, it foreshadows the Will being a bad Spanish teacher stuff in season 3, but at this point they want us to cheer for Will. The audience is supposed to want him to stay at McKinley. We’re supposed to think he’s a good teacher. Instead they show him butchering the language he teaches, purposefully showing favouritism towards a student, and blackmailing someone and giving him false hopes about a scholarship. Considering Will is the “hero” of the story, he really, really doesn’t come across very well.

Songs:

Respect: I wish we’d gotten this full song. Mercedes absolutely kills it. Also, it’s interesting watching this having watched “2009” – Mercedes is (rightfully) upset in “2009” about how Rachel gets the first solo, but hers is the first solo of the show. Sure, it’s not a complete solo, and “On My Own” is more fleshed out, but it’s still technically the first solo. It’s just cool how that turned out.

Mr. Cellophane: Same as above, I wish we’d gotten this full song. Not just because I like this song in and of itself, but because Kurt sounds really good singing it. Plus, the way he fixes his hair as he holds that note always makes me giggle.

I Kissed a Girl: I don’t like this song. I briefly did, when it was popular, but the first time I heard it after realizing I was bisexual made me very angry. That being said, I think the context for it is better here than in “I Kissed a Girl” (which I have a lot of issues with, but if you’ve read my review of that episode you already know that), and it does a good job of introducing Tina’s voice.

On My Own: Very emotional, and an amazing introduction to Rachel as a character. She sounds fantastic, and the montage, as mentioned above, really makes you want to cheer for her. I don’t particularly like the song in and of itself, but it still works really well as a character piece.

Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat: Again, another song I’m not a particularly big fan of, but it’s still a pretty humorous sequence. I don’t think they sound as terrible as they seem to think they do. Artie sounds good, it displays his voice really well. It’s actually always confused me how Rachel insists on needing a male who can keep up with her vocally when Artie shows he’s a very powerful vocalist in this number.

I Can’t Fight This Feeling: While Finn sounds good in this song, it’s definitely not his strongest, and the fact that Will is listening to him in the shower (and doesn’t seem to realize how creepy that is) really puts a damper on the number as a whole.

You’re the One That I Want: Funny, and a pretty interesting way of introducing the love plot for Finn and Rachel. There’s not a lot of shows where the main couple start off with one half being blatantly, ridiculously obvious about their feelings, and the other half being totally terrified of how out there the first person is. While they basically ruined this by having them kiss in literally the next episode, it’s still a pretty original way of introducing Finchel, as a couple. Also, nostalgia.

Rehab: Watching this number, I don’t really understand why they’re all so freaked out. Yeah, VA is good, but a lot of that comes from the fact that they’re big. If you actually watch the choreography, it’s really not that complex. There’s a few cool moves, but nothing like some of their later stuff (I mean, let’s compare “Bohemian Rhapsody” to this number). There’s just a lot of them on stage. That’s it.

Leaving on a Jet Plane: Ugh. Not only is it boring, but we’re forced to watch Emma creepily draw a heart around Will’s picture in the yearbook like she’s some lovesick freshman in love with the senior football captain. Again, there’s a real high school feel to the way they portray Emma’s crush on Will. I know she’s inexperienced, but the audience doesn’t know that yet, and honestly, I know people just as inexperienced as Emma, and a lot younger than her too, that don’t act like smitten twelve year olds around their crush. It’s infantilizing, and kind of gross.

Don’t Stop Believing: This song and this scene is the highlight of the episode. I mean, DSB is what made Glee, Glee. It’s emotional, and it’s strong. Plus, after all these years, it has the nostalgia aspect. Definitely the strongest number of the episode.

Final Thoughts: Considering that the first season of Glee was so well received and liked, it has a really lukewarm start. It has some good, funny moments, but overall it’s draggy, and there’s way too much Will. Usually when I do Glee re-watches, I skip this one. It’s nice for the nostalgia of it all, and for a couple of funny lines, but that’s basically it.