m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e · 2 years ago
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Anyone else have that one band you used to love SO MUCH? You’d listen to them pretty much every day, always watched interviews/videos with the members, knew so many of their songs by heart, even learned a couple of their songs on an instrument or two. You still appreciate/like them and wish the best for them, but they’ve just gone in such a different musical direction for the past few years that it seems like they’ve pretty much forgotten their roots and you just can’t really get into it anymore. This post is about Waterparks
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random-imagines-blog · 4 years ago
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Perfect {Christian Bale x Reader Oneshot}
Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 1838 Summary: Christian proves time and time again how much he loves you. Song: Perfect by Ed Sheeran
Although you had been married for five years now, Christian kept finding ways to surprise you. He never stopped trying to woo you, although he had put both the engagement and wedding rings upon your finger. When you got home from filming, after a good four months abroad, you had expected to see him sitting on the couch, anticipating your arrival, but that wasn’t what you got. What you had come home to was candlelight from different parts of the house, rose petals strewn down the hallway, and a note upon the table where you often set your keys, hand written with your name on it. You picked it up and read it outloud in a whisper.
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‘Y/N,
Darling, I’ve had the last four months to think about what I was going to do when you finally came back home to me. You know me, I couldn’t just sit around and wait, I had to think up something. Do something. A balloon and a banner wouldn’t have been enough, so I had to use my imagination. I came up with a thousand different things, and made a hundred different plans but this is the one that I settled on. This is what you inspired me to do. So follow the path, and meet me where I’m waiting for you.
Yours forever,
Christian.’
You pressed the piece of paper up to your face, and could smell his cologne. He must have been wearing it when he wrote this. And he had used his best handwriting too, not the scribbles that he usually did when he was jotting down notes or taking a message. You set the paper back down carefully, for you wanted to save this note. You kept every love note that he had ever written for you, even the first one that he had slipped under the door of your dressing room after you first met and had a connection on a film that you worked on together. You had a metal, fireproof box of them in your closet. It was worth the investment. You didn’t want anything to happen to them, and planned to show them to your children one day to prove that your husband, their father, was a romantic. Okay, maybe not all of them. There were a few that were for your eyes only.
You took off your shoes and left your luggage by the door, following the rose petals in your bare feet. The carpet felt soft and familiar after spending so long in your trailer, which was not nearly as nice as this house. You blew out the candles as you went on, noticing that there wasn’t much wax dripping so he must have lit them right before you came in. Still - you didn’t want to cause a fire for the sake of romance.
The petals lead you to the French doors which opened up to the backyard. The doors were open, a breeze coming through, ruffling at the tied-off curtains. Outside, strung up amongst the patio and the backyard, were paper lanterns. They were usually only used for parties and entertaining, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else out there but Christian.
When he saw you, he lifted his phone and pressed a button. A song started to come through the speakers. You recognized it from the radio, but you couldn’t claim to know it well. It was sweet, and it was warm, very much like the air out here tonight. You even noticed that he had put on the candles which acted as mosquito repellant, which you were very thankful for in these hot and muggy months. You walked down the stairs to the grass below, raising an eyebrow at him as the blades tickled at your toes.
“What’s all this?” You asked.
“A little welcome home,” He said, taking your hand giving you a spin. You giggled, and finished it by spinning right into his chest. Now you were understanding the meaning of the music, because he began to sway with you. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You didn’t realize how much you had missed the little things. The feeling of his hand against yours. The way that he dressed up for tonight, wearing a button up and nice trousers, just to see you. You were flattered, and honored as always.
The song seemed to know exactly how you were feeling. The lyrics were describing what was happening, right around you, and it made your heart shoot higher. God, you loved this man.
“I missed you,” He said softly into your ear. His breath tickled against your skin, and it sent a shiver up your spine. You smiled against him, your eyes drooping closed to fully take in the moment.
“I missed you too,” You admitted, humming contently. “But you didn’t have to go through all of this. I would have been happy with the banner and the balloons.”
“I know,” Christian chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “And that’s why I knew I had to do this. Because you’re deserving of so much more than a banner and some balloons.”
“You did bring balloons though right? You know I love those things,” You joked. Everything was absolutely perfect so far. A homecoming that you didn’t think that you deserved, but one that you sorely needed. He always went above and beyond for you - so you knew that you had to start planning what you were going to do for his next homecoming. He was always working on some project or other, so he was bound to be leaving your side soon. But now wasn’t the time to think about such negative things.
As the song came to an end, Christian’s lips finally met yours in a kiss that more than made up for being gone for so long. You pressed yourself against his body, trying to make it last longer, but he pulled away much too soon. You pouted at him, wondering what was going on.
“This wasn’t it,” He said, squeezing your hand. He lead you through the grass, over towards the pool house. There was a light breeze over the clear water, which looked enticing enough to jump in now. Perhaps before the night was over. You did get some sleep on the plane, and were feeling pretty well rested. A little skinny dipping adventure sounded like the perfect way to end the night.
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The lights were on inside of the little structure. You never actually spent that much time in it, using it as storage, so you were eagerly looking forward to seeing what was in there which Christian thought so important. He opened the door for you, and when you stepped inside, you saw that everything had changed. There weren’t any boxes piled up or pool toys or Christian’s tools anymore. All of that stuff had been unpacked, put away and then buried behind a fresh coat of paint and new floors.
Not only that, but a table and two chairs were set inside, and the smell of your favorite dish came wafting over as you stepped inside. By now your cheeks were starting to hurt from having to support your smile for so long. “How did you know I was starving?” You chuckled, stepping further inside to see the candlelight had spread from the house to the poolhouse as well. Long, tall candles were on the table, sitting on either side of a vase with a couple of your favorite flowers, freshly picked.
“I know you,” Christian said with a grin. You slapped his arm playfully, but he didn’t stay by your side long to take the abuse. He moved past you to the chair, pulling it out for you, the part of the perfect gentleman. You took the seat, feeling like a pile of honey from how sweet he was being to you. “And I know you hate airplane food.” He added on, taking his own seat.
“Very true,” You admitted. The man really did know you better than anyone. You really didn’t think that you would ever love another human being this much, but he blew your expectations of romance right out of the water. “So, you redid the pool house,” You noted, cutting into your food.
“I thought it was about time,” Christian said, looking away from you for the first time of the night to take in his own handiwork. “I was thinking about adding more to it - making it like a playhouse.”
“A playhouse?” You asked, putting your fork down in surprise. “For who?”
“No one we know ... yet,” He said, a coy expression on his face. You knew exactly what he had meant though - you’d had these conversations before. Before you even got engaged, you wanted to be on the same page about having children one day. You wanted to share everything with him. Not just your heart, your career or your house - but the experience of parenthood as well. Thinking about a couple of little Christian’s running around, with big sweet versions of his eyes - it was almost too cute to bare. But the time had never seemed right, not with the fame and your constant projects. But he hadn’t taken on a job in six months, you realized. It made you wonder if he was serious about settling down for a while.
“Do you really mean that?” You asked, your own schedule wide open. Now was actually the perfect time if you were going to try for kids. You were financial steady, the house was paid off, you didn’t have to rush off for work anytime soon. And Christian could be there for you throughout all of it.
“What better time than now?” Christian asked, continuing to eat like he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell on you. You picked your fork back up and continued to eat, imagining throughout what could be done with this place. You’d need many more shelves for the plethora of toys that your children were going to have.
“Could you be any more perfect?” You asked, sliding your foot up his thigh as a little tease of what was to come later.
“Is that a challenge?” Christian asked, raising an eyebrow at you from across the table. “What if I told you that I planned to also clean the dishes tonight, and be the one that picks up all of the rose petals. You don’t even have to lift a finger.”
“Then I’d say yes, you can be more perfect,” You said, giggling. You hadn’t even thought about how annoying it could be to pick up each individual rose petal.
No matter how much you felt like you didn’t deserve all this, he had a way of making you feel perfect in return.
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bxthharmon · 4 years ago
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Ivy, Chapter 1 ~ Inhale, In Hell There’s Heaven
Words: 2219
Series Warnings: Underage drinking / Smoking weed / violence / abusive relationships / toxic friendships and relationships
Pt Warnings: drinking / smoking weed / a fight
Series Summary: She’s been faking her whole life, and he makes her realise she doesn’t have to
Pt Summary: A party leads to a reunion
Pairings: Pope Heyward x reader, Rafe Cameron x reader
A/N: okay sorry for dipping but im returning with the first chapter from my new series (yes ik the gif is from euphoria but i love it)
prologue in masterlist
“masterlist”
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She meets Sarah at eight, outside the gas station in Figure 8. She is leaning against the cool glass, wearing a bikini and booty shorts and smoking a blunt with a half empty bottle of Smirnoff in her free hand. She is met by Sarah’s disapproving gaze, and sulkily puts the sweet scented blunt out, mumbling about needing some kind of pregame to make it through the party. They link arms, walking in silence through the unlit suburbs, houses too big for their own good. 
They hear the party before they see it. 
From around a corner, they can hear the deep bass and the loud chatter of drunk teenagers. Sarah, innocent and apprehensive, lets her friend walk ahead, watching as the girl high fives and fist bumps almost everyone, calling out greetings to those she can’t reach, and answering random quick fire questions as she wanders down the front lawn. If Sarah was popular, Y/N was famous. On an island where everyone knew everyone, Y/N was the centre of everyone’s attention - the combination of being an experienced partier and high achiever found the respect of adults and classmates alike. She was the queen of the island, with a hold over the youth that couldn’t be rivalled.
The front door, open already, allows them into a thicker atmosphere, the reception hall opening up, on one side, the living room acts as a dance floor, thriving and jumbling with dancers. On the other side, the kitchen acts as a buffet of expensive spirits and party food. Past the stairs, the dining room is full of more dancers, but also more smokers, more drugs, the air at the back of the house thick with smoke. The large French doors of the dining room open into a huge garden, teenagers in the pool, around the pool, away from the pool.
Y/N leads the way to the kitchen, grabbing two solo cups from one of the red towers, and mixing herself a drink with concerning dexterity. For the first time since they entered the house, she turns to Sarah. Through the hum of the bass and loud shouts, Sarah understands that her friend is asking what she would like to drink. “Surprise me!” She shouts, and the girl in front of her shrugs, a small laugh playing at her features as she grabs a few bottles, some of them alcoholic, some of them not, and concocts a drink. Her hair flashes with the lights, neon pink eyeliner and glitter shining as she moves around, picking up bottles and stirring. After a minute, maybe two, the girl passes a drink back, an excited smile in her cerulean eyes as she bites her lip and gages her friend's reaction. Sarah takes a sip from the red cup, swirling the drink around in her mouth. She can taste the sweet citrus of orange and mango, and the masked tang of the spirits. Her friend shouts a warning, saying she’ll drink it like it’s juice, not vodka, so will definitely be wasted by the night’s denouement.
Sarah feels a sweaty palm grab hers, tanned hands connecting, and then the pair are off again, wriggling their way through the throng of bodies, moving to the beat. Sarah is hardly aware of their path - always ready to follow the girl blindly - until she finds herself outside, in the warm air of the late spring evening, bodies spreading out. Beyond the pool, teenagers stand in groups, some passing bottles or spliffs, some empty handed. Greetings are called out, most aimed for her counterpart, but a few called to her. Eventually, she is pulled to a halt. Kelce and Topper stand before her. Her boyfriend kisses her, and she smiles at the familiarity of the touch, tuning into the conversation, the clear night air allowing the ability to hear.
The talking is about parents - complaining, probably. Kelce is laughing at something Fallon is saying, and Topper is chuckling too. The conversation flows for a few minutes, each person taking intermittent sips from their respective cup. Sarah is talking to Topper, and when she looks up again, her friend is gone.
Y/N shimmies her way through the crowd, her cup dangling delicately from her blue-painted fingertips above her head as she works her way towards one of the dance floors - whichever one has a better atmosphere - she hasn’t decided yet.
She passes on the first, finding herself dancing in the suffocatingly crowded living room. After a while, when her drink is finished and her cup has been knocked away, her thirst gets the better of her, and once again she struggles against the tides of people, trying to get to the drinks. She works her cocktail magic, only drawing her attention away from her contriving at the sound of shouting. The kitchen thins out, and she sees the shapes of two men struggling against each other outside, hazardously close to the pool.
Curious, she joins the flow of people, working her way to the front of the forming circle, winking to Sarah, on the other side. She is surrounded by phone screens, each fixated on the brawl before them, following each punch, each kick.
The two offenders, one of them being the Cameron boy, the other blond and scruffy, seem dead set on causing damage. Before it gets exciting though, two more bodies join the violent fiasco, one of them being Kelce, the other a Pogue - recognisable as John B Routledge. 
The crunch and smack of each punch is painful to listen to, let alone tiresome. It’s the same shit every party - someone crashes, and everyone’s mad about it. Rolling her eyes, she sips her drink. She realises that she does know the blondie - he mows her lawn every Tuesday. She almost laughs at the thought, but withholds her self-inflicted humour. 
The fight fizzles out, the audience bored and the performers tired. One of the Kooks - he best friend's brother - is surfacing from the pool. She turns to leave, the entertainment of the night having ended quickly, but is stopped by the clammy hand of her friend.
“Does that happen at all parties?” Sarah asks.
For someone known for being an extrovert, she’s extremely inexperienced when it comes to parties. “Sure.” Fallon shrugs, already bored with the prospect of a fight. “Come dance with me.”
After another hour of dancing and drinking, she checks her phone. Her eyes scan over threatening texts from her parents, and countless missed calls.
Fuck them. The epiphany arises, and as if it’s genius, she agrees to her undisclosed plan. Wanting to take action quickly, she leaves whatever boring conversation she’s been dragged into and swipes a bottle of overly expensive whiskey and stumbles upstairs, opening each door cautiously, and slurring an apology at each yell until she finds the bathroom. She locks the door and sits down in the bath, drinking straight from the bottle as she ponders her own life.
She swings her legs up, worn nikes resting on the tiled wall as she drops her back, lying down so that she is nestled into the bath, her falling over her face in the cramped space. She discards the emptied bottle carelessly, enjoying the clunk that sounds as the glass hits the bathmat. 
She doesn’t know how long she lies there, turning every detail of her life so far over in her head, but when she wrestles her way out of the bath, the music is still in full flow. She fumbles to unlock the door, opening it into the face of a boy she hasn’t seen in years. “Pope?” She laughs, and he shakes his head despairingly, “Popey!”
“Oh my God, Y/N.” He frowns, not returning your drunken sentiment, “How much have you had?”
She groans, mumbling about his buzzkill tendencies as she almost falls down the stairs, rejoining the lively crowd of teenagers. She stumbles to the door, falling out into the fresh air as she checks her phone again, seeing that it’s almost half past one. She tries to gather her bearings, to work out which way leads home, but her inebriated state fights against it. Mumbling incoherent strings of words - barely able to be described as sentences - she realises that she only lives three streets over. In which direction, she is still uncertain.
“Need help?” The voice sounds behind her, and she spins clumsily, a pair of hands steadying her as she blinks dumbly at the offending face. The same face as earlier - Pope Heyward’s. Oh, so he thinks he’s so cool. Recognition dawns on her.
“Nope!” she hiccups. “Your friend fought Rafe.”
“Yeah.” he chuckles, letting go of her slowly, making sure she won’t fall. She blinks again, gazing at his face with utmost curiosity.
“He deserved it.” she decides, “He gets cocky.”
“That he does.” she tilts backwards again, and grabs her hands, pulling her back up gently, a familiar amused smirk forming as he glances down.
“I don’t think he’s a bad person though.” 
The boy in front of her raises his eyebrows, doubt adorning his features. “Debatable. Need help getting home?”
She ponders on it for a second, “As long as you don’t kidnap me.” she shrugs, “But he’s not.”
“Isn’t he?” the boy challenges, letting her walk ahead, swerving around with her arms out as she’s a child playing airplanes.
“Nope.” she bubbles, “None of these people are. I mean sure,” she spins around, sparing a look at the large house either side of her, “they’re backstabbing, fake, plastic assholes, but they’re not inherently bad.” He laughs, and she drapes a tanned arm over his shoulder. “Why’re you doing this?”
“You were wasted, I want to make sure you get home safely.” he explains, and she stumbles forwards, her arm sliding from its place on his shoulders.
“Popey, Popey, Popey.” she giggles, the thought of your childhood friend making you smile, forgetting for a moment that his shoulder was the one brushing against hers. “You used to be so carefree.” Pope nods slowly, your proclamation making sense in his head as he remembered the days before college applications and 4.0 GPAs. “So did I.” she murmurs.
“You seem pretty carefree now.” he scoffs, and she cackles.
“My darling,” she turns abruptly, forcing him to stop as you stroke his cheek mockingly, the sweet smell of alcohol and weed filling his lungs at the close proximity. “I’m a good actor.”
He scoffs again, “You’ve got everything, Princess.”
“In material terms, maybe.” she shrugs, rubbing her eyes so that colourful phosphenes imprint themselves in her vision. “But I’m trapped.”
She stops again on the street corner, and he faces her, unimpressed with her sentiment. “A caged linnet bird, are we?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m perfect.” she shrugs, and this time he rolls his eyes. “No seriously, I’ve got a 3.9 GPA, I study in the week, but look at me, a party girl. I’m a good friend, I’m dutiful and classy and I laugh at the right times and make the right jokes. I pull off being a preppy good girl and a party girl. But I’m so fucking bored. I want to feel free. I want to feel like I’m invincible, like my parent’s expectations and college plans and shitty friends can go fuck themselves because I’ll be free.”
There’s a glint of confusion in his eyes as he stares at her, watching the light in her eyes renew itself, even the idea of being rid of those metaphorical constraints giving the girl a happier aura. “What about all those times you ran away from home?” she turns to him, a smile on her lips as she cups his cheeks, drunkenly condescending.
She sighs. “I spent a few days high off my ass - it was hardly an escape. I wanna find a way to feel like all the pressures of this island are gone without actually having to leave.” He nods slowly, knowing the feeling, and she smiles, the embarrassment of the outburst plaguing her mind, retrospect sobering her up slightly. The girl steps away from him, “Shit,” she mutters, “I said nothing.”
She turns away, rushing towards the front door, now in sight. “Y/N, wait!”
Pausing, her shoulders drop as she faces the boy again. “Hang out with me, at least once - take a break.”
A frown pulls at her brows, mockery filling her eyes, “You?”
“Yeah, just trust me, okay? I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
She bites her lip, skepticism adorning her features as she turns the offer over in her head. “10 o’clock - don’t be late.”
She steps backwards, out of reach, and for a second she finds herself wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t pushed the boy away. There’s a moment of silence, and even in her inebriated state she can tell that he’s noticed that she’s changed since their last conversation. In a weird, untimely realisation, she realises that she is not herself, and she hasn’t been for years now. 
Confronted with her thoughts, and this boy, she steps away again, turning away and walking towards her house not daring to look back until her door is unlocked. She knows what she’ll see, it will be just like last time. Still, she has to prepare herself for the observation.
He’s gone.
Permanent Tags: @eternalangst @ultranikilove @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @yxseminx 
OBX Tags: @annmariek8 @cheshirecat107 
Ivy Tags: @outrebanx​ @ad-infinitums​ @bricksatanakinswindow​
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thisbrokenmask · 4 years ago
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Havana Nights
Title: Havana Nights
Pairing: Jin x reader
Genre: Meet-cute, flirting
Warnings: sexual tension?, Jin being a big-ass flirt, Y/N also being a big-ass flirt
Word Count: 5.1k
Song inspiration: Airplane Pt. 2
A/N: Even though ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event is now over, I’m still planning on finishing as many of the songs on my bingo card as I can! I was actually working on this in plenty of time before the end of the event but I just couldn’t get the wording right until this week. 
I also didn’t realise I would end up writing for Jin the most before I started this but what can I say, WWH just does things to me ig.
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You were grateful for the cool rush of air that graced your skin as you entered the bar; the fan fixed above the door was one of many attempting to circulate air around the room, but was the only one that would actually grant any relief from the sticky heat of the midsummer night. You knew that as soon as you took another step into the bar you would be hit by the feverish aura radiating from the undulating mass of writhing bodies on the dancefloor, so you took a few moments to revel in the cool relief before you left it.
Pulling your hair away from your neck and tilting your head to the side to allow the fanned air to hit your pulse point, you smiled at the music that met your ears. You couldn’t see much above the crowd, but you could tell that Ernesto had found another band to perform live rather than playing the same well-loved tracks each night on his beloved jukebox. 
You made your way through the crowd towards the bar, helpless against the smile that pulled at your lips when you saw Ernesto already pouring you a drink. You’d always wanted to come to Cuba, something about the classic cars and the brightly-coloured streets drawing you in, so when you’d decided to travel on your own - a la Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love - Cuba had been first on your list. You hadn’t really had a plan when you’d arrived, but you’d quickly settled in and found a few friends, even writing articles for a local magazine to get you by once your savings started to look a bit thin. You’d met Ernesto no more than a week into your time in Havana, when you’d wandered into the nicest-looking bar near your temporary apartment and he’d immediately taken you under his wing. You were the same age as his own daughter, apparently, but she’d decided to go to graduate school in America and he was missing her, so he made sure he looked after girls like you when they came into his establishment. You had grown to care for him in return, as him being roughly the same age as your own father made it easy to return the familial affection. Carmella, his wife, had started popping round to your apartment to bring you food a few times a week before you eventually started being invited for dinner on a regular basis. As the weeks had gone on, you’d found yourself feeling like this might just be your new home, at least for the foreseeable future, and Ernesto and Carmella had been delighted when you’d told them as such. 
You spent several nights a week at his bar, either chatting to him and some regulars you’d befriended just to be out of the house after a day of writing, or to cut a little loose on the weekends. Ernesto often refused to let men buy you a drink, adamant none of them were good enough for you, but all it took was a smile from you and he would back down, never intervening if you wanted to approach someone on your own. 
“Buena noches, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile, sliding your favourite daiquiri towards you as you took a seat at the bar. 
“Buena noches, Tio,” you greeted him in return, wrapping your hand around the ice-filled glass and feeling the condensation wet your skin. “New singers tonight?”
Ernesto grinned at you before looking over to the group of heads you could see bobbing on the other side of the crowd. “Sí! They come to me last night, seven of them! They ask to perform here, I say they have to prove they can sing first,” Ernesto recounts the story to you and several other patrons as he continues to serve drinks, everyone listening with a smile as he raises a finger, as if he’s about to confide a secret. “They come this morning, they sing a few songs for me and Carmella and I put them straight on the board for tonight!” He laughs as he gestures towards the bar’s entrance, referring to the small notice board that sits on the wall outside to which he attaches the names of the bands he lets play here. You curse yourself for not checking it before you came in. “I don’t understand a lot of it but I’ve been around long enough to know they’re good. They’re from Korea, can you believe? From Korea to my little bar in Havana!” Ernesto is chuckling to himself about the strings of fate being pulled in such a way to bring this band to him, his patrons unable to hold back their grins at his unfaltering spirit, and his awe of them deepens your curiosity ten-fold.
Craning your neck, you attempt to catch sight of the singers through the crowd but can only spy several heads of hair as they bop in time to the beat of their current song. You count six in total; sleek black, two dirty blonds, dark red, what you believe is a head of pale pink, and a wide-brimmed cream hat, but you struggle to see more than glimpses of the faces beneath. Taking a sip of your drink through your straw, the combination of sharp lemon and smooth white rum floods your taste buds as you continue to watch for gaps in the crowd. The music changes several times before you drain your glass, but all of them have kept the crowd thriving and grinding in front of you. 
Placing your empty glass back on the bar, you tuck your hair behind your ear and straighten out your dress as you stand up. You slip between the bodies, letting yourself sink into the heat and the movement of the bodies around you that push and pull like a hot ocean tide. You’ve come to find the sticky heat of the crowds here comforting, almost blissful in how easily they melt away the stresses and worries of your daily life. Ernesto’s is your haven, and the effect of the dancefloor is now instantaneous.
You push your way to the front, bodies parting easily to let you through, and find yourself staring into the shining dark eyes of who you assume is the seventh man that you couldn’t see before. His blond hair is brighter than the other two you had already spotted, shimmering under the lights like the finest white-gold thread.
You notice his eyes quickly glance over you before a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips, his singing uninterrupted. The air of professionalism around him strikes you, as you’re used to a lot of amateur musicians coming through and getting flustered by the proximity of the crowds. You feel heat rise in your cheeks at his close scrutiny of your outfit, your face, and your body, but you also feel heat settle in your abdomen as his gaze never breaks from your own. To grant yourself some minor relief, you look away to observe their set up, your suspicions that they’re more than a travelling band being confirmed the more you see.   
An invisible line on the floor has been mutually agreed between them and the patrons in lieu of an actual stage, a laptop, a few speakers and seven microphones the extent of their equipment. All seven of them are dressed impeccably, their outfits clearly chosen to appear casual and lightweight to suit the heat, yet the evidence of high-quality labels is visible to those who pay attention. All seven of them are also incredibly handsome in their own rights, a combination of sharp and softer jawlines all presided over by deep brown eyes. 
There wasn’t enough room for choreography, but the subtle moves they could pull off were infallibly synchronised. Whether it was shifting their weight from foot to foot in a sway to the beat or performing simple gestures with their arms, as you look down the row of them you could see that none of them were even half a second out of sync. 
The singer in front of you is still watching you, although the intensity of his gaze seems to have lessened slightly while you’ve been distracted. When you look back to him, you see a harder edge start to creep back in again and it stokes the heat in your abdomen. 
You let your gaze drift down him and he watches with interest as you drink in the sight of him. The loose material of his shirt keeps you from being able to distinguish where his waist tapers, but it does nothing to hide the broadness of his shoulders and chest. You briefly wonder what it would be like to hold onto them if he was holding himself above you and whether you’d be able to feel the muscles flexing under your fingers, but you blink the thoughts away, hoping your open appreciation wasn’t too obvious. His simple black jeans accentuate the length of his legs and the strength of his thighs, and you definitely feel your temperature rise as you skim back upwards to his face. 
If you weren’t looking into them, you might not believe that human eyes could be as dark as the ones in front of you, but given the way they burn into yours as soon as they meet, swirling with intrigue and temptation, you’d be a fool to deny the power they hold. You barely notice the song has ended, only becoming aware of it once the man in front of you turns away and walks towards the back of the stage, but not before dropping you a wink. You’re confused but too wired up to turn away, feeling adrenaline rush through your veins as you watch eagerly to see what’s happening. The seven singers gather together briefly, grabbing bottles of water and towels to dab at their faces as they murmur between themselves. The crowd behind you has stilled, but the hum of applause and conversation prevents silence from falling. Soon enough, the band breaks apart to form a vague line, looking out to the crowd before the tallest one steps forward to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for allowing us to entertain you tonight,” his voice is deep and smooth and his accented American gives his words a lilt that makes him even more charming. It’s definitely the voice of a man charismatic enough to apparently be the band’s leader, you think. The crowd applauds behind you, cheers and whoops ringing out loud enough that the leader has to wait a few seconds to speak again. “We’ve thoroughly enjoyed singing for you tonight, and we hope you’ve enjoyed our performance. We’re going to take a break now, but we’ll be back after a short while. For now, please speak to our man, Yunki, if you have any requests.” He gestures to the dark red-headed man to his left, who raises his hand in a wave before heading to the back of the stage and leaning over the laptop, clicking buttons.
The blond you’d been eyeing catches your eye again, the two of you immediately locking gazes. You’ve never experienced a pull towards another person as intense as this before, especially when it’s only after eye contact, and you feel your knees weakening under his gaze. The rest of the members begin to disperse, most heading in your direction to head towards the bar, your blond beau cocking an eyebrow as he begins to walk towards you. Feeling a rush of confidence under his heated stare, you let your lips twitch into a coy smile before turning and making your way back through the crowd, feeling your heart race with excitement and hope that he’s following you as you suspect he will. 
You return to the bar to find your earlier seat still vacant, but your empty glass has been removed and the bartop wiped down. You see Ernesto already grabbing a fresh glass before you even take your seat, a knowing smile in his eyes as he shakes his head fondly at you and a grin breaking across your lips. You see his eyes flicker to something behind you before returning to finishing your drink but, before you can turn to look, he brings your drink to you and places it down with a flourish. 
“And what can I get for the best singers my bar has ever seen?” 
You hear several low chuckles from behind you, five of the seven men having gathered behind you to order from the bar. You turn on the stool to sit sideways, Ernesto on your right and the band on your left, and your eyes immediately meet with the blond at the back of the group. He’s already gazing at you by the time you turn around, his dark eyes steadily watching you, the same smirk from earlier once again pushing up the corner of his lips. He seems to be as interested in you as you are in him, which sends a thrill pulsing through your body. 
“Five of your coldest beers, please, sir,” the leader says in front of you with a charming smile as he dips a hand into his pockets to find his money, “and a single of your finest whiskey, too. Neat, please.” 
“Coming right up!” Ernesto turns to start the drinks, leaving the six of you to exchange silent smiles before you decide to speak.
“You guys are the best band I’ve ever seen here,” you tell them, turning more to lean against the bar as you speak. “I’m pretty sure Ernesto would keep you here permanently if you let him.”
“Ah, thank you very much,” the leader bows his head slightly with a grin, his eyes scrunching closed adorably, his cheeks dimpling. A few more thank yous echo from around the group, all of them having heard your compliment, proud yet bashful grins lighting up all of their faces. “I’m Namjoon,” he offers his hand to you, which you take, and he shakes it gently.
“Y/N,” you offer back with a smile as he releases your hand. 
“That’s a beautiful name,” he says. “It suits you.” 
You can’t help the hard blush that burns your cheeks, especially when you see the other singers nodding in agreement with him, but you still preen under their complimentary smiles. It’s hard not to feel flattered when you have five very handsome and obviously talented gentlemen agreeing that you’re beautiful.
“You’re too kind,” you say instead, taking a sip through your straw to hide your smile and attempt to cool yourself down slightly. When you return the glass to the bar, Namjoon turns to introduce you to the other men at his side.
“Where are my manners?” he says with a chuckle. “Y/N, let me introduce you to my friends. This is Seokjin-hyung,” he gestures to the man at the back, ushering him to the front and making your heart hammer in your chest as the man you can’t stop staring at steps forward.
The word ‘hello’ has never seemed so attractive as it does when he says it, taking your hand in his and dipping down to press a light kiss to your skin. You miss the others roll their eyes and laugh quietly at his antics, too enchanted by the deep eyes you’re finally seeing up close: they’re dark as sin, yet they glimmer under the lights in a way that reminds you of obsidian glass. He lifts his head once more, his blond hair appearing almost white when it catches the light as he does so, and looks at you with a small smile, saying, “Please, call me Jin.” He holds your gaze and you find yourself nodding dumbly, completely entranced. You don’t see the knowing looks passed between the men around you before he’s stepping back and letting your hand gently slip from his grasp, as if he can’t quite bring himself to let you go. 
Namjoon glances between the two of you with a smirk, clearing his throat gently to break the eye contact between you. You shake your head slightly and send a small apologetic smile his way, but he’s either very understanding or doesn’t notice as he gestures to the next man.
“This is Hoseok-”
“Please, call me Hobi.” You don’t miss the snickers this time as he copies his bandmate, although he skips the kiss to your hand. The radiant grin he offers as he shakes your hand instead is contagious and you’re sure it would be enough to cheer you up if you weren’t already in such a good mood. His black hair is parted down the middle and sits gently above his eyebrows, and you wonder if all of them get dimples in their cheeks when they smile, because so far you’re three for three.
“Jimin,” Namjoon gestures to the next man along, whose handsome features are so delicately refined you’d possibly call him beautiful instead, his face blessed with a devilish combination of a sharp jaw and soft eyes, plush lips and apple cheeks.
“It’s a pleasure,” he smiles, bowing nearly 45 degrees as he takes your hand. His voice is as melodic when he talks as you remember it was when you saw him sing just minutes ago, although it seems slightly deeper in conversation.
“Our youngest, Jungkook,” Namjoon gestures to the man standing at your left elbow, who you definitely wouldn’t have guessed was the youngest. He’s taller than Jimin, looks like he might be taller than Hobi as well, and even his arms held politely in front of him can’t hide how broad his chest is. You suppose his eyes give his youth away, wide and curious as they are underneath his peach-pink hair, but he still quirks his lips in a smile as he greets you. 
“Nice to meet you,” he says with a shallower bow than Jimin’s, and his deep voice takes you by surprise - you’re pretty sure you witnessed him effortlessly hitting several high notes that you could only dream of reaching. You’re not sure if it’s his age, but he seems more nervous than the others and lets go of your hand sooner than his friends.
“The two over there,” Namjoon leans closer to you as he points to the two men still standing by the equipment, one you recognise as the ‘Yunki’ previously introduced to the crowd when they announced their break and the other talking to him quietly, watching as Yunki taps away at his laptop. “- are Yunki-hyung and Tae. Tae’s the one with the hat.” You giggle at how bluntly he says it, missing the way all of them watch you with gentle smiles as you do so.
“Hyung?” you look to Jin questioningly, feeling the weight of the foreign word on your tongue as you try to figure out its meaning. “Brothers?”
All of the men chuckle slightly, but none of them come across as malicious or even teasing. “Sort of,” he grins with a nod. “But probably not in the way you’re thinking,” he explains, and you find yourself unable to look away from the kindness in his eyes as he elaborates. “It’s a Korean word, not a surname. More like a term of endearment. We use it to address our friends - and our actual brothers - who are older than us; it’s like a sign of respect.”
“I see,” you nod, offering a sheepish smile to the rest of your company. “My mistake.” They all shake their heads good-naturedly, clearly used to having to explain this to people as they’ve travelled. Your mind briefly wonders how old they all are, whether they’re older or younger than you. “So, would I use it? If you’re older than me, I mean.”
“No, no,” another chuckle escapes Namjoon as he pushes his hair back, another quiet titter of laughter spreading through the group. “‘Hyung’ is just for guys, and only when they talk to other guys that are older than them, family or not.” He pauses, frowning slightly as he considers just how much detail to go into in the middle of a bar. He’s not in the mood to give a full honorifics lesson and, by the way your eyes shift to Jin, he supposes you aren’t in the mood to hear one, either. “There are different words for everyone, really.”
“So what would I call you guys?” Now that your focus on Namjoon has been broken, you struggle to keep it away from Jin for more than a few seconds, your eyes constantly drifting back to him. It allows you to notice the way his pupils dilate slightly at your question, his voice sounding before Namjoon even has a chance to take a breath.
“‘Oppa’,” he tells you, his hungry gaze holding onto yours as if he’s daring you to look away from him.
“Oppa?” You ask experimentally, letting the word roll off your tongue and exaggerating the pout of your lips as you do, taking note of the way his shoulders seem to tense when he hears you say it. You bite into the corner of your lip to try and stop the smirk you can feel pushing at your cheeks, vaguely aware that there are four other men here watching you essentially eye-fuck their friend. 
Your gaze is broken when Ernesto returns just moments later with five of his largest bottles of beer, holding them by their necks before he places them down, pools of water immediately gathering on the bar from the condensation dripping off the bottles. You sit up again and turn back to watch him, barely even seeing the small bottle opener tucked between his fingers as he expertly plucks off all the bottle caps, dropping them all into the bin you know he keeps behind the bar for that very purpose. You cock an eyebrow at him, silently questioning how it seemed to take him much longer than normal to collect a couple of beers, but he simply winks at you with a smile. You shake your head lightheartedly, knowing that his tardiness is his way of giving you time with these men and an unspoken sign of his opinion that at least one of them might just be good enough for you. He retrieves a glass next and then reaches up for a bottle of whiskey you’ve never seen him serve before. The seal is broken but it looks like barely more than a few singles have ever been served out of it. You wince at the thought of the price tag the drink must come with, especially given how small it is, and also wonder which one of them is the one with such a refined taste. 
Your eyes drift to Jin, wondering if his lips will be the ones coated in the sweet, oaky taste of whiskey and whether you’d be able to taste it if you kissed him afterwards, but for once he’s not actually looking at you. He’s murmuring something into Hobi’s ear, his face turned away from you so that you can only see the round outline of his cheeks and the sharp rise of his jawline. You notice the back of his ears have gone slightly pink, but it’s Hobi’s mischievous smile towards you that really captures your attention. Whatever Jin’s saying, you’re growing more sure with every second that it’s about you, especially when Hobi winks at you, but you’re aware that the little you can hear from this distance is Korean. You tell yourself you’re just imagining things as you move your hair back off your shoulders, although you’re not sure if you do so to cool yourself down or to distract yourself. 
“Anything else?” Ernesto asks, smiling warmly at the men beside you, and Jungkook mumbles something to Namjoon in their native tongue that makes the leader startle, his eyes widening almost comically.
“Oh! A glass of water, please,” he says, putting notes down on the bar.
Ernesto nods but pushes the notes back towards Namjoon before he goes to get the final drink. You watch Namjoon’s face contort in confusion, stifling a laugh when he looks at you for an answer.
“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers, unsure if he’s missed a cultural cue or has been impolite in some way. 
“No, no,” you assure him gently, resting your chin on your hand, but hold off from giving him any further explanation until Ernesto returns. 
“Excuse me, sir, did I pay the wrong amount?” Namjoon’s hesitant, probably painfully aware that Ernesto is responsible for his current employment but desperately wanting to do the right thing. 
“My singers don’t pay,” Ernesto says firmly, ignoring the money Namjoon’s holding out to him as he pushes the drinks forward. You notice Jimin stand a little taller at this, nudging Jungkook with his elbow and grinning, wiggling his eyebrows at what he’s essentially just heard as meaning an open bar, but Hobi sends him a slight warning glare and his grin turns into a smirk that he tries to hide behind pretending to wipe his upper lip. 
If nothing else happens, you’re certain you’ve found a reasonable drinking buddy in Jimin, should he wish to join you after his set. 
“I’ll take this to Yunki-hyung,” Hobi says, picking up the glass of whiskey before taking one of the beers and walking away. 
“Pass me the water, please, hyung,” Jimin says, pointing to the glass. Namjoon passes it over to him, then grabs two beers and gives one each to Jimin and Jungkook. You watch them follow Hobi back through the crowd, Jimin passing the water to Taehyung before offering a sip of his beer, which Tae sniffs but seems skeptical, taking a large drink of water instead, much to Jimin’s apparent amusement.
You’re left with Namjoon and Jin, Namjoon still trying to insist he pays Ernesto in as polite a way as he can muster, while Jin leans past him to take his drink. He leans right between you and Namjoon, leaving you staring directly at his broad chest merely inches from your face. You’ve barely had a chance to take in the sweet, woody aroma of his cologne before he’s pulling away again, a hint of something close to cinnamon lingering before he disappears. 
You don’t turn to watch him leave, returning your focus to Namjoon’s valiant yet pointless efforts in order to distract yourself from the heavy weight sinking in your chest. You’d thought Jin would stay and talk to you, especially with the way you’d both been eyeing each other all night, and you can’t say you’re not disappointed.
Although, the feeling doesn’t last for long.
“So, tell me,” you almost jump at the words that are murmured in your ear, turning on your barstool to see Jin taking a seat on the one beside you. His body is leant forward towards you, close enough to keep your conversation private and, once you’ve turned fully, for your knees to brush against his. “If singers don’t pay here, how am I supposed to buy you a drink?”
“Well, oppa,” you lean closer to him, emphasising your newly-learnt word as you place your hand on his thigh, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, hard. “I’m sure you could think of something else you could give me.” The muscles under your fingers tense and you’re sure you both feel the jolt of electricity that passes between you, even if you do still curse the denim that prevents you from feeling the skin of his thigh directly under your fingertips. 
“I’m sure I could,” his eyes once again drift down your body, unabashed in how he so brazenly drinks in the way your skin shimmers under the lights. You hear Namjoon cough awkwardly behind you before he walks away, but you can’t pull your eyes away from Jin. He wets his lips as he zones in on the exposed curve of your neck, your eyes following the brief flash of pink of his tongue before you lock eyes once more. 
“Dinner, maybe?” His eyes drop to your mouth when you speak, fascinated by the way your lips mould around your words.
“Sounds good.”
“Mmm, I agree.” You’ve both been gradually leaning in closer and now you can feel his breath as it ghosts over your skin, resisting the shiver that scurries up your spine in favour of scaling his thigh with your hand. There’s barely a few inches of space between your noses now, both pairs of eyes darting rapidly to take in every feature they can. The hand that was holding his drink on the bar now begins to lightly caress your upper arm, drawing small circles with the wet condensation on his fingers. 
“What are you doing later?”
“All the restaurants will be shut by the time you guys finish,” you tell him with a grin, but he’s undeterred.
“I’ll cook for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You any good?”
“Never had any complaints.” You get the distinct feeling he’s not just talking about food anymore when his hand goes from drawing circles on your arm to gently wrapping around it to hold you close. 
“What can you do?”
“Whatever you want,” he declares, briefly letting go of your arm to tuck your hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, his fingers gently playing with your hair. 
“Sounds promising.” Your fingers brush against the bottom of his belt, your heart rate rapidly increasing as you feel his breath against your own lips. 
“Jin-hyung!” You can’t help but laugh at the rush of air on your lips when Jin sighs, his head dropping slightly, and above the crowd you hear what sounds like Hobi yelping and several different laughs. Jin looks back up to you, an apologetic smile on his lips as you both feel the heat of the moment begin to slip away, although he still plays with the ends of your hair.
“They’re calling you,” you mumble, your hand slipping back down his thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. He looks over your shoulder and lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgement of his band before turning back to you, his palm finally coming to cup your cheek.
“I’ll see you later?” 
“For dinner?” you smirk, and a dark gleam returns to his eyes as he bites his lip.
“For dinner.”
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filmista · 8 years ago
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Woodstock: 3 Days of Peace & Music The Director’s Cut! (1970)
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If a fire broke out in the book and film shelve in my apartment, and I only got the chance to save a few books and a few films from a fiery death, What would I save? Michael Wadleigh's documentary capturing Woodstock would now be one of the first things I'd think I'd reach for.
Why? Because it is truly a time machine: a time capsule, a glimpse into one of the most beautiful and peaceful moments in human history. The kind of moment that makes you wish you could time travel only to witness it and this film allows that a little bit. The film succeeds brilliantly in evoking the atmosphere of the festival.
Not only because it is beautifully filmed, which of course since it was the 70's means intense psychedelic colors and light, a delight mostly for two senses your eyes and your ears. The film transports you into the mindset and the hearts, the soul of these people.
The hippies: what they stood for, what they rebelled against, what they so fervently believed in: peace, music, love, really just letting everybody live freely. These people truly believed in freedom and you see in their faces as they're interviewed that they're convinced of their beliefs, these people believed without a doubt the world was going to become a better, prettier, happier place...
On a small farm in Bethel, in upstate New York Woodstock was presented: 3 Days of Peace & Music better known as simply Woodstock nowadays, a 1969 music festival where the largest hippie congregation in history ever assembled to celebrate the festival. Life, love, and music. Michael Wadleigh wrote this documentary in 1970, showing the construction and experiences of those three days, winning an Oscar as best documentary at the time.
The authors of this great festival are the people who attended and lived in Woodstock in addition to the bands that attended. In this documentary, we're shown how many of those present celebrated life and with a motto of love and peace they rejected and protested against wars, specifically the Vietnam War.
Woodstock would go down in history as the most legendary music festival of all time. Everything seemed to work to perfection during that magical summer of 1969: the atmosphere, the people, the music. 500,000 hippies descended into a meadow to hear greats like Jimi Hendrix, The Who, and Jefferson Airplane.
The traffic got stuck in the areas surrounding Woodstock, the food ran out and there were too few toilets and first aid workers. Still, there were hardly any disturbances and help came quickly from all possible corners. The locals donated food, the army flew in relief supplies and doctors offered their services for free. Woodstock proved that half a million young people , for three days, could live and get along in harmony and was thus a symbol of the fraternizing effects of music.
Director Michael Wadleigh was there and shot pictures that you could frame and hang up in your house. In his documentary Woodstock: 3 Days of Peace & Music Wadleigh presents atmospheric images which he alternates with performances and interviews with festival-goers, artists, organizers, local people and even authority.
He appears to have an eye for special moments; the camera always seems to be in the right place at the exact right time. This makes Woodstock more than just your average festival film, but a living and breathing document with high historical value.
The film paints a stunning portrait of the generation that grew up with rock, recreational drugs and free love, but also with racial hatred, the Vietnam War and the threat of nuclear weapons. The magic of Woodstock gave America and other parts of the world, for a brief moment in time the feeling and sensation that peace and freedom were at hand's reach, not an illusion, not a fantasy, a gorgeous and realistic possibility.
The script of Michael Wadleigh is build up according to how this great festival was being constructed and how it was unfolding and shows the coexistence of the assistants. Michael wanted stories of the young people: their feelings about Vietnam, about the time and feelings and thoughts about i, they most certainly had.
He didn't only want it to be music and with several cuts and screen divisions he was visualizing different parts of the farm where people are shown exactly as they are, with absolute spontaneity. His way of filming included  mostly close ups and traveling. The camera followed the assistants, in fact there is a part that I found hilarious where Wadleigh follows someone on a motorcycle and he eventually bumps into the helmet of the guy on the motorcycle.
Giving an accurate chronology of what was the first mega festival in the history of music would almost be like attempting to sing a song that we all know there is always someone who doesn't know it. But I think it's good to refresh some facts and curious data.
We know that Woodstock didn't take place in Woodstock but a Bethel farm owned by a good man named Max Yasgur who agreed to receive 6,000 people (in the end there were more than 500,000) to please his son Sam who was a mediator along  with his father and the twenty-somethings Michael Lang, Joel Rosenman and Artie Kornfeld, producers and creative minds of the festival.
What perhaps no one imagined is that Woodstock would become an event that would transcend the strictly musical to acquire a deeper meaning: a spiritual and philosophical one, more than half a million people living peacefully for three days, making this festival the milestone that marked a revolution of love And peace counteracting the violent events that happened in the world.
For US $ 18 you could see and hear from the 15th to 17th of August of 1969 (among others) Legendary Janis Joplin, The Who, Country Joe McDonald, Incredible String Band, Ravi Shankar, Joan Baez, Santana, Canned Heat, Mountain, Sly & The Family Stone, Grateful Dead, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Jefferson Airplane, Joe Cocker, Country Joe and the Fish, Ten Years After, The Band, Blood, Sweat & Tears, Johnny Winter, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Paul Butterfield Blues Band, Sha-Na-Na and Jimi Hendrix. (Anyways eventually an anarchist group broke the fences the first day officially making it a totally free festival).
Those who were not there: Bob Dylan (he was angry with the fans who had harassed him during his motorcycle accident that had kept him away from the stage for a long time). He was only to play at Woodstock '94. King Crimson, because of commitments in Britain; The Byrd said "it's just another summer festival"; Led Zeppelin because they did not want to be "another band on the list"; The Beatles were no longer playing live and John Lennon apparently was unable to enter the United States in those days; The Doors two versions: one that underestimated the festival, the other that Jim Morrison feared he would be killed on stage. In short, we do not know if they later on regretted it or not, I know I would.
The film has so many golden moments that it is difficult to choose a favorite. The aerial shots of the huge crowds. The yogis who are through breathing exercises getting naturally high. The couples that are kissing or making out, or even taking it to the next level. The organizers explaining with a big smile on their face that Woodstock is an utter financial disaster.
A girl with a colorful umbrella on a deserted trampled festival ground.The Chief of Police calling the parents of America to be proud of their offspring. Hippies Chanting “NO RAIN! “, noticing that it doesn't help, and then allowed themselves to fall and glide into the mud.
There are only a few minor points. The picture quality logically falters here and there, and leaves stuff to be desired, interviews are difficult to understand because of the background noise and Wadleigh is somewhat too excited with alternating formats at times.
Not everyone likes to contemplate big black bars on the screen. Also, the documentary with It's 3.5 hours is perhaps a bit on the long side. But, then you at least have something that entertains for a few hours right? in the case of Woodstock I'm inclined to say more content is definitely better than less content of lesser quality!
(And personally I find It's imperfectness uterrly charming, it is authentic just like it was, if you go to a concert or a big festival there's just a lot of noise and a lot of what's going on might actually pass you by, and that's that). Woodstock is a film that should be seen by every music lover. Even if you, metaphorically speaking hatched out of the egg after the hippie era.
It is enormously striking to me that nearly everybody that is interviewed is either grinning, smiling, chuckling or laughing: animatedly or loudly, and the ones that aren't being interviewed are having silly or deep, philosophical conversations or they're joking with a friend.
They're smoking weed, they're skinny dipping, they're kissing or they're off making love in between the grass and the flowers, no inhibition, and no shame.  For me also striking is that these people when you’re watching them seemed so alive, they were right at the moment, so into it, they were really living it, no one was only half experiencing it, because they were more focused on getting good footage on their phones, nowadays half of them would probably be staring at a screen.
These people were really genuinely happy (with the exception of one angry older couple that lived near the festival, who were angry at all the noise and the kids taking drugs, to which somebody counter suggests they're peaceful, maybe we should all smoke); happiness permeates throughout the entire film and you really can't help but smile, the belief in love and kindness that permeates through here would melt the hardest and the coldest of hearts.
Woodstock shows that people can come together and coexist together, calmly in harmony and in peace, without violence, without posing a threat to one another. Everybody seemed to believe in helping one another, and it all came from the belief in one thing: peace and love, the power of love, that loving is the one thing that frees us. And it is a beautiful thing to witness.
Of course, it wasn't all perfect or beautiful, Woodstock was, of course, one massive open air manifesto for love and peace, a protest against one thing war and violence, against the worst sides of our nature.
There is something harrowing and chilling under the surface: of some of the happy, smiling young men that you see, some even if they didn't believe in war and killing would be sent to Vietnam and never come back. Some would experience shell shock afterward or other psychological disorders, some would never smile or make love again; but hey at least for three days they were completely free, they spoke their minds and they defended their beliefs.
And yet still there the army was: helping them, probably partly so that they'd have enough men to serve in the army later... but still it was an act of kindness and they seemed to really believe something good was happening, they brought them food (there allegedly once during the festival was breakfast on bed or better in tent for everyone) and drinks. Everybody simply seemed absorbed into the magic of the festival, everyone believed in kindness and in love for a few days.
Woodstock was declared a disaster area and a financial disaster as I said earlier and, yet the organizers were happy and smiling about it, they didn’t see it as an economical failure, they saw it as a success, human nature at It's best, everybody at the festival was civil with one another.
One of the reasons that I love the documentary, even if the hippie movement and what they believed in didn't last and in many things, I'd say, unfortunately, except of course for the STDS that inevitably came with free love...
But I love that these people so passionately defended and held onto their beliefs, even in the world around them weren't all that beautiful at that particular time, there were fear and threats also, but they preferred defending the positive and trying to get the world to see the positive rather than focusing all their attention and energy on the negative, they actually, physically tried to make a change...
It's a nice reminder of human decency and of the fact that people can live with each other harmoniously, that everybody can be each other's equal, these people really believed that and for a beautiful moment in time it really was so...
I find that watching Woodstock when  really helped to instill a new positivity, a renewed belief in humanity, but then I think: it didn't last, was it really one of the all-time highs in human civilisation and has it in some aspects gone downhill since? But then some part of me thinks if these people could do it, then surely it oughta be possible again, so I'm a bit conflicted by the end, both sad and happy.
And then there's the music of course! It is pure, honest and straight from the heart ... The lineup of Woodstock was mouth-watering and would give many people goosebumps and chills of pleasure and many performances are considered classic. Richie Havens who improvised the song "Freedomi" during his set.
Janis Joplin who died too young was singing her lungs out.”Pinball Wizard" by The Who and "Purple Haze" by Jimi Hendrix. Carlos Santana that presents himself to a large audience, with a very young Michael Shrieve behind the drums. The energy explodes from the stage and all that beautiful music is thanks to the improved sound quality of the Director's Cut allowed to shine even more. So a real treat!
The biggest concern and which was the motive of the film is to show the rejection of the government system as such, people were tired of wars and the festival was a way of being able to express themselves and not to obtain an economic purpose but rather to unify and to make known to the world their peaceful ideals and the love of art.
It shows how an event defined a generation, how the love of art and music can achieve a feeling and unite many people in the goal of achieving peace. In addition, Wadleigh accomplished his mission, to show the ideas and stories of the people besides making evident what the acts that took place in Woodstock were. Simply a delightful documentary.
Some facts: The poster of Woodstock 69 is one of the most famous images in the world and also became a symbol of peace. Rolling Stone included the festival on a list of the 50 defining moments in Rock and music history. Jimi Hendrix insisted on closing the festival and gave the longest concert of his career. The festival started an hour late because it was difficult to find any of the artists in the fit enough condition to perform.
Tim Hardin was too high and his repertoire was limited to two tracks (later he died of a heroin overdose). Richie Havens, who opened the first day's performances, had to lengthen his repertoire because the next ones to play were not ready. His song Freedom became a worldwide anthem.
The drugs deserve a separate paragraph: Nine out of ten festival goers smoked marijuana and in total 33 were arrested for drug use, according to health services. "Bad trip" cases with LSD: 400. Bond price in Dollars to release those arrested for possession of LSD: 20,000. Price in dollars of 30 grams of marijuana: 15.
There were two births in Woodstock, as well as free sex, mud, music, food shortages (the army sent aid by air). Three deaths: a boy hit by a tractor while sleeping, another after a ruptured appendix and another by overdose of heroin. Hundreds of people who could not get through because of chaos in transit. The average speed of the cars was 1.6 km per hour. And a millionaire loss that took 10 years to recover from for the organizers. The cleaning of the property demanded U $ S 100,000 extra.
To finish, I extract a paragraph written a couple of years ago in Rolling Stone magazine signed by Andy Greene. The note refers to the filming of the documentary and it seems to me a beautiful summary:
“Smiling nuns make peace signs to the camera; Cops eat ice cream from popsicle sticks with hippies; And the old folks make a common cause to feed the fans. And, like everyone in Woodstock, the very existence of the documentary is a small miracle. Just moments after cameraman David Myers finished filming a couple having sex on the grown grass at the Woodstock festival in 1969, he found a garbage man that was cleaning a chemical toilet that flooded with a huge sucking hose. "It’s hard to keep up,” he says. “I’m glad to do it for these kids. My son is here, and I also have one in Vietnam. Now he’s in the demilitarised zone, flying helicopters. "As the man heads to his next chemical toilet, a tall hippie stumbles out of one, smoking a pipe, looks fixedly at the camera and says, ”They don’t see us. Do you want some?”
The Woodstock film crew:
L-R: Michael Wadleigh, Renee Wadleigh, Martin Scorsese
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Arlo Guthrie: It's incredible. I heard the New York Thruway's closed. News Reporter: Closed? This morning we heard that they were backed down Route 17 with an eight hour delay. Arlo Guthrie: Right. Well, the New York Thruway's closed. Isn't that far out?
“Max Yasgur: [to crowd] This is the largest group of people ever assembled in one place, and I think you people have proven something to the world: that a half a million kids can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing *but* fun and music, and I God bless you for it!”
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thinkaboutrunning · 3 years ago
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Things I can't run without
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I know, running is supposed to be the most basic of all exercises, except maybe walking. We should be able to run without any additional gear, even without special clothing. And if we must do it that way, we certainly can. But, it's so much more fun and so much more pleasant when we arm ourselves with available gadgets and gizmos. I've tried many and kept only a few I can't run without, sort of. From run trackers to podcast players, here's what I use.
I started "au naturel" wearing my ancient sports shorts from high school (I was lucky they made them so stretchy that I could fit in) and sneakers I bought for walking. They were comfortable and felt great. Sneakers were already moulded by my feet. Those were simple, chafing and blister-free runs.
The more serious I became about it, though, the more I started reading online and offline about things advertised as "essential" to improve my running. To tell the truth, I was mostly interested in finding a way to measure the distance I ran. Those were the days just before GPS became omnipresent. Sometimes I drove the route I was going to run to measure the distance on the car's odometer; on one occasion I even talked a friend into following me in a car. He avoids me ever since.
I turned to the internet, bought a Nike+ pedometer, put it on my shoes and paired it with my iPod. It was inaccurate, for sure — for example a marathon I ran with it was measured as a 45 kms run, full 3 kms longer than actual distance — but it was ingenious when it comes to motivation and goal-setting. Now I could set the weekly, monthly and other goals in distance and time. And, it had a feature I miss ever since - a "Power Song". I could pre-program my own pick-me-up tune and then play it whenever I want or need it during the run by pressing and holding iPod's menu button.
If you promise not to laugh at my taste in music, I'll tell you the song that carried me through the heavy-legged final stages of quite a few marathons and half-marathons; it was Christina Aguilera's "Candyman". Other than catchy melody and cheerful vibe, it also had the perfect beat-per-minute rhythm to which I could match my stride and get some badly needed speed. When I evolved to more sophisticated distance trackers, I lost that Power Song feature and miss it ever since!
I already outed myself as the non-purist runner. (The purists being runners who don't listen to anything other than the sounds of their surroundings and their own breathing.) Yes, I run with headphones, and am not apologizing for it. Nowadays, my phone is my tracking device and a few "essential" apps keep track of my runs and make them more enjoyable. Before I bare my running soul and sole in front of you, I want you to know that I'm kind of an old geek. I like to experiment and try new things all the time, sometimes to my own detriment. One can't know if something's really good until he tries it, right? So, here are my running essentials.
A GPS-capable smartphone is a must. I have an old-ish iPhone 8 which still tracks my distance quite well.
Comfortable headphones. My ears are large — I know, I'm not proud of them and didn't ask for them, but there they are. Most of the earbuds and other fancy small earphones won't stay in my ears. They wiggle and slide out after a few running steps. So, I'm looking for headphones that hook in place in some way. Trust me, running with an earbud that needs to be tucked back in every few steps can ruin your mood run! The current ones I have is the simplest of simple sets of Panasonic wired sport headphones with plastic hook over the ear. What I look for in headphones? I want them light, with some sort of hooking solution either over ears or around the head. Waterproof, or at least water-resistant is preferable. Because, no amount of sweat or rain can stop us, right? Bluetooth wireless are great, but tend to be heavier due to the battery they need to function, which makes them fall outta my ears easier. Also, some bluetooth headphones have connection problems, even though my phone is in my waist-belt less than a meter down from my ears. Further, I prefer earphones which sit outside my ear canal, thus allowing me to hear the sound of my surroundings. It's always useful to hear the car approaching. I know it spoils the sound quality, but ask yourself do you really need a studio-quality sound while running on the road?
I've seen people running with fancy over-the-ear noise-cancelling headphones — I'd love me a pair of those for when I'm on an airplane, but there are two problems I have with them in running situation: they tend to be hot and make me sweat even more; they make me unaware of the traffic and things approaching me outside my field of vision.
My favourite run-tracking app is iSmoothrun. It has more data of my run than I really need, but hey — better too much than not enough, right? It tracks the mileage on my shoes, too. It has easily programmable intervals with great audio feedback. And it syncs with many running community and tracking sites, from Strava to RunKeeper and many in between.
Running community site I use is RunKeeper. It's neither better nor worse than the others. I have used it since 2010, all my running data since then is there and even though I tried Strava and many others, I haven't found a compelling reason to switch, yet. RunKeeper is owned by ASICS, which sort of guarantees they'll be around for a while. But really, it's the matter of preference. I can only suggest that, when you find the site that works for you, stick with it and keep all your data in one place.
One more essential app or site is a weather app. I'm currently running in Europe and use two weather mobile websites which, between them, give me the most accurate hourly forecast: Yahoo weather and Norwegian YR. In North America I trusted The Weather Network the most. Whichever app you choose, I suggest check if it offers the wind speed data per hour. Also "feels like" feature for temperature, whether it's the humidex factor (humidity index) or windchill (in the winter) is very helpful when you need to decide what to wear for the run. All the sites I mentioned above have it.
When it comes to on-run entertainment, there is your music app, whether it's the streaming one (Apple Music, Spotify) or just music playing one. I can't help you much with it, as I'm using Apple Music because it's pre-installed and all my music is there.
Then, there's a podcasts app. Podcasts are radio on demand on any topic you can think of and many you never thought of. They are great way to break the monotony of a long run. My "weapon" of choice is Overcast.
Finally, for the book-loving runners among us, there's an audiobooks app of your choice. On Apple's platforms Apple Books app (former iBooks) doubles as an e-book reader and an audiobook player. Personally, I'm a big reader, but find the audiobooks not affordable, especially at my reading pace of 3-5 books a month. I tried Audible too, it gives one book a month within the subscription, the rest costs extra. Too much for my pocket!
Then I found the solution! There's an iOS app (I'm certain there's something similar for Android too) called Epub Reader. It not only lets me read ebooks, but it also reads it to me. There is selections of voices to choose from and some of them sound almost human. When a book is so good I can't put it down for a run, I listen to it in the same app, while running. My version of the app takes only epub formatted ebooks, but there are plenty free online book conversion sites to help if your book is in a different format. You can try ToEpub, or just search for "free epub converter online".
There you go — these are the gizmos that made my runs enjoyable for years. What are yours? Also, if you have any question, just ask!
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melonoverlord · 6 years ago
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Turt’s ask meme for Gail the good good child
1. What would be their favorite Disney (or other animated) movie?
If anyone asked her, she’d say she didn’t like Disney movies because they were for kids or they weren’t cool, but she secretly loves the Aristocats. One of her favorite characters anywhere has always been Marie the kitty. 
2. What do they usually like for breakfast?
Egg and chorizo burrito. Bailey and her both eat a little too much spicy food but when you live in Texas, what can you do?
3. What sort of cuddler are they?
Gail usually doesn’t like to be touched unless she knows the person very well. Once she gets to the Library and reconciles with her brother or gets close with any of the Scholars, she’ll just swing her legs over her friends and just chill there or rest her head on their lap. She doesn’t like to cuddle in the traditional sense of being hugged, but she’ll be happy just flopping on you and asserting her dominance.
4. How do they say “I love you”?
It’s usually preceded by an insult like “Damn you’re super stupid, but I love you”, but she more shows it by entertaining you and sitting down and talking about feelings. Both and Bailey are big believers in sharing feelings, just Gail is a little bit more forward about it. She is honest though in that if she says she loves you, she means it.
5. What kind of shoes do they wear?
Black combat boots or gray converse.
6. What is their favorite accessory?
A black and pearl choker that Bailey’s ex-boyfriend and her current “guardian” Leo gave her.
7. Are they more inclined towards fashion or comfort?
Definitely fashion. For a fourteen year old girl, she makes very good fashion choices that make conservative adults very scared. She’s a fashion punk and she’s coming for your pearls.
8. What makes them laugh?
Bailey or Leo doing anything stupid, anything John Mulaney, eventually the catfights between Ashi and Philly, and of course Ezra being a total dweeb lord. She and Sarita are going to become best friends.
9. Do they have a favorite flower?
Begonias. Not only do they sound funny, they’re beautiful and ombre.
10. Would they be the one to propose to their significant other?
Totally. She is tired of being alone and just wants someone to hold. Plus opening that ring box is a power move and has big dick energy like her.
11. What bad habits do they have?
Being way to blunt about her feelings, shutting people out who’ve hurt her but haven’t meant to, getting into arguments for the fun of it, holding a grudge like no other.
12. What are their biggest insecurities?
Honestly, Gail is one of the few kids with stellar self esteem. The only insecurity she has is if Bailey will want to see her after all these years.
13. How do they wear their hair?
Short, half shaved and natural. Sometimes she’ll straighten it for the aesthetic, but a girl has got to slay with natural hair.
14. Are they an impulse shopper? If so, what would they buy?
Oh definitely. She will go to target with just 20 bucks and come out with 100 dollars worth of stuff, usually clothes, makeup, and movies. She is a huge movie buff and watches odd sci-fi and horror with Leo all the time.
15. When do they usually sleep?
She usually tries to go to bed at around 10:30pm just so she has time to bounce around dreams. Time moves a lot faster in dreams so she has to act fast.
16.What makes them worry?
Not being able to find Bailey, not liking what she’ll find when she finds him, leaving Leo behind to face another one of his closest friends leaving, the American prison system, taxes.
17. Do they have any creative outlets?
She’s been doing digital art since she was around ten, and she’s helped Leo with some of his album covers, so when she comes to the Library, she’ll be totally down to do some covers for Ashi when she makes music. Plus she’ll do digital art of all her friends.
18. How do they comfort an upset loved one?
Usually trying to talk to them about their feelings, and putting a hand on their shoulder while she makes them iced tea. She’s not necessarily the greatest as comfort since she’s usually been on the receiving end, but she’s learned a lot from both Bailey and Leo and she’d do an alright job.
19. What are they like when they’re sick?
No one is ever sure when Gail is sick because she always acts normal. You can only tell she’s sick if you come close to her and see that her body temperature is radiating heat and she is looking through you. Otherwise, she’s great at keeping her cool.
20. Do they say what they’re thinking, or keep their thoughts to themselves?
Gail is one of the only kids at the Library who doesn’t hide their feelings behind a twenty foot wall. She will 100% let you know what she thinks about you whether it’s that you’re the most annoying person she’s ever met or that she’s afraid that she won’t like what she’ll find when she reunites with Bailey.
21. What is the best gift they’ve ever received?
The last gift she got from Bailey when she was nine was a stuffed pig that she still carries around with her (though heavily hidden in a backpack). His name is Sir Oinks of the North Sea.
22. Are they good at keeping track of time?
If she’s waiting for something, yes. But in the sense of generally knowing what time it is, she can be gone for a week and think it’s only been a day.
23. What is their favorite ice cream flavor?
Chocolate chip cookie dough. She’s that asshole who takes all the cookie dough from the container and just leaves it as “chocolate chip ice cream”
24. What would they order from a fast food/take-out place?
Kung Pao chicken, Broccoli beef, spicy pork, so many dumplings, and about eight fortune cookies just for her.
25. What is their favorite pizza topping(s)?
Meat Lovers with jalapenos. Sausage, chorizo, pepperoni, ham, chicken, and really anything meaty that would most likely cause heartburn.
26. What is their favorite type of cookie?
Simple chocolate chip.
27. Do they paint their nails?
The only acceptable color is black, but sometimes she’ll paint her nails blue when she misses her brother, or white.
28. What is their favorite board game?
Guess Who. Since getting telepathy, she’s learned how to cheat by reading minds, but she loves asking questions based on vibe rather than looks (ie: “Do they look like a Republican?”, “Would they go down on Kathy Bates?”)
29. Are they more of a pants or skirts kind of person?
Its a toss up. 50% of the time she wears ripped jeans or cutoffs, and then the other 50%, she’s in punk skirts and leggings.
30. Do they dream often? What about?
She’s recently been able to telepathically link herself to people in her dreams, so usually she uses her dreams as a way to talk to Bailey and try to find out where he is. She hasn’t gotten very far, but when talking to Bailey doesn’t work, she’ll just jump around in people’s heads and try to see what’s up with them. It’s a fun exercise and she hasn’t been caught.... yet.
31. Do they have any phobias?
Ants, bears, and vomit.
32. If they were a pokemon, which would they be?
Mew, small and suspiciously cute, but is very powerful and could fuck up your day if you try to cross it.
33. How well do they handle sea travel? Air travel?
She doesn’t mind either. She gets a little queasy on airplanes, but she handles it a lot better than her brother. She doesn’t get as claustrophobic.
34. Which Disney character are they most like?
Moana. Spiritual, on the hunt for a dude that definitely fucked up, bless by the hair gods, and isn’t afraid to hit someone with something big and flat.
35. What sort of parent would they be?
I don’t think Gail would ever become a mom, but become the cool aunt to Bailey’s kids that bring them gifts from all over the world and remind them how big of a dipshit their father is. Bailey is equal parts grateful that Gail wants to be a part of his and his kids’ lives, and equal parts insulted that Gail has this many stories about him being stupid.
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stoked-skeleton-blog · 8 years ago
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daniel talks #1
Hello to all followers of my girlfriend,
So I know Maxi has been blogging for a while now however up until recently I have be unable to read the posts due to them being in German. I am trying to learn Deutsch but my progress is still very much in its infancy. However I have always had a good understanding of what she has been writing about from parts she translated for me and most importantly from experiencing most of the stories first hand.
But now the posts are in English… firstly I have been able to fully appreciate how incredible she is at describing all of these amazing experiences in her very own unique way which for me is the real talent. Secondly we had the idea that I could maybe write a post from my point of view which is equally exciting and kind of daunting.
Arriving back in London from Panama yesterday afternoon after three flights, a long layover and returning to work and squeezing onto the tube during rush hour is never a nice experience but believe me it seems infinitely worse after spending 15 wonderful days, in the most surreal place with my absolute favourite person.  
So here we are… its my turn.
This start of this trip was pretty strange as i would be travelling alone and be meeting Maxi in Panama. The travelling was not a problem, I have done plenty of travelling all over the world for work and pleasure, but the anticipation to get to Panama or more importantly Bocas Del Toro was killing me. My flight from London was early on Friday morning which meant either stay in a hotel for a few hours on my own on Thursday night  or just hang out all night at Heathrow. As I was unlikely to sleep either way i opted for the later.
Landing in Panama City 13 hours later or something I then had another night to kill on my own as it was impossible to get to Bocas that night. Trust me if there was the slightest chance I would have attempted it. I have pulled of many tight connections in the past to get somewhere sooner but having looked into all of the potential options as foolishly optimistic as possible, assuming every flight was perfectly on time, my surfboard bag would be waiting for me as punctual and pristine as if it was a going on a first date with its high school crush as soon as I sailed through immigration then find an ex formula one taxi driver to take me to the next airport in record breaking time where the Panama Air staff were eagerly awaiting my arrival and keeping the airplane doors open as long as reasonably viable, it would still not possible. So I checked into my hotel, took a shower, spoke to Maxi on the phone for a short while before getting some sleep before my alarm went off at 5am the next morning.
By the time I landed at Bocas airport i was beyond excited to meet up with Maxi and begin our adventure. As I walked out of the airport I was immediately offered a taxi which i accepted however the deal fell through somewhere during the 20 metre walk through the airport and the offer was no longer on the table. I was considering trying to walk to where I thought our Airbnb was when another taxi showed up, I showed him the address I had which was met with a clueless expression as if i had asked him to take me to a mythical city, then my phone started ringing, it was Maxi. She told me to go to Panagas (a shop that sells gas cylinders) which was more than enough information for my moronic Conrad even though I was confused as to how that was any less cryptic than the full street address for where I wanted to go but nevertheless we was on our way.
I recognised the area from the Airbnb photos and as we pulled alongside the cabana. There was Maxi swinging in a hammock seat on the front porch, with a huge smile on her face. That moment alone made the last 30 hours of travelling worth it. Reunited again it was time to get the party started and fuck shit up in Panama.
Although it was never discussed i think we were both a little sceptical about the Airbnb when we booked it. It clearly had amazing potential from the photos and description and the reviews were mostly positive but seriously that place was incredible. If I had tried to imagine the perfect place to stay for the two weeks we was going to be in Panama together it would not have been anywhere near what we had. I am not going describe the place as Maxi has already done that but I knew from walking into that place that it was going to be ideal for what I was and am always most looking forward to about these trips which is getting to spend time with my girlfriend.
I started unpacking and said to Maxi that I have to give her a valentines gift early which she protested against initially however I really did have to give it to her so no matter how much she tried convince me to wait it was never an option. I pretended to search through my bag as if to be trying to locate something small and hard to find and then pulled a brand new, custom made, completely plain surfboard from the bag with a huge heart and the words “ Happy Valentines Days” drawn crudely in wax on the top and sat there waiting for the usual freak out whenever I surprise her with stuff like this which normally includes crazy overuse of the word “WHAT!” and calling me a weirdo. However in this instance there was silence and I was a little unsure what to do, it never occurred to me that it might not be obvious that it was in fact the gift. I can’t remember exactly what made the penny drop, it may have been when I took my board out of the bag but that may completely wrong nevertheless as soon as she realised it was in fact her very own surfboard the excitement and appreciation flooded out as originally expected… thank god haha.
Our itinerary for our time in Bocas could not have been more straightforward. It basically consisted of surf as much as possible and find somewhere to watch the super bowl. This is the strange thing about me and Maxi, the idea of compromising for each other so that we both get to do what each other wants doesn’t exist, ever. Not that we wouldn’t if it was necessary, but it never is which I find incredible. It was the same for our trip to Sri Lanka.
I would start the day by waking up at around 6am and getting some juice and heading out to the porch to check my instagram for any overnight updates before cracking on with reaching my daily target on my language app, which as I mentioned earlier I am using to try and learn some German. I would always try and get this finished before Maxi woke up so that I could practise what I had learnt with her as soon as possible as it really helps me remember the new words when I try and use them right away, we would walk from our place into to town to get a water taxi every morning and I would try and form simple sentences about what was going on in an attempt to converse in German which Maxi would always entertain with so much encouragement. I remember the first time she saw me practising on my phone one morning and seemed shocked and genuinely happy that I was trying to learn her native language which was confusing as it certainly was not a secret but nevertheless that was a huge incentive for me to really work at it. So you never know, maybe the next time I write something for this blog it may be in flawless fluent german haha.
If its not already super obvious, me and Maxi both like to surf, a lot. Hence the destinations of our past and future trips. This is what I mean about there being no need to compromise. I absolutely love that we have been and are going to all of these incredible places together, to do what we both want to. When we go surfing together it really is just like that picture perfect image I have always had of being out in the water with my girlfriend, watching each other surf, entertaining each other while waiting for waves. Sometimes it seems to perfect to be real. haha i am sure that line is far too cheesy to make it onto this post but we will see haha.
Predominantly our days consisted of surfing all morning before heading back to the Cabana for lunch and some rest before going surfing again in the afternoon and then back for dinner, alcohol and a movie before going to sleep. AKA the perfect surf trip.
I am a huge fan of napping, as in I take that shit seriously. For the first few days the post surf, midday period involved a nap, even if it wasn’t essential however that got shut down pretty quickly by the unbelievable temperature it would reach inside the cabana. Even with air conditioning a comfortable nap was out of the question even for an experienced napper like myself. I decided to use this time to practise some skateboard tricks while Maxi took photos. This sounds like such a simple thing but it is being able to share moments like this together which makes our relationship so perfect.  
I know that Maxi has posted a few recipes for some of the food she cooked for us which I feel compelled to elaborate on. One of the reasons we chose the Cabana was because it had a kitchen and thank god for that kitchen because this girl can really cook, I mean seriously cook. We would stop by the supermarket at some point during the day to buy the necessary ingredients from an endearingly harsh asian lady in which my role would be pushing the shopping cart around which certainly was not as easy as it sounds trying to navigate the anything but regulation width aisles. Maxi would then cook us the most amazing food in next to no time. It was so good that every time we had something new it would immediately become my favourite. I would try and help as much as possible but aside from boiling the water for the pasta my talents were used for opening cans, throwing out peelings, playing music, pouring drinks, them kind of things which I think you will all agree is equally important when preparing cooking.
So there you have it, I am not going to attempt to describe everything we done together while in Panama as Maxi has already done a far better job at that than I could ever but here is an insight to the experience from my perspective. The most important part of all of this for me which I find impossible to describe how much lucky I feel that I get to have share these experiences and create these memories with Maxi who really is fucking awesome!
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