#and then paul and andy were around the corner in a car doing their own surveillance

[frommybookbook]

Perry took Burger with him on a stakeout and it was amazing. Poor Hamilton was so cranky and whiney about being kept up past his bedtime but it paid off in the end: they busted a drug deal.

[let-me-write-shit]

Somebody To You: 25

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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

There was no use in dwelling over Harry right now. It seemed silly to even want to cry, considering Paul, who was seated across from her, was literally fighting for his life. Who was she to cry over a boy that had no interest in dating her? Her problems seemed minuscule to the real tragedies happening all around her. The four of them finished up dinner and when they had finished, Carol whisked their dishes away to wash.

“I should get Zoey over to her mom’s to change now so I can get to the bar in time,” Michael called, standing up, “We’ll meet you there later?”

“Yeah, go on. We’ll see you there,” Paul nodded from his seat at the table.

Being alone with Michael wasn’t as awkward as she thought it’d be. His old, beat-up red car, which usually reeked of stale cigarettes, now only had a lingering scent that was hidden behind the sweet smell of moonlight breeze Gain car fresheners. He explained to her how he’d quit smoking a month ago and it was going well. The twenty-minute conversation to her parents’ house didn’t seem forced like she expected it to be. And he hadn’t once made a pass at her. Maybe he finally moved on.

When she led him into the landing of her parents’ house, her mom’s voice rang out, “Zoey? Is that you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got Mikey with me!” she called back, urging him on.

She could hear her mom’s voice sing his name from the other room and they both shared a look, knowing that Michael was about to be trapped in the endless tirades of Mary. Zoey giggled watching him drag his feet in the directions of the living room, leaving her to go change.

“Hurry,” he quietly urged before he rounded the corner.

She had managed to take up her luggage that morning, so she made her way towards the bedroom, noticing Katie’s bed neatly made and the lights still off. Her car was in the driveway when they arrived, so she must be in the living room with her mom. 

Rummaging through her suitcase, Zoey grew more frustrated, feeling silly. All of her clothes were new and were geared more towards her life in LA. Her wardrobe had changed along with her personality and she felt like if she walked downstairs wearing any of these clothes Michael would see right through her and think that she was an imposter.

She had no choice. She didn’t fit into Katie’s clothes and there was no time to go shopping. With a sigh, she slipped into a straight, spaghetti-strapped, white dress and paired it with white sneakers and a jean jacket to make it look more casual. She ran her fingers through her dirty blonde hair, looking at herself in the reflection of Katie’s mirror, finally embracing her new look. This was her. It took years to feel comfortable in her own skin and she wasn’t going to let her insecurities ruin that.

Zoey bounced down the stairs and towards the living room where, sure enough, Katie sat beside Michael, both listening to Mary blabber on about how sorry she was to hear the news of Michael’s dad and the trauma he and Zoey have experienced already. Zoey would have felt embarrassed for her mother’s constant and unwanted reminders, but Michael was used to it having had Mary in his life for five years now. He knew she meant no harm from it and had grown enough thick skin by this point to not pay it any mind.

“I’m ready,” Zoey announced, walking into the room.

“Where are you going?” Katie asked curiously.

Michael stood up, “I have a show tonight at Slyfox. You can join us if you want.”

Before Katie could respond, Mary interrupted, chuckling slightly, “No, Katie’s too young to go.”

“But I’m eighteen! And Zoey will be there!” Katie countered, eyes pleading, but to no avail. Her mom wouldn’t budge.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Michael roughed up Katie’s hair, “maybe next time.”

Zoey always appreciated how Michael treated her younger sister and tried to include her in things, even though it usually got shot down by her parents. Zoey had tried talking to her mom about loosening the reins on Katie a little bit, but the conversation clearly hadn’t done much. At least she started college soon. Her freedom was only weeks away.

“You nervous to see your old coworkers?” Michael asked as they loaded back into the car.

Zoey, shrugged, “A little. But I miss them.”

“Well, the guys are excited to see you,” he said, mentioning his bandmates, “I think Dan is bringing Becky, so you’ll get to see her, too.”

Zoey smiled. Becky was Dan’s girlfriend. The two of them have been dating since right around the time she and Michael first got together. Becky was a sweet girl, but shy like her sister. The two of them had gotten along really well, hanging out during their band rehearsals and attending their little shows together. Zoey liked to think that she had helped Becky come out of her shell in the beginning. 

“Listen,” Michael started, his tone a little hesitant as he scratched the back of his head, “I think I should warn you, in case you hear it from any of the guys, but, uh...I’m kinda seeing someone.”

“Oh?”

She had been anticipating this conversation. She knew the day would come where Michael would have moved on and started dating again, but honestly, it threw her off guard. She was happy for him, don’t get her wrong, but there would always be a part of her that still loved Michael. They had been through a lot together for nearly five years and she was so close to his family. There were so many plans and expectations within their relationship that they never got to carry out. They had talked about kids and marriage and buying a house together, and it ended before either of them could accomplish any of it. She wasn’t hurt. She’s the one that ended things, after all. And she didn’t regret that decision, either. But it still left her a little sad. It was the ending of an era.

Michael rushed to explain himself, his tone still the same. She could tell he was trying to ease into it, afraid of hurting her feelings, “It’s nothing serious, yet. But, yeah, I just thought you should know.”

Zoey turned to look at him, grinning understandingly, “I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

Michael smiled back, nodding. She could see the relief wash over him as his shoulders relaxed. It’s weird - being back in this car with him. There were so many memories involving this car. A stain on the upholstery of her seat from when she accidentally spilled hot chocolate after a spontaneous midnight Wawa run. Warn out stereo buttons from the endless song skipping they did on their long road trips to the Poconos. A dent in the dash from when she had kicked it a little too hard in an attempt to get to the back seat. The number of times they had car sex in the back was, admittedly, a bit ridiculous. 

It started pretty early on at the beginning of their relationship. They met at the Slyfox. His band was playing a gig while she bartended. His friends dared him to ask her for her phone number, typical young kid shit. Then it turned into them sneaking away during break to have sex in his car. She’d always come back in, hair disheveled, trying her best to act nonchalant. She had an inkling everyone knew what she was doing, but no one said anything. Not like Andy would. Andy had no problem calling her out.

They had their fair share of fun during their relationship, that’s for sure. And Jess liked him, which only furthered her appeal for him. Jess, as kind and personable as she was, was very protective over Zoey and the men she dated. Having fun was one thing, but if you were going to make it official, it better be a good guy. It wasn’t often that Jess approved of the guys she dated. It could have been why Zoey held onto her relationship for so long. She always had a feeling that she was destined for something, or someone, else. But Jess liked her and Zoey loved his family, so why bother ruining that on a nagging hunch? 

She knew now that she was right. They were destined for something else. It was proof enough that she needed to listen to her instincts more. Which is why she tried so hard to listen to her instincts when trying to cut things off with Harry. Ever heard of the saying ‘If you care about something, let it go. If it returns, it was meant to be?’ It wasn’t a test for Harry. He didn’t get brownie points if he shot her a random text saying ‘Sorry. Let’s date.’ But, to her, there was some sort of truth in the statement. She knew how much she cared about Harry, romantically, and platonically. Harry was, in every literal sense of the word, her soulmate. She knew it to be true very early on in their relationship. 

Zoey honestly believed that this hiccup that was happening between them wouldn’t last forever. Things may not end up the way she wanted; she might not ever get the chance to be with him on an intimate level again. And she was okay with that if it meant just having him in his life. But he needed to be ready. Emotionally, he still didn’t know who he was or what he wanted to become. He needed to figure that out himself. She had no doubt in her mind that he would return to her one day. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not a year from now. Maybe not even ten years from now. But one day, he’d be back. She had to believe that. She needed to believe that. Otherwise, she just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Pulling up to the bar filled her with the biggest sense of nostalgia. When they walked through the door and the aroma of liquor and greasy food hit her, a smile instantly formed on her face. Everything still looked the same as it did the day she left. Lighting so dim that it took a minute to adjust, old tables and chairs scattered throughout the building, a poorly wiped down bartop with early 2000’s hits playing loudly over the speaker, patrons scattered around loudly yapping at each other. She saw the wall of framed pictures with workers and various ‘famous’ people, who weren’t all that famous to begin with, but noticeable enough. She noticed one framed picture that stood out from the rest. It wasn’t quite in the center, but close to it. A framed picture of Jess smiling and holding up a bottle of beer with light-up necklaces and gaudy party hats amongst the rest of their coworkers, Zoey standing right beside her, with an edited banner at the bottom that read ‘Jessica Lewis. Rest In Peace.’. 

Zoey remembered the day that picture was taken. It was New Years a few months before Jess died. Their boss had gathered everyone together to take a picture for their Facebook page to advertise discounted drinks. Jess was in the center because of course she was. Everyone loved him. 

“Zoey?” she heard the familiar booming voice of Dan, Michael’s friend, and the singer of their band. She turned and smiled seeing him and the rest of the guys in the band walking towards her. “Holy shit, I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair down. How have you been? You look hot!” 

Zoey laughed, giving him and the rest of the boys hugs. Dan was always very blunt, as were the rest of the guys. Before she could respond, Zach, the drummer, joked, “Not here to waste your time on this loser again, are you?” he backhanded Michael on the chest with a smirk.

“Absolutely not,” she laughed, bantering, “I live in LA now. I’ve got a city full of D-list celebrities at my disposal.”

Suddenly, she heard a screeching echo from behind the bar and turned to see her old coworker, Riley, jumping over, “Shut the fuck up! Zoey? What the hell are you doing back here?” She ran, practically tackling Zoey into the wall with such force that a framed fire exit picture came crashing to the ground. Riley paid it no mind, however, as she was too busy admiring Zoey’s hair and outfit. “Fuck! What’s in the LA water? You look so good!”

After seeing the commotion that Riley caused, more of her old coworkers had realized who had come in and they all started running over to greet her, welcoming her back with warm hugs and compliments. Michael and the guys had excused themselves to finish setting up while Zoey made her way over to the bar so that she could continue talking to her friends while they worked, laughing, and exchanging old stories while they caught her up on what’s been going on at the bar.

She felt a presence standing behind her and she turned to see Becky, a nervous grin on her face. Zoey’s eyes lit up and she stood to pull her into a hug, “Becky, I missed you!” 

“I missed you, too,” she muttered, smiling wider. “I was wondering when you’d come back to visit. Wish it was on better terms, though. I’m sure Paul was happy to see you.”

Zoey nodded solemnly, “It’s hard to believe it’s real, you know?”

“I know, he’s a good man.”

It didn’t take long for the boys to finish up their tuning before they were finally introduced and began playing. Monday nights were always live-music nights at Slyfox in an attempt to draw in more business. And it worked pretty well. The first half of the night was always slower, but the crowds usually started pouring in around 9 PM and you could always be sure to see the same groups of people coming in. 

Eventually, Michael’s parents had gotten there. They always did their best to attend any performance of their son’s, always having been supportive of his hobby of music. They knew all of the songs, singing and dancing along. Zoey always admired their parenting and knew that if she were ever given the chance to be a mother, she would want to be just like them. 

Listening to the band play brought Zoey back even more. She felt like she was reliving her memories at this point. The only reason she wasn’t entirely warped into this false sense of reality was because Jess wasn’t there. It just didn’t feel right being here without her. The familiar chords of a slower song began playing. It was a song that Michael had written about Zoey in their first year of dating, and to this day was still one of the favorites amongst the crowd. It wasn’t cheesy or too romantic; just about seeing a pretty girl from across the bar. But it was a tradition for Paul to dance with Zoey to this song.

Instinctively, the two turned to look at each other and Carol smiled, knowingly, as Paul struggled for a split second to stand up, “I’ve got to dance with my girl,” he grinned, holding a hand out for her.

Zoey grinned, taking his hand as he led her a few feet away at the edge of the crowd of people before she turned and put a hand gently on her waist while the other continued to hold onto her hand. Paul was a tall man, towering over her a good eight inches. She rested her head on his chest, bonier than she remembered it being. But it eased her tension to hear his heart beating strongly in his chest. She thought, for a moment, maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe he wasn’t dying. A man this good and this kind couldn’t be taken from them. But she felt his weight beginning to bear down on her, becoming too tired to stand for much longer. She felt angry and upset. Why was this happening? It wasn’t fair. 

“You alright?” she whispered, trying not to sound too concerned.

His voice replied, more strained, but confident, “Yeah, I’ve got a strong dance partner.”

The song ended and Zoey led him back towards his wife who urged him to sit down while Zoey shared a quick look with Michael. He nodded, seeing the worry in her eyes, and she knew that he felt it, too. 

Harry hardly got any sleep that night, and by the next morning, he had practically downed a quart of coffee at his mother’s house for breakfast with her and Gemma, the words from the fight of last night repeating in his head. He analyzed every tone in each word he spoke, infuriating himself. He was better than that. He knew he was. For years he has been handling tough, hard-hitting questions with grace and ease. Why was it that he struggled when it came to his own intimate relationships he got flustered and spoke out of his ass? Almost every single thing he said he didn’t mean. Why was it so hard for him?

Zoey was right. She had never been anything but open and honest with him. There was no reason for him to feel like he couldn’t tell her any of what he was feeling. He didn’t need to worry about hurting her feelings because she was the most understandable person he knew. He was so caught up in being afraid that he was going to lose her, that he pushed her away. What kind of idiot did that make him?

He wanted to call her back or text her, but he didn’t know what to say. An apology seemed pitiful. He couldn’t seem to find the right words to express just how regretful he was. And he still couldn’t figure out everything he was feeling enough to give her an answer to her question. He cared for her so deeply that hearing the silence on the other end of the line just about shattered his heart. And waking up this morning to texts from everyone but her only made it worse. 

He wondered how her night was with Michael. She said that she had no intention of getting back with him, but he still found himself wondering if he had pushed her back into the arms of her ex. He knew how strong of a relationship she had with his family, it was certainly possible. He needed to stop thinking this way. He needed to stop assuming.

“Now, I know you don’t have jetlag,” Harry’s mom, Anne, spoke after placing her cup on the table, noticing Harry’s exhaustion, “Rome is only an hour difference. What’s the matter, darling?”

“You look like you got dumped,” Gemma teased, unknowingly.

The look on Harry’s face must have hit both women at the same time because their eyes widened in realization and they shared a glance before Anne spoke again, more softly, “Is it that Zoey girl?”

“Mom,” Harry warned.

“I didn’t know you two were dating,” Gemma spoke.

“We weren’t.”

“Well did something happen in Italy, then?” his sister pressed. When Harry didn’t answer, her eyebrows raised and a smirk began to form, “It did, didn’t it? I knew you liked her!”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure she hates me now.”

“What happened, dear?” his mom asked, placing a hand on top of his.

Harry sighed, slouching more in his chair, “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Well, maybe we can be of some help,” his mom offered.

Harry hesitated, taking a moment to decide before taking a breath. Why not? “It’s my fault, really. Things happened in Italy and they were great. But then she asked where our relationship was going and I panicked and said I didn’t know and accused her of still wanting to be with her ex-boyfriend because she flew home to visit him.”

“Why is she visiting her ex-boyfriend?” Gemma asked, her face screwed up in judgment.

Harry winced, covering his face with his hands, embarrassed as he explained, “Because she found out his dad is dying of cancer and has three months to live. And she’s extremely close to him.”

The girls gasped. He didn’t need to look up at their faces. He knew that the judgment they had for Zoey a second ago would be shifted onto him. And his intuition was correct as he heard his mom breathe his name in disappointment, “Oh, Harry.” He looked up to see her eyes filled with sadness, almost pleading, “You didn’t.”

He groaned, throwing his head back, “I know. I don’t know why I said it. She’s the one that broke up with him in the first place. I just panicked!”

“Well, why did you panic, you idiot? You obviously like her!” Gemma urged, as though it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

“You know how hard dating is for me!” Harry defended himself, “It’s a lot more complicated than just liking each other.”

“Darling,” Anne spoke so evenly that she made everything sound so simple and plain, “It’s okay to be worried. We know your life isn’t as black and white as most people, and that’s okay. But you remember how it feels to lose a loved one from cancer. Remember Robin and Johannah? Remember how hard that was for you? All she needs is someone who understands and someone who can be there for her. Not the added pressure that you put on her.”

“I know. I messed up,” Harry groaned into his palms, “I don’t know what to do. I really don’t want to lose her. I’m just…I don’t know. My life isn’t easy to keep up with.”

“Do you care about her?” Anne asked.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t you think she can decide if she can keep up with you or not?”

“....yes.”

“Then tell her, you idiot!” Gemma smacked him.

“What if she’s still pissed off at me? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with me?” he stressed.

Anne shot her daughter a look of warning before calmly explaining, “Darling, you both clearly care about each other. She might still be upset, but I doubt she’d be unwilling to talk to you. You don’t have to jump into a relationship if you don’t want to. But you should be honest with yourself and her and have a conversation about what you really want out of it. If you just want her in your life as a friend, then tell her. But if seeing her with someone else is upsetting you that much, then maybe you should give it a try. All I will say on the matter is that you seemed genuinely happy when she was in your life. Just be honest with her. Lay all of your feelings out on the table and go from there.”

Harry took a breath, letting the words his mother said to sink in. He needed time to gather his thoughts. He needed to figure out everything he felt. He looked at his phone to see the time. It was 9 AM in London.

“It’s too early to call her right now,” he said, “It’s only 3 AM.”

“Don’t call her! Go to her!” Gemma threw her hands up.

“Honey, he just flew back home. He can just Facetime her or something.”

“Mom, it’ll be more romantic if he flies to her!” she shot back, turning to Harry, “Just go to her. You said you visited her family before. Do you remember where they lived?”

Harry sat up, intrigued by what his sister was saying, “Y-yeah, I think so. I have her family’s phone number, though. I could always get it.”

“Then go!”

Harry nodded, flustered trying to get up from his seat.

“Not this second, Harry,” Anne reached up to his arm with a laugh, “You can carry out your Romantic Comedy fantasy after breakfast.”

Harry laughed, nervously as the two of the girls he loved most in his life chuckled at him and took a swig of their coffees, nerves rushing through his veins. How could he eat now? He was too anxious.

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[livable4all]

What is rich-washing?

INTRODUCTION

What is rich-washing? It is when cultural products and advertising make it seem like everyone is rich.

It's similar to whitewashing, where a problem is covered up and made to seem fine, when it is not; or Hollywood whitewashing, where white actors take roles over people of colour; or activist whitewashing, where white activists are spotlighted over people of colour; or greenwashing, where things are made to seem environmentally good, when they are not.

Much has been written about the media biases regarding sexism, racism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, harmful depictions of mental illness, and other biases that stereotype or denigrate specific groups of people. However, not as much has been written about classism in North American media and entertainment.

Rich-washing is a type of classism, but it is much more than that. 

Rich-washing completely flips the facts: in the real world, there’s a huge majority of financially precarious people at the bottom and a tiny minority at the top. 

And for those at the very top in the U.S., their wealth is growing. 

Rich-washing takes the bulk of people on the planet and makes them disappear –– they are over-looked, glossed over, cropped out of the picture, written out of the story.

Rich-washing is gas-lighting on a grand scale. It is so wide-spread that it is almost invisible. Like the dish soap ad used to say, we’re soaking in it.

Because it is such a blatant misrepresentation of the world, rich-washing has many harmful effects on people and the planet. It is important to expose this type of propaganda to reduce its harm.

However, the answer is not to change entertainment to only reflect social reality. No, this is not a call for censorship, but to point out how pop-culture is currently censored by those who hold the purse strings. Ultimately, the answer is to change our social reality to make it less harsh and more livable for everyone. More on this at the end.

Pop-culture is being censored by those who hold the purse strings

Most people are not rich but you’d never know that in today’s 21st century North American TV shows, movies, print media, social media and especially advertisements. (For whatever reason, entertainment in the UK has more social realism and much less rich-washing.) 

Images of the rich and super-rich have come to dominate everything in a massive cultural mono-crop of shining hair shining teeth shining cars and shining homes filled with shining gadgets.

Yes, there are exceptions (see end). However, these exceptions are mostly “drowned in a sea of irrelevance” (as Aldous Huxley said).

Ursula Franklin called this general effect “censorship by stuffing”. Specifically with rich-washing, the ‘rich’ images are so numerous that they obliterate every other view of society. 

“It is all too easy to confuse the sheer quantity of media with diversity of viewpoint. We do not notice that essentially the same messages are being repeated.” –– Mediaspeak, 1983

Get out the corporate pressure-washer, aim it at the public, turn it on max.

Or as Bertolt Brecht said: “The powerful of the earth create the poor but they cannot bear to look at them.”

Advertisers also don’t like it when the poor look at each other.

“In the 1960s... CBS dropped a number of popular prime-time shows such as ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’ and ‘Andy Griffith’ because they attracted the wrong audience –– elderly, low income, and rural viewers. Advertisers had become keen on young, affluent urbanites…” ––Social Communication in Advertising, 1986

One of the worst things rich-washing does is make people think they are in a minority when in fact they are a huge majority.

Most Americans, for example, live paycheck-to-paycheck according to Forbes.

Rich-washing takes an enormous psychological toll because it creates the idea that lack of income is some kind of personal failing, rather than a systemic economic failing that affects many, many people. That’s one reason why unemployment is a huge factor in suicides. 

“When the money isn’t there... feelings of deprivation, personal failure, and deep psychic pain result. In a culture where consuming means so much, not having money is a profound social disability.” ––Juliet Schor, The Overspent American,1999

Rich-washing also creates social solidarity and affinity with the rich, since proximity creates affinity. 

People get used to seeing things from the point of view of the rich and may also take on the idea that their own riches are just around the corner. This has political implications (more on that below). 

In addition, it’s common for negative characteristics to be attached to people who are poor. 

Laziness, criminality, stupidity, and lack of morals, are often characteristics attributed to fictional poor people. This has real world consequences.

Film critic Roger Ebert famously said that movies create empathy.

“...the movies are like a machine that generates empathy. It lets you understand a little bit more about different hopes, aspirations, dreams and fears. It helps us to identify with the people who are sharing this journey with us."

While many movies have indeed had a positive effect on society because of this empathy effect, entertainment products can also empower negative stereotypes. And when it comes to the war on the poor, Hollywood most definitely is not on the side of the poor.

“In a lot of films, especially coming out of Hollywood, less fortunate families are portrayed as imbeciles.” ––Chris Stuckmann, movie review of Parasite, Nov. 6, 2019

“It’s a central assumption of our pop-culture that people who have nice shit are good, and people in poverty are bad.” ––Cracked Podcast, “Why pop-culture hates poor people” 2015-03-02

“There’s class warfare, all right, but it’s my class, the rich class, that’s making war, and we’re winning.” ––Warren Buffet, quoted in Plutocrats by Chrystia Freeland, 2012

With all the vilification and humiliation of poor people in pop-culture, who would want to identify with the poor and not the rich? Who would want to identify with the economic losers and not the economic winners?

“…it is the general policy of advertisers to glamorize their products, the people who buy them, and the whole American and economic scene.” ––Elmer Rice, quoted in Mediaspeak, 1983

Advertisements are highly polished rich-washing because companies need their products associated with winners not losers.

But rich-washing sells more than just consumer products.

Rich-washing sells political ideas. 

Rich-washing reinforces policies and laws that benefit those at the top of the income pyramid. So it is not surprising when we learn that income inequality and wealth concentration have been getting worse.

Income inequality and wealth concentration in the U.S. increasing since 1980s.

“Ray Dalio, the billionaire founder of the world’s biggest hedge fund, says income inequality in the U.S. has become so dire that if he were in the White House, he would declare it a national emergency.” Barron’s, 2019 

Instead of looking at the big picture and wondering why is it that so many people are poor, people assume or are told that it is their own fault if they are poor. People point fingers at themselves, at other poor people (lateral violence), but almost never up at the top.

“If there was ever a system which enchanted its subjects with dreams (of freedom, of how your success depends on yourself, of the run of luck which is just around the corner, of unconstrained pleasures…), then it is capitalism.” ––Slavoj Zizek, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, 2009

This type of deflection ––away from the rich and scapegoating the poor–– was also behind the witch-burning craze of centuries ago. 

Anthropologist Marvin Harris in his book on “the Riddles of Culture” noted: 

 “the principal result of the witch-hunt system (aside from charred bodies) was that the poor came to believe that they were being victimized by witches and devils instead of princes and popes.” ––Mavin Harris, Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches, 1975

It turns out that if you get people fearful of imaginary things and suspicious of their neighbours, they are less likely to join together in a peasant revolt and storm the castle, pitchforks in hand.

“It is from us and our labour that everything comes, with which They maintain Their pomp [!]” John Ball of the violent Peasant Revolt of 1381

When it comes to numbers, it should be obvious that the one percenters at the top have a precarious hold on power. 

“Why has the response to rising inequality been a drive to reduce taxes on the rich? ... It’s not a simple matter of rich people voting themselves a better deal: there just aren’t enough of them.” ––Paul Krugman, The Great Unraveling, 2003

Rich-washing protects the status-quo by reinforcing the idea that most people are rich, and if you are not, it is your own fault. Rich-washing thus deepens poverty and enlarges the holdings of the super-wealthy.

Rich-washing can also push people into unhealthy behaviours –– everything from compulsive shopping and debt, to self-medicating, and even crime.

As it turns out, when people started watching TV in America in the 1950s, a particular type of crime suddenly rose: larceny (theft of private property). Researchers attributed the increase in larceny to feelings of “relative deprivation and frustration” and that upper- and middle class lifestyles were “overwhelmingly portrayed” on TV. (Impact of the introduction of television on crime in the United States, 1982, noted in Mediaspeak, 1983)

Another troubling by-product of rich-washing is how people become very vulnerable to scams and schemes. 

“We are no longer ‘family’ we are ‘warm prospects.’ ––anonymous reviewer of False Profits, 2015

People want to believe the promises of all kinds of scammers offering them the American Dream. (Check out Season 1 of The Dream podcast). Because of the shame and pain of being poor, because of being an outcast from the perceived norm of upper-middle class consumption, people are desperate to get some dignity and hope back. Many women get into recruitment marketing for “the sense of community, friendship, and purpose that comes with being a vendor.” 

However, less than one percent of Multi-Level Marketing participants make a profit. 

“Failure and loss rates for MLMs are not comparable with legitimate small businesses, which have been found to be profitable for 39% over the lifetime of the business; whereas less than 1% of MLM participants profit. MLM makes even gambling look like a safe bet in comparison.” (PDF) John M. Taylor, 2011 Consumer Awareness Institute paper at FTC.gov.

Ironically, the stories of big-time con artists and scammers have become popular entertainment themselves and are the subject of many documentaries, movies and podcasts. 

Finally, the biggest harm from rich-washing is to the environment ––our biosphere upon which all life depends.

“Modern economies expand, but the ecosystems that provide for them do not.” ––Steven Stoll, The Great Delusion, 2008

Mass consumption is a requirement of the current economic growth model and rich-washing helps keep it all going. So we end up with things like ‘fast fashion’, disposable everything, and planned obsolescence. 

“Left unconstrained by other forces, the free-market system is one of the most restless, destructive arrangements ever contrived ––tearing down and building up, obsoleting last year’s fashions and praising this year’s, ... and scheming always to reduce the arts and sciences to sycophancy. None of which is a secret...” ––Thomas Frank, The Wrecking Crew, 2008

Rich-washing irony ––who is ruining the environment: rich or poor?

“World's richest 10% produce half of global carbon emissions, says Oxfam” ––Guardian, 2015

Rich-washing has another sadistic effect on low income people’s mental health. The world, it seems, is waking up to the potentially catastrophic harm being inflicted on the environment. And yet poor people are still made to feel like pieces of shit, even though they consume the least and do the least harm to the planet. So really... f*ck off with your spectacle of sparkling gold-plated glorification of the wealthy, please.

Three reasons for rich-washing

As previously mentioned, one reason for rich-washing is that corporations want their advertisements to reach higher income viewers. Another reason for rich-washing is for political propaganda: it protects the status quo by pushing the idea that everyone is mostly rich, and if you are poor, it is your own fault. 

A third reason for rich-washing is that media creators, like everyone else, need to survive financially. Creators need to attract viewers. In most cases, this has led to an overwhelming focus on the rich and famous.

“Sponsors prefer beautiful people in mouth-watering decor, to convey what it means to climb the socio-economic ladder...” ––Mediaspeak, 1983

Today, due to an increasingly crowded arena and variety of cultural products, this is a bigger challenge than ever before. What’s going to get people’s attention? What’s going to be popular escapism? Very often this will be flashy settings, fancy costumes, a focus on the wealthy or the royal. Just how many shows about royalty do we need? Never too many apparently. 

And when a story goes for gritty settings and characters, this usually means crime, jolting action and high conflict.

As Jerry Mander wrote in his now ancient 1977 book about television, things like violence, death, jealously, lust, materialism, conflict, the loud, the bizarre, the shocking and the superficial are easier to depict on television than their quiet, cooperative, and nuanced opposites. He laments that this is the type of world that TV “inevitably transmits”. No wonder he argued for the elimination of television.

(However, it should be noted that people used to worry about bad effects from “penny dreadfuls” and pocket-books, although Mander points out that watching TV puts people in a passive state, but reading does not.)

David Simon, creator of The Wire, one of the most critically acclaimed TV series ever made, had this to say about the impact of advertising on media: 

“And how exactly do we put Visa-wielding consumers in a buying mood when they are being reminded of how many of their countrymen - black, white and brown - have been shrugged aside by the march of unrestrained bottom-line capitalism?” ––David Simon, The Wire, Truth Be Told (book), 2009, HBO

(Read more about The Wire below, under “Exceptions”)

Another irony about media rich-washing…

Low income people often consume a lot of escapist media because it is a cheap and easy way to get a break from the health-ruining, cortisol-producing daily grind of life on poverty incomes. Fictional and fantastical worlds are often the only affordable escape for those of meagre means. Thus, it is not surprising when people get an intense attachment to their favourite entertainment if it provides them with stress release, comfort and meaning.

“… a 21-year-old in Michigan, finds it easier to get excited about playing games than his part-time job making sandwiches…” ––Andrew Yang, The War on Normal People, 2018

The opening scene of the movie Ready Player One envisions an extreme dystopian version of this. Rickety trailers in squalid surroundings are stacked sky high. Those living inside wear virtual reality goggles to escape from their over-crowded lives into limitless virtual worlds. 

It’s important to note that escapism as a form of coping with stress and trauma has its place. The answer is not to take away people’s beloved forms of escapism. (E.g. the excellent book by Raziel Reid “When Everything Feels Like the Movies”.) The answer is for humanity to strive to create a healthier and less stressful world where people don’t feel such a tremendous need to escape from reality.

But you don’t need to watch dystopian movies to see that public spaces are shrinking and becoming more unlivable. Even city benches are designed to be a miserable experience. (You know. To solve homelessness of course.) It is no wonder people stare into their screens like never before. We are ruining the public sphere and forcing people into private spaces where the goodness or badness of those places is determined by how much money you have. 

The bright glare of rich-washing might be dimming

“Am I alone in being disgusted by excessive wealth? It seems like a moral failing rather than something to celebrate or aspire to.” ––Nigel Warburton Philosophybites (twitter), January 19, 2020

In 2019 there were three movies that ripped the shiny bandaid of rich-washing propaganda off the reality of mass income inequality: Jordan Peele’s US, Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite, and the controversial Joker... a character study only remotely related to the comic book story. 

There’s been much written and spoken about these movies already. Suffice to say that poverty and the underclasses jump out of the screen in unexpected ways and the wealthy are not shown with shining virtuous haloes.

Even the super-rich (in real life) are starting to notice the current economic system is a disaster:

“At least a dozen billionaires have made public statements that call for the super-rich to pay more in taxes.” Forbes, Oct. 15, 2019

Meanwhile, support for a universal income benefit is spreading rapidly. (Thanks in no small part to Andrew Yang.) People are calling bullshit on the idea that there can ever be a living wage job for everyone who needs one. People are also calling bullshit on the idea that only paid work is real work. There’s a huge constituency of people who provide unpaid care for their loved ones. These unpaid carers have been diminished and ignored for far too long by both the political right (who are full of cheap platitudes about ‘the family’) and the political left (who are full of out-dated platitudes about ‘the workers’). 

People are also calling bullshit on poverty itself since it’s obvious that there is more than enough for everyone on the planet to live with dignity and health. There is no reason for poverty to exist at all ––other than out-of-control greed and massive economic lies. Both of which are propped up by rich-washing.   

Because of the increasingly obvious and growing gap between the haves and have-nots, cultural products might finally be moving away from rich-washing to something similar to what Brecht brought to the theatre 100 years ago:

“...the higher world of upper class sentiments is presented from the ruthless viewpoint of the common people.” ––Martin Esslin on Brecht, 1959

Rich-washing erases the vast swath of humanity from seeing any dignified reflection of themselves. It’s time to identify this assault on regular people.

To quote the Vancouver poet Bud Osborn*:

“north america tellin lies in our head make you feel like shit better off dead so most days now I say shout shout for joy shout for love shout for you shout for us shout down this system puts our souls in prison say shout for life shout with our last breath shout fuck this north american culture of death shout here we are amazingly alive against long odds left for dead shoutin this death culture dancin this death culture out of our heads”

*Bud Osborne 1947-2014, from Amazingly Alive and Other Poems, Vancouver, BC, 1997, Independent release, Lonesome Monsters

TO SUMMARIZE... 

Here’s the thing. Public spaces are becoming increasingly harsh. Jobs and incomes are ever more unsteady, unpredictable and unlivable. People’s anxiety is on the rise. Healthy ways to relieve stress are few if you are broke. So people turn to entertainment as a form of escape. But this subjects them to rich-washing which is harmful to individuals, to society, and the environment.  

Entertainment and advertising media have been teaching people that it is ok to hate, denigrate, or laugh at people in poverty. In addition, it has been teaching people who experience poverty to blame themselves, or even hate themselves.

“Propaganda offers him an object of hatred, for all propaganda is aimed at an enemy. And the hatred it offers him is not shameful, even hatred that he must hide, but a legitimate hatred, which he can justly feel.” ––Jacques Ellul, Propaganda, 1962

It is important to expose this type of propaganda to reduce its harm.

However, the answer is not to change entertainment to only reflect social reality. The answer is to change our reality so it is not so harsh for so many people.  

Art can’t be censored. But it can be bent by those who hold the purse strings for their own purposes.

There is no reason for poverty to exist. Letting poverty exist is the costliest, stupidest and most tragic thing society can do. As described in  Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, people first need to eat, we need shelter, we need health care, we need a material foundation before we can hope to have healthy, happy life. When people struggle to meet physical needs, they can’t pursue happiness needs. Or to put it another way:

  “Even honest folk may act like sinners, unless they've had their customary dinners”  (“How to Survive” from Threepenny Opera)

Ending poverty with a universal income benefit (aka Freedom Dividend,  Guaranteed Livable income, Universal Basic Income ) is the most affordable and doable solution for people and the planet. It is our best bet to create a livable economy, a livable natural environment, and a livable social and cultural environment for humans.  

In a world with income security for all, we might find our entertainment would drastically change for the better. Advertisers would no longer dominate entertainment. Creators would have more freedom to create. People  would no longer seek so much escapism.

Of course, we will not have utopia ––nor should we try to create a utopia.  But at least we would not be flinging ourselves into a  certain  dystopian future because we think there’s no other choice.  

A livable income for everyone gives us a choice.  #Livable4all - now- for people and the planet.

***

But wait! There’s more....

***

EXTRA SECTION 1: FAKE POVERTY TROPES

Fake poverty tropes in popular culture are different than exceptions to rich-washing (see examples next section). They are not. They are just story-telling short-cuts. They can be fun escapist entertainment, but they are ultimately rich-washing wolves in sheep’s (cheap) clothing.  

i) Rags-to-riches: When someone starts poor and ends up rich. In the past, these tales were called Horatio Alger stories, where hard work and honesty bring success to the hero. A sub-genre of this trope is the criminal rags-to-riches story. Riches are won through criminality, violence, hustles, or scams. This usually ends badly for the anti-heroe(s). However, usually not before a display of luxurious settings and wardrobes. Or in some shows, just piles and piles of cash, gold, jewels, etc.

ii) How can they afford that?:  This is when people with very marginal jobs and incomes somehow have homes and/or lifestyles that would be impossible with a similar income in real life. These are the kind of TV shows that leaves the audience wondering: “What? how can they afford that?”  

iii) Rich Relations: This is when financially poor characters live on the periphery of rich people. These characters might be broke and in debt, but they have close family or friends who are very well-off. Again, even though the main character might be ‘skins’, the audience is shown some fancy settings and aspirational fashion. 

iv) Magic Money Wand: This is when the poverty problems of the hero are magically solved when the hero gets a sudden windfall of money from a wealthy family member, friend, mysterious benefactor, or by winning something.

EXTRA SECTON 2: RECENT EXCEPTIONS TO RICH-WASHING

There are a few notable exceptions to rich-washing described here. Note: UK productions (except for one) are not included because, for whatever reason, the UK has an abundance of TV shows and films from a working class perspective. (See also the films of Ken Loach and Tony Garnett.)

The Wire began in 2002, was only 5 seasons, and is now considered a masterpiece of television. One reviewer describes it as being about “post-industrial collapse” and “institutional dysfunction” in an American city (Baltimore). Sounds bleak, but it was rare social realism with unconventional heroes and story-telling. It had low ratings at first. Apparently, showing that the “American Dream was dead” did not catch on right away. However, HBO, which relies on subscriptions, not advertising, was willing to “simply let it be” said creator, David Simon. He also describes just how much the mass media has failed America’s disenfranchised

The Wire (TV series)

“The Wire avoided victories, preferring to show corruption, failure and decay. ... The Wire was as much journalism as entertainment – a form of protest television.” ––Dorian Lynskey, The Guardian, 2018

The Wire began in 2002, was only 5 seasons, and is now considered a masterpiece of television. One reviewer describes it as being about “post-industrial collapse” and “institutional dysfunction” in an American city (Baltimore). Sounds bleak, but it was rare social realism with unconventional heroes and story-telling. It had low ratings at first. Apparently, revealing the “American Dream was dead” did not catch on right away. However, HBO, funded by subscriptions, not advertising, was willing to “simply let it be”. according to its creator, David Simon. 

“…how can a television network serve the needs of advertisers while ruminating on the empty spaces in American society and informing viewers that they are a disenfranchised people, that the processes of redress have been rusted shut, and that no one - certainly not our mass media - is going to sound any alarm?” ––David Simon, The Wire, Truth Be Told (book) 2005

Atlanta (TV series)

“...the show’s brilliance [is] at combining absurdist comedy with heartbreaking reality to create something entirely unique.” ––Yohana Desta, Vanity Fair, 2017

Atlanta is a mix of sharp social realism, sudden comic moments, gut-wrenching scenes and hard-hitting parody that includes a searing fake commercial for children’s cereal. It is like the Eduardo Galeano of TV, but with some Salvador Dali, Brecht, and comedy thrown in. Series creator Donald Glover needed to disguise his vision in order to get it made.

“I was Trojan-horsing FX. If I told them what I really wanted to do, it wouldn't have gotten made." ... My struggle is to use my humanity to create a classic work—but I don’t know if humanity is worth it, or if we’re going to make it. I don’t know if there’s much time left.”––Donald Glover interview, New Yorker, 2018

Black Mirror - Fifteen Million Merits (series)

“What archetype dystopian future does Black Mirror’s “Fifteen Million Merits” choose to model itself after? Orwell’s or Huxley’s? The answer ends up being: a little bit of both.” ––Den of Geek, 2018

Fifteen Million Merits stars Daniel Kaluuya (also the star of Get Out). The episode begins with a dystopian-lite near-future story. However, it quickly compresses the characters ––and viewers–– into a painful claustrophobic nightmare vision of a capitalist hostage-taking entertainment monopoly. 

Breaking Bad (TV series)

This was massively popular show that ran from 2008 to 2013. The main character is a chemistry teacher named Walt who was first motivated to be Bad due to a cancer diagnosis and fear for the financial future of his family. However, once he started down the bad path, he quickly accelerated to the far reaches of very bad badness. Partly this was because of his ‘almost-got-rich’ backstory. In one episode he goes to the house party of his former business partner who is now very wealthy. Walt’s feelings of poverty, failure, and humiliation are stark. In real life this pain is usually turned inward, but in the show it becomes grist for the monster that the character becomes.  Millions of people related to this character who lived under the fear of poverty in the land of plenty.

However, Breaking Bad is mostly a rags-to-riches fake poverty trope even though it was a lower-middle class character’s fear of rags that sparked his need and greed for riches. With its very individualistic focus, the story continues the myth of independence carried over from the fictional old wild west of heroes and outlaws. But in this case the outlaw is the hero.  

But perhaps its lasting legacy will be an oft seen meme showing how Breaking Bad would have had no story at all had it been set in a country with universal healthcare.  It’s accurate to say the real monster in Breaking Bad is a modern wealthy country without healthcare.

Shameless (TV series)

“Few shows have attempted to situate themselves in the living nightmare of poverty—the country’s quiet shame, the marginalized that the middle and upper classes don’t want to see next to the numbing comfort of Modern Family. Television ignores the poor just as Americans do.” ––Flood Magazine, 2016  

In a lot of ways Shameless is a big brash bold exception to rich-washing. The creator of the semi-autobiographical British version said “It’s not blue collar; it’s no collar.”  However, after 9 seasons, the US version succumbs to several fake poverty tropes. Nonetheless, it is unique, and its many fans find the characters in the chaotic, desperate, scrounging, scamming, and poverty-stricken Gallager family relatable. 

“I love how it addresses sex, drugs, poverty, absent parents, and other topics like those.” ––commenter, TV Criticism blog, 2014

Critics have questioned the series for its condescending stereotypes, for turning poverty into entertainment, for relying on too many nude scenes, and for their treatment of black characters.  

But the overarching message and source of comedy for this show is in the title, which tells us that if you are poor, you should feel shame. This family doesn’t feel shame about their poverty. They are ‘shameless’, some more than others, and comedy ensues from their rude, crude, shocking behaviour and occasional truth-telling observations about society.

EXTRA SECTION 3: WAY BACK EXCEPTIONS

In the 1970s there were many more TV shows featuring regular people: Sanford & Sons (set in a salvage yard); Laverne & Shirley (factory workers); and, in Canada, The Beachcombers (salvage).

There were even some down-market detectives including the very popular Columbo who wore rumpled clothes and drove an old jalopy. Fans loved how rich villains would be caught because of their arrogance and snobbery: they assumed Columbo was a bumbling idiot because of his humble presentation.

The Rockford Files detective (1974-1980) also had a shabby vibe. The main character (Rockford) had done time, lived with his father in an old trailer, and had no office or secretary ––just an answering machine on his cluttered desk.  He did, however, have a fast car and was played by James Garner, former star of the popular TV western Maverick. 

Rural set TV series were also fairly common. 

“Over one-third of shows in 1950 were set in small towns or rural areas, mostly Westerns and comedies.” ––Brookings Institute

The Beverly Hillbillies was popular comedy in the 1960s. It was a rags-to-riches and fish-out-of-water story. However, the show regularly made rich people look ridiculous even though the suddenly oil-rich hillbillies were also comic characters. But they were the heroes of their story. This show got cancelled despite its popularity as advertisers wanted younger urban viewers and not the rural and older viewers that show attracted. (Social Communication in Advertising, 1986)

Other rural set shows were Green Acres (inept rich people try to homestead with comic results), Petticoat Junction (another comedy), The Waltons, and Little House on the Prairie (dramas). There was also 17 seasons (1954-1973) of Lassie (a dog) with farming and wilderness settings.Going waaay back...   growing up Canadian in the 1960s and 70s meant watching The Forest Rangers and Adventures in Rainbow Country, both shows featuring child characters who showed off skills such as fishing, wood craft, horseback riding, and wilderness survival.  

EXTRA SECTION 4: THE WORLD’S LONGEST RUNNING SOAP 

“So I'm a British guy who had an overnight stay in Toronto to connect a flight, and I noticed Corrie is shown in primetime on CBC... I’m just astonished anyone outside of Northern England would give a toss about it.” Reddit comment, 2018

You can’t talk about exceptions to rich-washing without talking about Coronation Street, the world’s longest running soap. Set ‘on the cobbles’ of a small fictional corner of working class Greater Manchester in Northwest England, it began in the 1960s and is still going strong. (Update May 2020- the pandemic has in fact interrupted Corrie.) 

Coronation Street has grit, unlike US soaps, which would never have characters working in an underwear factory and organizing actions against management, or working in a fast food shops, barber shops, driving taxi, or grease pits fixing cars. With a few exceptions, most homes on the street look over-stuffed and very lived-in. The real living room of the street is the local pub, a cosy nostalgic setting, and nostalgia is a big part of the show’s popularity. 

The street has changed and expanded over the years, but it has changed slowly. Characters who come and go with frequency except for the core characters. This includes several very popular and very elder actors who get substantial storylines. In addition, “Corrie”, as the fans refer to it, is also known for having snarky battle-axe women characters. One of the oldest was Ena Sharples, and one of the newest, Evelyn Plummer. And unlike U.S. entertainment, younger characters don’t all look and sound like glossy over-polished models-slash-actors. 

In recent years Corrie has tackled numerous serious social issues such as suicide, homelessness, mental health, addiction, male rape, human trafficking, teen pregnancy, life after jail, and spousal abuse (to name just a few). These storylines are done carefully with advice from experts and advocate groups. They also frequently address classism. However, the show is not all doom and gloom. Coronation Street blends silly comedy, murderous villains, crimes big and small, and many ridiculous eye-rolling storylines. Fans heap an equal amount of complaints as praise. But big picture, Corrie is notable for the fact that it almost never got onto the airwaves at all. 

 Contrast between a working class UK soap and a US soap

Other Resources:

Books:

Deer-hunting with Jesus by Joe Bageant, who writes about populism in southern rural poor communities in the U.S. (and his hometown) and why they might vote against their own self-interest.

Somebodies and Nobodies by Robert W. Fuller who writes about abuse of power by those who have higher status or rank against those of lower status.

From Movie Lot to Beachhead by Look Magazine (1945) Written at the end of WWII, the publishers wanted to show how Hollywood was not shallow but could rally for a cause and be on the right side of history. A big contrast to today, when it comes to the war on the poor, entertainment is very much on the wrong side of history.

Upside Down by Eduardo Galeano “a crushing satirical expose of the glaring inequalities and injustices of a world turned upside down that many has come to be desensitized as ‘normal.’” (Goodreads review)

The War on Normal People by Andrew Yang (free audiobook on youtube).

The Rebel Sell - Why the culture can’t be jammed by Joseph Heath and Andrew Potter. “But these gains [civil rights, social safety net] have not been achieved by ‘unplugging’ people from the web of illusions that governs their lives. They have been achieved through the laborious process of democratic political action.” (All forms of counterculture end up being just another marketing opportunity).

Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman “As Huxley marked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny ‘failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions.’ Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance.” 

Websites Classism in Children’s Movies (a study) - Classism.org  A Guide to Basic Income FAQs - scottsantens.com/basic-income-faq

Podcasts

 Why Pop-Culture Hates Poor People  - Cracked.com 2015-03-02  “Movies don’t seem to understand what it’s like to make less than 200K a year…. If you look and live like a poor person, you might be a serial killer.”  

5 ways Hollywood tricked you into hating poor people  - Cracked.com 2015-02-23 

***

The author was raised on books & nature and almost no TV and movies but became a telly addict & movie fan late in life.

[radiojamming]

How about lawyer John pre-cult going to his choice Atlanta nightclub minding his own until he notices some scumbag guy harassing a girl at the bar and decides to intervene and square up to him while tipsy because John throwing a few punches is steamy (which naturally leads to something more steamy) 😏

wooooof this got long, and hopefully the exposition doesn’t drown out the rest of it. OTL also, i made up the nightclub but the area is real! 

uh, warnings for drug mention, lotsa alcohol, and douchebags being douchebags. also some sliiiight NSFW. 

- - -

It’s the kind of night that John calls ‘rinse and repeat’; the same order of business that plays out every time the firm wins a suit or gets a payout. Half the firm goes out to some knockoff Applebee’s for Kahlua Mudslides or fruit cocktails, and the other goes to the Royale in Midtown. John is in the Royale group, for lack of better drinks anywhere else. There are only so many times he can handle someone shoving every picture of their kids in his face while a pair of ladies pretend to get drunk off sangria of all things. At least the Royale bartenders know him by face and by tab, and know better than to water his drinks down.

The Royale is the kind of nightclub Atlanta pretends to be proud of. It’s located on what was once the lobby floor of an upscale hotel that went under in the 1980s after some mismanagement and a declaration of bankruptcy. The Art Deco lounge was a siren song to a league of gentrification-happy property owners, and the Royale shimmered out of its tarnished state, LED converted chandeliers and obnoxious music at the ready. 

John doesn’t mind it so much, other than the clientele. He knows half of them by face, and the other half by name. Business cards are shuffled around at the same rate as personal phone numbers and come-hither glances. It’s the playhouse of all the city’s proverbial crème de la crème; high-end and high-risk lawyers like himself mingling with giggling socialites, powerhouse politicians who still look like they’re under 40, investors who reek of tax fraud, and every last person in Atlanta who can wield a Centurion Card without flinching. He’s been to parties with these people, slept with a few of them, and has seen them at their sparkling best and their sickening worst. The blackmail value of these people is so high that John could amass enough hush money to retire to a castle in Switzerland with money to burn.

He sits at the bar, eyes slowly going back and forth between the aquarium in the wall and the displays of his coworkers. Antony with his thinly-veiled cocaine addiction is sidling up beside one of the daughters of a Georgia state representative, loudly talking about a civil case that he apparently won single-handed. Caitlyn (still working on her divorce papers at lunch breaks) is hanging over the shoulder of a platinum blonde woman in a Marilyn Monroe dress, and cooing at the woman’s husband as well. Andy and David R. are nowhere to be seen (and no one is shocked). It’s a typical display of the rinse-and-repeat.

The music is already helping to drill the hole in John’s head that he’ll feel tomorrow morning, and John grits his teeth before downing the rest of his Sazerac, ignoring the fact that he can’t feel the burn of it anymore. He starts formulating his excuse to leave when he catches something on the other end of the bar.

Of all the people he works with, the one he can’t stand worth a damn is a trust fund bottom-dweller named Brendan. He’s the pinnacle of the Ivy League mom-and-dad-bought-me-this-degree hierarchy, getting through school more on the virtue of his family bank account and charitable donations than by any work he actually did. He still has a keychain from his old fraternity hanging on his Aston-Martin keys, which he makes a show of flaunting in front of his newest victim. And John hates every inch of him, from his slicked-back son-of-a-Republican blonde hair to his Paul Parkman wingtips. Brendan’s obviously gotten a few drinks in him, and the poor girl he has cornered looks like she’d rather be on the other end of the country. She’s one of the few that John doesn’t recognize, wearing a black dress from Nordstrom Rack and a pair of plain black heels that are scuffed on the edges. Only her handbag is designer, and John has the feeling that it’s a secondhand kind of thing, or something she borrowed from a friend. She’s certainly pretty, but in a way that isn’t achieved by Botox or makeup applied with a butter knife. She’s paid attention to her appearance, no doubt, but there’s something organic and authentic to her, which means that she’s attracted the human tilapia known as Brendan like some kind of catnip.

John edges closer, sensing that this might be one of the few times he can put Brendan in his place without repercussions. No one can talk him down from warding a drunk guy off a girl who just wants to leave. It’s the perfect excuse.

“–back at my loft. It’s only a five minute walk from here,” Brendan says, grinning with his too-white smile. “It’s a Jackson Pollock original.”

The girl leans away from him, trapped between Brendan and a plush barstool. The only way out is to vault over it or knee him in the groin. John kind of hopes she goes for the latter.

“That’s cool,” she says, trying her best to be civil. “Listen, I, uh, really have to–”

Brendan’s completely deaf to her, because of course he is. “And there’s this really great sushi fusion place down the street,” he says, like this girl isn’t struggling to gymnastically bend her way out. Then, John sees Brendan’s hand go for her waist. “But we can always stop by the loft first. Check it out. You know.”

The girl’s eyes go wide, and she’s rendered totally speechless. When Brendan tugs on her like he’s going to swoop her away, John about sees red. All it takes is another eight seconds of conversation.

“I really don’t want–”

“Come on. Let’s go,” Brendan says, grinning like she’s agreed to marry him.

Before John can think, he’s got his hand on Brendan’s wrist, squeezing harder than polite company usually vouches for. 

Brendan stares at him like he’s never seen John before, like John’s a cobra already rearing up and preparing to bite him. John can feel him try to pull his wrist away, but John doesn’t give him an inch.

“Duncan,” Brendan says in surprise. “Uh, nice to see you. I was just on my way out.”

John doesn’t greet him, or do much other than try to snap his wrist with one hand. The most he gets is a flinch. “On you way out alone, I’m guessing,” John says, as conversationally and casual as he can. 

Brendan looks to the girl, who in turn looks like she’s watching a car accident in real time. “No,” he says, trying to keep his smile afloat. “We were about to head out. Me and, uh–”

The girl’s expression goes from shock to straight-up defiance, and John immediately decides he likes her more than anyone else in the club. “I didn’t tell you my name,” she says firmly. 

John grins despite himself. “But I bet you he told you his name fifty times, and the names of his parents.”

“And grandparents.”

Brendan’s face goes to indignant fury. “We were leaving, Duncan,” he says, his voice starting to curl with a snarl.

“Yes, we were.” John yanks hard on Brendan’s wrist, causing him to stumble away enough for the girl to squeeze past him. By now, they’re making a scene, and John’s fine with that.

Brendan almost pulls his arm out of his socket wrenching his wrist out of John’s grip, and his face is changing colors at a fascinating rate. “What the fuck is your problem?” His voice is already slurred by whatever lightweight cocktails he’s put away.

“Nothing,” John replies nonchalantly. “But you were causing a problem for her, so I decided to step in before you did something really stupid. Not like you don’t do enough of that on your own, but I thought I’d save her the trouble.”

Fortunately, Brendan is drunk enough that he ends the situation himself, deciding that apparently the smartest thing he can do is take a swing at John. All John has to do is side-step and hold his foot out at the right angle for gravity to do the rest. Brendan hits the floor without having the forethought to put his hands out to break his fall, and John swears he hears something crunch. He smiles as Brendan tries to roll onto his back, blood already trickling from his nose. John decides he’s going to savor that particular image for awhile.

A bouncer is already on his way over, wrenching Brendan up by his shoulders like he’s a toddler mid-tantrum. Brendan might be swearing, but it’s hard to tell between the drunken slurring and the sound of him trying to talk through a broken nose. Either way, John just keeps smiling and smiling as the bouncer drags him out, and smiles as the club tries to pull itself back together.

He shouldn’t enjoy watching people bleed that much.

And then the girl walks up to him, no worse for the wear except the slightly harried look on her face. She smiles at him, shy and almost apologetic. “Thanks,” she says quietly. She reaches up and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “I, um, really thought I had that under control, but obviously I didn’t. So, thank you.”

The slight adrenaline rush is still running laps through John’s head, and he laughs and shrugs. “No problem. I’ve always wanted to do something like that to him. It was bound to be sooner or later.”

She laughs as well, and it’s not forced or faked. She sounds authentically relieved, and John think the little thrill that goes through him might be the last vestiges of his good morality congratulating him on doing a Boy Scout-level deed. Then, her expression becomes a cross between relieved and sheepish. “Hey, it’s cool if you don’t want to but, um… Is there– Is there any chance you might be able to walk me out to my car? It’s just in the lot across the street, but I think I’m still a little jumpy. I think I’d feel better if someone was out there with me.” She pauses then, eyes going wide. “Oh! I mean, unless you were planning on staying here. I don’t mean to yank you away or anything. That was stupid of me.”

The grin on John’s face is starting to hurt, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Not even a victory in court can compare.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Lead the way.”

- - -

Her hands have already completely ruined his hair, and John couldn’t care less. His hands are on the underside of her thighs, holding her up against her cheap dark green Honda. She moans against his mouth, sighing dreamily when he bites her bottom lip. He leans in close, smelling the orange blossom scent of her Lancôme perfume (from Macy’s, he’s guessing), before he kisses over her jugular, imagining he can feel the rush of her blood under layers of skin and muscle. 

He hasn’t wanted someone so badly in ages. She kisses him like she’s desperate, like she’s still working off the nerves from earlier. And she kisses him like she means it, not like she’s trying to find something or someone to put between her legs for the night. If she is, she’s damn good at hiding it. Her breasts push up against his chest, her heart fluttering against him, and he’s entirely prepared to just do the job right there in the parking lot, for all of Midtown Atlanta to gawk at.

Only some tattered remainders of propriety stop him from doing that, even though he’s already between her legs. He pulls away just enough to talk, although their noses are brushing against each other and he can feel her breath on his cheek. His eyes flicker up to hers, and he tries to absorb the color into his brain as much as he can, to remember and use later when it’s just him and his hand.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and laughs as soon as she does. “Sorry, I thought I’d do one better than Brendan.”

She leans in and kisses him again, but it’s the slow, lingering kind. It’s almost like a thank you condensed into a kiss. Then, she laughs again. “Just call me Rook,” she says softly. “It’s what’s on my business card.”

“Just Rook?”

“For now.” Her hands comb through his hair, undoing it even more. When she kisses his cheek, he’s one hundred percent sure that she could do whatever she wants to him and he’d thank her for it. She leans in close, mouth against his left ear, and kisses just underneath before saying, “You stick around until tomorrow morning and you’ll get my first name with it.”

“That better be a promise.”

“It is, John Duncan,” she says against his jaw, and he can feel her smile against his skin.

[thatbluegibson]

CH 69

The next day her doctor made his rounds again, checking Liz’s reflexes and speech before dropping more heavy news.

“You can leave in a couple days,” he said brightly. “But you’ll have to hang around jolly ol’ London for the foreseeable future. No flying, no long distance car or train trips.”

“Okay,” Liz said slowly. Dave could see the wheels turning in her busted head, trying to figure out how this was going to work. The doctor finished his instructions and moved on, leaving an exhausted Dave and Liz in his wake. He had slept in the chair at her side despite the extra cot that was placed in the far corner of the room for him. “I’ll have Andy get a hotel room nearby,” she said quickly, trying to calm the worry on Dave’s face. “I’ll hang out there until I can travel again.”

Dave stayed quiet, not sure what he could even say to her. He would be all over Europe that summer and then back in the States by September, he could only hope she’d be better by then.

“Will you sit with me?” she asked weakly. He dropped into the chair next to her bed, but she frowned at him. “No, I mean with me,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed.

Dave eyed the tubes and cords surrounding her suspiciously, “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” she replied, adding an exaggerated, “Pleeeease?” when he hesitated.

He carefully climbed into the bed beside her, letting her situate the lines so he could put his arm around her. She curled up against him, resting her head against his shoulder and reached across him to grab the remote attached to the bed. As she flipped through the channels on the TV across the room, he quietly examined the gashes in her scalp. The one above her ear was jagged, angry and red where the surgical one along her hairline was clean, gracefully sutured and only a little pink.

“Stop it,” she whispered, knowing he was looking her over. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you absolutely look it,” he teased.

“Shut up,” she smiled and stifled a yawn, wincing at the pain when her skin pulled tightly.

“Go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, settling further into his shoulder.

He waited until her breathing slowed before pulling his phone out and scrolling through his texts. Just as he finished replying to the most urgent ones, specifically his mother’s and one from Nate, a terrified looking nurse rushed into the room. Dave braced for more bad news. Fucking hell, now what?

“She has a visitor,” the nurse whispered, her eyes darting from Liz to the door.

“She just fell asleep,” he protested, checking the clock on the wall. It was late and visiting hours were long over. Maybe her parents decided to come over after all…

“No… no, it’s…,” the nurse stammered as the light from the hallway darkened. A massive security guard appeared and scanned the room before stepping aside to reveal Paul McCartney.

“Don’t,” Paul said, waving Dave down when he tried to get up. “They already filled me in. She did a number, didn’t she?”

“She’s not really one to do anything half-assed, I guess,” Dave said quietly, watching the nurse skitter out of the room.

Paul chuckled at that as he looked her over. “No, she’s not. I won’t stay long, I just wanted to see her breathing with my own eyes. I've got a flat on Cavendish just round from here. It’s a house, really. Nancy sent someone to ready it for you both.”

Dave felt as if he had been punched in the gut. “I have to leave in two days, I can’t…” He couldn’t just leave her alone in some unfamiliar house.

“Nancy and I aren’t far away and I’ll be at the studio for the next few weeks,” Paul assured him, “She can walk to the high street and there’s a private hospital just down the way. It’s already settled, mate. It’s the safest place for her.”

*

Dave pulled their car off the avenue and pressed the gate button on the keys Paul had sent him. The black iron gates protecting the property swung open and he furrowed his brow. The drive up to the garage was overgrown with weeds and most of the gravel had been washed away, leaving large patches of mud in their path.

“This is it, right?” he asked.

“Well, the gate opened…,” Liz said slowly.

The past two days had been spent in the same hospital room, watching Liz come and go from more imaging appointments than he could count. He felt like he had seen more of the inside of her head than the outside at this point, though he was assured that she was healing properly enough to be sprung from immediate care.

He parked the car just outside of the closed garage and hurried around to help Liz out. They stood together between the open car door and the passenger seat, staring the front garden of Paul’s ‘Apple House’ as he had lovingly called it. It was situated almost perfectly between Apple Studios, the High Street, the private hospital appropriately named St. Elizabeth’s and St. John’s Wood Gardens. She had everything she needed within a three block walking distance, but Dave’s stomach was still in knots. They made their way towards the house, picking over the front garden that was overgrown and neglected, the spring grass having long ago crept into the edged garden beds. The porch was covered with dead leaves and branches, and some of the wooden railings were missing. Dave quickly unlocked the front door, hoping the inside would be better, but they were greeted with a dark, dusty foyer along with a strangely earthy smell that he hoped wasn’t black mold. Liz immediately set off into the house while Dave scrambled to close the automatic gate and lock the door behind them.

The old wooden floors creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to the back of the house, finding Liz in the kitchen staring out into the back garden through the eating nook’s bay window. The kitchen was comfortable, all butcher block and open cabinets with a small breakfast table to the side. Beyond that was a small sitting room with a tiled fireplace, original artwork and a wall of overflowing bookcases. Two overstuffed and well-loved armchairs were positioned next to the fireplace with books stacked on their seats and an upright piano was placed against the remaining wall.

“There’s no dishwasher,” Dave said quietly. Her silence was killing him, reminding him that he was an asshole for attempting to leave her alone in a dilapidated old house in the middle of an unfamiliar city with a fucking brain injury. She finally turned away from the window, but only smiled at him. “We can always get you a hotel room, Liz. Just say the word.” Please, say the fucking word.

“Paul told me he bought it during the Help Sessions,” she finally broke her silence, skirting around both his offer and the butcher block island to a back staircase. He followed her up the narrow stairs, the knot in his stomach growing tighter at the thought of her using these sketchy steps every day. One wrong move and she’d be at the bottom in a pool of her own blood. He tried to clear his mind of that gruesome image as he made it to the landing, the three open doors around him revealed bright bedrooms with sheet-covered furniture.

“If you take all the blankets off the beds, you might be able to make a nest,” he said as he leaned his head into the smallest bedroom. Liz’s hand brushing his shoulders caught him by surprise, but he automatically turned to pull her close. “I’ll call Paul and tell him you’re better off in a hotel.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered against his neck. Was she crying? He pulled back to see the tears rolling down her cheeks in steady rivers. “I love it here.”

“Liz, it’s…,” he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain all the ways he felt it wasn’t the place for her to recover.

“It’s perfect.”

He wanted to disagree, but her eyes sparkled with something other than tears and her smile was genuine. “You get why I’m a little sketchy about leaving you here, right?”

“Oh, Dave,” she laughed and brushed away her tears, nodding to the wall behind him where the paint was peeling. “It’s just a little lead poisoning and potential mold infestation. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Then why the hell are you getting my shirt all wet?” he glanced down at his tear soaked shoulder when she pulled away from him.

“It’s just… I’m a little overwhelmed at how much I love it,” she left his side to look into each bedroom. “I just wish you could stay here with me.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” he said bitterly, pressing his palms into the small table on the landing.

Liz sucked in a sharp breath and hurried back to him, wiggling herself between him and the table even though he was reluctant to let her. “Stop,” she admonished, taking his head in her hands to force him to look at her. “That’s not what I meant. There are thousands of people out there literally counting down the days until you damage their eardrums. I refuse to be the person that ruins that for them. Do you know how badly that would fuck up my career?”

A smile pulled at his lips as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Why do you care? You’re quitting anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “You know what I fucking mean. I’ll be fine... and it’s not like I’m totally alone. Andy will be here.”

Dave put his arms around her and pulled her even closer, carefully kissing her forehead. He was too tired to argue any more, he just wanted her somewhere safe where he didn’t have to worry about her. 

[danatole-headcanons]

Ace, Andy, Kena, and Vic’s Danatole Kid Hcs

@melchirits

* THE KIDS * * helo naught xhildern, it’s danatole child time * THE KIDS: Fyodor(Theo) and Lucette (Lucy) Dolokhov-Kuragin * Dickle * every close friend/relative gets One Name to suggest * all of them are really good and considerate…………..until they go to balaga, a family friend * they tell balaga that he has One Chance……. And the name he choses is dickle * “ok balaga you have one shot at this, don’t fuck it up” * “ok ok hear me out. dickle.” * anatole is dying * dolokhov is having a heart attack in the background, im fucking wheeding * “ok but give me at least three chances” * “hear me out: succulent butterfly or FUCKING NUTMOBILE” “why’d you scream the second one?” “Because it should be in all caps” “get the fuck out” * “you had one chance, WE’RE NOT NAMING OUR GOTDAM SON DICKLE” * “but can the middle names spell dickle, what about troika” * “balaga please get out of our house it’s midnight” * “how about pikachu. Or ash ketchum.” * fedya, screaming from the background, heart attack paused: “YES” “i think i thought of the perfect name” balaga literally gets to anatole’s height by climbing him and whispers, “the loud THX noise from that one movie.”[a] * “name the child the THX noise” “balaga,,,,its been four days please leave” * he Won’t give up * Other balaga recommendations: * FUCKING NUTMOBILE * lucas steele, and variants * paul pinto * razor boy * succulent * marvin * paul pinto in khakis * lucifer * succulent butterfly * lampost * trash can * naruto * pikachu * ash ketchum * kukas steeke * THX noise * fursuit * (anatole kicks him out after that one) * ALSO * “fedya you are the father” * “so are you” * “oh shit true” * the first child (theo) grows up and learns that they were literally almost named fucking nutmobile and is ready to deck both balaga and their dads * balaga is like “im gonna teach your kid how to drive” * anatole astral projects while Everyone it holding fedya back from destroying balaga * balaga teaches the kid how to drive anyway bc fedya and anatole can’t stop him * so the kid gets pulled over by a cop the first time they drive (w/balaga) bc of course * the police person is just like “I KNOW YOU” and balaga screams “FLOOR IT” * “green means go, red also means go probably, yellow means speed up” * “balaga why is my kid crying” “,,,,,,,,,,reasons” * balaga calls theo dickle forever bc he can * Lucy has Fedya’s Determination and she does everything balaga does better * balaga cries into a wine bottle on the pavement * “balaga eating saltines and chugging wine on the sidewalk”~Quote from Ace * one time balaga takes lucy out for night lessons * fedya wakes up as this is happening and has a panic attack because “where is our kid oh dear god” * he literally sprints out into the driveway and balaga screams “FUCKING FLOOR IT” and lucy’s doing all sorts of pro maneuvers * while balaga ends up hanging on for dear life because “oh so this is what it’s like to be my passenger” * “lucy lucifer” * balaga has a corkboard full of parking tickets he never paid, he hoards them like trophies * (balaga voice) speed limit 420 haha nice

* “Balaga that says 42,,,” * “if i put four engines in my car,,,” * balaga owns a school bus that’s decked out like a monster truck * balaga works for uber AND lyft, like a double agent * one time he gets an uber and lyft at the same time so hes like fuck it and gets them both * fuzzy dice on rearview mirror * balaga’s car is named nutmobile & it has a nut sticker * balaga sleeps in his car in a walmart parking lot at night?? * on lucy’s first birthday balaga teaches lucy how to say fuck and fedya decks him in the street * balaga picks lucy up from school or something one day and he saw her and just yelled “HEY LUCIFER” * lucy whips around like YEAH FUCKASS WHAT DO YOU WANT, she was like 14 * BALAGA IS LITERALLY AT ANATOLE AND FEDYAS HOUSE ALK THE TINE AND HE IS JUST YELLING LUCIFER ALL GHE TIME AND FEDYA ID LIKE SHUT THE FUCK UP BALAGA * balaga runs like naruto * balaga was the babysitter literally all the time * balaga worked as a gym teacher for a month before getting fired * (“what’d he get fired for?” “nothing you can prove”) ~Andy and Ace * someone else parks in his parking spot and he just keys the car * balaga worked as a librarian for two hours before being fired for telling the kids to shut the fuck up * balaga never gets fired from uber no matter what * Review: 5/5. Almost died but i got to my destination, 30 minutes away, in 2 minutes. * “LUCY, HYPERDRIVE” * balaga has completely taken over anatole & fedya’s garage * they try to walk in one time like “is this is fucking dead rat” and he shoots them with a paintball gun and says “no this is covfefe” * Balaga goes as a gc egg shaker for halloween w the kids * “No you just hear the beads and then theres tiny egg man” ~Kalvin * “yeah the guy who lives in our garage uhhhh tiny egg man” ~Theo * lucy draws balaga and he says “hell yeah fanart,” hangs it up on like the ceiling of his car * when lucy and theo play mario kart she always chooses rainbow road * chooses monopoly for Family Game Night * “lucy please we’ve been playing for three days” “no it’s blond dad’s turn” * anatole’s dying on the floor, fedya’s crying, theo’s dissociating * theo’s a hide and seek master

*They watch Buzzfeed Unsolved * lucy & theo go ghost hunting, lucy’s humming the ghostbusters theme and theo’s shaking like a leaf in the corner with ten vials of holy water on him * “hey demons it’s me, ya boi” “LUCY NO” * “COME AT ME DEMONS!” “L U C Y P L E A S E” * Theo is Dipper Pines * lucy is always ready to Deck People (kalvin style) * lucy has a pokeball in her backpack to throw at people she doesnt like * the guys at school call her “hellraiser” and the girls call her “lucifer” * theo and lucy are Not Straight in the slightest * lucy is pan, theo is gay & ace, & also trans * lucy makes so many innuendos she got detention multiple times because of it * theo can play literally any instrument and spent his money on bookfairs in elementary school * Theo knows that anybody who plays violin is a basic bitch so he plays viola instead * “Fyodor jr.!” “Sorry dad, you’re basic.” ~Convo with Anatole * theo quickly become better at gambling than fedya, it switches from fedya letting him win to him actually getting demolished, fedya cries * lucy does the thing where it looks like you’re doing ballet but then you go over to someone and kick them in the face * lucy literally carries around a bag of glitter to throw on people when they say/do something stupid * lucy’s ringtone is the THX noise and it’s always so fucking loud * ippolit kuragin is the cool uncle but also cryptid * is a fashion designer in NY apparently * unrelated: (dolokhov voice) me me big anxiety * theo stans all the murder musicals * also is totally straight for phillipa soo * also stans all things LMM * lucy’s contact pick for Blond Dad is That anatole pic * lucy is team valor and theo is team instinct * fedya’s valor, anatole’s mystic (prettiest logo???), balaga’s instinct * everyone outs poor anatole for being on team mystic * “so uh anatole what team did you pick?” “mystic” “oh because they’re smart and stuff–” “no, they’re the most aesthetic * the kids are highkey competitive about pokemon * anatole does that thing where he does 600000 soft restarts to get a shiny starter * he REALLY LOVES alolan vulpix!! * lucy has an embarrassing collection of photos of anatole * Balaga insists on giving the kids The Talk * theo didn’t talk for a week after but it could have gone much worse * someone: so how’d It Go? * theo, shaking, looking up with the purest fear in his eyes: it could have been worse * balaga teaches theo to curse * also, someone @ theo : “fuck, i mean shoot! im so sorry!!” theo, drinking a glass of vodka: what the fuck you can swear around me i literally fuckimg 21 years old what the shit * theo, quietly: in the heights is better than hamilton * lucy, a floor down: EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME * once lucy asked balaga “hey do you sell drugs” * and balaga was like “no why, do you need them? bc i can get you them” * everyone sees theo as the calm kid, but if you talk shit about his family he Will duel you in a denny’s parking lot @ 3am hamilton style * there’s always the option to go live in the garaga with balaga * Theo’s secret dating the Andreirretasha kid, Nico(lai) * They are the cutest couple™ * Okay some Mama Helene™ bs * Helene was the mom, Fedya was the dad * “Helene and Dolokhov arm-in-arm,” * Lucy looks like a mini Helene, Theo looks like a mini Fedya * The only difference between Helene and Lucy is while Helene has the green-hairpiece-thing, Lucy wears a mauve bow * On Lucy’s fourteenth bday, Helene bent down to eye-level, look soulfully into her eyes, and said this: * “Lucy, as my daughter, i feel as if you should have this..” * It’s a necklace that says “Bitch” * Lucy was 13 when she started her drunk text collection * On Lucy’s 16 bday, helene gave her her most prized possession * “Lucy, I want you to have this, I was going to give it to you later in life, but you’ve come so far already..” * She pulls out a book from her purse, written in fancy calligraphy on it are the words “Burn Book” * “Lucy this is everything that someone i know has done wrong, treat it with care…” * It was one of the only times lucy has ever cried * You bet your ass there’s an entire section dedicated to Anatole * “Anatole, age 1-6, Anatole, Age 7-10, Anatole, Age 11-13, Anatole, Age 14-18, etc” * Theres even some stuff about Cryptid-Uncle-Ippolit * “Hey dad? Remember when you and uncle Pierre tied to guy to a bear for shits and giggles?” * Theo is on the spectrum * Helene got him a fidget cube * He and Lucy do sibling costumes * Theo is a gangly mess of limbs like how does the kid function * Theo was cis-passing when he started dating Nico * When he told him he was trans, Nico just shrugged and kissed him alot * Yeah so I love these kids and might write a fic

[cjeanmonte10]

My percy jackson au first instalment

My name is Zoe Jackson. My brother is the infamous Percy Jackson. I am a demigod, turns out that before mom married Gabe, she had me- a child of hades. This is the story of my life... I was walking down the halls of my new school. It was a good high school in New York. I was wearing my usual attire, black shirt with skull leggings and combat boots. I was itching to get to my visual arts class that i had fifth period. I had gotten my schedule the previous week. I had to get through homeroom first. I was hoping that the teacher wouldn't call me up to introduce myself, but i guess the gods weren't pitying me that day. Nico, my half brother, walked next to me. We could've been twins. Both of us had thick black hair, pale skin, near black eyes except mine were a dark hazel and his a dark brown. We were the same age not counting nicos time in the casino. We had the same schedules thanks to chiron and dad. We got to homeroom and walked in the room. I saw paul at the desk, thank the gods, me and nico both let out a sigh of relief as we were living with paul and my mom sally-percy moved out when i got into highschool since nico was staying too. We took seats in the back of the classroom where nobody could see us and make fun of us for our ‘goth-ness’ or my shaved hair. Unfortunately for us, the back was apparently where the popular kids sat. They got near us and started laughing at us and insulting us for our looks, and paul was reading the iliad and didn't notice it. Once we got up to move to the front of the room the preppies pushed us to the floor and nico elbowed me in the gut. As we were about to get them back for the shove paul called attention to the class and we moved our things to the front of the class right by paul. He talked about the material we would have in english class this year i only heard a sentence and it was “we will be reading the iliad in class this year” befor i zoned out again hoping he had greek versions of everything for me and nico from percy’s past years at goode. As the bell rang i noticed we had free period this morning. As we went out into the hall the preppies grabbed us and pulled us outside while me and nico were trying to control our anger so civil war skeletons wouldn't pop out of the ground. They threw us onto the ground in the courtyard. They started calling us names but nico broke when one jock said “why do you dress like that? What is your family dead” he had an angry look on his face as me and him stood. He threw a punch at the leaders face as i went to deadleg him. He fell to the ground. While we were fighting one of the cowards ran and got the dean. She came up and pulled us off the leader whose name we learned was brady. We were brought to her office. She asked us why we were beating andy up. “He insulted our family” we said in unison with a scowl apparent on our faces. The dean said “you two should know not to use your demigod skills in public” we looked at her shocked. She said “my name is angelina solace, will's mom” I looked up in realization and said “hi ms.solace my name is zoe jackson and i’m will’s girlfriend” “ah so this is the girl will has been talking about so much” i blushed and nico snickered. “and you are nico di angelo am i right?” Nico was will’s best friend, so i bet will mentioned him to her. “You know i have a surprise for you two.” as she said that the door opened and a head of blonde hair walked in. “hey guys” i screeched and ran up to him and we hugged. Ms.solace chuckled. Nico walked up and they did their bro hug thing. “Why are you here” nico asked. “Why shouldn't i be at my own school?” me and nico dogpiled him. In sync we said “why were we not told!” “i wanted to see what you two would do to brady the prat” “weeeell he was flirting with me and then he insulted our family” i said. Will got mad, you could tell by the new amount of light flooding the room. “I'm gonna kill him” will growled. We said thanks to will’s mom and then took will out to cool down, and by cool down we mean throw him in the pool. After will dried off we walked to the outside plaza with me and will holding hands and nico making kissy noises and snickering behind us. The preppies walked up to us again and said to me “why don't you leave solace and date a real man like me” “well can a real man stand this”i said as i dead legged him and kicked him where it hurts. He fell to the ground groaning. We all snickered as we walked to the cafeteria. As we walked in the cafeteria everyone stopped what they were doing to look at us. We walked to a table where will said his friends sat. we sat down and meet kyle, wills friend on the track team, haley his girlfriend, jason-who we chuckled at because he was the exact opposite of our jace- his girlfriend diana-who we again chuckled at because artemis is jason's sister and her roman form is diana-  we introduced ourselves and after i said my name i said will’s girlfriend. They all said “we all thought you weren't really the way he talks about you like your half god.” jason said.                 -            -            - The end of the year has come. We spent the year getting bad grades and beating up the preppies. Our camp buds were coming to get us along with nico's boyfriend. The van flew into the lot and jolted to a stop in front of us. “Thals is driving nic” nico groaned as our budds got out of the car. Thalia jumped out of the driver's seat onto the roof of the van  and did a flip into my arms with ease. “ZOEEEEEEEE” she yeelled in my ear “THAAAAAAAAAAAAALS” i yelled back. She ran too nico and gave him a brotherly hug. Next out was percy and jason holding hands, percy and annabeth along with jason and piper had broken up because they all realized their true feelings on a double date. They were all very good friends still. They both gave us hugs. Next were annabeth and piper holding hands, then came coach hedge and mellie with little chuck. Last but not least came leo nico ran up to him and they started making out. All at once demigods and mortals alike yelled “GET A ROOM” and they pulled apart blushing like tomatoes. An instant after they were all introduced. Holographic signs popped up over the mortals heads. Kyle had a lyre, haley had a dove, jason had a caduceus, and diana had a vine. They all looked freaked out so we ushered them into the van and explained everything that had happened to all of us and percy and who their godly parents were. They all took it surprisingly well, but percy was driving. He detoured to the empire state building and demanded the key to olympus. We all headed up the elevator and we all groaned since apollo decided to play never gonna give you up the whole ride on repeat. Once we got outside the throne room, all the big three kids grabbed percy and hoisted him on our shoulders. We walked in and all the gods greeted their children, newbies to. We still had  percy on our shoulders so he couldn't attack the gods for not claiming them. He squirmed out of our grip and walked to the middle of the room. The gods themselves looked scared, they all flinched, even hades, at percy’s death glare. He spoke in a deadly low tone slowly rising in volume “what  is  this, you swore  on the styx that this would never  happen again. THEY ARE NOT THIRTEEN!” the gods look even more scared. Jason walked up to percy and pulled him into a kiss. The gods were  not informed of the relationship change so athena looked murderous but she relaxed as she noticed piper and annabeth's hands intertwined. As all the uninformed gods looked at aphrodite she slid down her  seat. “I threatened her until she swore on the styx not to tell”nico  said stepping  forward holding leo’s hand. None of the Gods noticed me yet so after nico said that i said “i helped” happily, stepping forward holding will’s  hand.”who is with who”zeus sighed. We  lined up hands  around our lovers waist. None of them looked to mad at us. Except Zeus, he was red in the face. We all waited for the blow up he was about to have. “I WILL NOT ALLOW MY SON TO DATE A SON OF POSEIDON” percy and jason both gave him death glares. He shrunk in his seat. “Ugh fine” he grumbled “i don't wanna be killed by mortals”. Hades  started to speak “the reason they were not claimed is that there was a prophecy before the prophecy of the 7. It went, heroes from 2 wars past, 4 broken oaths and 2 surprising friends, shall travel to the doors of hell and  save what 2 heroes lost in the end”. “Who are the friends?” percy asked. “Well here's a surprise for a few people” there was a bright flash and when our eyes cleared percy, annabeth and thalia gasped. There stood, luke castellan and zöe nightshade. They ran up and thalia and annabeth ran up to luke and gave him a huge hug tears streaming down their faces. Zöe and percy were talking and zӧe hugged him, he looked shocked. I walked up and jumped on luke's back. He grabbed me and said “zoe is that you?!” “sure is lucas”he scowled. Everyone had a confused face. “How the heck do you know him!!” everyone yelled. I looked at him and he nodded. “You know when i was younger i ran away from him”i said looking at percy. He nodded, “during that time  i meet  luke here, this was way before thalia and annabeth met him. We didn't know we were demigods. We wound up in nebraska, we had  just gotten away from a man who we now know is a cyclops, he’s like a brother to me.” will looked relieved. Luke spoke “why are we here”, the gods explained the new prophecy and everyone was introduced. “Doors of hell?” Leo said confused. Percy, nico, annabeth and I gasped. “Not hell tartarus” percy said dejectedly. “Bob and damasen!” Percy shouted “save what two heroes lost in the end I get it” i said…”we all go to tartarus and save Bob a.k.a Iapetus and Damasen” everyone who hadn't been there looked scared...me? Oh i have been there i was 14 just out of 8th grade a sphinx cornered me in an alleyway. I had killed the sphinx but it grabbed me in its maw before it turned to dust. I was pulled to tartarus with it. I escaped through not the doors of death but through tartarus’ mouth. Since i am a child of hades I saw it fully. Would not recommend it as a vacation spot. While i was stuck there i ran into nyx. She saw me bleeding out after a hellhound attack and took me in. She was kinda like a sister to me. She let me stay there and told me about the other exit. The less dangerous one but before i left she blessed me and enhanced all my powers as a child of hades as well as giving me more control over her monstrous children. I made the trek to the mouth. It looked like the exit of a spelunking cavern. I climbed up the throat and escaped it wasn't easy but once i did i ran too dad's palace. He fixed me up as i told him the story. Then I made him swear on the styx never to tell anyone what happened. But everyone knew something had happened, i didn't come to camp over the summer and when i came for winter break i had tons more scars than before. Someone shouting zoe brought me back from my reminiscing it was will. He noticed the tears running down my face and asked what was wrong...i told them everything from the sphinx too being in dad's palace. Everyone looked shocked. “What the hell zoe!” Percy, nico and will yelled “why didn't you tell me” i looked down “because i knew this would happen” the gods but dad still stared at me in wonder. “Wait you were blessed by nyx a primordial” athena said “ that would put you at the power level of me or ares” again everyone looked at me in shock. Ares looked jealous. Zeus yelled “she is too powerful she must die” “NO” everyone else screamed but dionysus because he was sleeping. He was jolted awake so that was funny. Will was holding me as i slid to the ground in tears. It was too much for me to handle i had been holding it in for two years and i only told dad. I was broken. I don't know why will would want me. I curled into a ball and sobbed. Percy and nico both done glaring at zeus rushed over along with dad, Hermes and poseidon. Hermes and poseidon are like uncles to me. Will was still hugging me and percy and nico both grabbed me and squeezed me till i couldn't breath. Those three all let go and then it was the gods turn poseidon and hermes were first and then dad who after a long hug brought me to sit on his throne with him.

[beforethemoor]

22/04/04 | JH American Tour Diary Pt3

Final part of Jon's US tour diary is below. He does LA, San Francisco, Vancouver and a whole lotta other things. The gag with the celery makes us laugh a lot.

More to come soon from the recent German Dj tour, but first...

LA. We are staying at the Roosevelt hotel on Hollywood Boulevard. Paul parks the bus and we head inside. Things are looking good. The hotel is big and designed like a castle and there is a pool outside which looks like a 1930's Hollywood film set, all palm trees and terrace chalet villas. There is just enough time to grab a shower and change before meeting the others for dinner. There is a bowling place that serves food and we decide that it is going to be good enough for dinner and head straight in. We have crossed the country by bus and reached the far coast. In roughly twenty days. It took the Spanish a lot longer but there were no roads back then. So it's time to celebrate and Kieran does the honours with a great speech and much toasting. People are tired after the hell of a day we have just had so half the team splits off to grab some sleep. Probably what myself, Tom, Andy and Kieran should have done but hell, it's the first time in LA and we should explore the local wildlife. Not sure what the bar was called that we found ourselves in but it was dark as hell and the barmaid looked like an extra form the super vixens or some other Russ Meyer huge boob violence classic. She was teaching us the finer blends of tequila with shots that should never be contemplated with a sober mind. It was a long yet successful night, which didn't go without it's casualties and the morning came far too soon.

She reminded me of the barmaids from the Hoboken gig that we played. Heavily tattooed yet very sexy ladies. There is something I find really sexy about girls with great tattoos. They just have a certain confidence. That again was a fun gig even though it was a little stage with minimal PA. The crowd was very intimate plus chicken shit angel eyed boy managed to make it over. I owe that guy many drinks. We had fun but I think that the real excitement was the fact that we would be in New York the next day.

The sun is shining and we head into the hills to look for the Hollywood sign. This is a little harder that we expect and like everything in the American world without wheels we are pretty much fucked. The gig looks great. Big stage, nice sized room and good equipment. Tonight if everything works ok things are going to be great and as expected the gig goes without hitch and is particularly high on the list of most enjoyable gigs ever. I end up spending quite a lot of time with Jolie the NME writer assigned to write a news story on us. She is fun but driving so not up for a few drinks so I head back to the bus, which is busy with Japanese fans and Americans. Didz has headed into town with some other bands and Ben seems to have been kidnapped. Nobody knows where he has got to. Tom has had far too much tequila and is wandering around in his pants. Great pants! 7am Paul gets back to the bus and wants to leave. Didz and me are still up in the front lounge, Fish is listening to post rock and chilling in the back and there is still no Ben. I give him a call to say we should be leaving but he doesn't know where he is, in a car with some people he doesn't really know. I think I will let someone else sort this out and decide to head off to bed.

San Francisco. That was a hell of a night. Too many crazies! Slept in my clothes again. You can always judge a night by the amount of clothing that remains on your body when you wake. There has only been one night when I didn't manage to get my jacket and shoes off but I didn't ever imagine waking for that night. I think if it goes any further then I will wake naked but not in bed or in a hospital somewhere. Hell who knows anymore? San Francisco looks amazing. We are uptown at the gig. This city is great lots of trams and crazy stepped hills. The rain is incredible. There has been about half a foot since we got here and there is a wave climbing slowly up the trailer as we wait for a break in the weather to complete the load in. Everyone is completely soaking. I met a local guy who was saying that Steve McQueen takes off in one area of town and lands the jump in a completely different neighbourhood. He should know, he says as he has lived there all his life. Another guy asks me why the hell have we come to San Francisco when we live in London, as he used to live in London for five years and thinks that San Francisco is shitty in comparison. He tells me that he is moving to Melbourne soon. Why do people tell me these things? The gig is again successful. There is a lady puking outside and she says that she likes a drummer who is not afraid to lift his own drums back into the trailer. There isn't anybody else to do it! That’s when I slipped on the rain soaked ramp and fell on my face. Hard like a sack of bricks. Not broken any bones before. Dislocated my shoulder in the Alps a few years ago. That hurt but this was different, I was sure that I had snapped my arm. It turns out that everything is ok. My arm is just a little compressed. Things will be fine and there is a day off tomorrow. Plus Def Leopard got away with it.

Vancouver is 1000 miles away. We are going to stop for a break in Oregon and see what happens. There is a hotel with a launderette and a steak house next door and that's all I need. We must stop so that Paul can sleep which tends to mean lots of waiting around. Too much waiting around! Not much is happening and tonight there is just Andy and myself sitting on the bus listening to stupid tracks on his computer and watching South Park shows he has downloaded. It is starting to look like the Jimmy Kimmel Show has been cancelled. If so then we get to go home a little earlier which in the scheme of things is probably a good thing as I am feeling, like everyone else I imagine, a little burned out. Tom wants a holiday in LA at the end of the tour to sit in the sun but I don't know if it's going to happen. I can’t remember the last time I got to sit in the sun and do nothing.

We are at Richard’s on Richard’s. It looks like it’s going to be a good show. Vancouver is a fucking great place. And so far what I have seen is incredible. You are near the mountains and near the sea at the same time. Canada has really impressed me so far. All three city’s have been relaxed, cool and especially Montreal, filled with beautiful women. After the show Didz, Andy P and myself head off to find somewhere to eat and are joined by Natalie and Steve. We know Natalie from back in London and she has just moved out to Vancouver to be with Steve who is Canadian, plays in a band and turns out to be the best guy ever. He suggests we should head to the café on the corner which myself and Didz believe to be a recommendation, as it turns out he has never eaten there before. It’s close and it sells food, which is all we really need. It’s not long before we realize the mistake we have made, as the only other customers this place gets are Prostitutes. This area of Vancouver turns out to be the red light district and this is the café where they meet, drink coffee and change shift. It’s unbelievable. I think maybe the law is quite relaxed on that whole business out here as the girls are not shabby in any way and are wearing best part of nothing. It makes for great entertainment while we eat. I really want to go to the toilet but it could be a dangerous move trying to avoid the bitch fighting. I think that was the most insane meal I have ever eaten. The gig was great and the after show meal hilarious. Didz heads back to Steve and Natalie’s apartment to drink wine and I decide to head off with Andy P to meet the others and Calla for some late night Partying. The club is filled with hot women and Tom is dancing on the tables.

Heading back across the Canadian border into America is proving difficult. There is a jobsworth arsehole intent on causing us as much grief as possible. "Everybody off. Get all yer bags. All yer personal stuff. You got anything you wanna tell me"? Paul has lent me his hat which has the "Fender" logo slightly altered to say "Fucker" on the front. It's a great hat and I am very much enjoying wearing it, however Paul has been quite worried that I will lose it while I am out drinking. The customs guy sees my hat and asks if I am the guitarist. I tell him that I’m the drummer and point at Fish. He then realizes what my hat actually says and is not impressed. He looks away quickly and addresses Dan. "You play guitar? See these hands. I've been playin' guitar since 1963. See what it does to yer hands" Dan just looks pissed off. I approach Paul and point at the fucker hat. Tell him that it's ok and I didn't lose it. Paul laughs and slaps me on the back. The customs guy calls after me. "Hey! You calling me what it says on yer hat"?

That's when they decide to put the dogs on the bus to check for drugs. The dogs find nothing on the bus so they decide to line us up and individually smell us all. The dog spends a strangely long time smelling Didz' balls. Eventually they let us through. Seattle here we come.

So far every Sunday gig has been a little strange in the US. In England Sunday is just another working day but over here it is definitely quieter. We start the day with an in store gig. Everyone is really hung over and in no mood to play. It goes ok. Not too many people but that's probably a good thing. I think I hardly opened my eyes during the whole performance. We are all just completely knackered and I’m pretty sure that I played most of the gig asleep. The gig is at Easy Street records, which is a great music store. The guy who runs it is a superstar and gives us all T-Shirts. The BMG lady is also amazing and lets us steal all her promo CDs from the car. Hand luggage may prove to be a problem as I have acquired about 50 free CDs on this tour so far. May give some to Andy P as a little thank you, plus he has only managed to blag Alan Parsons Project CDs so far. Seattle looks cool. Lots of homeless people hanging around but may be that's just the area of town we are in. Last gig so I hope that we go out on a high note. Before the show we decide to all head out for a band meal and end up at this westernised Japanese restaurant. Again Kieran does the honours with a great end of tour speech and we give Paul a box of Cuban Cigars to suck on. He looks very happy. I decide that the squid and a plate of sushi is the way to go. Too much sushi before the gig is never a good idea. The tequila shots were also not a good idea. Not been this pissed before a gig for along time. Just before stage time a girl pushes her way into our dressing room wanting to take pictures and get us to sign things. She has the deepest Welsh accent. Nobody expected that. Andy spends most of the gig trying to annoy me. Squirting me from the side of the stage with water and throwing slices of turkey at me. One shot is perfectly on target and lands in the middle of my snare drum. Why do the crew think they have to make last gigs special by messing with us in some way. Last gig of the Black Rebel tour I walked onstage to find two massive sticks of celery instead of my drumsticks. There was also the time that Andy changed my set list so that it said things like: 1. What song’s next? 2. Can’t Remember? 3. You’re In Trouble Now! Tonight is also the night where we have to sort out all the equipment we are taking home and what we are leaving. Which proves to be a long and awful job. There are a few people hanging around and they invite us to join them at a bar. The bar closes soon after that and we head back to the hotel to continue. We still have a lot of good booze to get through. There is a guy called Sky who is teaching us about being "metro-sexual" and a few girls. I don't remember too much about what happened but we drank a lot. Ran around being stupid in leopard skin dressing gowns and ruined two hotel rooms. I don't know when people left but I fell asleep on the floor in Didz' room. I woke up two hours later found my key and decided to shower before going to bed. Bad idea when you are still messy. I slipped over in the bath and knocked myself out. Hit my head, back, and legs. I went down hard and it really hurt. I lay there for along time with the water pouring down on my head and the bath filling up. I though that I would have to call Fisher to help drag me out but decided that I would sit it out and see if I recovered. I put the plug in and turned the shower off. Baths are safer!

I don't remember checking out. I don't remember the border or getting to the airport. Not really sure about much of the flight. Even the tube back to east London is a bit hazy. Must check that Sonia is in so that I can get in to the flat. Don't want to go all that way just to sit on the curb with all my bags and wait for her to get back. She is in. Perfect. It's been a really great tour. There have been lots of ups and downs, many highs and not many lows. But it's really good to be home. Really good! Less than a month until we are back though and I cant wait to be in New York again.

It has to be said that without a great number of people this American tour would never have been as successful as it was. So we would like to thank: Ashley, Scott, Mark, Lizzie, Maggie, Philippa, Sarah, Shacky and all at BMG US and UK for their hard work. Paul the bus driver, Andy Prins for busting his arse over from Japan to come party, Andy Veasey (cos it ain’t easy being Veasey), Kennedy, Berto, Pete, Peter, Deborah, Dan and his video camera, Calla for their support. Everyone who travelled crazy distances to support us and the American folks who ventured out to see what we are about. Thank you.

[networkingdefinition]

Peas Quotes

Official Website: Peas Quotes

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  • A man must have something to cling to. Without that he is as a pea vine sprawling in search of a trellis…. I was all asprawl, clinging to Beauty, which is a very restless trellis. – E. B. White • A minister has to be able to read a clock. At noon, it’s time to go home and turn up the pot roast and get the peas out of the freezer. – Garrison Keillor • A monkey was carrying two handfuls of peas. One little pea dropped out. He tried to pick it up, and split twenty. He tried to pick up the twenty, and split them all. Then he lost his temper, scattered the peas in all directions and ran away – Leo Tolstoy • A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • All I wanted was to be a pea of being inside the green pod of time. – Billy Collins • All things here appear to me to trudge on in one and the same round: we rise in the morning that we may eat breakfast, dinner andsupper and to bed again that we may get up the next morning and do the same: so that you never saw two peas more alike than our yesterday and to-day. – Thomas Jefferson • An election cannot give a country a firm sense of direction if it has two or more national parties which merely have different names but are as alike in their principles and aims as peas in the same pod. – Franklin D. Roosevelt • As cows need milking and sweet peas need picking, so writers must continually exercise their mental muscles by a daily stint. – Joan Aiken • Aspirin is so good for roses, brandy for sweet peas, and a squeeze of lemon-juice for the fleshy flowers, like begonias. – Gerald Durrell

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• Banquet: a plate of cold, hairy chicken and artificially coloured green peas completely surrounded by dreary speeches and appeals for donations. – Bennett Cerf • Barney’s Dad was really bad so Barney hatched a plan when his dad said “Eat your peas.” Barney shouted no and ran Barney tricked his mean old dad and locked him in the cellar Barney’s Mom never found out where he’d gone, Cause Barney didn’t tell her. There his dad spent his life eating mice and gruel With every bite for fifty years he was sorry he’d been cruel – Bill Watterson • Be careful what you say. It comes true. It comes true. I had to leave home in order to see the world logically, logic the new way of seeing. I learned to think that mysteries are for explanation. I enjoy the simplicity. Concrete pours out of my mouth to cover the forests with freeways and sidewalks. Give me plastics, periodical tables, TV dinners with vegetables no more complex than peas mixed with diced carrots. Shine floodlights into dark corners: no ghosts. – Maxine Hong Kingston • Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me. – Lord Chesterfield • Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.” “I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas. “And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is. – Cassandra Clare

• Cacao is rich in happy phenethylamine chemicals called PEA. These compounds have been associated with feeling good and falling in love. – David Wolfe • Catherine went still. Her eyes closed against a sudden wet sting. ‘Did you accept her proposal?’ Leo nuzzled tenderly into the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Of course not, pea-goose. – Lisa Kleypas • Children pick up words as pigeons peas And utter them again as God shall please. – John Ray • Civilisation makes us all as alike as peas in a pod, and it is the very uncouth – uncivilised, if you will – element which individualises nations. – Alec-Tweedie • Donald Trump has said that I would like to sit down and talk to people, work things out. Well, guess what? Some of the evidence is that was, he went straight to Mexico and sat down and had a conference and a meeting directly with Pea Nieto to go over all this. OK, that. – Kimberly Guilfoyle • Dried peas and beans, being rather on the dull side, much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts. – Irma S. Rombauer • For a hungry man, green peas are more shiny than gleaming pearls. – Mehmet Murat Ildan • Frozen peas can be shelled very fast with a wringer-type washer. Put a pan on one side of the wringer to catch the peas and the pods go on through. You will think peas will go through the wringer and be mashed the moment the pod hits the wringer, but they will pop out before they go through. A very fast job can be done this way. – Heloise • Hebrew was frozen, like frozen peas, fresh out of the Bible. – Etgar Keret • Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. – John Keats • Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick. “No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that’s how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. – Suzanne Collins • How long have you been here? (Jericho) Don’t know. Again, tried to count once, got depressed so I stopped. I find it easier to just go with the flow. Ease with the peas. (Asmodeus) Ease with the peas? (Jericho) Yeah, that’s not a happy memory, either. Let’s forget I mentioned it. (Asmodeus) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • How lucious lies the pea within the pod. – Emily Dickinson • How much courage does it take to fire up your tractor and plow under a crop you spent six or seven years growing? How much courage to go on and do that after you’ve spent all that time finding out how to prepare the soil and when to plant and how much to water and when to reap? How much to just say, “I have to quit these peas. Peas are no good for me, I better try corn or beans. – Stephen King • Hugh Grant and I both laugh and cringe at the same things, worship the same books, eat the same food, hate central heating and sleep with the window open. I thought these things were vital, but being two peas in a pod ended up not being enough. – Elizabeth Hurley • I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes – and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. – Lord Byron • I cannot wait to go get my fried butter on a stick, and fried cheesecake on a stick and…Twinkies, especially in honor of those who would rather just be forced to eat our peas. – Sarah Palin • I had pecs for about two days. Everyone would hate me. Just look at me walking around with my little peacoat on. My little customized pea coat. – Robert Pattinson • I have a few cavities. I don’t like to call them cavities, though – I like to call them ‘places to put stuff’. ‘Do you know where I can store a pea’ ‘Yes, I have some locations available.’ – Mitch Hedberg • I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow. – Thomas Bailey Aldrich • I liked playing Morph in Mash and Peas and doing Phil Daniels in the Blur Rock Profile was a giggle too. – Paul Putner • I listen to my iPod as I walk on. If I’m winning I’ll listen to the same song, that’s like a good luck thing – usually The Black Eyed Peas’ Let’s Get It Started. – Andy Murray • I love fresh vegetables and we always include them in our meals. I don’t force my kids to eat asparagus, but they do eat peas, broccoli, and carrots. – Alison Sweeney • I loved pop music as a little kid. Things like the Black Eyed Peas. If it had a catchy chorus, I was into it.- James Bay • I met Mel [Brooks] backstage in Anne’s [Bancroft] dressing room. He was wearing one of those pea coats, pea jackets that were made famous by the Merchant Marines, and I admired it and he said, “You know, they used to call this a urine jacket, but it didn’t sell.” – Gene Wilder • I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea. – C. S. Forester • I never dream in French, but certain French words seem better or more fun than English words – like ‘pois chiches’ for chick peas! – Lydia Davis • I think Black Eyed Peas are kind of unique in the ways they produce their songs. Their songs are very current. – Steve Pink • I think everything happens for a reason and all of my choices have led me up to my solo album and made me stronger, not only as an artist but as a person. I want to do more the Black Eyed Peas albums and more of my own albums. I’m in this for the long run. – Fergie • I thought that I had found something new. But then I convinced myself that the Abbot Gregor Mendel in Brünn, had, during the sixties, not only obtained the same result through extensive experiments with peas, which lasted for many years, as did de Vries and I, but had also given exactly the same explanation, as far as that was possible in 1866. – Carl Correns • I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. – Nathaniel Hawthorne • I will be brave, thought Despereaux. I will try to be brave like a knight in shining armour. I will be brave for the Princess Pea. – Kate DiCamillo • I will say A Pea in the Pod saved my life – at the end of my pregnancy. I even wear their tanks now to work out in because they’re really long. – Kim Kardashian • I worry about people who get born nowadays, because they get born into such tiny families–sometimes into no family at all. When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope Diamond. And that encourages you to talk too much. – Russell Baker • If the Earth is the size of a pea in New York, then the Sun is a beachball 50m away, Pluto is 4km away, and the next nearest star is in Tokyo. Now shrink Pluto’s orbit into a coffee cup; then our Milky Way Galaxy fills North America. – Wayne Hays • If you don’t have at least a working knowledge of the Hawaiian language… you can’t chant well. You cannot… receive the images of poetry paints for you. It’s like having peas and no pod. – Keali’i Reichel • If you gave kids peas that didn’t look like peas and said they were a space shuttle, they’re much more apt to eat them because it’s now playtime. – Hod Lipson • If you want to grow up to be a big, strong pea, you have to eat your candy,” Papa Pea would say. – Amy Krouse Rosenthal • I’m a great believer in conversational rhythm. I think in terms of rhythmic dialogue. It’s so easy, you can talk naturally. It’s like peas rolling off a knife. Take the great screen actors and actresses, Bette Davis, Eddie Robinson, Jimmy Cagney, Spencer Tracy. They all talk in rhythm. And rhythm and movement are the life of the screen. – Lorenz Hart • I’m good in the kitchen. I can cook seafood, collard greens, black-eyed peas. – Monique Coleman • I’m obsessed with broccoli, carrots, celery, string beans, snap peas, black kale, brussels sprouts, cabbage – I could go on! They used to call me ‘rabbit’ when I was a kid. I hate mushrooms, though. I apologize to fungi lovers, but this way, there’s more for you! – Lisa Edelstein • In order to get big things done, sometimes, presidents have to be deft at moving the pea around under the shells. – Charlie Pierce • In school, they would tell you that life wouldn’t come to you; you had to go out and make it your own. But when it came to love, the message for girls seemed to be this: Don’t. Don’t go after what you want. Wait. Wait to be chosen, as if only in the eye of another could one truly find value. The message was confusing and infuriating. It was a shell game with no actual pea under the rapidly moving cups. – Libba Bray • In the early years of the Uprising, we survived on one meal a day of horse meat and soup, but by the end we ate only dried peas, dogs, cats and birds. – Diane Ackerman • In the game of life, less diversity means fewer options for change. Wild or domesticated, panda or pea, adaptation is the requirement for survival. – Cary Fowler • In the range of things toddlers have to learn and endlessly review–why you can’t put bottles with certain labels in your mouth, why you have to sit on the potty, why you can’t take whatever you want in the store, why you don’t hit your friends–by the time we got to why you can’t drop your peas, well, I was dropping a few myself. – Mary Blakely • Is that clear?” said Borcht “as clear as pea soup” I said – James Patterson • It is a great delusion to suppose that flesh-meat of any kind is essential to health. Considerably more than three parts of the work in the world is done by men who never taste anything but vegetable, farinaceous food, and that of the simplest kind. There are more strength-producing properties in wholemeal flour, peas, beans, lentils, oatmeal, roots, and other vegetables of the same class, than there are beef or mutton, poultry or fish, or animal food of any description whatever. – Catherine Booth • It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn’t feel like a giant. I felt very, very small. – Neil Armstrong • It was Lisa, aged five, whose mother asked her to thank my wife for the peas we had sent them from our garden. ‘I thought the peas were awful, I wish you and Mrs. Thurber were dead, and I hate trees,’ said Lisa. – James Thurber • It’s a trifle. It’s got all of these layers. First there’s a layer of ladyfingers, then a layer of jam, then custard, which I made from scratch, then raspberries, more ladyfingers, then beef sauteed with peas and onions, then a little more custard, and then bananas, and then I just put some whipped cream on top! – Rachel • Lack of world vision in any Christian produces a ‘pea-sized Christianity’. – David Bryant • Let us consider what we call vicious luxury. No gratification, however sensual, can of itself be esteemed vicious. A gratification is only vicious when it engrosses all a man’s expense, and leaves no ability for such acts of duty and generosity as are required by his situation and fortune. The same care and toil that raise a dish of peas at Christmas would give bread to a whole family during six months. – David Hume • Lives are snowflakes – unique in detail, forming patterns we have seen before, but as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There’s not a chance you’d mistake one for another, after a minute’s close inspection.) – Neil Gaiman • Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. And Despereaux’s love for the Princess Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful, and ridiculous. – Kate DiCamillo • Mainstream people dislike homosexuality because they can’t help concentrating on what homosexual men do to one another. And when you contemplate what people do, you think of yourself doing it. And they don’t like that. That’s the famous joke: I don’t like peas, and I’m glad I don’t like them, because if I liked them I would eat them and I hate them. – Quentin Crisp • Memory overshadows the present and dims the future “into something thicker than its usual pea soup.” – Vladimir Nabokov • Mostly, I spend my time being a mother to my two children, working in my organic garden, raising masses of sweet peas, being passionately involved in conservation, recycling and solar energy. – Blythe Danner • My boy, the ‘quenelles de sole’ were splendid, but the peas were poor. You should shake the pan gently, all the time, like this. – Marie-Antoine Careme • My cat is completely blind. I am watching her now, sweet-pea that is, circling the kitchen floor and bumping into the kitchen chairs. She is kind of like a furry ball in a pinball machine…she bumps into something and then just turns and moves on…it makes me smile – although i know it’s just not that funny. I think i laugh because what i really feel like doing, is crying – Jann Arden • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My favorite healthy foods are Jamaican chicken soup, Jamaican chicken stew peas, Jamaican brown stew chicken, plantains and banana chips. – Sanya Richards-Ross • My musical taste is like a 16-year-old girl’s when it comes to working out – Rihanna, Black Eyed Peas, Miley Cyrus. I love it all! – Jessica Capshaw • My solo album is different from the Black Eyed Peas albums because I’m a singer first and foremost. There are more ballads and more intimacy between me and the listener because sometimes when you’re in a group you don’t have space to air out your dirty laundry. – Fergie • My teacher said my brain was the size of a pea. He made my life miserable by singling me out in the classroom as a failure. – Willard Wigan • No member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who has canned peas, topped beets, hauled hay, shoveled coal, or helped in any way to serve others ever forgets or regrets the experience of helping provide for those in need. – Thomas S. Monson • Nobody wants somebody who wants them for what they have or the position their in- you want somebody who wants you for you. In case it all goes crazy and it all turns to dust. I want somebody who loves me in the welfare line, eating gumbo, eating fish,black eyed peas and rice. I want somebody that loves me. God wants you to love him, not his cars, not his house, not his blessing- love him. – T. D. Jakes • Nothing rekindles my spirits, gives comfort to my heart and mind, more than a visit to Mississippi… and to be regaled as I often have been, with a platter of fried chicken, field peas, collard greens, fresh corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes with French dressing… and to top it all off with a wedge of freshly baked pecan pie. – Craig Claiborne • Now hoppin’-john was F. Jasmine’s very favorite food. She had always warned them to wave a plate of rice and peas before her nose when she was in her coffin, to make certain there was no mistake; for if a breath of life was left in her, she would sit up and eat, but if she smelled the hopping-john, and did not stir, then they could just nail down the coffin and be certain she was truly dead. – Carson McCullers • October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! – Rainbow Rowell • One recent menu for suspected terrorists at Guantanamo consisted of orange glazed chicken, fresh fruit crepe, steamed peas and mushrooms, and rice pilaf. Sounds like the sort of thing you’d get at Windows on the World – if it still existed. – Ann Coulter • Our full humanity is contingent on our hospitality; we can be complete only when we are giving something away; when we sit at the table and pass the peas to the person next to us we see that person in a whole new way. – Alice Waters • Pea was aware suddenly of how fragile her heart was, how much darkness was inside it, fighting, always, with the light. She did not like the rat. She would neverlike the rat, but she knew what she must do to save her own heart. – Kate DiCamillo • Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting. – Neil Gaiman • Peas went with carrots as infallibly as ham went with eggs. For years I thought carrots and peas grew on the same vine. – Peg Bracken • People ate bread made of the shells of peas because there was no flour. – Bel Kaufman • Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades. – Boris Pasternak • Reader, you may ask this queston. In fact, you must ask this question. Is it ridiculous for a very small, sickly, big-eared mouse to fall in love with a beautiful princess named Pea? The answer is… Yes. Of course it’s ridiculous. Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. – Kate DiCamillo • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Runny’s Nicpic One day Runny Babbit Met little Franny Fog. He said, “Let’s have a nicpic Down by the lollow hog.” He brought some cutter bookies, Some teanuts and some pea. And what did Franny Fog bring? Her whole fog framily. – Shel Silverstein • She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn’t altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn’t shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men – people, everybody – thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she’d be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever. – Alice Munro • Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea; And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me,

Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. – Robert Frost • Some are trapped in boxes of pea-sized Christianity, full of myths about missions that rob them of incentive to care about the unreached – David Bryant • Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don’t know where – want to be someone else and don’t know who. – Jean Hersey • Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole. – Anne Sexton • Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can’t help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea. – Sharon Creech • STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL FAUX VOMIT: 1 cup of cooked oatmeal 1.2 cup of sour cream (or buttermilk ranch dressing or anything that smells like rancid, sour milk) 2 chopped cheese sticks (for chunkiness) 1 uncooked egg (for authentic slimy texture) 1 can of split pea soup (for putrid green color) 1/4 cup of raisins (to increase gross-osity) Mix ingredients and simmer over low heat for 2 minutes Let mixture cool to warm vomit temperature Use liberally as needed Makes 4 to 5 cups – Rachel Renée Russell • Straight up from this road Away from the fitted particles of frost Coating the hull of each chick pea, And the stiff archer bug making its way In the morning dark, toe hair by toe hair, Up the stem of the trillim, Straight up through the sky above this road right now, The galaxies of the Cygnus A cluster Are colliding with each other in a massive swarm Of interpenetrating and exploding catastrophes. I try to remember that. – Pattiann Rogers • Sweet pea?'” Alec said. “I was just trying it out.” Alec shook his head. “No.” Magnus shrugged. “I’ll keep at it. – Cassandra Clare • Tess and I are a good match. She understands intimately where I came from. She can cheer me up on my darkest days. It’s as if she came perfectly happy home instead of what Kaede just told me. I feel a relaxing warmth at the thought, realizing suddenly how much I’m anticipating meeting up with Tess again. Where she goes, I go, and vice versa. Peas in a pod. Then there’s June. Even the thought of her name makes it hard for me to breathe. I’m almost embarrassed by my reaction. Are June and I a good match? No. It’s the first word to pop into my mind. And yet, still. – Marie Lu • That admiration of the ‘neat but not gaudy,’ which is commonly reported to have influenced the devil when he painted his tail pea green. – John Ruskin • The best minds come from the most unexpected faces and places. There is no image for intelligence or genius. Genius is something that cannot be seen. It cannot be produced or manufactured. It is something that even the true genius thinks is unattainable. The genius recognizes he’s just a small pea in a sea of infinite atoms. Knowledge is as infinite as the universe. The man who claims to know all, only reveals to all that he really knows nothing. – Suzy Kassem • The Black Eyed Peas sell thousands of seats in every country on the planet. You can’t get nervous. We’re all succeeding in all different parts of our careers. Just because I produce Nas and John Legend and Justin Timberlake doesn’t mean it will change the dynamic of the Peas. – will.i.am • The Colonel led all the cheers. Cornbread!” he screamed. CHICKEN!” the crowd responded. Rice!” PEAS!” And then, all together: “WE GOT HIGHER SATs.” Hip Hip Hip Hooray!” the Colonel cried. YOU’LL BE WORKIN’ FOR US SOMEDAY! – John Green • The meal was pretentious – a kind of beetroot soup with greasy croutons; pork underdone with loud vulgar cabbage, potato croquettes, tinned peas in tiny jam-tart cases, watery gooseberry sauce; trifle made with a resinous wine, so jammy that all my teeth lit up at once. – Anthony Burgess • The only really interesting thing about someone that makes you want to explore them further is their heart, and Miss Honeycut has a teeny tiny pea-sized one and it takes you nowhere you want to go. – Polly Horvath • The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. – Edward Lear • The owl and the pussycat went to sea, / In a beautiful pea green boat. / They took some honey, and plenty of money, / Wrapped up in a five pound note. – Edward Lear • The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss. – Mike Myers • The Princess and the Pea?” Gabrielle suggested. “Not enough time,” Kat said “Where’s Waldo?” Gabrielle went on. “No.” Hamish recoiled. “I am still not allowed back in Morocco. – Ally Carter • The sower may mistake and sow his peas crookedly; the peas make no mistake, but come up and show his line. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There are few pleasures like really burrowing one’s nose into sweet peas. – Angela Thirkell • There are m]oral precepts that we consider really important, such as ‘don’t pick your nose’ or ‘don’t eat peas with a knife’. There may, for ought I know, be admirable reasons for eating peas with a knife, but . . . early persuasion has made me completely incapable of appreciating them.- Bertrand Russell • There are so many things to be tortured about, sweet pea. So many torturous things in this life. Don’t let the man who doesn’t love you be one of them. – Cheryl Strayed • There has long been a bemoaning of the lack of opportunity to make films that are anything but explosions or the ladling on the pea soup or whatever you want to call it. You can hardly make a movie today where somebody isn’t a murderer or a rapist or, if it’s a “Fried Green Tomatoes” that isn’t some wistful thing on this, that or the other thing. – Jack Nicholson • There must be a way to get more of these in me faster, thought the inventor of pea soup as he sat eating peas. – Dana Gould • This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit’s pedler; and retails his wares. – William Shakespeare • Though loyal and able and brave, Pea had never displayed the slightest ability to learn from his experience, though his experience was considerable. Time and again he would walk up on the wrong side of a horse that was known to kick, and then look surprised when he got kicked. – Larry McMurtry • Thoughts come maimed and plucked of plumage from the lips, which, from the pea, in the silence of your own leisure and study, would be born with far more beauty. – Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington • Throw high risers at the chin; throw peas at the knees; throw it here when they’re lookin’ there; throw it there when they’re lookin’ here. – Satchel Paige • Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. “I’m scared… ,” she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them. – Ann Brashares • Today, most women are surrounded by ingenious gadgets. They don’t grow the peas or raise the chicken that they serve for dinner; instead they hunt and gather in the grocery store. They go through catalogs or department stores to buy clothes instead of shearing sheep, carding wool, and weaving cloth for skirts and coats and blankets. – Helen Fisher • We all know what feminists are. They are shrill, overly aggressive, man-hating, ball-busting, selfish, hairy, extremist, deliberately unattractive women with absolutely no sense of humor who see sexism at every turn. They make men’s testicles shrivel up to the size of peas, they detest the family and think all children should be deported or drowned. – Susan J. Douglas • We have fried catfish, country fried steak and cinnamon-roasted pork. We have collard greens, black-eyed peas, hush puppies, biscuits, sweet potato pie and lots of gravy. Most players love it, but we also have a baked catfish for players who are still looking to stay on the approved diet. – Mark Farner • What you discover about life’s shell game is that it’s hardest to follow the pea when you’re the pea. – Robert Breault • Whatever cleaning goes on on the planet, women do 99% of it. But see, women are not as proud of their 99% as men are of our one! We clean something up, we’re gonna talk about it all year long. It might be on the news, you don’t know. A woman could be out re-paving the driveway. Men actually have enough gall to run out on the porch and go “Hey baby? Man, it’s hot as hell out here, ain’t it! Look, don’t worry about emptyin’ that ashtray in the den, I done got it, all right? Did it for you, sweet pea. I’m gonna go take a nap now, all right?” – Jeff Foxworthy • When Pococke inquired of Grotius, where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet’s (Muhammad’s) ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius answered that there was no proof! – Thomas Carlyle • When you look at the Lady Gagas of the world, or the Jay-Zs, or the Black Eyed Peas, these are people who have one album release and it’s a worldwide one. – Tinie Tempah • When you think of the “Exorcist” (1973) you think of Linda Blair and pea soup and all this madness, but really if you look at the first half of that film, the stuff between her and Ellen Burstyn is so naturalistic and so real. – Matt Reeves • When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope diamond. – Russell Baker • Who watches golf on TV? Who calls eight friends over and gets a keg of beer? Landscapers, I guess. They sit around the TV, yelling, “Will you look at that golf path?Pure pea gravel.” – Jeff Cesario • William Tell could take an apple off your head, [Phil] Taylor could take out a processed pea. – Sid Waddell • You know, when I eat three peas, I’m pregnant. When I visit a city, I’m buying a house. – Vanessa Paradis • Young people want to look like peas in a pod, and there is no use trying to make them different. – Ilka Chase

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[equitiesstocks]

Peas Quotes

Official Website: Peas Quotes

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  • A man must have something to cling to. Without that he is as a pea vine sprawling in search of a trellis…. I was all asprawl, clinging to Beauty, which is a very restless trellis. – E. B. White • A minister has to be able to read a clock. At noon, it’s time to go home and turn up the pot roast and get the peas out of the freezer. – Garrison Keillor • A monkey was carrying two handfuls of peas. One little pea dropped out. He tried to pick it up, and split twenty. He tried to pick up the twenty, and split them all. Then he lost his temper, scattered the peas in all directions and ran away – Leo Tolstoy • A solid man of Boston; A comfortable man with dividends, And the first salmon and the first green peas. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • A typical Irish dinner would be: cream flavored with lobster, cream with bits of veal in it, green peas and cream, cream cheese, cream flavored with strawberries. – Nancy Mitford • All I wanted was to be a pea of being inside the green pod of time. – Billy Collins • All things here appear to me to trudge on in one and the same round: we rise in the morning that we may eat breakfast, dinner andsupper and to bed again that we may get up the next morning and do the same: so that you never saw two peas more alike than our yesterday and to-day. – Thomas Jefferson • An election cannot give a country a firm sense of direction if it has two or more national parties which merely have different names but are as alike in their principles and aims as peas in the same pod. – Franklin D. Roosevelt • As cows need milking and sweet peas need picking, so writers must continually exercise their mental muscles by a daily stint. – Joan Aiken • Aspirin is so good for roses, brandy for sweet peas, and a squeeze of lemon-juice for the fleshy flowers, like begonias. – Gerald Durrell

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• Banquet: a plate of cold, hairy chicken and artificially coloured green peas completely surrounded by dreary speeches and appeals for donations. – Bennett Cerf • Barney’s Dad was really bad so Barney hatched a plan when his dad said “Eat your peas.” Barney shouted no and ran Barney tricked his mean old dad and locked him in the cellar Barney’s Mom never found out where he’d gone, Cause Barney didn’t tell her. There his dad spent his life eating mice and gruel With every bite for fifty years he was sorry he’d been cruel – Bill Watterson • Be careful what you say. It comes true. It comes true. I had to leave home in order to see the world logically, logic the new way of seeing. I learned to think that mysteries are for explanation. I enjoy the simplicity. Concrete pours out of my mouth to cover the forests with freeways and sidewalks. Give me plastics, periodical tables, TV dinners with vegetables no more complex than peas mixed with diced carrots. Shine floodlights into dark corners: no ghosts. – Maxine Hong Kingston • Being pretty on the inside means you don’t hit your brother and you eat all your peas – that’s what my grandma taught me. – Lord Chesterfield • Blue does not go with everything,” Will told her. “It does not go with red, for instance.” “I have a red and blue striped waistcoat,” Henry interjected, reaching for the peas. “And if that isn’t proof that those two colors should never be seen together under Heaven, I don’t know what is. – Cassandra Clare

• Cacao is rich in happy phenethylamine chemicals called PEA. These compounds have been associated with feeling good and falling in love. – David Wolfe • Catherine went still. Her eyes closed against a sudden wet sting. ‘Did you accept her proposal?’ Leo nuzzled tenderly into the hollow beneath her ear. ‘Of course not, pea-goose. – Lisa Kleypas • Children pick up words as pigeons peas And utter them again as God shall please. – John Ray • Civilisation makes us all as alike as peas in a pod, and it is the very uncouth – uncivilised, if you will – element which individualises nations. – Alec-Tweedie • Donald Trump has said that I would like to sit down and talk to people, work things out. Well, guess what? Some of the evidence is that was, he went straight to Mexico and sat down and had a conference and a meeting directly with Pea Nieto to go over all this. OK, that. – Kimberly Guilfoyle • Dried peas and beans, being rather on the dull side, much like dull people respond readily to the right contacts. – Irma S. Rombauer • For a hungry man, green peas are more shiny than gleaming pearls. – Mehmet Murat Ildan • Frozen peas can be shelled very fast with a wringer-type washer. Put a pan on one side of the wringer to catch the peas and the pods go on through. You will think peas will go through the wringer and be mashed the moment the pod hits the wringer, but they will pop out before they go through. A very fast job can be done this way. – Heloise • Hebrew was frozen, like frozen peas, fresh out of the Bible. – Etgar Keret • Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. – John Keats • Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls,” he says earnestly to Finnick. “No, it doesn’t,” says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that’s how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. – Suzanne Collins • How long have you been here? (Jericho) Don’t know. Again, tried to count once, got depressed so I stopped. I find it easier to just go with the flow. Ease with the peas. (Asmodeus) Ease with the peas? (Jericho) Yeah, that’s not a happy memory, either. Let’s forget I mentioned it. (Asmodeus) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • How lucious lies the pea within the pod. – Emily Dickinson • How much courage does it take to fire up your tractor and plow under a crop you spent six or seven years growing? How much courage to go on and do that after you’ve spent all that time finding out how to prepare the soil and when to plant and how much to water and when to reap? How much to just say, “I have to quit these peas. Peas are no good for me, I better try corn or beans. – Stephen King • Hugh Grant and I both laugh and cringe at the same things, worship the same books, eat the same food, hate central heating and sleep with the window open. I thought these things were vital, but being two peas in a pod ended up not being enough. – Elizabeth Hurley • I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes – and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue. – Lord Byron • I cannot wait to go get my fried butter on a stick, and fried cheesecake on a stick and…Twinkies, especially in honor of those who would rather just be forced to eat our peas. – Sarah Palin • I had pecs for about two days. Everyone would hate me. Just look at me walking around with my little peacoat on. My little customized pea coat. – Robert Pattinson • I have a few cavities. I don’t like to call them cavities, though – I like to call them ‘places to put stuff’. ‘Do you know where I can store a pea’ ‘Yes, I have some locations available.’ – Mitch Hedberg • I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow. – Thomas Bailey Aldrich • I liked playing Morph in Mash and Peas and doing Phil Daniels in the Blur Rock Profile was a giggle too. – Paul Putner • I listen to my iPod as I walk on. If I’m winning I’ll listen to the same song, that’s like a good luck thing – usually The Black Eyed Peas’ Let’s Get It Started. – Andy Murray • I love fresh vegetables and we always include them in our meals. I don’t force my kids to eat asparagus, but they do eat peas, broccoli, and carrots. – Alison Sweeney • I loved pop music as a little kid. Things like the Black Eyed Peas. If it had a catchy chorus, I was into it.- James Bay • I met Mel [Brooks] backstage in Anne’s [Bancroft] dressing room. He was wearing one of those pea coats, pea jackets that were made famous by the Merchant Marines, and I admired it and he said, “You know, they used to call this a urine jacket, but it didn’t sell.” – Gene Wilder • I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea. – C. S. Forester • I never dream in French, but certain French words seem better or more fun than English words – like ‘pois chiches’ for chick peas! – Lydia Davis • I think Black Eyed Peas are kind of unique in the ways they produce their songs. Their songs are very current. – Steve Pink • I think everything happens for a reason and all of my choices have led me up to my solo album and made me stronger, not only as an artist but as a person. I want to do more the Black Eyed Peas albums and more of my own albums. I’m in this for the long run. – Fergie • I thought that I had found something new. But then I convinced myself that the Abbot Gregor Mendel in Brünn, had, during the sixties, not only obtained the same result through extensive experiments with peas, which lasted for many years, as did de Vries and I, but had also given exactly the same explanation, as far as that was possible in 1866. – Carl Correns • I used to visit and revisit it a dozen times a day, and stand in deep contemplation over my vegetable progeny with a love that nobody could share or conceive of who had never taken part in the process of creation. It was one of the most bewitching sights in the world to observe a hill of beans thrusting aside the soil, or a rose of early peas just peeping forth sufficiently to trace a line of delicate green. – Nathaniel Hawthorne • I will be brave, thought Despereaux. I will try to be brave like a knight in shining armour. I will be brave for the Princess Pea. – Kate DiCamillo • I will say A Pea in the Pod saved my life – at the end of my pregnancy. I even wear their tanks now to work out in because they’re really long. – Kim Kardashian • I worry about people who get born nowadays, because they get born into such tiny families–sometimes into no family at all. When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope Diamond. And that encourages you to talk too much. – Russell Baker • If the Earth is the size of a pea in New York, then the Sun is a beachball 50m away, Pluto is 4km away, and the next nearest star is in Tokyo. Now shrink Pluto’s orbit into a coffee cup; then our Milky Way Galaxy fills North America. – Wayne Hays • If you don’t have at least a working knowledge of the Hawaiian language… you can’t chant well. You cannot… receive the images of poetry paints for you. It’s like having peas and no pod. – Keali’i Reichel • If you gave kids peas that didn’t look like peas and said they were a space shuttle, they’re much more apt to eat them because it’s now playtime. – Hod Lipson • If you want to grow up to be a big, strong pea, you have to eat your candy,” Papa Pea would say. – Amy Krouse Rosenthal • I’m a great believer in conversational rhythm. I think in terms of rhythmic dialogue. It’s so easy, you can talk naturally. It’s like peas rolling off a knife. Take the great screen actors and actresses, Bette Davis, Eddie Robinson, Jimmy Cagney, Spencer Tracy. They all talk in rhythm. And rhythm and movement are the life of the screen. – Lorenz Hart • I’m good in the kitchen. I can cook seafood, collard greens, black-eyed peas. – Monique Coleman • I’m obsessed with broccoli, carrots, celery, string beans, snap peas, black kale, brussels sprouts, cabbage – I could go on! They used to call me ‘rabbit’ when I was a kid. I hate mushrooms, though. I apologize to fungi lovers, but this way, there’s more for you! – Lisa Edelstein • In order to get big things done, sometimes, presidents have to be deft at moving the pea around under the shells. – Charlie Pierce • In school, they would tell you that life wouldn’t come to you; you had to go out and make it your own. But when it came to love, the message for girls seemed to be this: Don’t. Don’t go after what you want. Wait. Wait to be chosen, as if only in the eye of another could one truly find value. The message was confusing and infuriating. It was a shell game with no actual pea under the rapidly moving cups. – Libba Bray • In the early years of the Uprising, we survived on one meal a day of horse meat and soup, but by the end we ate only dried peas, dogs, cats and birds. – Diane Ackerman • In the game of life, less diversity means fewer options for change. Wild or domesticated, panda or pea, adaptation is the requirement for survival. – Cary Fowler • In the range of things toddlers have to learn and endlessly review–why you can’t put bottles with certain labels in your mouth, why you have to sit on the potty, why you can’t take whatever you want in the store, why you don’t hit your friends–by the time we got to why you can’t drop your peas, well, I was dropping a few myself. – Mary Blakely • Is that clear?” said Borcht “as clear as pea soup” I said – James Patterson • It is a great delusion to suppose that flesh-meat of any kind is essential to health. Considerably more than three parts of the work in the world is done by men who never taste anything but vegetable, farinaceous food, and that of the simplest kind. There are more strength-producing properties in wholemeal flour, peas, beans, lentils, oatmeal, roots, and other vegetables of the same class, than there are beef or mutton, poultry or fish, or animal food of any description whatever. – Catherine Booth • It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn’t feel like a giant. I felt very, very small. – Neil Armstrong • It was Lisa, aged five, whose mother asked her to thank my wife for the peas we had sent them from our garden. ‘I thought the peas were awful, I wish you and Mrs. Thurber were dead, and I hate trees,’ said Lisa. – James Thurber • It’s a trifle. It’s got all of these layers. First there’s a layer of ladyfingers, then a layer of jam, then custard, which I made from scratch, then raspberries, more ladyfingers, then beef sauteed with peas and onions, then a little more custard, and then bananas, and then I just put some whipped cream on top! – Rachel • Lack of world vision in any Christian produces a ‘pea-sized Christianity’. – David Bryant • Let us consider what we call vicious luxury. No gratification, however sensual, can of itself be esteemed vicious. A gratification is only vicious when it engrosses all a man’s expense, and leaves no ability for such acts of duty and generosity as are required by his situation and fortune. The same care and toil that raise a dish of peas at Christmas would give bread to a whole family during six months. – David Hume • Lives are snowflakes – unique in detail, forming patterns we have seen before, but as like one another as peas in a pod (and have you ever looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them? There’s not a chance you’d mistake one for another, after a minute’s close inspection.) – Neil Gaiman • Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. And Despereaux’s love for the Princess Pea would prove, in time, to be all of these things: powerful, wonderful, and ridiculous. – Kate DiCamillo • Mainstream people dislike homosexuality because they can’t help concentrating on what homosexual men do to one another. And when you contemplate what people do, you think of yourself doing it. And they don’t like that. That’s the famous joke: I don’t like peas, and I’m glad I don’t like them, because if I liked them I would eat them and I hate them. – Quentin Crisp • Memory overshadows the present and dims the future “into something thicker than its usual pea soup.” – Vladimir Nabokov • Mostly, I spend my time being a mother to my two children, working in my organic garden, raising masses of sweet peas, being passionately involved in conservation, recycling and solar energy. – Blythe Danner • My boy, the ‘quenelles de sole’ were splendid, but the peas were poor. You should shake the pan gently, all the time, like this. – Marie-Antoine Careme • My cat is completely blind. I am watching her now, sweet-pea that is, circling the kitchen floor and bumping into the kitchen chairs. She is kind of like a furry ball in a pinball machine…she bumps into something and then just turns and moves on…it makes me smile – although i know it’s just not that funny. I think i laugh because what i really feel like doing, is crying – Jann Arden • My family lived off the land and summer evening meals featured baked stuffed tomatoes, potato salad, corn on the cob, fresh shelled peas and homemade ice cream with strawberries from our garden. With no air conditioning in those days, the cool porch was the center of our universe after the scorching days. – David Mixner • My favorite healthy foods are Jamaican chicken soup, Jamaican chicken stew peas, Jamaican brown stew chicken, plantains and banana chips. – Sanya Richards-Ross • My musical taste is like a 16-year-old girl’s when it comes to working out – Rihanna, Black Eyed Peas, Miley Cyrus. I love it all! – Jessica Capshaw • My solo album is different from the Black Eyed Peas albums because I’m a singer first and foremost. There are more ballads and more intimacy between me and the listener because sometimes when you’re in a group you don’t have space to air out your dirty laundry. – Fergie • My teacher said my brain was the size of a pea. He made my life miserable by singling me out in the classroom as a failure. – Willard Wigan • No member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who has canned peas, topped beets, hauled hay, shoveled coal, or helped in any way to serve others ever forgets or regrets the experience of helping provide for those in need. – Thomas S. Monson • Nobody wants somebody who wants them for what they have or the position their in- you want somebody who wants you for you. In case it all goes crazy and it all turns to dust. I want somebody who loves me in the welfare line, eating gumbo, eating fish,black eyed peas and rice. I want somebody that loves me. God wants you to love him, not his cars, not his house, not his blessing- love him. – T. D. Jakes • Nothing rekindles my spirits, gives comfort to my heart and mind, more than a visit to Mississippi… and to be regaled as I often have been, with a platter of fried chicken, field peas, collard greens, fresh corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes with French dressing… and to top it all off with a wedge of freshly baked pecan pie. – Craig Claiborne • Now hoppin’-john was F. Jasmine’s very favorite food. She had always warned them to wave a plate of rice and peas before her nose when she was in her coffin, to make certain there was no mistake; for if a breath of life was left in her, she would sit up and eat, but if she smelled the hopping-john, and did not stir, then they could just nail down the coffin and be certain she was truly dead. – Carson McCullers • October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! – Rainbow Rowell • One recent menu for suspected terrorists at Guantanamo consisted of orange glazed chicken, fresh fruit crepe, steamed peas and mushrooms, and rice pilaf. Sounds like the sort of thing you’d get at Windows on the World – if it still existed. – Ann Coulter • Our full humanity is contingent on our hospitality; we can be complete only when we are giving something away; when we sit at the table and pass the peas to the person next to us we see that person in a whole new way. – Alice Waters • Pea was aware suddenly of how fragile her heart was, how much darkness was inside it, fighting, always, with the light. She did not like the rat. She would neverlike the rat, but she knew what she must do to save her own heart. – Kate DiCamillo • Peas baffled me. I could not understand why grown-ups would take things that tasted so good raw, and then put them in tins, and make them revolting. – Neil Gaiman • Peas went with carrots as infallibly as ham went with eggs. For years I thought carrots and peas grew on the same vine. – Peg Bracken • People ate bread made of the shells of peas because there was no flour. – Bel Kaufman • Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation’s tears in shoulder blades. – Boris Pasternak • Reader, you may ask this queston. In fact, you must ask this question. Is it ridiculous for a very small, sickly, big-eared mouse to fall in love with a beautiful princess named Pea? The answer is… Yes. Of course it’s ridiculous. Love is ridiculous. But love is also wonderful. And powerful. – Kate DiCamillo • Rice and peas fit into that category of dishes where two ordinary foods, combined together, ignite a pleasure far beyond the capacity of either of its parts alone. Like rhubarb and strawberries, apple pie and cheese, roast pork and sage, the two tastes and textures meld together into the sort of subtle transcendental oneness that we once fantasized would be our experience when we finally found the ideal mate. – John Thorne • Runny’s Nicpic One day Runny Babbit Met little Franny Fog. He said, “Let’s have a nicpic Down by the lollow hog.” He brought some cutter bookies, Some teanuts and some pea. And what did Franny Fog bring? Her whole fog framily. – Shel Silverstein • She could not explain or quite understand that it wasn’t altogether jealousy she felt, it was rage. And not because she couldn’t shop like that or dress like that. It was because that was what girls were supposed to be like. That was what men – people, everybody – thought they should be like. Beautiful, treasured, spoiled, selfish, pea-brained. That was what a girl should be, to be fallen in love with. Then she would become a mother and she’d be all mushily devoted to her babies. Not selfish anymore, but just as pea-brained. Forever. – Alice Munro • Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite, Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea; And go along with you ere you lose sight Of what you came for and become like me,

Slave to a springtime passion for the earth. How love burns through the Putting in the Seed On through the watching for that early birth When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,

The sturdy seedling with arched body comes Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs. – Robert Frost • Some are trapped in boxes of pea-sized Christianity, full of myths about missions that rob them of incentive to care about the unreached – David Bryant • Some days confidence shrinks to the size of a pea, and the backbone feels like a feather. We want to be somewhere else, and don’t know where – want to be someone else and don’t know who. – Jean Hersey • Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole. – Anne Sexton • Sometimes when you are trying not to think about something it keeps popping back in your head you can’t help it you think about it and think about it and think about it until your brain feels like a squashed pea. – Sharon Creech • STAY HOME FROM SCHOOL FAUX VOMIT: 1 cup of cooked oatmeal 1.2 cup of sour cream (or buttermilk ranch dressing or anything that smells like rancid, sour milk) 2 chopped cheese sticks (for chunkiness) 1 uncooked egg (for authentic slimy texture) 1 can of split pea soup (for putrid green color) 1/4 cup of raisins (to increase gross-osity) Mix ingredients and simmer over low heat for 2 minutes Let mixture cool to warm vomit temperature Use liberally as needed Makes 4 to 5 cups – Rachel Renée Russell • Straight up from this road Away from the fitted particles of frost Coating the hull of each chick pea, And the stiff archer bug making its way In the morning dark, toe hair by toe hair, Up the stem of the trillim, Straight up through the sky above this road right now, The galaxies of the Cygnus A cluster Are colliding with each other in a massive swarm Of interpenetrating and exploding catastrophes. I try to remember that. – Pattiann Rogers • Sweet pea?'” Alec said. “I was just trying it out.” Alec shook his head. “No.” Magnus shrugged. “I’ll keep at it. – Cassandra Clare • Tess and I are a good match. She understands intimately where I came from. She can cheer me up on my darkest days. It’s as if she came perfectly happy home instead of what Kaede just told me. I feel a relaxing warmth at the thought, realizing suddenly how much I’m anticipating meeting up with Tess again. Where she goes, I go, and vice versa. Peas in a pod. Then there’s June. Even the thought of her name makes it hard for me to breathe. I’m almost embarrassed by my reaction. Are June and I a good match? No. It’s the first word to pop into my mind. And yet, still. – Marie Lu • That admiration of the ‘neat but not gaudy,’ which is commonly reported to have influenced the devil when he painted his tail pea green. – John Ruskin • The best minds come from the most unexpected faces and places. There is no image for intelligence or genius. Genius is something that cannot be seen. It cannot be produced or manufactured. It is something that even the true genius thinks is unattainable. The genius recognizes he’s just a small pea in a sea of infinite atoms. Knowledge is as infinite as the universe. The man who claims to know all, only reveals to all that he really knows nothing. – Suzy Kassem • The Black Eyed Peas sell thousands of seats in every country on the planet. You can’t get nervous. We’re all succeeding in all different parts of our careers. Just because I produce Nas and John Legend and Justin Timberlake doesn’t mean it will change the dynamic of the Peas. – will.i.am • The Colonel led all the cheers. Cornbread!” he screamed. CHICKEN!” the crowd responded. Rice!” PEAS!” And then, all together: “WE GOT HIGHER SATs.” Hip Hip Hip Hooray!” the Colonel cried. YOU’LL BE WORKIN’ FOR US SOMEDAY! – John Green • The meal was pretentious – a kind of beetroot soup with greasy croutons; pork underdone with loud vulgar cabbage, potato croquettes, tinned peas in tiny jam-tart cases, watery gooseberry sauce; trifle made with a resinous wine, so jammy that all my teeth lit up at once. – Anthony Burgess • The only really interesting thing about someone that makes you want to explore them further is their heart, and Miss Honeycut has a teeny tiny pea-sized one and it takes you nowhere you want to go. – Polly Horvath • The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. – Edward Lear • The owl and the pussycat went to sea, / In a beautiful pea green boat. / They took some honey, and plenty of money, / Wrapped up in a five pound note. – Edward Lear • The peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Discuss. – Mike Myers • The Princess and the Pea?” Gabrielle suggested. “Not enough time,” Kat said “Where’s Waldo?” Gabrielle went on. “No.” Hamish recoiled. “I am still not allowed back in Morocco. – Ally Carter • The sower may mistake and sow his peas crookedly; the peas make no mistake, but come up and show his line. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • There are few pleasures like really burrowing one’s nose into sweet peas. – Angela Thirkell • There are m]oral precepts that we consider really important, such as ‘don’t pick your nose’ or ‘don’t eat peas with a knife’. There may, for ought I know, be admirable reasons for eating peas with a knife, but . . . early persuasion has made me completely incapable of appreciating them.- Bertrand Russell • There are so many things to be tortured about, sweet pea. So many torturous things in this life. Don’t let the man who doesn’t love you be one of them. – Cheryl Strayed • There has long been a bemoaning of the lack of opportunity to make films that are anything but explosions or the ladling on the pea soup or whatever you want to call it. You can hardly make a movie today where somebody isn’t a murderer or a rapist or, if it’s a “Fried Green Tomatoes” that isn’t some wistful thing on this, that or the other thing. – Jack Nicholson • There must be a way to get more of these in me faster, thought the inventor of pea soup as he sat eating peas. – Dana Gould • This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; And utters it again when God doth please: He is wit’s pedler; and retails his wares. – William Shakespeare • Though loyal and able and brave, Pea had never displayed the slightest ability to learn from his experience, though his experience was considerable. Time and again he would walk up on the wrong side of a horse that was known to kick, and then look surprised when he got kicked. – Larry McMurtry • Thoughts come maimed and plucked of plumage from the lips, which, from the pea, in the silence of your own leisure and study, would be born with far more beauty. – Marguerite Gardiner, Countess of Blessington • Throw high risers at the chin; throw peas at the knees; throw it here when they’re lookin’ there; throw it there when they’re lookin’ here. – Satchel Paige • Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. “I’m scared… ,” she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them. – Ann Brashares • Today, most women are surrounded by ingenious gadgets. They don’t grow the peas or raise the chicken that they serve for dinner; instead they hunt and gather in the grocery store. They go through catalogs or department stores to buy clothes instead of shearing sheep, carding wool, and weaving cloth for skirts and coats and blankets. – Helen Fisher • We all know what feminists are. They are shrill, overly aggressive, man-hating, ball-busting, selfish, hairy, extremist, deliberately unattractive women with absolutely no sense of humor who see sexism at every turn. They make men’s testicles shrivel up to the size of peas, they detest the family and think all children should be deported or drowned. – Susan J. Douglas • We have fried catfish, country fried steak and cinnamon-roasted pork. We have collard greens, black-eyed peas, hush puppies, biscuits, sweet potato pie and lots of gravy. Most players love it, but we also have a baked catfish for players who are still looking to stay on the approved diet. – Mark Farner • What you discover about life’s shell game is that it’s hardest to follow the pea when you’re the pea. – Robert Breault • Whatever cleaning goes on on the planet, women do 99% of it. But see, women are not as proud of their 99% as men are of our one! We clean something up, we’re gonna talk about it all year long. It might be on the news, you don’t know. A woman could be out re-paving the driveway. Men actually have enough gall to run out on the porch and go “Hey baby? Man, it’s hot as hell out here, ain’t it! Look, don’t worry about emptyin’ that ashtray in the den, I done got it, all right? Did it for you, sweet pea. I’m gonna go take a nap now, all right?” – Jeff Foxworthy • When Pococke inquired of Grotius, where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet’s (Muhammad’s) ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius answered that there was no proof! – Thomas Carlyle • When you look at the Lady Gagas of the world, or the Jay-Zs, or the Black Eyed Peas, these are people who have one album release and it’s a worldwide one. – Tinie Tempah • When you think of the “Exorcist” (1973) you think of Linda Blair and pea soup and all this madness, but really if you look at the first half of that film, the stuff between her and Ellen Burstyn is so naturalistic and so real. – Matt Reeves • When you’re the only pea in the pod, your parents are likely to get you confused with the Hope diamond. – Russell Baker • Who watches golf on TV? Who calls eight friends over and gets a keg of beer? Landscapers, I guess. They sit around the TV, yelling, “Will you look at that golf path?Pure pea gravel.” – Jeff Cesario • William Tell could take an apple off your head, [Phil] Taylor could take out a processed pea. – Sid Waddell • You know, when I eat three peas, I’m pregnant. When I visit a city, I’m buying a house. – Vanessa Paradis • Young people want to look like peas in a pod, and there is no use trying to make them different. – Ilka Chase

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

[fifiweihao-blog]

Ten Foot Flowers (1967) – Andy Warhol (1928 – 1987)

Centro Cultural de Belem, Berardo Collection, Belem, Lisbon, Portugal

Material: Silk-screen ink on synthetic polymer on canvas Collection: Berardo

BIOGRAPHY

Born Andrew Warhola; August 6, 1928 – February 22, 1987) was an American artist, director, and producer who was a leading figure in the visual art movement known as POP ART.

His works explore the relationship between artistic expression, advertising, and celebrity culture that flourished by the 1960s and span a variety of media, including painting, silkscreening, photography, film, and sculpture.

Some of his best-known works include the silkscreen paintings Campbell’s Soup Cans (1962) and Marilyn Diptych (1962), the experimental film Chelsea Girls (1966), and the multimedia events known as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable (1966–67).

Born and raised in Pittsburgh, Warhol initially pursued a successful career as a commercial illustrator. After exhibiting his work in several galleries in the late 1950s, he began to receive recognition as an influential and controversial artist.

His New York studio, THE FACTORY, became a well-known gathering place that brought together distinguished intellectuals, drag queens, playwrights, Bohemian street people, Hollywood celebrities, and wealthy patrons. He promoted a collection of personalities known as Warhol superstars, and is credited with inspiring the widely used expression "15 minutes of fame".

In the late 1960s, he managed and produced the experimental rock band THE VELVET UNDERGROUND and founded Interview magazine. He authored numerous books, including The Philosophy of Andy Warhol and Popism: The Warhol Sixties. He lived openly as a gay man before the gay liberation movement. After gallbladder surgery, Warhol died of cardiac arrhythmia in February 1987 at the age of 58.

Warhol has been the subject of numerous retrospective exhibitions, books, and feature and documentary films. The Andy Warhol Museum in his native city of Pittsburgh, which holds an extensive permanent collection of art and archives, is the largest museum in the United States dedicated to a single artist. Many of his creations are very collectible and highly valuable. The highest price ever paid for a Warhol painting is US$105 million for a 1963 canvas titled Silver Car Crash (Double Disaster); his works include some of the most expensive paintings ever sold.[5] A 2009 article in The Economist described Warhol as the "bellwether of the art market".[6]

EARLY LIFE AND BEGINNINGS (1928–49)

Warhol’s childhood home. 3252 Dawson Street, South Oakland neighbourhood of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Warhol was born on August 6, 1928, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.[7] He was the fourth child of Ondrej Warhola (Americanized as Andrew Warhola, Sr., 1889–1942)[8][9] and Julia (née Zavacká, 1892–1972),[10] whose first child was born in their homeland and died before their move to the U.S.

His parents were working-class Lemko[11][12] emigrants from Mikó, Austria-Hungary (now called Miková, located in today’s northeastern Slovakia). Warhol’s father emigrated to the United States in 1914, and his mother joined him in 1921, after the death of Warhol’s grandparents. Warhol’s father worked in a coal mine. The family lived at 55 Beelen Street and later at 3252 Dawson Street in the Oakland neighborhood of Pittsburgh.[13] The family was Ruthenian Catholic and attended St. John Chrysostom Byzantine Catholic Church. Andy Warhol had two older brothers—Pavol (Paul), the oldest, was born before the family emigrated; Ján was born in Pittsburgh. Pavol’s son, James Warhola, became a successful children’s book illustrator.

In third grade, Warhol had Sydenham’s chorea (also known as St. Vitus’ Dance), the nervous system disease that causes involuntary movements of the extremities, which is believed to be a complication of scarlet fever which causes skin pigmentation blotchiness.[14] At times when he was confined to bed, he drew, listened to the radio and collected pictures of movie stars around his bed. Warhol later described this period as very important in the development of his personality, skill-set and preferences. When Warhol was 13, his father died in an accident.[15]

As a teenager, Warhol graduated from Schenley High School in 1945. Also as a teen, Warhol won a Scholastic Art and Writing Award.[16] After graduating from high school, his intentions were to study art education at the University of Pittsburgh in the hope of becoming an art teacher, but his plans changed and he enrolled in the Carnegie Institute of Technology, now Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, where he studied commercial art. During his time there, Warhol joined the campus Modern Dance Club and Beaux Arts Society.[17] He also served as art director of the student art magazine, Cano, illustrating a cover in 1948[18] and a full-page interior illustration in 1949.[19] These are believed to be his first two published artworks.[19] Warhol earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in pictorial design in 1949.[20] Later that year, he moved to New York City and began a career in magazine illustration and advertising.

The 1950s

Warhol’s early career was dedicated to commercial and advertising art, where his first commission had been to draw shoes for Glamour magazine in the late 1940s.[21] In the 1950s, Warhol worked as a designer for shoe manufacturer Israel Miller.[21][22] American photographer John Coplans recalled that

nobody drew shoes the way Andy did. He somehow gave each shoe a temperament of its own, a sort of sly, Toulouse-Lautrec kind of sophistication, but the shape and the style came through accurately and the buckle was always in the right place. The kids in the apartment [which Andy shared in New York – note by Coplans] noticed that the vamps on Andy’s shoe drawings kept getting longer and longer but [Israel] Miller didn’t mind. Miller loved them.

Warhol’s "whimsical" ink drawings of shoe advertisements figured in some of his earliest showings at the Bodley Gallery in New York.

Warhol was an early adopter of the silkscreen printmaking process as a technique for making paintings. A young Warhol was taught silk screen printmaking techniques by Max Arthur Cohn at his graphic arts business in Manhattan.[23] While working in the shoe industry, Warhol developed his "blotted line" technique, applying ink to paper and then blotting the ink while still wet, which was akin to a printmaking process on the most rudimentary scale. His use of tracing paper and ink allowed him to repeat the basic image and also to create endless variations on the theme, a method that prefigures his 1960s silk-screen canvas. In his book Popism: The Warhol Sixties, Warhol writes: "When you do something exactly wrong, you always turn up something."

Warhol habitually used the expedient of tracing photographs projected with an epidiascope.[25] Using prints by Edward Wallowitch, his ‘first boyfriend'[26] the photographs would undergo a subtle transformation during Warhol’s often cursory tracing of contours and hatching of shadows. Warhol used Wallowitch’s photograph Young Man Smoking a Cigarette (c.1956),[27] for a 1958 design for a book cover he submitted to Simon and Schuster for the Walter Ross pulp novel The Immortal, and later used others for his dollar bill series,[28][29] and for Big Campbell’s Soup Can with Can Opener (Vegetable), of 1962 which initiated Warhol’s most sustained motif, the soup can.

With the rapid expansion of the record industry, RCA Records hired Warhol, along with another freelance artist, Sid Maurer, to design album covers and promotional materials.[30]

The 1960s

Warhol (left) and Tennessee Williams (right) talking on the SS France, 1967. He began exhibiting his work during the 1950s. He held exhibitions at the Hugo Gallery[31] and the Bodley Gallery[32] in New York City; in California, his first West Coast gallery exhibition[33][34] was on July 9, 1962, in the Ferus Gallery of Los Angeles with Campbell’s Soup Cans. The exhibition marked his West Coast debut of pop art.[35] Andy Warhol’s first New York solo pop art exhibition was hosted at Eleanor Ward’s Stable Gallery November 6–24, 1962. The exhibit included the works Marilyn Diptych, 100 Soup Cans, 100 Coke Bottles, and 100 Dollar Bills. At the Stable Gallery exhibit, the artist met for the first time poet John Giorno who would star in Warhol’s first film, Sleep, in 1963.[36]

It was during the 1960s that Warhol began to make paintings of iconic American objects such as dollar bills, mushroom clouds, electric chairs, Campbell’s Soup Cans, Coca-Cola bottles, celebrities such as Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Marlon Brando, Troy Donahue, Muhammad Ali, and Elizabeth Taylor, as well as newspaper headlines or photographs of police dogs attacking African-American protesters during the Birmingham campaign in the civil rights movement. During these years, he founded his studio, "The Factory" and gathered about him a wide range of artists, writers, musicians, and underground celebrities. His work became popular and controversial. Warhol had this to say about Coca-Cola:

What’s great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca-Cola, and you know that the President drinks Coca-Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca-Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca-Cola, too. A Coke is a Coke and no amount of money can get you a better Coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it.

New York City’s Museum of Modern Art hosted a Symposium on pop art in December 1962 during which artists such as Warhol were attacked for "capitulating" to consumerism. Critics were scandalized by Warhol’s open embrace of market culture. This symposium set the tone for Warhol’s reception.

A pivotal event was the 1964 exhibit The American Supermarket, a show held in Paul Bianchini’s Upper East Side gallery. The show was presented as a typical U.S. small supermarket environment, except that everything in it—from the produce, canned goods, meat, posters on the wall, etc.—was created by six prominent pop artists of the time, among them the controversial (and like-minded) Billy Apple, Mary Inman, and Robert Watts. Warhol’s painting of a can of Campbell’s soup cost $1,500 while each autographed can be sold for $6. The exhibit was one of the first mass events that directly confronted the general public with both pop art and the perennial question of what art is.[citation needed]

Andy Warhol, between 1966 and 1977 As an advertisement illustrator in the 1950s, Warhol used assistants to increase his productivity. Collaboration would remain a defining (and controversial) aspect of his working methods throughout his career; this was particularly true in the 1960s. One of the most important collaborators during this period was Gerard Malanga. Malanga assisted the artist with the production of silkscreens, films, sculpture, and other works at "The Factory", Warhol’s aluminium foil-and-silver-paint-lined studio on 47th Street (later moved to Broadway). Other members of Warhol’s Factory crowd included Freddie Herko, Ondine, Ronald Tavel, Mary Woronov, Billy Name, and Brigid Berlin (from whom he apparently got the idea to tape-record his phone conversations).

During the 1960s, Warhol also groomed a retinue of bohemian and counterculture eccentrics upon whom he bestowed the designation "Superstars", including Nico, Joe Dallesandro, Edie Sedgwick, Viva, Ultra Violet, Holly Woodlawn, Jackie Curtis, and Candy Darling. These people all participated in the Factory films, and some—like Berlin—remained friends with Warhol until his death. Important figures in the New York underground art/cinema world, such as writer John Giorno and film-maker Jack Smith, also appear in Warhol films (many premiering at the New Andy Warhol Garrick Theatre and 55th Street Playhouse) of the 1960s, revealing Warhol’s connections to a diverse range of artistic scenes during this time. Less well known was his support and collaboration with several teenagers during this era, who would achieve prominence later in life including writer David Dalton,[39] photographer Stephen Shore[40] and artist Bibbe Hansen (mother of pop musician Beck).[41]

Attempted murder (1968) On June 3, 1968, radical feminist writer Valerie Solanas shot Warhol and Mario Amaya, art critic and curator, at Warhol’s studio.[42] Before the shooting, Solanas had been a marginal figure in the Factory scene. She authored in 1967 the S.C.U.M. Manifesto,[43] a separatist feminist tract that advocated the elimination of men; and appeared in the 1968 Warhol film I, a Man. Earlier on the day of the attack, Solanas had been turned away from the Factory after asking for the return of a script she had given to Warhol. The script had apparently been misplaced.[44]

Amaya received only minor injuries and was released from the hospital later the same day. Warhol was seriously wounded by the attack and barely survived: surgeons opened his chest and massaged his heart to help stimulate its movement again. He suffered physical effects for the rest of his life, including being required to wear a surgical corset.[14] The shooting had a profound effect on Warhol’s life and art.[45][46]

Solanas was arrested the day after the assault, after turning herself into police. By way of explanation, she said that Warhol "had too much control over my life." She was subsequently diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and eventually sentenced to three years under the control of the Department of Corrections. After the shooting, the Factory scene heavily increased security, and for many, the "Factory 60s" ended.[46]

Warhol had this to say about the attack: "Before I was shot, I always thought that I was more half-there than all-there—I always suspected that I was watching TV instead of living life. People sometimes say that the way things happen in movies is unreal, but actually it’s the way things happen in life that’s unreal. The movies make emotions look so strong and real, whereas when things really do happen to you, it’s like watching television—you don’t feel anything. Right when I was being shot and ever since, I knew that I was watching television. The channels switch, but it’s all television."[47]

The 1970s

President Jimmy Carter and Warhol in 1977 Compared to the success and scandal of Warhol’s work in the 1960s, the 1970s were a much quieter decade, as he became more entrepreneurial. According to Bob Colacello, Warhol devoted much of his time to rounding up new, rich patrons for portrait commissions—including Shah of Iran Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, his wife Empress Farah Pahlavi, his sister Princess Ashraf Pahlavi, Mick Jagger, Liza Minnelli, John Lennon, Diana Ross, and Brigitte Bardot.[48][49] Warhol’s famous portrait of Chinese Communist leader Mao Zedong was created in 1973. He also founded, with Gerard Malanga, Interview magazine, and published The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (1975). An idea expressed in the book: "Making money is art, and working is art and good business is the best art."

Warhol socialized at various nightspots in New York City, including Max’s Kansas City; and, later in the 1970s, Studio 54.[51] He was generally regarded as quiet, shy, and a meticulous observer. Art critic Robert Hughes called him "the white mole of Union Square."

In 1979, along with his longtime friend Stuart Pivar, Warhol founded the New York Academy of Art.

The 1980s

Warhol had a re-emergence of critical and financial success in the 1980s, partially due to his affiliation and friendships with a number of prolific younger artists, who were dominating the "bull market" of 1980s New York art: Jean-Michel Basquiat, Julian Schnabel, David Salle and other so-called Neo-Expressionists, as well as members of the Transavantgarde movement in Europe, including Francesco Clemente and Enzo Cucchi. Before the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics, he teamed with 15 other artists, including David Hockney and Cy Twombly, and contributed a Speed Skater print to the Art and Sport collection. The Speed Skater was used for the official Sarajevo Winter Olympics poster.[55]

By this time, graffiti artist Fab Five Freddy paid homage to Warhol when he painted an entire train with Campbell soup cans. This was instrumental in Freddy becoming involved in the underground NYC art scene and becoming an affiliate of Basquiat.[56]

By this period, Warhol was being criticized for becoming merely a "business artist".[57] In 1979, reviewers disliked his exhibits of portraits of 1970s personalities and celebrities, calling them superficial, facile and commercial, with no depth or indication of the significance of the subjects. They also criticized his 1980 exhibit of 10 portraits at the Jewish Museum in Manhattan, entitled Jewish Geniuses, which Warhol—who was uninterested in Judaism and Jews—had described in his diary as "They’re going to sell."[57] In hindsight, however, some critics have come to view Warhol’s superficiality and commerciality as "the most brilliant mirror of our times," contending that "Warhol had captured something irresistible about the zeitgeist of American culture in the 1970s."[57]

Warhol also had an appreciation for intense Hollywood glamour. He once said: "I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re so beautiful. Everything’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic."[58]

In 1984 Vanity Fair commissioned Warhol to produce a portrait of Prince, in order to accompany an article that celebrated the success of Purple Rain and its accompanying movie. Referencing the many celebrity portraits produced by Warhol across his career, Orange Prince (1984) was created using a similar composition to the Marilyn "Flavors" series from 1962, among some of Warhol’s very first celebrity portraits. Prince is depicted in a pop colour palette commonly used by Warhol, in bright orange with highlights of bright green and blue. The facial features and hair are screen-printed in black over the orange background.

In the Andy Warhol Diaries, Warhol recorded how excited he was to see Prince and Billy Idol together at a party in the mid-1980s, and he compared them to the Hollywood movie stars of the 1950s and 1960s who also inspired his portraits: "… seeing these two glamour boys, its like boys are the new Hollywood glamour girls, like Jean Harlow and Marilyn Monroe".

WORKS

PAINTINGS

By the beginning of the 1960s, pop art was an experimental form that several artists were independently adopting; some of these pioneers, such as Roy Lichtenstein, would later become synonymous with the movement. Warhol, who would become famous as the "Pope of Pop", turned to this new style, where popular subjects could be part of the artist’s palette. His early paintings show images taken from cartoons and advertisements, hand-painted with paint drips. Marilyn Monroe was a pop art painting that Warhol had done and it was very popular. Those drips emulated the style of successful abstract expressionists (such as Willem de Kooning). Warhol’s first pop art paintings were displayed in April 1961, serving as the backdrop for New York Department Store Bonwit Teller’s window display. This was the same stage his Pop Art contemporaries, Jasper Johns, James Rosenquist and Robert Rauschenberg had also once graced.[65]

It was the gallerist Muriel Latow who came up with the ideas for both the soup cans and Warhol’s dollar paintings. On November 23, 1961, Warhol wrote Latow a check for $50 which, according to the 2009 Warhol biography, Pop, The Genius of Warhol, was payment for coming up with the idea of the soup cans as subject matter.[66] For his first major exhibition, Warhol painted his famous cans of Campbell’s soup, which he claimed to have had for lunch for most of his life. A 1964 Large Campbell’s Soup Can be sold in a 2007 Sotheby’s auction to a South American collector for £5.1 million ($7.4 million).

He loved celebrities, so he painted them as well. From these beginnings, he developed his later style and subjects. Instead of working on a signature subject matter, as he started out to do, he worked more and more on a signature style, slowly eliminating the handmade from the artistic process. Warhol frequently used silk-screening; his later drawings were traced from slide projections. At the height of his fame as a painter, Warhol had several assistants who produced his silk-screen multiples, following his directions to make different versions and variations.[68]

In 1979, Warhol was commissioned by BMW to paint a Group-4 race version of the then "elite supercar" BMW M1 for the fourth instalment in the BMW Art Car Project. It was reported at the time that, unlike the three artists before him, Warhol opted to paint directly onto the automobile himself instead of letting technicians transfer his scale-model design to the car.[69] It was indicated that Warhol spent only a total of 23 minutes to paint the entire car.[70]

Warhol produced both comic and serious works; his subject could be a soup can or an electric chair. Warhol used the same techniques—silkscreens, reproduced serially, and often painted with bright colours—whether he painted celebrities, everyday objects, or images of suicide, car crashes, and disasters, as in the 1962–63 Death and Disaster series. The Death and Disaster paintings included Red Car Crash, Purple Jumping Man, and Orange Disaster. One of these paintings, the diptych Silver Car Crash, became the highest-priced work of his when it sold at Sotheby’s Contemporary Art Auction on Wednesday, November 13, 2013, for $105.4 million.

Some of Warhol’s work, as well as his own personality, has been described as being Keatonesque. Warhol has been described as playing dumb to the media. He sometimes refused to explain his work. He has suggested that all one needs to know about his work is "already there ‘on the surface’."

His Rorschach inkblots are intended as pop comments on art and what art could be. His cow wallpaper (literally, wallpaper with a cow motif) and his oxidation paintings (canvases prepared with copper paint that was then oxidized with urine) are also noteworthy in this context. Equally noteworthy is the way these works—and their means of production—mirrored the atmosphere at Andy’s New York "Factory". Biographer Bob Colacello provides some details on Andy’s "piss paintings":

Victor … was Andy’s ghost pisser on the Oxidations. He would come to the Factory to urinate on canvases that had already been primed with copper-based paint by Andy or Ronnie Cutrone, a second ghost pisser much appreciated by Andy, who said that the vitamin B that Ronnie took made a prettier colour when the acid in the urine turned the copper green. Did Andy ever use his own urine? My diary shows that when he first began the series, in December 1977, he did, and there were many others: boys who’d come to lunch and drink too much wine, and find it funny or even flattering to be asked to help Andy ‘paint’. Andy always had a little extra bounce in his walk as he led them to his studio.

After many years of silkscreen, oxidation, photography, etc., Warhol returned to painting with a brush in hand in a series of more than 50 large collaborative works done with Jean-Michel Basquiat between 1984 and 1986. Despite negative criticism when these were first shown, Warhol called some of them "masterpieces," and they were influential for his later work.

Andy Warhol was commissioned in 1984 by collector and gallerist Alexander Iolas to produce work based on Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper for an exhibition at the old refectory of the Palazzo Delle Stelline in Milan, opposite from the Santa Maria Delle Grazie where Leonardo da Vinci’s mural can be seen.[77] Warhol exceeded the demands of the commission and produced nearly 100 variations on the theme, mostly silkscreens and paintings, and among them a collaborative sculpture with Basquiat, the Ten Punching Bags (Last Supper).[78] The Milan exhibition that opened in January 1987 with a set of 22 silk-screens, was the last exhibition for both the artist and the gallerist.[79] The series of The Last Supper was seen by some as "arguably his greatest,"[80] but by others as "wishy-washy, religiose" and "spiritless."[81] It is the largest series of religious-themed works by any U.S. artist.[80]

Artist Maurizio Cattelan describes that it is difficult to separate daily encounters from the art of Andy Warhol: "That’s probably the greatest thing about Warhol: the way he penetrated and summarized our world, to the point that distinguishing between him and our everyday life is basically impossible, and in any case useless." Warhol was an inspiration towards Cattelan’s magazine and photography compilations, such as Permanent Food, Charley, and Toilet Paper.[82]

In the period just before his death, Warhol was working on Cars, a series of paintings for Mercedes-Benz.[83]

A self-portrait by Andy Warhol (1963–64), which sold in New York at the May Post-War and Contemporary evening sale in Christie’s, fetched $38.4 million.

On May 9, 2012, his classic painting Double Elvis (Ferus Type) sold at auction at Sotheby’s in New York for US$33 million. With commission, the sale price totalled US$37,042,500, short of the $50 million that Sotheby’s had predicted the painting might bring. The piece (silkscreen ink and spray paint on canvas) shows Elvis Presley in a gunslinger pose. It was first exhibited in 1963 at the Ferus Gallery in Los Angeles. Warhol made 22 versions of the Double Elvis, nine of which are held in museums.

In November 2013, his Silver Car Crash (Double Disaster) diptych sold at Sotheby’s Contemporary Art Auction for $105.4 million, a new record for the pop artist (pre-auction estimates were at $80 million).[71] Created in 1963, this work had rarely been seen in public in the previous years.[87] In November 2014, Triple Elvis sold for $81.9m (£51.9m) at an auction in New York.[88]

SOURCE: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Warhol

Posted by pedrosimoes7 on 2019-11-05 21:22:41

Tagged: , Andy Warhol , Flowers , Azul , BLUE , Bleu , Centro Cultural de Belem , Berardo Collection , Belem , Lisbon , Portugal , Pop Art , The Factory , 15 minutes of fame , THE VELVET UNDERGROUND , ✩ Ecole des Beaux Arts✩ , **Contemporary Art Society**

The post Ten Foot Flowers (1967) – Andy Warhol (1928 – 1987) appeared first on Good Info.

[stone-man-warrior]

August 5, 2018: 3:22 pm:

August 5, 2018: 3:07 PM:<br><br>The usual suspects today. Monroe Screen Actor... StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T18:22:38-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-05T18:22:38-0400

August 5, 2018: 3:07 PM:

The usual suspects today. Monroe Screen Actor Guild Seventh Day Adventist Vatican terrorist soldiers working with Wesely Crowel Screen Actor Guild Seventh Day Adventist Vatican "Flock" family terrorist soldier for "Rig-Run-Down" service to attempt to run me over with a large, late model, Ford Crew-Cab Pick-Up truck at the Mailbox. The truck is very dark green, so dark that it appears to be black. The only ones who know the truck is green are those who are very observant, or those who can read the information printed on the title of the truck. The Very Dark Green Paint is most likely a custom factory color option. It is likely that the Very Dark Green paint on the Big Crew Cab of Crowel is a "One-Off" paint job, and not available off the lot. Don't be confused with the "Out-of Town-Terror-Big-Black-Ford" at 445 Bell cannibal terrorist cell. The theme could possibly be Garden Party by Rick Nelson and the Stone Canyon Band. ===================================================== "Garden Party" I went to a garden party To reminisce with my old friends A chance to share old memories And play our songs again When I got to the garden party They all knew my name No one recognized me I didn't look the same But it's all right now I learned my lesson well You see, ya can't please everyone So ya got to please yourself People came from miles around Everyone was there Yoko brought her walrus There was magic in the air 'N' over in the corner Much to my surprise Mr Hughes hid in Dylan's shoes Wearing his disguise But it's all right now I learned my lesson well You see, ya can't please everyone So ya got to please yourself Lott-in-dah-dah lot-in-dah-dah-dah Played them all the old songs Thought that's why they came No one heard the music We didn't look the same I said hello to "Mary Lou" She belongs to me When I sang a song about a honky-tonk It was time to leave But it's all right now I learned my lesson well You see, ya can't please everyone So ya got to please yourself Lot-dah-dah (lot-dah-dah-dah) Lot-in-dah-dah-dah Someone opened up a closet door And out stepped Johnny B Goode Playing guitar Like a-ringin' a bell And lookin' like he should If you gotta play at garden parties I wish you a lotta luck But if memories were all I sang I rather drive a truck But it's all right now I learned my lesson well You see, ya can't please everyone So ya got to please yourself Lot-dah-dah (lot-dah-dah-dah) Lot-in-dah-dah-dah 'N' it's all right now Learned my lesson well You see, ya can't please everyone So you got to please yourself Songwriters: Ricky Nelson Garden Party lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC 1972

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+1'd by: 80s Rock And Metal, New Ford Cars

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T18:37:38-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-05T20:02:00-0400

Sunday. I like this one. This is pre-invasion music. Some clues as to the band trying to inform the public of the impending invasion are evident in the information provided at Wiki-Pedia. If you view some old videos of the band "Free" performing live, or doing interviews, or on early Music Video recordings, you will notice some things that are better left to your own judgement and observations. Please pay special attention to Paul Kossoff, the guitar player. Notice his behavior. Notice the way he moves and responds to the amplifiers. Mr. Kossoff shows signs of captivity training. He appears to respond in ways that suggest he was kept in confinement and forced to learn he instrument. That's is my impression, what do you think? ==================================== "All Right Now" Writer/s: ANDY FRASER, PAUL BERNARD RODGERS Publisher: COHEN AND COHEN From the Album "Fire and Water" 1970. Whoa-oh-oh-oh-woha There she stood in the street Smilin' from her head to her feet; I said, "Hey, what is this? Now maybe, baby, Maybe she's in need of a kiss." I said, "Hey, what's your name? Maybe we can see things the same. "Now don't you wait, or hesitate. Let's move before they raise the parking rate." All right now, baby, it's a-all right now. All right now, baby, it's a-all right now. (Let me tell you now) I took her home to my place, Watchin' every move on her face; She said, "Look, what's your game? Are you tryin' to put me to shame?" I said "Slow, don't go so fast, don't you think that love can last?" She said, "Love, Lord above, Now you're tryin' to trick me in love." All right now, baby, it's a-all right now. All right now, baby, it's a-all right now B-side  "Mouthful of Grass" Released May 1970 Format 7-inch single Recorded January 1970, Trident and Island Studios (London, England) Genre Hard rock[1]blues rock[1] Length 4:14 (single version)5:31 (album version) Label Island Songwriter(s) Andy FraserPaul Rodgers Producer(s) Free Dio, after outing Ozzy, and joining Black Sabbath Vatican Soldier Tony Iommi, in a song called "Heaven and Hell", referenced the ideas of this song by Free. The lyrics of "Heaven and Hell' are interesting in mind blowing ways once understood by non-Vatican soldiers. The lyrics include the musical verse: "Well if it seems to be real, it's illusion For every moment of truth, there's confusion in life Love can be seen as the answer, but nobody bleeds for the dancer And it's on and on, on and on and on and on and on and on and on" There is much to be said about the song by Black Sabbath, under the leadership of Tony Iommi, without Ozzy Osborne, and with the Vatican plant replacement, Ronnie James Dio. Love, referred to in the song by free, is the outward expression of opposition to being fooled by someone, a dominant male, trying to take advantage of a feminine victim under the guise of love. The victim refuses to be taken by the ways of the dominant male hunter, but rather succumbs to the inherent desires of her own human needs. The dominant male is not concerned with the methods or details associated with taking the victim, the end result is all that is important to him. The dominant male has his way, unspoken in the song, but is successful. The Feminine victim in the song by Free is taken, her needs are served, and she chooses not to "kiss and tell". The feminine victim in the Free song is not aware that she has been victimized... fooled. She will never admit it, she is too proud.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T18:59:12-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-05T19:01:53-0400

Sunday: Warp in the Higgs-Field: Squirrel with a nut. Yesterday: Lonely Rack. Dollar in the apple tree.StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T19:09:15-0400August 5, 2018: Sunday: Incoming call from American Medical Response. No message was left. Terrorist cart drivers looking for victim pick-up instructions. "Blone".

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T20:30:11-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-06T04:05:24-0400

August 5, 2018: 5:02 PM: Black Sabbath Heaven and Hell From the album of the same name. ========================================= Sing me a song, you're a singer Do me a wrong, you're a bringer of evil The Devil is never a maker The less that you give, you're a taker So it's on and on and on, it's Heaven and Hell, oh well The lover of life's not a sinner The ending is just a beginner The closer you get to the meaning The sooner you'll know that you're dreaming So it's on and on and on, oh it's on and on and on It goes on and on and on, Heaven and Hell I can tell, fool, fool! Well if it seems to be real, it's illusion For every moment of truth, there's confusion in life Love can be seen as the answer, but nobody bleeds for the dancer And it's on and on, on and on and on.... They say that life's a carousel Spinning fast, you've got to ride it well The world is full of Kings and Queens Who blind your eyes and steal your dreams It's Heaven and Hell, oh well And they'll tell you black is really white The moon is just the sun at night And when you walk in golden halls You get to keep the gold that falls It's Heaven and Hell, oh no! Fool, fool! You've got to bleed for the dancer! Fool, fool! Look for the answer! Fool, fool, fool! =============================================== "Heaven and Hell" Song by Black Sabbath from the album Heaven and Hell Released 25 April 1980 Recorded 1979 Studio Criteria Recording, Miami, Florida Studio Ferber, Paris Genre Heavy metal Length 6:58 Label Warner Bros. Songwriter(s) Ronnie James Dio Tony Iommi Geezer Butler Bill Ward Producer(s) Martin Birch =================================================== This album, Heaven and Hell, may be the single most powerful studio recorded album ever produced. The music driving, and driven. The lyrics are meaningful, powerful, and thought provoking. The songs are the pinnacle of the Pope's Pointy Hat. If there is one song, only one song that could be used to universally decipher all of the terrorism in all of the world, Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath lead by Tony Iommi, and fronted by Ronnie James Dio is that song. Ozzy Osborn would not do as he was told. He was not a bad guy, is not a bad guy. He was replaced when he would not behave. Ronnie James Dio outed the seated prince of darkness and took over as King. Even the King has a superior ruler, Toni Iommi. Mr. Iommi is the unsung Prince of Darkness". He uses an axe, a guitar wielded like an Excalibur under the direction of the Vatican. The Guitar weapon sounds are the ammunition that is fed into the cannon, a stack of one-hundred watt, tube driven amplifiers, that when aimed by a skilled operator, can literally remove the heads of anything in it's path. Tony Iommi is indeed a skilled operator and he uses a cross to aim with. Cross-hairs. Hair bands. Glam rock. Rock of the ages equals Rock of the eighties, Rock of the A.D.'s where A and D are not only the obvious abbreviation, but are likely to represent the tips of Mr. Iommi's fingers that were cut from his hand by the Pope himself as a means of making certain that he remains submissive to the Vatican and reminded eternally of the "Toss" of the tips of his fingers, and of the "After Death". Tony Iommi's Guitar is the equivalent of a musical guillotine. Metal/Rock & Roll. Ozzy Osborne was attacked by the Seventh Day Adventists and was destroyed from within his own home. A woman, sent by the Vatican, under the guise of his manager, married him, and took the wealth he generated, took his focus, took his children... her children, and redirected all of it in directions unintended by Mr. Osborne. Mr. Osborne was unaware that he had been victimized. When he realized what had happened, he chose not to "kiss and tell". Ozzy Ozborne was too proud to save himself by exposing the truth. Mrs. Osborne is a Seventh Day Adventist operative. The Osborne's were sent out to pasture and given a television show as a punishment. "Too proud to live, too young to die." ~Quoted from the song "Cherokee People" by Paul Revere and the Raiders" I'll be expecting representatives from Yngvie Malmsteen, or his enormous Ego as a result of this entry. Mr. Malmsteen is similar to Mr. Iommi. Yngwie Malmsteen is the master of the Marshall Amplifier Stack Assault Weapon of Mass Destruction and is cut from the same cloth as Mr. Iommi. Mr. Malmsteen uses signature scalloped fret-board on his Guitars, suitable for gripping the neck and wringing out the last drop of sonic harmonic feedback. The music I love is driven by terrorism. It is also the music you love. I continue to love the music while being mindful of it's nature, and respectful of those who create it. ===================================================== From Wikipedia: Osbourne in 2012 Born Sharon Rachel Levy[1] 9 October 1952 (age 65) Brixton, London, England, United Kingdom Residence Jordans, Buckinghamshire, England, U.K. Malibu, California, U.S. Nationality British Occupation Music manager, promoter, businesswoman,[2] television talent competition judge, talk show host, author Years active 1979–present Television The Osbournes The X Factor America's Got Talent The Talk Spouse(s) Ozzy Osbourne (m. 1982) Children Aimee Osbourne Kelly Osbourne Jack Osbourne Parent(s) Don Arden Hope Shaw Website Sharon Rachel Osbourne (née Levy; born 9 October 1952)[3] is an English television host, media personality, television talent competition judge, author, music manager, modern impresario, businesswoman, and promoter, and the wife of heavy metal singer-songwriter Ozzy Osbourne. She first came into public prominence after appearing in The Osbournes, a reality television show that followed her family's daily life. Osbourne later became a talent show judge on shows such as the British and original version of The X Factor, from 2004 to 2007, 2013, and 2016 onwards. She also was a judge on America's Got Talent from 2007 until 2012. Homepage

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T20:34:49-0400

August 5, 2018: 5:32 PM: There are performers in the world, and there are those who watch the entertainment. When those who watch, the audience, are entertained, they dance. Will no one bleed for the dancer?

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T21:38:52-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-05T22:29:35-0400

August 5, 2018: 6:18 PM: The Screen Actor Guild Heroin Dealer at 601 ""MyStreet" is making the kinds of noises that could be defined as "the throw before the toss". The kinds of noises that carry through a neighborhood and are made by the tinkering, sharpening, cobbling and crafting of some kind of a thing. This kind of activity of crafting something was once a welcomed sound. Now, the sounds of creativity are the sounds of destruction. Crafting and hobby activities are Forbidden here. No one is allowed to engage in hobbies, music, or any kind of enjoyable pass-time and that notion is strictly adhered to. With the notion that the activities that are being done at Dietrick Screen Actor Guild heroin terrorist family cell are forbidden, and with the personal experience of the results of repeated attacks from them, I know that in the coming hours or tomorrow, there will be some kind of an attack. Some kind of a contraption is being made or maintained at the location. There was, however, a call for soldiers, chickens as they call themselves when being called to weather a storm, to discontinue activities, go dark, return the the coup to roost for a while and weather the storm. There was also a suggestion that this is a good time to maintain equipment, repair broken tools, weapons, contraptions, and that there are specialists available through normal channels to help with repair and maintenance of equipment and such. Perhaps they are just making a new blade for the pneumatic, ram driven, electric guillotine. There are more than one ram driven guillotines in the area. They require maintenance and lubrication from time to time. terrorists must put some oil in the grooves periodically so the blade comes down nice and smooth. The electric guillotines are automatic, they reset themselves and operate at about six chops per minute. Victims are guided through the guillotine's as they walk through doors in bottle-neck areas of shopping centers, vertically. This is real terrorism, not the kind that is seen on television. This is the USA. This is home. I don't like it. Maybe they are just doing a brake job over there. Maybe. Today's entries have included two kinds of Guillotines. One is a metaphor of the use of a Guitar as a weapon, and the other is a fabricated blade that travels along a vertical, grooved, framework and is a modern, electro-pneumatically driven replication of the same equipment of antiquity. Don't be confused, there are two kinds of similar weapons being discussed on today's entries.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T21:54:04-0400

August 5, 2018: 6:50 PM: The fires in the nearby area have started up again. I don't know exactly where the fires are burning, but visibility is limited, there is smoke in the air and hovers at ground level, and the scent of smoke is present. The Fire Fighting equipment and manpower proving unsuccessful at stopping the impending Salvage Timber Sale that happens every year. The Baby is still on Fire.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T23:09:38-0400

August 5, 2018: 8:04 PM: Dietrick Din is currently being followed by Monroe scary lawnmower service. They read this page. "Fuck-Off somewhere else Monroe!" Go back to Quebec! So it's not all that scary to see and hear someone using a lawnmower, until you realize that it is all intentionally designed to terrify. And you have already lost your children and entire family to the terrorist bastards. When terrorism is the norm, people become terrified, and in turn, terrified people become fearless. Absolutely terrified.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-05T23:31:59-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-05T23:38:27-040

Sunday: Warp in the Higgs-Field: Baby Dinosaurs. Jurassic Driveway. Silurian Epoch. Gravel Gobblers. Don't stand on the casino floor, you have to keep Mooooooviiing. (Rick Wakeman: Journey to the center of the Earth.)StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-06T00:46:26-0400Sunday evening: 9:38 PM: Unbelievable: If my radar is working the way it usually does, then, Mr. Hagar is upset. If so, he would be upset about Joe. Joe, if you are familiar with this page, also is Aaron Porter. Mr. Porter did not make it, he checked out. That would be why the Weebles were Wobblin' yesterday. The world works in mysterious ways. Local representatives of terror town made the announcement moments ago... announcements are sent through the trees, treasonous bastards use the trees as an echo chamber. It's complicated, but I get the message.

StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-08-06T03:08:47-0400 - Updated: 2018-08-06T05:07:18-0400

Sunday night: 11:12 Pm Religous Noises: My recent entries into this page are a glimpse into my thoughts as time passes. Readers have seen a quick and decisive focus on the source of the problems that exist. It is clear, suddenly, that the conditions I experience in Oregon are present and are advancing world-wide. Eastern Asian countries are currently under attack and have been for some time. If those Asian countries succumb to the advances of western USA media and entertainment, then, they will be conquered and consumed by them. To be fooled into accepting the ways and manipulative means by which the Western Entertainment industry advances is to be consumed by the Vatican in the same way that South America was taken by the Spanish Conquistadors in the 16th Century. Eastern Asia must resist the advances or be rendered extinct as a people, a culture. Readers of this page have noticed, in just a few days, that my focus has been drawn squarely, and swiftly, on the Vatican as the source of the Worlds Greed, and the source of all of the hatred that is dividing everyone, from everything, as they always have done. Now, the Pope uses heroin to keep his soldiers loyal to the cross... to the Vatican... to the Bible... loyal to the Holy Heroin and free of the Jones that comes to those who fall from the cross. The Pope gets his Heroin from the spoils of the War in Afghanistan, from the United Nations, from the Allied Forces, the Pope's Poppy Plantation. The war against ISIS, and all of the other Boogie Men such as Osama Bin Laddin, are all a hoax and carried out as a Happy Heroine Hunting Ground where US soldiers are killed and replaced with Pope People, some of whom are the news media anchors and reporters world-wide, and others are the movie stars and musicians we worship, and most are the young men and women that used to be our sons and daughters who returned from war as impostors. Why is there an Easter Bunny in Christianity? Why is there a fat bearded man wearing red and white pajamas in the chimney in Christianity? Heroin, it's because of heroin, and the exploitation of your children's vulnerabilities. All of the wars that the US gets involved in are at places where there are Poppy fields, and oil, and they are always in places that are not Christian based cultures. We must stop the advancement of the Poppy Plundering Papacy. The soldiers of the Vatican use divide and conquer techniques over a blanket of fear. They lay down the fear, then use that as a foundation to advance a division wedge, thin and pointy at first, and then driven in until the thick, wide part of the wedge is sunk deep into the substrate of fear that they created. When the division provides a suitable door for entering, wide and non threatening to them, they enter with bandwidth of manpower, equipment, and more fear, taking everyone and everything along the way. The crusades have never ended, the crusades have simply been washed from the history books of current events, or rather, current event history accounts have not recognized the contemporary social catastrophe's as products of the same crusade of antiquity. The Pope's Pointy Hat is a lethal weapon, a wedge used to divide and conquer those who bought the story of Heaven and Hell, a terrifying horror story. Those who buy it, get what they pay for... don't buy in. The Christians bloody crusade has never ended, it continues to advance devouring entire cultures of people along it's bloody path. The children who are left in it's wake are trained to be soldiers of the Vatican, and are forced to advance an agenda that was responsible for killing their families. The Vatican, in this way, has absolutely nothing invested in the advancement. They consume, recycle, reuse, redirect, remove, and replace everything. The only investment they have is the nominal cost of continuous brain washing of the populations of the world through the television, newspaper, internet and other media, media that they conquered and took over long ago. Such annexed media is actually a cash-flow generator through advertising revenue, and is used to promote the Bible. This Bible promotion is done subliminally, it is not straight forward, and is designed to set the world up for consumption by the people who bring the brain washing... the Vatican feeds us what they need in order for us to be ripened to be killed by them. Religious Noises. The Vatican is the worlds teeth, the people are it's food. The Vatican is the vat in which meat is blended, and prepared for consumption. They use the Bible as a table setting, where we sit and then eat our own children. They have absolutely nothing but the cost of printing the Bibles invested. In return, ten percent of the earnings of every church goer is requested, and then used to kill those who provided the tithing. The USA has been consumed, I am convinced it is a done deal and only a matter of capturing a few remaining Americans for consumption. Did Mr. Putin get my message? The Vatican is at his house, and they brought Bibles.

[avaliveradio]

Rock Mania Rises Again Music Playlist

TODAY'S LIST OF ROCK AND METAL FRESH OUT OF THE STUDIO. EPISODE HOSTED BY JACQUELINE JAX.

Listen to the show : Starts Monday January 31 at 2 pm et on all broadcasting outlets including:

The Anchor Fm page: https://anchor.fm/ava-live-radio

iHeartRadio station page : https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-AVA-Live-Radio-Musi-29336730

The Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/2toX0f3dPmI8gmUSOKZicx

Artist: Jac Dalton

New Release: I CAN ALMOST TASTE THE RAIN

Genre: ROCK (with Country colorings)

Located in: : Adelaide, South Australia

This song is... My roots and wings stem from a family dynamic best summed up this way: whenever we camped, none of us were allowed to pack the car to go home until our own campsite was spotless and those on either side. Music to me has never been about applause and recognition, but instead embracing the opportunity to leave audiences a little bit better for the time shared on both sides of the stage. Those same sentiments translate presently into a project not merely for stage, but in consideration of the needs of an entire Nation. My chosen home of Australia is presently in the throes of the worst drought in over a century, and while there are far worst things happening to good people across the globe, sometimes we must step up and do the right thing where we’re able for no other reason than because it needs to be done.

My Band and I have just launched a drought aid program called ‘SA-NDI’ (South Australian Nip-the-Drought Initiative) a collective initiative rallying around a country/rock anthem we’ve produced called ‘I Can Almost Taste The Rain’. With Australia’s populace of 25 million and the World’s population tipping 6 billion travellers – if enough of us were to download the song through its portal (www.sa-ndi.com.au) for even a $1 donation – the result would amount to a tremendous impact providing water, hay, fuel, food to families who in turn grow food for a significant segment of one Mother Earth. One hundred percent (100%) of donations go to righteous charitable organizations like Aussie Helpers, Buy-A-Bail, Drought Angels towards the worthwhile causes they oversee in devastated areas. But the SA-NDI mission doesn’t stop there. We are also determined to perform ‘I Can Almost Taste The Rain’ for a session of Parliament in the New Year as a heart-touching apolitical reminder that we are all one heart, one land – be it a challenged region, continent or planet. The support and visibility we can generate via the internet and social media adds weight with which to tip the scales. Change and progress can and do occur with the shared resolve of good people committed to make it happen. It just needs to be put out there far and wide for enough hearts to be touched.

Right now we are... Earlier this year we were the Cinderella act at the largest AOR Melodic Rock Festival in the UK (HRH – Hard Rock Hell). The success of that event and the respectable crowds we drew afterwards while playing at heritage concert venues pushed us across the threshold into the ‘A’ List of the EU market. Our return to Oz was supposed to be a quick turnaround for a series of North American festivals, however, as is the nature of ‘rock and roll’, life stepped-in the week we returned and pulled the band apart like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man.

LINKS:  iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/au/album/i-can-almost-taste-the-rain-single/1431857831 Spotify link: https://open.spotify.com/album/1JC6hEcEYhNd09zKDCgLhw Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/jacdalton/i-can-almost-taste-the-rain-2018 Twitter: www.twitter.com/jacdalton FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/JacDaltonBand Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jac.dalton

Artist: No Name Blues

New Release: Tick Tock

Genre: Rock, Blues, Hip Hop, Metal

Located in: : Nashville, TN

 Our exodus from the cubicle dayjob lifestyle into the freedom of Rock n Roll. Trippy, dark, sexy, a little heavy with an assortment of flashy instrumental solos all around the band. Rock music made for the club.

The music we are creating is... This song represents the transition out of our ordinary people lives into our future career of rock musicians, right around the corner. This is our celebration.

Right now we are... Working on knocking out the other 3 episodes to move into the next production. We have 4 albums ready to produce and a ton of wonderful things happening on the side. Currently we are focused on exploding out of Nashville and into the rest of the globe!

LINKS:  https://youtu.be/pfGJgtstHhE https://open.spotify.com/track/3m82AjcB02yiMa68xVGldx?si=1l1CG0JZ Twitter: @NoNameBluesTwit Facebook.com/NoNameBluesMusic Instagram: @NoNameBluesMusic

Band: John E Wilde - Guitars/Vocals Dan - Bass Andy K - Drums

Song name: ‘Rock and Roll Junkie’ Music Genre:: Rock

I live in...  Tampa, FL

My music is... Our music is about life, fun and the continuous party that we forget life is. We all need to let loose!! Not being too serious or having any message. It is about being a Rebel doing your own thing and not having to stay in the majority. I think we are all a little off center. Get over yourself. With all we having going on we forget about US. Always move forward and improve and don't forget a beer or margarita is only inches away.

This song is about... Rock and Roll Junkie is about day dreaming and thinking about how BST got here. Being a kid and having a fantasy of playing in front of huge crowds. What it is like to be a rock star. BST's version of Johnny B Good, sort of.

Website & social media links: www.blindsidethunder.com www.facebook.com/BlindSideThunderOfficial twitter.com/@BlindsideT

Artist: Ivan Beecroft

New Release: INEQUALITY

Genre: Rock, 90's rock, retrorock

Located in: Melbourne, Australia

This song is about the ever widening gap between the haves and have nots that we are experiencing. It was inspired and written after volunteer work that I was doing serving food to the homeless in a soup kitchen in Croydon located in the south east of Melbourne.

Having suffered through a period of homelessness and watching a longtime friend recently go through a similar experience with homelessness and all the complications that come with it motivated me to express the feelings of mental anguish and helplessness associated with being homeless.

The music we are creating is... very much a reconnection to the reason why I was inspired to do it in the first place, it's really just a kind of let's get back to the basics mindset and write and play the sort of music that would shake the window panes off the local pub, it definitely does have a very primitive aspect to it all.

Right now we are... Still working on songs for my next album and have had to re-record most of the songs on an analogue desk to get the type of punchy guitar rock sound I was looking for, so hopefully that will be ready early to mid 2019

LINKS:  https://m.facebook.com/Ivanbeecroftmusic https://twitter.com/beecroft_ivan https://instagram.com/_u/ivanbeecroft?r=sun1 @ivanbeecroft https://youtu.be/hoK4CX3k5Mo https://soundcloud.com/grapesofwrath-720450260/inequality

Artist: PUBLIKA New Release: Falling

Genre: pop-rock

Located in: : London, UK

This song is.. electro-pop song, the result of a new wave of 80's and expressed in the electro sound of the current influences. this song can take you to the state of spirit that was originally felt when it was composed.

The music we are creating is.. All my music background it's opened through this song

Right now we are..  Right now we have discovered new age, new sounds and we tried to stay original but new. We hope that next album, that will be released very soon, to be more fit to our inside feelings.

LINKS:  https://youtu.be/GVREZWeTsks https://twitter.com/publika_music instagram.com/publikaband https://twitter.com/publika_music/status/1063854191188295680?s=21

Artist: Black Rose Reception New Release: House of the rising sun Genre: hard rock

Located in: Covington,IN. US

This song is... New breed of outlaw rock n roll.

The music we are creating is... We orchestrated this song with our own unique sound and style.

Right now we are...New tracks to be released in 2019.

LINKS:  https://www.reverbnation.com/blackrosereception/song/29174528-house-of-the-rising-sun https://twitter.com/blackroserecept  https://www.facebook.com/BlackRoseReceptionMusic https://www.instagram.com/blackrosereceptio http://store.cdbaby.com/cd/blackrosereception4 https://open.spotify.com/artist/58nTAqgZXO7kvkhJRGlGbH https://itunes.apple.com/us/artist/1434351929

Artist: PyraKite

New Release: Patagonian Hills

Genre: Rock, singersongwriter, alternative rock

Located in: : Falun, Dalarna

This song is... the first one of the album 7 Steps. It’s about a journey I made through South America with a icluded trip to Antarctica and the Easter Islands. The feeling I wanted to catch was that of a photo collage, random pictures, feelings and thought passing by the observer. It’s a mellow, moody, mystical start off of the album I think.

The music we are creating is... This is the last single of the our journey and it connects back to the very start as it is the first song of the album. 
 PyraKite gives you a poetic and mystical journey through the classic rock and pop genre. Some may say PyraKite has a unique uplifting and fresh sound.  
 7 Steps is a concept album, which means that it's best experienced from start 'til end. The story of 7 steps (with it's 7 tracks) has got just as many layers to it as you wish.  The journey starts in Antarctica and ends up in space. The music has a happy melodramatic vibe to it and has been compared to the sound of Pink Floyd, Prefab Sprout, The Beatles and Steely Dan mixed with a bit of grunge and poetic touch to it. You might also find a bit of Ben Folds Five, Paul Simon or Rival Sons in there.  
 Hopefully the journey will be both mine and yours

Right now we are... We’re about to sum up our year of 2018. A great first year and our debut 7 Steps. We’re looking out to see if we can reach our goal of 100 000 Spotify streams by the end of the year. Hopefully we’ll get there!

LINKS:  https://open.spotify.com/track/6F4QH0fleckFCV1MWwGlqL?si=GQ2PHvBnRISBmnLiBBk2_A

Website & social media links: www.pyrakite.com www.facebook.com/pyrakite www.instagram.com/pyrakite www.twitter.com/pyrakite

Artist: A Day Amongst Martyrs

New Release: Shadows

Genre: Alternative rock

Located in: Suffolk county ny

This song is... Called Shadows its about looking deep within ones self and comming to terms with accepting failure and mistakes in life and turning them into something beautiful

The music we are creating is... Everyone is a martyr to their own convictions wether love money anger fear doubt these are all things that make us human and unique so this is why we tell these stories to engage the audience and let them know someone understands and is going thru the same thing

Right now we are... We are on the verge of a new album called Forever in Three Days

LINKS: Www.reverbnation.com/adayamongstmartyrs Www.instagram.com/adayamongstmartyrs Www.facebook.com/adayamongstmartyrs Www.twitter.com/adayamongstmartyrs

Artist: Atomic Kavemen New Release: Shining Genre: Metal

Located in: : SF Bay Area

This song is... It's like a brawl between Faith No More and Black Sabbath, with Danzig goading them on

The music we are creating is... This is both our first song, and it's present form, our newest. Its the kind of track that crosses over between hard rock and heavy metal.

Right now we are.. Rehearsing and writing new songs like crazy. We expect to start playing bay area venues in April.

LINKS:  https://www.reverbnation.com/atomickavemen https://open.spotify.com/track/7qqW5BRdP5d4JZh6WC1r5i https://twitter.com/atomickavemen https://www.facebook.com/atomickavemen

Artist: VOVKULAKA

New Release: Darkness Calling

Genre: Metal

Located in: Odessa, Ukraine

This song is... A grinding dose of groove Metal with throbbing Dubstep passages.

The music we are creating is... Dark, Angry, Evil Metal...

Right now we are...Releasing new Singles, working on our CD, and plotting our Live Shows.

LINKS:  Twitter.com/VovkulakaMusic YouTube.com/VovkulakMusic Facebook.com/VovkulakaFanPage

Artist: Thomas Thunder

New Release: The Bull

Genre: Progressive Rock

Located in: : Boston, Ma

The Bull is a Progressive Rock and Metal song that incorporates a variety of instrumentation. Guitars, bass, drums, keyboards, synth strings, brass and woodwinds. Combining traditional "rock" instruments with classical symphonic instruments is truly an auditory treat. This song is a continuation of my love for Progressive Rock. The driving beat reminds me of a bull running through a china shop. On a personal note, my family owns a French Bulldog, and she "bulldozes" into a room, jumping on furniture and knocking over pillows and everything else in her way. I was inspired to write this song because of her. This song is "Cupcake the French Bulldog's" anthem.

Right now we are... I'm happy about working on a live video of my song Night Terrors. I'm working on a Youtube channel to promote my songs and drumming videos, too. I'm also writing a few new songs.

LINKS: https://www.instagram.com/thomasthunder11 https://twitter.com/ThomasThunder10 https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiKv0UfB9-Sh6rtaMKIGDRQ

Artist: Kid Norkjen

New Release: Red light Green light

Genre: singer-songwriter-rock

Located in: Trondheim, Norway

The new Kid Norkjen single is recorded in Nashville with great session players (The A team). Musically inspired by George Harrison and the Traveling Wilburys, the lyric ask the difficult question what is red light and what is green light in a a relation.

The music we are creating is... A new album is coming up in February 2019 and this is the single that hopefully will make some interest for the album.

Right now we are... The new album recorded in Nashville will be my best

LINKS: spotify:album:4pj9GoOquKpnkTvgUYS0Q2 https://www.facebook.com/kid.norkjen https://twitter.com/NorvaldKjenstad https://www.instagram.com/norkjen

Artist: 4-Fo-Rela New Release: Rela Demic Genre: Electronica, Rock

Located in: Wood River, Illinois

This song is... DJ Co1 recording producer & Disc Jockey for 4-Fo-Rela has released "RelaDemic".. "RelaDemic is a modern day electronic track from the heart of the Midwest. With hard drum n bass and amazing ambient sounds RelaDemic will satisfy any listeners need for new electronic sound. "RelaDemic" is a powerfull push back into the music scene for DJ Co1 and he plans to entertain the masses in 2019.

The music we are creating is... The Music created is cutting edge, new tech & just simply powerful.

Right now we are... Super excited our new Rela Radio Show on Monday Nights. Putting Independent music into listeners ears.

LINKS:  https://www.reverbnation.com/4forelainc http://www.facebook.com/4forelainc http://www.4forela.com

[sudsybear]

Home for the Holidays

The plans to move to San Diego were scrapped earlier in the year. The job offer was rescinded, and thankfully the house never got to market. Dad was quickly re-appointed to City Council, and he resumed his position with the Drackett Company. Mom renegged on her two week notice at the hospital, and life returned to its previous rhythm.

 Angry and disappointed in Jim, I invited my friend Ken to Cincinnati with me for Thanksgiving. In Ken, I picked up another lonely soul, and thought I was rescuing him from a miserable holiday weekend. Ken was excited to see another city, and wanted to know all about it. He was enthusiastic about seeing the country and wanted to know all about where I grew up. I drove the Pinto, and we dropped a freshman in Cleveland along our way.

 All the anguish I’d suffered the previous spring had been for naught. My bedroom was still intact – never touched by any movers. The boxes I’d packed were moved to the attic and forgotten. I’d said good-bye to my life in Wyoming and moved on. And yet, that Thanksgiving weekend I was dumped right back into the thicket of drama, but couldn’t fully participate because of Ken’s presence. I needed to be a good hostess to Ken, and yet old friends wanted news and explanations. It was a delicate balance that was awkward at best. Ken and I argued, and I told my friends, “I’ll explain at Christmas.”

 *          *          *

 After Thanksgiving, the tension between Jim and me grew worse. He was busy with work and classes; I was busy with classwork. I avoided him as much as possible, although we still worked together on the scholarship. Instead I spent time with other friends; played gin-rummy with Bart, Scrabble with Craig and his girlfriend Jilda. I lunched with Lawrence, enjoying his company. I struggled to pass Botany, grabbing help from a classmate who walked me through the physics of transpiration. The semester ended, and I returned to Cincinnati for Christmas and winter break.

 At the end of the term, when exams were over, I packed up the Pinto with a suitcase full of dirty clothes and my rabbit, Homer with all the food and bedding changes along with her litter box. I carried my passenger as far as Cleveland –delivering him to his own family on my way through Ohio. I arrived home late, after dark anyway, and unpacked the car.

 That Christmas, 1986, we celebrated a rare convergence of immediate family. Tom and his wife Janet had spent the fall in New Haven, CT. Tom enrolled in one of Yale’s Master’s degree programs, but shortly after their arrival in August, they realized their mistake. Despite the prestige of the school name, the reality of living in New Haven on a grad student salary was not something they needed or wanted to do. So after the semester, salvaging what credits he could, Tom and Janet would drive back to Oregon and Oregon State University – Salem was home.

 I presume Mom called Jack and pleaded, “Since Tom and Janet and Susan are going to be in Cincinnati for Christmas can you and Cheryl possibly make it so we can have all the family together?”  Whether such a plea was made or not, Jack and Cheryl were in Cincinnati for a few days.

 David stopped by the house Christmas Eve afternoon, and after a brief greeting with my parents, we retreated to what was my bedroom-not-my-bedroom and chatted. Whatever the topic, the discussion became heated and David knocked the rabbit off the bed to the floor. Angry, I suggested he leave and he did.

 Later that evening, my brothers expressed interest in meeting my pet rabbit. Engrossed in a television program, I sent them up to my room to introduce themselves.

 “Is the rabbit supposed to be stiff?”  David’s cuff of the creature accidently killed it, and Jack and Tom buried it in the back yard. I never asked where.

 That Christmas I gave wildly inappropriate gifts, children’s toys and games; useless stuff in the attempt to re-capture childhood. Nobody complained, but I’m sure the plastic went to the garbage or the GoodWill.

 After Christmas Jack and Cheryl quickly returned to their jobs in Pennsylvania, and Tom and Janet continued their journey to Oregon. In the days following, I visited a few other friends – Julie, Erin, Valli – but spent New Year’s Eve alone in my parent’s house. I just could not handle another gathering in Moreno’s basement.

 Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, perhaps as a consolation for the job and transfer debacle, Mom and Dad acquired a new car, a 1986 Mustang convertible GT, five speed standard transmission with cruise control, air conditioning factory installed sound system, with cassette deck. Dad arranged a business trip to Florida for early January. Mom and I packed our suitcases – my summer clothes were at “home” in Rochester, so I packed jeans, cotton sweaters and turtlenecks – and we took turns driving I-75 south to Florida through Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia. We picked Dad up in Tampa, and while he rode in the passenger seat, Dad had me drive his new car in heavy traffic across the Tampa Bay Bridge. I was terrified.

 After a few days touring the Sarasota environs, Dad flew back to Cincinnati and Mom and I made the long drive back north. Once in Cincinnati, I did laundry, packed the rabbit cage and paraphernalia into the Pinto and drove back to Rochester, stopping in Cleveland to pick up my passenger.

 *          *          *

 Despite our break-up, and the obnoxious way he treated me, I still cared for Jim. He is human, and we did share many laughs and good times together. I learned quite a bit from him. I bought him a Christmas present, knowing he would enjoy it. While I no longer wanted intimacy, I took pleasure in making those around me happy. Jim mistook my gift as a sign of reconciliation. “Oh she’s giving me gifts, we must be back together.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. I gave him gifts of consolation, “I’m outta here, but you can have these to remember me.” That tired, “we can still be friends” attempt.

 Chapter 1  

Drunken Agony

 In January the guys threw yet another party in their suite – another gathering with loud music (they hooked up as many speakers as they could to Bart’s stereo and pooled their CD and album collections for ‘good tunes’) and lots of alcohol. Someone bought a case or two of longnecks, and I threw caution to the wind and nursed a beer. Can’t stand the stuff, but valiantly tried to sip my way through a whole one. I labeled the bottle so I knew it was mine, and kept it close at hand. I sat and chatted with friends, talking about what classes we were taking for the spring term, which professors we had, and what we had done for our winter breaks.

 I was able to impress friends with a great story of driving down I-75 in a brand new Mustang convertible. Through Kentucky and Tennessee, Georgia and Florida, Mom and I cruised in a man’s dream car. We visited an orange grove, spent a day at the beach, toured the Circus Museum. Nothing exciting in and of itself, but it’s fun to tell people, “Yea, I drove to Florida and back in a 1986 Mustang Convertible.”

 I planted myself in a corner of the couch, Bart parked in an adjacent chair, and unbeknownst to me he kept re-filling my beer. I nursed that beer for the entire evening, thinking I’d had only one. Sad, but I never noticed Bart pouring beer from his bottle into mine. It started out as a joke. How long do you think we can get away with this? They (Bart, Craig, Stephen Paul, Chris, the “other” Jim, Keith and Andy) were all in on it. Elbows nudging, and eyes glancing, they passed the joke along, and I was oblivious. Finally, after who knows how much I had consumed, I announced I was drunk and needed fresh air. Who would take me for a walk? Bart volunteered.

 Yes, I was drunk, and so was he, and what happens when two college students get drunk together? Osculation. We trekked across campus to check out the new library construction. We traipsed through an opening in the fence, climbed over cinderblocks, two-by-fours, piping, and bales of wire. We climbed the industrial stairwell that had been erected, going as high as we dared to get a view of the layout. My balance was challenged, and Bart steadied me. I turned and he started kissing. I welcomed the new feeling, gentle, cautious, and kind. After my head stopped spinning so quickly, Bart walked me back to the party. I was just minutes from passing out, so crashed in Bart’s bed in his loft.

 That was a last beginning. Bart was kind. Over the weeks Bart cared for and protected me. He never forced himself on me, and when I panicked, he stopped and held me. When I got angry, he let me pound away at his chest, and hugged me all the tighter for my pain. I was very angry at Jim, told Bart my story, and found an ally. Our behavior confounded our friends and they questioned our closeness, “How could you do this to Jim?” “Do you see how cruel you are to Jim?” “Do you know how much Jim is hurting?”

 Jim’s last written correspondence was a series of despondent essays about all the wrongs I committed toward him. How I ripped his heart out and didn’t show any remorse. I had mistreated him terribly, calling him “it” and not supporting him through his challenging academic term. Finally, he admits that perhaps, just perhaps, he committed an egregious error. That maybe he misjudged my behavior. Perhaps he was in the wrong. Jim acknowledged that it had taken a tremendous amount of strength for me to discard him. A strength I had not had at the beginning of our relationship. Sure, the sex had been a power trip for him, but he had never physically harmed me, so could it have really been so bad? He promised he would never again repeat such behavior, and then admonished me not to share his confessional words with anyone. They were for my eyes only. I shudder at those memories.

 “I guess one reason I’m writing this is to convince myself that I’m not quite as evil as you think I am. I must have hurt you pretty bad for you to go and go out with Bart right off the bat without a “period of mourning” or anything like that. I know that you need someone with you or you get even more unhappy, but still. I hope sometime you sit down and think about all the things we did together. I told you everything about every bit of me, Susan, you know it all. I showed you all of my favorite places, got you to do all of my favorite activities, and had you meet all of my favorite people. I took you camping, skiing and biking. I took you to my church to meet my friends there. I helped you write a term paper in 5 hours and I helped you pass New Testament. I tried to encourage you to get out and do things on your own. I took you to the beach. I had you at my house 3 or 4 times. I took you to Boston to meet my closest friends. Do you remember any of that?”

<snip>

“I still can’t believe you don’t feel the way I do. Either I hurt you so much that you really do dislike me, or I was horribly mistaken about the depth of your feelings about me. Here I am still trying to decide whether I can ever look at another girl and not think about you, and you’re already spending the nights with another guy.

 If what we did made you feel “used” then I am terribly, terribly sorry. I have vowed to never let that happen again in any future relationship of mine, and I mean it. Maybe it took you breaking up with me for me to do that.”

<snip>

“I really don’t think it is all my fault, we are both responsible. I know I made you miserable by “using” you, but I think you’ve gotten me back. You often insulted me in public, and you used to call me “it” instead of “he” Basically, you never gave two shits about any of the things I care about, and you made no attempt to hide it.”

<snip>

“Here’s my analysis of how she feels:  She’s unhappy. I have been using her, I haven’t spent enough time with her and I don’t talk enough to suit her. She hates her classes, she hates where she’s living, she’s homesick. In general there is very little here that appeals to her. (There used to be one thing here that appealed to her, and that was me. But I don’t have that effect anymore.)”

<snip>

“When she started going out with me, she could hardly live without me. It must have taken a lot of strength and courage to go from that complete need, to breaking up with me and not looking back. On the other hand it would take more courage still to look back and see what I’m doing, how I’m feeling, and she hasn’t done that.

 I know I’ve gotten bitterly sarcastic, but I certainly hope that if I ever give this to Susan that she doesn’t get upset by it. I know she’d be angered by the sentence, “New boyfriend means all problems solved!” I guess the feelings behind that last paragraph are ample demonstration of why we broke up: her simplicity, and my sarcasm and lack of respect toward her because of that simplicity. OH! But there are so many worse things to be than what she is. I’ll take her simplicity any day over the hateful, coy, condescending thoughts I see in so many people. I really did love her, I just didn’t respect her.

 But I liked her as well as those things (love and respect); and I want to keep on liking her. Obviously she realized a while back that I didn’t respect her, and has reacted strongly against me. I can’t really blame her. The sex was just a manifestation of that lack of respect on my part. What I have done is horrible, but still I hope she forgives me, because now I want to be friends with her.”

  *          *          *

 Jim’s version of events is decidedly different from mine. He blames me for his melancholy. I blame him for not recognizing his own poor behavior toward me. I knew what I was doing was hurtful, and did it on purpose. He claims ignorance. He should have known better. We’ll never reconcile.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Review] GHOST STORIES: Terror From Stage To Screen

Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson’s Ghost Stories is almost the scariest movies you will ever see. I watched it alone one night, sleeping girlfriend on my right and (thankfully sleeping) infant son on my left, and it nearly drove me insane with fear. I kept pausing and switching over to an episode of The Office, only to come back and watch a few more minutes. My notes were profanity-laden outbursts of existential dread that bordered on hysteria. Why did this film scare me so badly in the first two acts, yet left others completely unimpressed? I attribute it to two different things.

First of all, the film is based on the stage play of the same name, which was also written and directed by Nyman and Dyson. It follows Nyman, who plays paranormal debunker Professor Goodman, as he is brought to the trailer of his childhood hero and fellow debunker Charles Cameron. In his decrepit trailer, Cameron gives Goodman three cases that he was unable to disprove. He begs Goodman to prove him wrong because, apparently, death is coming and he wants to know that there is nothing on the other side waiting for him. This set up drives Goodman forward to meet the night watchman Tony Matthews (Paul Whitehouse), a terrified teen named Simon Rifkind (Alex Lawther) and Mike Priddle (Martin Freeman), a powerful businessman. Each has their own horrifying story to tell Goodman, and he tries his best to debunk each of them, even as he begins to become unraveled himself.

  “Because I have come to one inescapable conclusion, and that is the supernatural, the unseen forces that surround us, everything that you and I have spent a lifetime trying to debunk and disprove, it’s all true.

Every last bit of it”- Charles Cameron

  This structure is very stage-like and lends itself nicely to this anthology format. The stories are all separate, yet they have interlocking themes that are tied together in the third act. The viewer has no time to relax, because not only are we following these characters into the hell they each experienced, but Goodman begins to see apparitions in between the tellings. Each story is fresh and filled with both jump-scares and atmospheric dread, and this dread can be directly attributed to the claustrophobic feel of the settings. It’s true that these stories sometimes feel too staged, like they are being acted out on the West End in London, but I love the feel that it lent the film. This is especially true with the first tale of the nightwatchman Tony as he stands guard in an abandoned women’s mental hospital. We are stuck in those dark, dank hallways as something toys with the poor man, almost begging him to come investigate.

Even when we are out in the gorgeous Yorkshire countryside, the film feels claustrophobic. We know what the structure is before we even start the movie, and it doesn’t deviate until its final 15 minutes. We are prisoners to this three-story plan, and it propels us forward, whether we want it to or not. Some critics have found fault in this part of the film, and their points are valid. Sometimes it does feel like we are watching a play, but for me, it worked to add a sense of claustrophobic dread that would have been difficult to attain otherwise.

    The second reason that I think Ghost Stories was so effective is because each story overflows with not only the paranormal, but also family drama. Tony’s story centers around his inability to see his daughter who is in hospital with Locked-in Syndrome. He hasn’t been to see her in five years, which makes the “dada” the spirit utters in the dark sanitarium even more powerful. The young Mr. Rifkind’s story is the silliest of the three, following his exploits after running over some sort of devil in his car. The true horror from that section of the film comes from the behavior of his parents. They are the scariest aspects of the tale, and you never even see their faces. Mystery and devils surround Simon in his sweltering room, and we are stuck in there with him. Mike’s tale is filled with baby-dread, as well, as his nursery is plagued by the spirit of his wife as she dies giving birth to a monstrosity that only eats wet cat food. As the diapers fly and the bottles begin to stack themselves, you almost giggle at the absurdity. Until the cries begin, and the mobile turns, and the crib begins to creak.

  “Do you believe in evil, Professor? I didn’t. Not until that night.”- Mike Priddle 

  The only downfall in this film is the final 15 minutes where everything is brought together and tied into a tidy little package. Many critics really like the twist that comes, but to me it felt like something that I have seen before. It is definitely done well, it is beautiful and has a few cringe-worthy moments, but it was a let down compared to the three stories that the rest of the film is based on. It isn’t enough to keep me away from watching the film again, however, and the change of pace, while a bit of a letdown, was refreshing after the anxiety-inducing first two acts.

Maybe being a new father has made me weak, but the normal, every day non-ghostly dangers that surround my son terrify me. There is so much out there in this world that seems heel-bent to knife its way into my family and tear it apart. These Ghost Stories take that fear and turn it up to eleven. Even when you have all of your bases covered, even when you have everything figured out, there are still things out there scratching to get in. The darkness that fills the screen for each of these tales is the darkness that we see every day out of the corner of our eye. It’s the gaping black hole of the kitchen window as you come down for a drink of water in the middle of the night. We survive by not looking directly at the darkness. We survive by pretending it isn’t there. Ghost Stories uses its structure and drama to force us to look into the darkness, where we finally can see the things looking back at us.

3/4 Eberts

Ghost Stories is available everywhere on VOD Friday, April 20th. Do yourself a favor and check this one out. It is not the scariest film you will ever see, but it will make you feel some of the dread that you try to ignore in your real life. Be sure to follow Nightmare on Film Street on all of our social media platforms and by joining our Facebook Group, Horror Fiends of Nightmare on Film Street. Head over there after you see Ghost Stories and let us know what you think!

    The post [Review] GHOST STORIES: Terror From Stage To Screen appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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