#pete and lynn

[pierppasolini]

Cool it, Carol (1970) // dir. Pete Walker

[razorsadness]

Jessie Lynn McMains, from Reckless Chants #25: dear you (August 2019)

[text version under cut]

dear xxx—

David Berman is dead & I'm fucking sad. sad about Toni Morrison too of course but I already said my piece on that & anyway she was 88. David was only 52. not much older than my partner. & god damn it when you've lived a life like mine the words of white sadboy poet/singer-songwriters mean just as much to you as (if not in some ways more than) the greatest writers of our time, of any race or gender. cuz I grew up on that indie-punk shit. cuz I'm a sad whiteboy sometimes, too. cuz Toni Morrison was a great novelist but Silver Jews lyrics had more of an influence on my own writing.

like "We Are Real," where D.B. wrote:

Repair is the dream of the broken thing Like a message broadcast on an overpass All my favorite singers couldn't sing

like "Tennessee," when he sang:

Punk rock died when the first kid said "Punk's not dead, punk's not dead"

like how I cry harder when my punk/music icons die than I can imagine crying for almost any established writer. Lorna Doom died the day before Mary Oliver died, then the next day Debi Martini died & I was more brokenhearted about Lorna & Debi than Mary. cuz Mary was 83 & Lorna & Debi were younger. cuz it felt like I should tattoo Punk Is Dead on my forehead & slamdance on its grave. cuz Mary Oliver's poetry meant a lot to me but it didn't explode my fucking world like the Germs LP did. I don't know how to explain this. If you know, you know. David Berman died & I'm devastated.

I was devastated in December, when Pete Shelley died, & I'm still not over it if I think about it too much. I was in my car, on the way to pick my oldest kid up from school, & the DJ's voice on my favorite radio station broke thru my afternoon motion-induced reverie. breaking news; that's never good. Pete Shelley has died from a heart attack, he said, & played "Ever Fallen in Love." & I cried, of course I did. it hurt to lose one of punk's great songwriters, one of punk's great frontmen, who took his stage name from a Romantic poet & wrote songs that showed me it was okay to be myself, that there were other people out there like me. showed me it was okay to be a hypersexual bisexual, an "Orgasm Addict;" that I could be a punk & also be a hopelessly romantic lovesick dork. & it hurt to lose him because his kindness meant a lot to me when I was young—yeah, I knew Pete; we weren't close friends but we'd met, & he was sweet & funny & irreverent. I cried for him & I cried for the kid I was when I met him, the kid I was back when I first heard the Buzzcocks—back when I was a teenage misfit always falling in love with people I shouldn't have.

but the day after Pete died was Tom Waits' birthday, & I used it as an excuse to partake in some nostalgic pleasures; to be my old self if only for an hour or two. or as much my old self as I can still be. I went to the Douglas Avenue Diner for lunch, with my youngest kiddo as my date. I thought of xxx. I always miss her most in November & December. & diners make me think of her, & Tom Waits makes me think of her, & the death of old punks makes me think of her. everything reminds me of her. I thought of Hearts Don't Break, the novella I wrote in '02/'03, which was heavily based on our friendship; thought of my description of 'the coffee-stained comfort of our favorite diner.' different diner, different city, different year, but it was comforting to be there. they were playing Xmas carols & the patrons were an equal mix of punks & old folks. Greek-American-owned diners like Douglas Ave. make me the most nostalgic, as those are the diners I grew up going to—there are so many of them in the Midwest. I thought of the Alps East in Chicago, the diner I haunted as a broke college student; how I'd go there & order a cup of soup & a bottomless coffee & sit for hours eavesdropping on other patrons, getting ideas for short stories. I thought of the diners in Kenosha, going to them with xxxxx back when we were dating, sharing an order of spanikopita & a side of rice pilaf. after I left the diner that day, I mailed out a bunch of zines & chapbooks & that, too, was the same as it ever was.

& now another hero is dead & I'm finishing the first full issue of my zine in over two years, thinking about who I was back when I listened to the Silver Jews a lot. that terrible summer of '03, summer of nervous breakdowns & strep throat, too much rum & whiskey, & my lovers all dropping me. summer of pirates & pills; photocopied midnights. now it's the summer of '19 & I'm here writing & thinking of everything that's gone. favorite places, people, zines, scenes. I miss everything all the time. same as it ever was.

[peteburnsgifs]

THE AUDACITY 😂

[vertigoartgore]

J-363 : All the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend songs, one episode at a time (3).

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend 1X03 : I Hope Josh Comes to My Party !

Director: Tamra Davis — Writer: Rachel Bloom & Aline Brosh McKenna Aired: 10/26/2015 — Season: One — Episode: 3 — Nielsen ratings: 0.67 Description: Rebecca thows a party in order to get quality time with Josh.

Song #6 :

"Face Your Fears" Performed by: Paula Proctor Writers: Rachel Bloom, Adam SchlesingerPaula encourages Rebecca to face her fears.

Song #7 :

"I Have Friends" Performed by: Rebecca Bunch, Young Rebecca, Paula, Darryl, Brody and other friends Writers: Rachel Bloom, Adam SchlesingerRebecca reassures herself she has friends to invite to the housewarming party.

Song #8 :

"A Boy Band Made Up of Four Joshes" Performed by: Josh Chan Writers: Rachel Bloom, Adam SchlesingerRebecca imagines four Joshes performing as a boy band.

Next : "I'm Going on a Date with Josh's Friend !"

[vitriolo]

“Shut up! I’m sorry that was mean. Shut up.”

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, season 3 (2017).

[doawhispers]

NO ONE GETS THEM LIKE I DO!!! (i say about a couple that’s been divorced for 17 years and one of them is dead)

[thosesadsuburbanghosts]

Spiral: from the Book of Saw (2021)

"I've been staring at this shit for five hours. I don't even look at porn that long."

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Making Today A Perfect Day

Hey guys, glad to be posting! The idea for this fic is partially based off something I experienced before.

Tags: @millythegoat, @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2

Warnings: mentions of loss of a parent, angst

 

Lijnders woke up at 7:02 AM, the same time he woke up almost every ordinary day. Today, though, was no ordinary day. Today was January 24--Lijnders' fortieth birthday--a milestone for every person his age. For some it meant reaching true maturity, while for others it meant the dreaded "midlife crisis" was fast approaching. Naturally, due to these opposing views, everybody celebrated their fortieth differently. Those who took getting older in stride would celebrate jubilantly, while those who were more self-conscious about their gray hairs had quieter celebrations.

Unlike both of those cohorts and many others, Lijnders wouldn't be celebrating at all. Because his birthday happened to be exactly five days after the day Klopp's mother passed away from illness.

In 2021, Liverpool had a game on the 24th of January, away at United. They ended up losing and getting knocked out of the FA Cup, so there were no big celebrations anyways. Klopp had surprised Lijnders with a small present--a new wristwatch—and a card.

In 2022, the team had been in London. They'd just finished beating Crystal Palace the previous day, and hadn't really had time to throw a proper party with the flight home and everything. Klopp and Lijnders had enjoyed a beer on the veranda after getting home, watching the stars for hours before finally heading to bed.

But now Liverpool had no games on or around January 24. So Lijnders had no excuse to "forget" or "not focus" on his birthday now. He didn't want to make it all about him--he wanted to let Klopp have some time to himself.

So he got out of bed, dressed in his usual jeans and gray shirt, and shuffled out of the bedroom. He would get to work soon enough, but first he needed coffee.

*

When he reached for the strongest cup of coffee the machine had available, Lijnders had expected the normal greetings: "good morning" or "are you really getting that strong coffee” or “happy birthday” considering the date. What Lijnders hadn't expected was Krawietz completely putting his foot in his mouth.

“Happy birthday, man! When's the party?”

Lijnders nearly dropped his coffee--a rarity for him. "Excuse me?"

"Your birthday party," Krawietz explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What's the theme? Do I have to wear a boring black suit or can I break in my new Hawaiian shirt?"

Lijnders exhaled, trying his very best not to explode. Krawietz had been affectionately nicknamed "The Eye" by the other staff, but he didn't exactly seem to have an eye for when to apply some tact. "There will be no party."

"No party?!" Krawietz exclaimed. "Come on Pep, this is the third year in a row there'll be no party for you! It doesn't seem fair to me."

"You know why we didn't party in 2021," Lijnders took a sip of his coffee to try and calm himself down. "And last year we won, but we flew back from London and came home late."

"But we're staying put this time. So what's your excuse now, Pep?" Krawietz raised an eyebrow like Ancelotti, studying Lijnders intently.

He knows something's up. No point in hiding it. "There's a specific reason why I'm not celebrating my birthday, Pete. And the reason's initials are JK."

This only seemed to confuse Krawietz even further. "Jurgen loves celebrations."

How oblivious could Krawietz be?! Lijnders slammed his coffee cup onto the table. "You DO remember what happened in 2021, right?! You do remember that Jurgen's only living parent for twenty years died five days before I turned thirty-eight?! Sorry if I'm the only one who's considerate of my best friend's feelings."

"We all are. But it's been two years," Krawietz objected. "If I'm right, Jurgen wouldn't mind too much if we had a party."

"He and his mom were like two peas in a pod."

"He also wouldn't want you to skip a milestone birthday for him."

Lijnders huffed, spinning on his heel and storming out of the room. "Excuse me, but I'm going to find somebody who actually cares about Jurgen like I do."

*

Lijnders finished his coffee in three gulps instead of two, immediately going for another refill. He actually drank less coffee when he was mad--and right now he was seething.

"Does Pete have no tact?!" he exclaimed to the trusty wall in front of him. "Losing a parent, that has to be one of the worst moments of somebody's life. Especially since Jurgen and his mother were so close--they got along perfectly. Can't he realize this?!"

"Whoo?"

"Pete, who do you think?!"

Another shrill hoot sounded from around the door, and that's when Lijnders realized nobody was in the room at all. Rather, he was talking to an owl--Klopp's owl, Ludger.

No matter how much Ludger hooted at him, Lijnders didn't even bother to try and communicate with the owl. That was Klopp's domain--and Ludger got along better with Klopp, anyways. When he wasn't hooting his head off, Ludger resided in Klopp's office, vibing to his own personal playlist.

Lijnders then realized that if Ludger was out of his cage, then Klopp was probably nearby. I'd better get to breakfast before Pete runs into me again, he thought, making his way down the stairs. Unlike Klopp, Lijnders had no issues with the stairs.

*

Breakfast was...slightly interesting, considering Robertson and Alexander-Arnold had made breakfast. The two weren't exactly great cooks, and so had resorted to serving breakfast buffet-style, collecting a melange of leftover breakfast foods and letting everybody serve themselves.

Lijnders quickly served himself, taking his seat at the other end of the table. Klopp wasn't at the table, much to his surprise, leaving him in charge by de facto.

"Where's the gaffa?" Robertson asked through a mouthful of food. "He'll miss the potato scones."

"They're hash browns, Andy. HASH BROWNS." Milner shook his head, stabbing at a sausage. "I know you miss your Scottish food, but honestly I don't see why."

Robertson's glare could've burnt metal. "I'll have you know that my mum is an excellent cook of our Scottish cuisine."

"You mean potatoes and oatmeal. That's all you cook!"

"We also make haggis!"

"That's not food, that's an old boot stewed with sheep's heart!"

"It's called recycling!"

"Boys!" Lijnders blew on the whistle that he carried around for things like this. Eventually everybody settled down. "Leave it be. If Jurgen’s late, then Jurgen will be late.”

“Still, it’s not like the boss to miss breakfast. Especially on birthdays!” Alexander-Arnold argued. “Can’t we go check on him, just to make sure he’s alright? Please, Lijnders?”

For a moment, Lijnders was about to give in to Alexander-Arnold's huge brown eyes. Then he thought about Klopp...

Lijnders quietly padded into the room. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, but he didn't want to disturb Klopp. The German was curled up in his office chair, a quilt draped around his shoulders. The laptop and papers in front of him remained largely untouched, as they had for most of the day.

The events of the past few days had robbed Lijnders of his best friend, leaving behind a numb, empty shell. Klopp's usual vibrancy and life had vanished, and he'd seemed to age more rapidly in five days than he had in five years.

They'd been through so much together--losing major finals, injuries, bad press. He'd never seemed this broken before.

Wordlessly, Lijnders set a new mug of hot chocolate on the desk. It would probably end up cold, but it was the thought that mattered.

The muffled thunk of the mug seemed to alert Klopp of Lijnders' presence. He glanced up at Lijnders, who could say nothing except, "I dropped some extra chocolate in there."

It seemed to be the most pathetic, futile, unimportant thing in the wake of such a tragedy. But Klopp pulled the mug closer to himself, clasping Lijnders' hand.

"Danke, Pepijn.”

Lijnders came out of his reverie, glancing at the clock. They had two hours before the day's training began. "I still don't think we should disturb him, Trentski. Why don't you all hang out and get ready for training?"

"That's right!" Robertson exclaimed. "After all, we don't want to skip Plan L, right?"

The other players and staff at the table nodded cryptically, as if they had a secret. Lijnders didn't even bother asking about it. He had no time to interpret secrets--the only thing he had to interpret was the training plans Klopp had written in advance.

*

Lijnders sat at his desk, scanning the plans for that day’s training. Nothing had changed on the plans at all—in fact, they looked like the same plans from the day before. That’s because they are the same plans, Lijnders realized with a start. Jurgen didn’t even write new plans. And they look so normal—there’s nothing having to do with Thiago and a ball cannon!

Because the plans weren’t new, Lijnders decided that he would just relax before training started. He would pour himself a cup of coffee, and maybe treat himself to something from the cafeteria.

He stood in front of the pastry display for a long time before finally selecting a Dutch apple tart. It was covered with clotted cream and apple filling and would probably add a few pounds onto him, but it was worth it.

“Pep!” Krawietz strode through the door, exaggerating his walk with a few comically-failed high kicks. “So what colors are the balloons going to be, huh? Red, or black, what do you think?”

“Invisible color, please,” Lijnders retorted, turning his back on the Pole. Normally he got along with Krawietz, but this was getting ridiculous. “Leave me alone now, Pete.”

“You should go easy on the apple tart,” Krawietz went on, swiping some of the pastry from Lijnders’ plate. “We’re going to have a buffet later today at your birthday party.”

“Will you just shut UP?!” Lijnders yelled, taking back his dessert. “You know very well why I’m not celebrating my birthday—I just told you earlier. That’s also why I’m trying to get everybody to forget by not blabbing about it every minute!”

“You can’t make everybody forget your birthday because Jurgen’s mom died five days before!”

“It’s called empathy, you idiot!”

“And for the first year or two, it’s fine. But there has to be a time to move on, right?”

“Well…”

Krawietz huffed, setting down the plate of dessert. “Don’t worry, Pep. I’m going to have a conversation with Jurgen about this, and then we can get on with Plan L.”

Oh, how Lijnders wanted to slam a fist into Krawietz’s face now. “Do not loop Jurgen into your mess!”

“My mess?! YOU’RE the one who started this!”

“What in the Bundesliga is going on here?”

Lijnders groaned, silently wishing that he could disappear into thin air. “I think we need to talk.”

*

Lijnders had worried about what Klopp would say to all the brouhaha, especially considering the nature of it. His concerns had only increased once Klopp directed both him and Krawietz to his office.

“So, let me get this straight.” Even after hearing both sides of the story, Klopp still appeared calm. He’d let Krawietz go back to his activities, but had retained Lijnders. “You wanted to skip your own birthday party because you thought it would make me feel better?”

Lijnders shrugged, unsure what to say. “Well, the first time we already had a game the next day. And then the second time we were flying back from London, so…I decided to give you some breathing room.”

“Pep.” Klopp hesitated for a bit before going on. “I never told you that we’re skipping your birthday. I never, ever said that.”

“I know you didn’t. I just thought it would be for the best.”

Klopp walked around the desk, motioning for Lijnders to stand up. The Dutchman hadn’t even been up for half a second before Klopp engulfed him in one of his trademark bear hugs.

“Pete really put his foot in his mouth today, that’s for sure. But I will tell you one thing that he got right: you are worth celebrating every day of the year. Especially on your birthday; that’s the day the world blessed us with you, after all.”

“I wasn’t intending to skip it entirely,” Lijnders confessed, kicking at the ground. “Just the party, and whatever Plan L is.”

“Pepijn Lijnders.” Klopp rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, rummaging through his desk drawer. He triumphantly pulled out a sheet of paper, showing it to Lijnders. “Plan L is your birthday party. And it was my idea.”

“What?!”

“You look like you though we weren’t planning anything at all,” Klopp joked. His expression grew serious, yet gentle. “You’re a thoughtful soul to think so unselfishly. I’m returning the favor, by celebrating you.”

Lijnders hadn’t thought of it that way. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.”

“It happens.” Klopp opened the office door, letting in all the chaos of the Kirkby Ground. “Now let’s get to training, shall we?”

*

Everybody was out for training exactly on time. As was the team’s custom, they sang the birthday song in every one of the languages the staff and players spoke. That included German, which several of the players knew despite not being from Germany, and Dutch.

Lijnders and Klopp stuck together through the whole training session, giving orders and directives as usual. And when, after training everybody blindfolded Lijnders and dragged him to a dark room, he pretended not to know what was inside.

[longlistshort]

Pictured above are three of the artists who have studios at The Studios @5663 in Pinellas Park, Florida. Emily Stehle and John Gascot were part of the recent Arts Annual 2022 exhibition at Creative Pinellas. Tricia Lynn is a wildlife oil painter and teacher.

On the fourth Saturday of the month Pinellas Arts Village hosts a block party with vendors, open galleries and studios, crafts, live music, and food. It’s a fun event that offers the opportunity to check out the neighborhood and see what local artists are working on.

[korrolrezni]

Come on, why is there no letter after this run? This was rather crucial for Peter. I think it deserves one.

[musicmags]

[razorsadness]

I Was Around (Nobody Knows)

so you're in love with your best friend & you don't know how to tell her. take a walk down Polaris Avenue & you'll be transported to the sort of childhood you never quite knew, an adolescence half-fantasized that you sorta remember when dreaming of fireflies, soft serve cones, bike rides & skinned knees. that life you never had lives on this street—it's not that nothing bad ever happens here. there are bullies & math classes just like anywhere else, & sometimes you're grounded for life for wrecking your dad's prized lawn. sometimes the ice cream man vanishes or you find a garage band playing the most perfect tune & you never get to hear it again. but even when your heart is disintegrating the radio has the saddest song to soothe you & a bus driver who takes you past the sites of his own broken romance, & if you megadose on riboflavin you can turn back time. even if it's hot & you're so homesick it's got you stapling polaroids of your old house to your new one & you're just waiting for October, you can cross your fingers & wish on the strongest man in the world. you can always drink an Orange Lazarus or confess it all to the voice on the other side of the ringing phone, & when it rains— when it rains, it smells like summer.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from forget the fuck away from me (Bone & Ink Press, 2019 — available in print or digital form)

[moviesandmania]

THE CREEP BEHIND THE CAMERA Reviews of docu-drama - free on Tubi

‘Con artist. Psychopath. Monster movie maker.’ The Creep Behind the Camera is a 2014 docu-drama about the making of The Creeping Terror and its con-man director Art “A.J.” Nelson/Vic Savage. Written and directed by Pete Schuermann. The Slithering Carpets production stars Josh Phillips, Jodi Lynn Thomas and Bill LeVasseur. Buy Blu-ray: Amazon.com Reviews: “The Creep Behind the Camera is almost…

[fard-rock-blog]

THE BEATLLES FILE | I quinti beatles

Come mi facevano notare nei commenti al post precedente, l’appellativo “quinto beatle” è stato assegnato a un numero esagerato di personaggi che hanno gravitato attorno agli scarafaggi, durante il decennio di attività come band ed anche dopo. Senza la presunzione di ricordarli tutti (e tralasciando Brian Epstein di cui abbiamo parlato ieri), ecco alcuni illustri altri esempi di “quinto…

[up-beattt]

Bruce Springsteen + multiple exposures

Photos by Phil Ceccola (1973), Lynn Goldsmith (1980), Danny Clinch (2013), Pete Souza (2023)

[pinazee]

Heres a few more random HC’s because i get bored at work!

TGWDLM

Paul has hiked every trail in hatchetfield. He once tried to get emma to go on a hike with him early in their relationship but when he showed up at her place at 5AM (not 5pm like she thought) she nearly ended it right there. Paul spent that day in absolute despair thinking that he ruined things with her but she texted him later and they hung out at a beach instead. He promised to never show up before 10am again- (unless he was sleeping over ;) -emma)

Bill Woodward and Mark Chasity have been in an unspoken feud for several years all because they both brought cinnamon rolls to a church bake sale and it got competitive. They, of course, were polite but would add small comments like, “oh adding orange zest was certainly an interesting choice,” and “wow, i love how large they are! Almost too large! Haha!” For years. Just petty comments.

Black Friday

Tom and Becky are karaoke royalty. It took some time for her to get used to people watching her for the right reasons again, but after tom coaxed her into singing the classic don’t go breaking my heart and receiving a standing ovation, that old cheerleader came right back out. Their most popular request is Lousiana Woman, Mississippi Man by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty as they really make it their own (tom seems like a country fan, but just the old stuff, everyone groaned at first but then they killed it).

Gary was a nerd his whole life but always managed to hang out with the popular kids and college students. He’d let them copy his homework, praise them endlessly, debase himself if he had to- all to be a part of the “right” crowd. Most of his clients are actually old “friends” that he charges up the ass (and i like to think, even if it doesn’t quite mesh with his personality, that he balances this out by doing a fair amount of pro bono).

NPMD

Ruth failed her drivers test twice because she’s too aggressive. Richie never tried, preferring to bike (and plans to move to chicago for college so why bother) Petes been able to drive since he was 13 because ted taught him in case he ever needed a designated driver (he was being responsible! What? You want him to drive drunk and hit some poor old woman just trying to cross the street at 3am?)

Detective shapiro (as a classic detective thriller trope) was secretly working on a cold case from chicago when she moved to hatchetfield. Its the one case that haunted her and forced her to seek refuge in a small island town. After the incident with max though, she finally dropped it, accepting that some things could never be explained. [And just for fun, she’s a fervent knitter. Im talking 2 full closets of just blankets ;) ]

Ruth has auditioned for the local theater 6 times, but they have no idea what she sounds like. They let her stand on stage for a minute, hand her a lollipop as they usher her off, and politely say “maybe next time, ruth.”

Richie was on a first name basis with the local comic book shop. When they heard of his murder, they put up a memorial for him with a display of (almost) all the manga he’d bought from them.