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andybondurant · 1 year

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New Post has been published on Andy Bondurant

New Post has been published on https://andybondurant.com/2023/02/21/cornerstone-a-faith-built-to-last/

Cornerstone: A Faith Built to Last

A Christian faith built to last rests on the foundation or cornerstone of Jesus. Unfortunately, this isn’t how it plays out for many who consider themselves followers of Jesus.

My Early Life in Ministry.

I started my first ministry job at eighteen. I had just graduated from high school, and stayed at home to attend a local junior college. My plan was to be an elementary school teacher, so I approached my church’s children’s pastor about volunteering in the kids ministry. I figured I should have some experience with kids if I was going to spend my life working with them.

Me at 18 (I have no idea who’s car that is)

In that meeting with Pastor Rod, he saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. I walked in to The office to volunteer, but I walked out with a part-time job. I was the kids min intern, and the lessons I learned were invaluable.

Ministry Lessons at 18.

I learned to be effective in working with kids, you need to be prepared (which continues to be true – working with teens and adults too). Another of my mentors, Pastor Tom, used to say, “Either you put on a show for them, or they’ll put on a show for you.” He would go on to tell a story about a little boy who stood on his chair and slowly, piece by piece disrobed during a kids service.

Put on a show for them, or they’ll put on a show for you.

tom blasco

I learned physical humor and concrete, visual lessons are most effective when teaching children. Again, these truths stretch to both teens and adults. You see it in the best teachers in and out of the church (It’s why those “prank” shows continue to be so popular through the years).

I learned I am a good teacher, and I find pleasure in it. Most of my life has been spent ministering to children, but I now teach adults about Jesus, Scripture and biblical truth. So many of the things I learned working with children transfers to the adult world too.

I learned I enjoy graphic design, and while I’m not proficient in many of today’s different applications, I do have a gift for it. I started 30 years ago with a program called CorelDraw – long before advent of any of the Adobe products.

Yet, in that initial 12-18 months of ministry, none of those lessons learned was most important. The most important lesson I learned in those early months of ministry came in the spring of 1993. But before I go forward, let me back up for some history on the church I attended.

Brother Ernie.

My church was named Full Faith Church of Love — the perfect, crazy, hippie name for a church birthed in the late 60’s. However, the pastor was far from being a hippie. Ernie Gruen, who we knew as Brother Ernie, founded the church in the basement of his home with a handful of families. His plan had been to be a Baptist missionary, but those goals came to an end after Brother Ernie was filled with the Holy Spirit and began speaking in tongues…a no-no in those days.

Soon this little church began to gain traction with the ‘Jesus People’ – the young hippies of the 60s and 70s who found Jesus. They were looking for someone to teach them the Bible, and Brother Ernie was a gifted teacher. He looked nothing like them – crew cut hair, thick framed glasses, a serious demeanor. Yet, Brother Ernie connected with them, and in the 70s and 80s, the church exploded from those handful of families to hundreds and then thousands of members. When I was on staff in the early 90s, we averaged nearly 4000 attendees a weekend, and we had 50-60 people on the church staff.

We were a mega-church before the days of the mega-church (though now mega-churches are 10, 20 or 30,000 members).

By the early 90s, Brother Ernie was almost a charicature of himself. He was larger than life in my (little) world. I was on staff for about a year, and I worked in the office a couple of afternoons a week. I remember seeing him in the offices a handful of times, and I had a conversation with him 2-3 times at the most in that year.

Talking to Brother Ernie was like talking to the Pope.

THE Ministry Lesson I Learned at 19.

Which brings us to the spring of 1993 when I received a phone call at home one morning (before the days of average people having a cell phone). I was given some information and told to attend an all church meeting the next evening.

The night of the meeting, I showed up to a packed church. Our sanctuary sat about 2000 people, and it was standing room only. There was a nervous energy in the building. On the stage, sat our pastors and elders. I stood at the back of the church, the proverbial fly on the wall. A lot of things were said at that meeting, but it started with the lead elder (board member) standing and sharing this information:

“We received a fax this weekend (again before the days of email, cell phones and messaging). Brother Ernie has left the city, the state. He is in Georgia. He has run off with his secretary.”

As you can imagine, it was if the air had been sucked out of the room. The meeting went on, then concluded, and the fallout began.

Within a few months, the church went from 4,000 regular attenders to about 2,000. Within a few years, the attendance dropped another 1000 members. I don’t blame anyone for leaving the church. Many people experienced some deep trauma through the situation. It was very difficult.

However, this is the lesson I learned:

People would rather put their faith in anyone but Jesus.

This was true of Full Faith Church of Love and Brother Ernie, and it’s been true of churches and leaders for the past centuries. It’s easier to put faith in a human being than Jesus. The problem is deadly to faith. It destroys the very thing we, as ministers of the gospel, are attempting to build – faith in individual followers of Jesus.

People didn’t just leave a church. They left their faith.

Building a Faith that Lasts.

A faith built to last begins with Jesus.

I love the Gospel of John, and he starts by retelling the creation story:

“In the beginning the Word already existed. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him. The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone.”‬‬

John‬ ‭1‬:‭1‬-‭4‬ ‭NLT

Let me boil this down to one sentence for you: Everything begins with Jesus. Jesus created the earth. He breathed life into man and woman. He is the reason for your faith.

Whatever faith you have right now – no matter how big or how insignificant – it begins with Jesus. Even if you have more questions than answers, the faith to wrestle with your doubt comes from Jesus. Jesus is the foundation of your faith.

You could also say, Jesus is the cornerstone of your faith.

Jesus: Cornerstone of Faith.

Isaiah had a horrible job. He was a Jewish prophet who lived hundreds of years before Jesus, so his calling was to stand in front of the people of God and tell them of the destruction coming because of their sin. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, Isaiah’s job was to deliver bad news.

However, there was a silver lining within this call of Isaiah. Weaved within Isaiah’s prophecies of doom was a thread of hope — the coming Savior or Messiah. It is in one of these threads of hope that Isaiah uses the term “cornerstone” to describe Jesus:

“Therefore, this is what the Sovereign Lord says: “Look! I am placing a foundation stone in Jerusalem, a firm and tested stone. It is a precious cornerstone that is safe to build on. Whoever believes need never be shaken. I will test you with the measuring line of justice and the plumb line of righteousness. Since your refuge is made of lies, a hailstorm will knock it down. Since it is made of deception, a flood will sweep it away.”

Isaiah‬ ‭28‬:‭16‬-‭17‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Jesus is the precious cornerstone that is safe to build our lives and faith on. If we build a faith (or a life) on anyone or anything besides Jesus, it is in danger of being swept away.

Cornerstone in both the Old and New Testaments.

The Apostle Paul picks up on this idea a few decades after Jesus has died, resurrected and ascended into heaven:

‘Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him, the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.’

Ephesians 2:19-22 NLT

Paul’s refers to us being the church under construction — each of us coming together as different materials to build the church. But it is the same at the core – we are to be built on and around the cornerstone of Jesus.

What are you building your life around? Who are you building your life on?

Are the walls of your life straight?

I’m not much of a handyman. I was talking with a friend the other day who casually mentioned he had spent the previous months remodeling his kitchen. I asked, and he had done ALL the work himself. This is not me. I’m very thankful for YouTube videos to guide me through the basic repairs and fixes I’ve done recently around my home.

I’m not a handyman or carpenter, but I have been to Mexico 4-5 times over the last ten years to build a home for the homeless. Now, to be fair, these homes are closer to a shed than what we consider a home in America. There is no electricity or running water. The structure is small (12x2o) with a simple loft on one side.

The second wall being prepared to go up in Reynosa, Mexico.

I have learned one thing in my travels to build these homes — the first corner of the home is vital. Thankfully, a concrete foundation is already laid before we arrive, so our job begins by building and joining two walls together on that foundation. When we join those walls together, we must make sure that everything is both level and square. If the corner is even a small bit out, the whole house will be off. Walls won’t line up, the roof won’t join, and gaps will leave openings for water and dirt.

When Jesus is the cornerstone of your faith, the walls of your life are straight. The roof of your life joins. The gaps that allow for corrosion and destruction are closed. It’s exactly what Jesus warned us about.

Jesus tells us he is the cornerstone.

Jesus himself is clear that he is the cornerstone of our faith. He uses a different term, but he has the same intention. Jesus calls it the bedrock.

““Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock. Though the rain comes in torrents and the floodwaters rise and the winds beat against that house, it won’t collapse because it is built on bedrock. But anyone who hears my teaching and doesn’t obey it is foolish, like a person who builds a house on sand. When the rains and floods come and the winds beat against that house, it will collapse with a mighty crash.””‬‬

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭7‬:‭24‬-‭27‬ ‭NLT

Did you catch the end of the word picture Jesus painted? He talk about the results of a life built on sand – the rain, floods and wind destroying the house of those who ignore his teaching. It’s the exact same imagery Isaiah used for those who build on lies and deception.

Anything but the bedrock of Jesus and his word is a lie. It all ends in collapse.

What are you building your life around? Who are you building your life on?

Your Story isn’t Over: Build on Jesus

Now let me encourage you. Your story isn’t over. Even if you’ve been building your life on the hope of a person, organization or philosophy besides Jesus, you can change your foundation. That’s the story of so many people from my church — both those who chose to stay and those who moved on.

A pastor leaving, a church split, a scandal, are all wake up calls to those of us who consider ourselves followers of Jesus. It’s not too late to make Jesus the cornerstone of you life.

What are you building your life around? Who are you building your life on?

#creation #Ephesians #Foundation #God #Isaiah #Jesus #John #life #Matthew #Paul #story

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ofhouseadama · 3 years

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could I dm you this? yes. but also asks are fun even though this question is mean so. how do Ed and Lorraine react to the Vietnam war?

Okay so my Ed and Lorraine are absolutely Kennedy Democrats, are both very excited and enthusiastic about the first Catholic president, but both are against the Vietnam War and US military intervention from the start. Ed's already fought in one imperialist proxy war, he's got the PTSD to prove it, and Lorraine just is truly repulsed by violence of any kind.

And also like, to go completely left field for a minute -- I've been thinking a lot about how teenage Lored were effectively trapped at 17-19 years old. Mostly financially, and in different ways. in 1951, Lorraine wouldn't have been able to have her own bank account. Women wouldn't have the right to open their own bank account until the 60s or have a credit card until the 70s -- her money would have been her father's, effectively. and while probably not maliciously, since she was a young woman she likely wouldn't have had much access to her pay checks unless she was cashing them directly. Ed, meanwhile, while trying to survive a negligent/abusive household, absolutely would have been spending money on things most teens wouldn't have to in order to survive... and that's before getting the draft notice from the Selective Service, which took away even more control of his own life.

So I see Ed and Lorraine getting married young (even for the 50s, they're a few years younger than the median, though the war was actively driving that age down) mostly out of making the most out of what they could together. Ed putting Lorraine on his bank accounts and asking her actively to manage them while he's away, and her depositing her paychecks into his account would give her more financial control in her life than most women of the era. Lorraine's engagement ring (the size of that goddamn rock) is even an insurance policy most women her age and demographic didn't have -- often when women fled marriages, it was only with their jewelry to sell. It's half about Ed's possessive streak, half him showing he's not afraid to give her the money to run, if she needed to.

Anyway -- the trauma of their late teens and early twenties is entirely rooted in the rising Cold War anxieties and the locus of harm done to women in the 50s and I fully see their pursuit of demonology and the supernatural as something Lorraine initially started while working as a secretary for the Diocese, something she did to stay late at work and help people she could physically reach while Ed was away at war. She initially started staying late on the days she knew Father Gordon would be bringing in a scared family or terrified couple or frightened soul in through the back door hours after everyone had left, staying to pray and keep herself nearby, to be an observer to a fight she could be party to. Father Gordon figures her out quickly, of course, asking what interest she has in demons and exorcisms, and figures out she's clever with records and archives, almost to an uncanny degree.

And then figures out to exactly what uncanny degree.

After Ed came home and became the husband instead of the boyfriend, it turned into something Ed could throw all his metaphorical demons onto and a healthy way to exercise his control issues and fear and anxiety that doesn't (generally) affect Lorraine because she's fighting with him side by side in this, when before they were separated by thousands of miles -- the beginning everyone's favorite Catholic battle couple very much rooted in Ed and Lorraine parsing out who brought home metaphorical demons from the war, and who brought home literal ones, and bringing them to Father Gordon when necessary. Rooted in Ed needing to be useful, to dusting off his Catholic school Latin and reading everything he could get his hands on so that he could continue to help, continue to fight.

Lorraine would have been pregnant with Judy during the heightening tensions with Cuba and as Kennedy is sending more and more military "advisors" to Vietnam and Cold War tensions flared the hottest they'd get in the 1960s and I can just see both of their control issues revving up, especially with a few-months-old baby in the mix. Just the two of them laying bed, looking down at their three month old baby girl, wondering if they'd all get nuked tomorrow. If war would be declared tomorrow. If they'd all be dead, if they brought her into the world just to die violently. It's like taking guns off the street. They can't control the White House, or the Soviets, or Cuba or China or or or -- but they know about demons, they know about spirits, they know about taking these bombs off the battlefield, in the war of good against evil, and this is a war they can be foot soldiers in together.

Lorraine would get a bit of relief in the March of '63 when Kennedy dropped married men with children to the bottom of the draft pool, and then dropped the age of the draft pool to 26, aging Ed out of the Selective Service entirely. And then in November, JFK would be assassinated, and the photo of Jackie Kennedy covered in blood, leaving the hospital hand-in-hand with RFK, would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country. It would be a jolt for both of them -- but it wouldn't fully hit Lorraine until seven years later, when she'd have her first vision of Ed's death and fully understand Jackie Kennedy's weary, "I want them to see what they have done to Jack."

After the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution in August of 1964, they fully throw themselves into taking cases almost full time. As the war heats up, Ed pulls back from teaching art classes at the VA. If he spends too much time there, he has to face how pointless the violence has been. If he spends too much time there, now, he has to face that he still doesn't know why he survived. Why he lived, and everyone else on board the ship with him died. Because he still doesn't know, he still is fighting to make his life matter in a way that makes sense to him. All he has is his sense of duty, a couple of college credits, and his hands. On good days, he knows that he's loved -- that Lorraine loves him so much it makes it hurt to breathe, that he's a good father to his daughter, who will never be afraid of him.

Ed has a complete PTSD relapse in 1966, with the beginning of the ground war and the full-throated resurgence of the American propaganda machine and military recruitment. He's back in the guilt spiral, the "I never had it that bad, I was only in the Navy for two years, I never had it that bad," just feeding into "why did I live when everyone else I fought with died," back and forth until he can't sleep, can only sleep when Judy sleeps, accidentally ends up adapting himself to her nap schedule and has to sleep with his hand on her chest, feeling her breathe.

Lorraine calls in Chief, after Ed can't get out of bed for 72 hours and misses mass for the first time in his life. Chief, who comes up from Brooklyn to remind Ed of the time their entire ship exploded and Ed treaded water for eight hours and everyone else died. How they spent the next six months getting drunk whenever they weren't on duty and picking fights they couldn't get out of, and that one time they got thrown in the brig because Chief struck a superior asshole and Ed just followed him into the fight. (No, Lorraine does not know about that time Ed and Chief ended up in the brig. She will never know about that time. Judy will at some point in her early 20s learn about that time, when she needs to learn about how her parents are people, who have absolutely made mistakes in their lives.) "You and I spent six months drunk," Chief says, bouncing Judy on his knee in the kitchen over a cup of coffee, Ed refusing to look at him as he deep cleans the stove. "And then your dad died, and your sainted wife handled everything for you, and we realized we couldn't send you home to her like that."

"I still don't know why I lived."

Chief shrugs. "It doesn't matter why, son. The same reason any of us live, and any of us die. It doesn't matter. You have a little girl now who depends on you. She matters more than any goddamn reason -- you live for her, and your saint of a wife, and for all the people that you help. So that you can look them in the face, say you've been down in the hole that they're in now, and you know the way out."

Lorraine calls in Chief, because she absolutely picked a fight after mass that day without Ed, with Judy on her hip. Overheard Dorothy O'Malley running her mouth in the pew in front of her sounding like a national security ghoul and didn't even think before she opened her mouth and unloading the full force of her anxiety and anger on her. Only stops because she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and Father Gordon murmuring in her ear, "Okay Mrs. Warren, you've made your point," while leading her away. It's the "Mrs. Warren" instead of the familiar "Lorraine" that jolts her back to herself, kissing Judy's head as she tries to shake herself out of it.

"Thank you," she tells Father Gordon, defeated.

He shrugs. "You don't come to confession until before Friday night prayer service. I didn't want you stewing on this all week." Pausing, he takes a moment to fondly tug on one of Judy's pig tails, making her laugh. "If Ed's not... feeling well, I know about that."

Lorraine bites her lip, knowing full and well that Father Gordon served as a chaplain in World War II. That seeing the violence of the Nazis firsthand is what convinced him that the Devil was more than a metaphor, that evil truly walked the Earth. Sent him on his own path, chasing darkness.

Lorraine nods.

"I could talk to him," Father Gordon says. "But it would likely come better from someone he served with."

When she gets home, she finds Chief's number in their phone book, and calls Brooklyn for the first and last time. He comes up the next day, and shoos her out of the house to do something for herself for the first time in months, telling her that he's more than equipped to look after a single three year old.

Ed goes back to teaching at the VA a few months after that, teaching art to the new round of mentally scarred children returning from war. He concedes to group therapy, and a few sessions with the VA psychiatrist to get something to take the edge off. He teaches at the VA until the troop withdrawals in 1970, reducing his class load as he and Lorraine take on more and more cases -- verging towards a hundred a year -- for the Catholic Church, and the media attention that comes along with that, the publicity engagements that help keep their bills paid, the articles and academic talks.

Even still, Ed occasionally brings home someone for dinner, just to make sure that they've only brought metaphorical demons home from war with them, not literal ones.

Sometimes it's literal ones.

#ask #rikertroi #otp: i forgot my pills #emily watches the conjuring #i cannot believe that Sam was just like #''I am going to give Emily an excuse to use her degree and hurt people''#this got... so very long

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esther-dot · 3 years

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"We should be happy that Arya understands herself at such a young age. It baffles me that her fans want to insist that no, she actually wants the same stuff Sansa does..." This is what gets me. Arya point blank states in Book 1 what she wants and what she doesn't want. Now their argument is "She is 9, she may change her mind." She might, if she were a real person. But she is a character written by someone else. And if the author specifically says he based the character on the type of women he knew irl, the kind of women who never wanted to marry and have kids, that's a pretty good indication where this character is going. I also find it insulting that they are so gung-ho about this, as if they tie all of Arya's value (especially her value as a woman) her being married with kids at the end. (As someone who, like Arya at a young age, decided to never marry and have kids and in her 30s still stand by that decision, it's extremely amusing -and offensive but oh well- to me that they think Arya needs to end up Gendry/Jon and pop out as many kids as possible for her arc to be meaningful, for her life to be complete. They see it as the final and most valued reward for her suffering, I guess, even if she doesn't want it.) But there is also the fact that unlike them, Arya is aware of what being a mother and a wife means in Westeros. She can't have it all. She can't be a wife, a mother, a Lady and be free, not really. She can't be independent, go on adventures, live her life as she wishes to, associate and befriend the people she'd like to, avoid others she doesn't like. Especially if she is going to be Arya Stark. That'll come with its own responsibilities. She has to make a choice. (And again this is a choice I understand, b/c while it's not as stifling as Westeros, my country and culture is very much traditional, they may let you be a single adult woman *while side-eying your choice* but you can't be a wife and a mother and an independent working woman at the same time. Society, your family and friends will expect you to make a choice, even the laws will force your hand as there are little to none help for working moms but all sorts of incentives for those who uphold "family values".) So even if what they envision for Arya could work for Modern AUs, it doesn't work in Westeros, it's simply unfeasible for canon. I guess I really don't understand that section of Arya stans. Why they are trying to mold her into someone she isn't and doesn't want to be? It's as ridiculous as it would be if we were to insist Sansa will learn sword-fighting, she'll defeat Lannisters/Boltons/Others/Littlefinger/Dny&her dragons on the battlefield, she'll never want to marry or have kids, she would prefer if she spent her life traveling free from societal restrictions instead of settling in canon etc. It's just so weird.

(continuation of this convo)

I don’t have much to add because you said it all! What you’re talking about is almost exactly what Martin mentioned in the quote I referenced:

Q: Was there anyone in your life who might’ve served as an inspiration for Arya? A: I can’t say there’s any one specific model, but a lot of the women I’ve known over the years have had aspects of Arya with them. Especially some of the women I knew when I was a young man back in the ’60s and ’70s, you know — the decade of the sexual revolution and the feminist movement. I knew a lot of young women who weren’t buying into the, “Oh, I have to find a husband and be a housewife.”

That’s certainly part of Arya’s thing. There’s that scene where Ned is telling her, “Well, one day you’ll grow up and you’ll marry a great lord and you’ll be the lady of the castle.” And she says, “No, I won’t. I don’t want that. That’s Sansa, that’s not me.” I knew women who were saying things like that: “I don’t wanna be Mrs. Smith, I wanna be my own person.” (link)

Martin is talking about how society is demanding something of Arya that she has no intention of bending to in contrast to Sansa:

Sansa completely bought into that, loved everything about that. She dreamed of jousts, bards singing of her beauty, fair knights, being the mistress of a castle and perhaps a princess and queen. The whole romantic thing.

And then to have Arya, a girl who did not fit that — and who, from the very beginning, was uncomfortable and chafes at the roles that she was being pushed into.

Of course, Arya is young, will still be young at the end of the books, so in her future, in an epilogue or in our imaginations, it’s easy to assume there will be lovers/partners. In all honesty, I did think that Martin was laying groundwork for something between her and Gendry in the future, but even so, the idea that she would suddenly conform, settle down and be what she so vehemently rejected, it feels like a cruel joke for someone like her. Why would we want her to essentially say, “Oh, I was wrong. Society was right all along. This is what all women should be.” What a gross sentiment. I assume that that is not the exact thought process of her stans who wish her to settle down, but the idea as presented in canon is that being a lady has demands. That role would require Arya to be stifled, folded in on herself, and I would never wish that on her. I can’t reconcile loving Arya and also wanting her to just...give in. That idea makes me incredibly sad. The same kind of sad as Sansa never experiencing romantic love. I want both girls to be emotionally fulfilled and that means entirely different things for each of them imo.

#ask dot

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onestowatch · 3 years

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Your Grandparents Manifest a Cinematic, Soulful Debut Album With ‘Thru My Window’ [Q&A]

Photo: Jordan Perez

Inspired by everything from ‘90s boom bap artists like Digable Planets and the Pharcyde to modern funk legends like Outkast and D'Angelo, Your Grandparents have quickly proven themselves to be their generations' torchbearers for the psychedelic soul movement.

Using a variety of recording techniques to get the desired effect for their genre-blending debut album Thru My Window, the group credits their uniquely cohesive sound to their years-long friendship, which began in their early teens. With their lush grooves, breezy, clear vocals, a sonic aesthetic built on unwavering authenticity, and of course, a deep love for their roots and deep musical traditions passed down from their grandparents, Your Grandparents embodies what it means to be an artist to watch.

Ones To Watch had a chance to talk with the trio, comprised of DaCosta (vocals), Jean Carter (vocals), and Cole, aka ghettoblasterman (producer), to discuss their inspirations and the long days and nights that went into creating their debut album.

When you last spoke to Ones To Watch, it was for the release of your single "So Damn Fly," and now, a year later, here we are talking about the release of your debut album, Thru My Window. How are you all feeling, and what have you learned about yourselves in this last year through the album-making process?

DaCosta: From a personal outlook, I've learned that making music is heavily dependent on my mood, or just how I'm feeling and what's going on in my personal life. When things are a little too stagnant, it's a little harder to write. On the other hand, when things are flowing, and life is being lived, it's easy fuel. It's good fuel. It doesn't burn too quickly.

GBM: I've learned that no idea is too wild. It's usually less wild than I think it is.

Jean: Yeah, it's better to start at the extreme and take away. I realized I feel like a lot of artists feel like they have to put themselves through turmoil or allow certain situations to write meaningful things. Like it's not necessarily good music, but it's something that means a lot to them. I think I realized that that's not the case and inspiration comes in many different forms. It could be a person or something completely random and inanimate that makes you feel something.

What were some of those inspirations?

Jean: Definitely films.

GBM: A lot of films!

Jean: Yeah, we're all pretty big film people. We do all our own videos pretty much, and it just comes from this love of film that we've had that got nurtured in high school. We were blessed enough to have a really dope film program that Sony funded and stuff, and so we got like an impromptu film education before we graduated. So by the time we graduated, we knew how to get our own projects done without reaching out to someone else and then taxing us because they want to hire their friends and all that stuff. So because of that, we had complete creative control. I've also been watching a lot of Korean movies lately. Not during the album—wait, actually, during the album, there were a lot of old kung fu movies and blaxploitation movies from, like, the ‘70s. Also, my friend got me this Curtis Mayfield record, and "So Damn Fly" is definitely heavily influenced by that whole record.

GBM: I feel like the ‘70s in general, the ‘60s and ‘70s, definitely had a big inspiration on the aesthetic and the kind of sound we were going after. Especially with "So Damn Fly" and "Tomorrow" and those kinds of songs.

Do you feel like this album has a linear story the same way a film does, or do you feel like it's more of an anthology of the band's personal experiences?

GBM: It's kind of a mix of both.

Jean: Yeah, it started off as an anthology, and then we pieced together the story, which was largely done by Cole by sitting there and being like, “Hmmm.”

DaCosta: Yeah, it was a lot of Cole dissecting the words and putting them on the tracks.

Jean: When we're writing the words and trying to be free-flowing and expressive and stuff, we're not fully conscious of a bigger picture situation. Instead, Cole is sitting there producing everything and putting in the music and being just more of a listener than anyone else could. So he has the context, and he could find a story that we didn't know we were doing together with our three minds and in our three different lives.

GBM: It's like a puzzle almost, because I'll be sitting there at like 2 a.m. in my bed, listening to the songs, and I'm like, "Ok, Kyle said, that in the hook, so this song has to go before that," and so on and so forth. It's like a storyboard kinda.

Right, to keep the record's "plot" cohesive and self-referential.

GBM: Another big consideration was playlists. I love making playlists, and I know Kyle loves making playlists, too, so it needed to flow. It just has to flow. We didn't want songs that juxtapose each other or have opposite vibes be back to back.

DaCosta: Yeah, I think we even switched around the playlist a couple of times before we had it set in stone.

GBM: There were like fourteen songs originally, and then we got talked down to ten.

Jean: Fourteen tracks woulda went crazy!

I'm sure fans would love a deluxe version of the album at some point! So what were some of the rough draft ideas before you set these ten tracks in stone?

Jean: There were more modern-sounding tracks. The more time we spent on a project, and this being our debut, we wanted to be true to the name. We wanted to be true to the artistry that had gotten us to this point.

DaCosta: There were a couple of heavier hip-hop tracks there too.

Jean: We had been doing that, and a lot of people haven't even heard those because they're like heavy hip-hop stuff from when we were in high school and like early college.

Were there any tracks on the record that challenged you?

Jean: "Intoxicated" challenged me. I had a whole different verse. The conception of that song—I was just venting about whatever I was going through at the time, and one of my homies was like, "It's not sexy enough!" So I was just like, "What? No! I've done sexy stuff on all the other songs. Just let me vent!" So I tried another verse, and we ended up going with that one instead.

DaCosta: I mean, it worked out great though...

Jean: I mean, yeah, it sits nicely on the song, and now I have a verse for something else one day when it's time for it.

GBM: Yeah, that song went from being all of ours and everyone on our team's favorite song to our least favorite song. I will say that recording the instruments for the album was fun, but there were definitely some long hours. We had a drummer and bassist come through, and they played for like twelve hours straight doing all the songs. So the songs that have live drums on them were all done in that one day, and they even did songs we recorded that didn't make it on the final record. I think we started at 1 p.m. and we ended at 1 a.m. It was crazy.

What song are you most excited for people to hear when the album drops?

Jean: I think people are gonna like "Comfortable" a lot. Honestly, I haven't listened to the record in a while because it's existed in our world for a minute. We had just posted the visuals for that song today, and I was feelin it.

DaCosta: I think people are gonna really like "Digest." For me, it gives me that "it" factor.

GBM: I think "Red Room." It's my personal favorite and one of the more fun ones to me. It's just a good time!

youtube

You mentioned earlier that you try to maintain creative control when making your music videos and coming up with concepts for visualizers. What is your creative process like?

DaCosta: We definitely sit down, and we go through everything from storyboard to shotlist and just take and grab inspiration from all over the place. For "So Damn Fly," there was that That 70's Show shot where they're all sitting around the table, and it's spinning. So there are all types of really cool influences, and we just try to use those and make everything unique to us.

GBM: I think we kind of go through a three-step verification. The idea has to go through all three of us before it becomes something else or moves on to actually being tested out or put into picture. So that kind of attributes to the very solid identity we aim for.

It sounds like that impromptu film education you mentioned earlier has really set you up for success in creating your videos.

Jean: Yeah. My high school film teacher, Miss Butler, I took that class for two years, and then when I couldn't take it anymore, I became a TA. So then I took the after-school class, and I just spent hella hours pretty much ruining the way I enjoyed cinema and teaching myself like—she would have us look and watch these classic movies and be like, this is what they did wrong.

Can you give me an example of a classic film you would watch and critique?

Jean: The first one that comes to mind is Rear Window. I watched it a few times, just because I had taken the class a couple of times. She talked about how the set that they made and the world that they created, they had full control over. Just seeing older films and how simple things were a lot more complicated then. Like you can't just delete a take and wipe your card. Everything had to be so planned out and so intentional. You gotta do shit on purpose. It's just a lot of thinking and planning, and sometimes, I feel like it's more challenging to have more people involved in a film production sometimes because of the growing degrees of communication. With the small groups that we usually keep, everyone's on the same page as us. All of us took this same class, so we all have a similar workflow.

DaCosta: Yeah, our organization when it comes to films, we're all pretty much on the same page. You know, with what was going to happen, who's doing what, who's in charge of what, etc.

Jean: And pre-production is the biggest thing and finding the right team because we can't shoot it and be in it. Although Cole can somehow!

GBM: I'm in one scene, and I'm like, "I'm just gonna kill this scene right now, and then I'm gonna jump back." That's why I'm only in the last scene.

Because he's doing everything else!

Jean: Yeah! Then as soon as the scene cuts, it's like, I go back to directing people, and Kyle goes back to making sure we got the next shot set up.

GBM: There were only seven people on set.

DaCosta: And four out of seven were crew members

GBM: Yeah, the DP was the only person that wasn't actually a casted character. Everybody else is like multitasking.

You'll be making your first-ever festival appearance at Day N Vegas in November. How are y'all feeling about it?

GBM: It feels incredible!

DaCosta: I'm so so excited!

Jean: If I get excited, I get nervous. So I just aim to be focused, or I don't think about it at all.

After the release of Thru My Window, what are some long-term or short-term goals y'all are manifesting?

Jean: I think for the next album, I want it to get Best Rap Album. We went R&B on this one, but nobody knows the way that we—like yes, we rap on it, but nobody knows our actual rap potential. So I feel like that's something that needs to be lived out on the next project. It's been a minute since we were rapping, bro. There are cool people out here doing the rap thing right now, but not many people have impressed me.

GBM: I kind of want this album to open up the door to doing a lot of travel. When we got back from Paris in 2019, what we experienced during that summer gave us fuel to start this project. So I feel like if we just keep that kind of like tradition going, we just travel somewhere and just make stuff, I think it'll never get steered wrong.

DaCosta: I think I want the album to just open up doors in general. I know it's kind of a broad thing, but like, we're so diverse, and between the three of us, we can do literally anything I think in the world if we put our minds to it, and we kind of plan on doing everything that we want to do. So, I kind of want this album to open the door just so that we can you can start striding towards whatever, whether it's directing movies and videos and fucking scoring—

Jean: Or directing other people's videos!

DaCosta: Yeah, all types of shit.

Thru My Window is available everywhere you can stream it.

#your grandparents #album review #interview #thru my window

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ljf613 · 3 years

Text

This year has been super-stressful and frustrating for all of us, including young people. I was talking a middle schooler I know through her third or fourth panic attack since August (that I know of, there have probably been more).

She’s got a lot of stress going on right now. Her school is offering a Zoom option for students whose parents aren’t comfortable with sending them out into public places like smart people-- but, of course, when you’re one of only two or three students working over the computer in a class of twenty or thirty, you’re at a disadvantage, especially if you’re someone who has trouble with the learning in the Zoom format to begin with.

(She can’t hear the teachers well, can’t really see the board, and is having a lot of trouble following lessons, among other things. And then she spent the past few days pouring her heart out into a presentation, only to wake up this morning to find out she’d overslept (likely because all of this stress is not conducive to a healthy sleep cycle) and missed the class she was supposed to do the presentation for.)

And this whole situation is praticularly frustrating to her, because she’s always been a great student with good grades-- she’s not used to feeling like a failure.

So as I was talking with her, trying to figure out where to go from here, and I realized that, while a lot of the advice I was giving her sounded intuitive, much of it was stuff I didn’t pick up until I was older-- in high school or college-- and some of it I still haven’t internalized.

And I said to myself, “who else do I know who could use this kind of advice? The good people of tumblr!” So here we go.

Life Advice for a Struggling Middle Schooler (or Anyone Else Who Might Need It):

1. Try to identify exactly what your issues with a given situation are. It’s easy to say, “Nothing works, the whole system is broken,” but ninety-nine perecent of the time* that helps no one. If you say, “I have an issue with these specific things,” or, even better, “Here are some simple things that could be changed to make it a lot easier for everyone involved,” you’re half-way there.

2. There is nothing wrong with asking for help when you need (or even want) it. The worst answer you can get is “no,” in which case you’ll be no worse off than you are now. The people in your life want to help you. (If they don’t, maybe think about getting new ones, but that’s another discussion.) However, none of them live in your head. They don’t always know what it is that you need (even if it seems obvious to you). If you come to them and say, “these are my issues, and here are some things that you could do to help,” most of them will be thrilled. (This is especially true of parents and teachers (good ones, at least). It is literally their job to help you succeed-- they want you to fail even less than you do. Ask your teacher for a copy of their lesson plan. Ask your parent to go over a particular topic you’re pretty sure they understand better than you do.) Again, in most cases, the worst answer you can get is “no.” Most people don’t listen to someone come to them with open and honest issues and think, “What can I do to make this person’s life harder?”

3. Nobody in your life is ever going to care about what grades you got in elementary school. Once you’re in high school, nobody cares how you did in elementary school. Once you’re in college, nobody cares about your high school transcript. Once you have a degree and a few years of work under your belt, nobody cares what your class ranking was. (Those movies you watched as a kid where someone goes in for a job interview and one of the interviewers pulls out their third grade report card and demands to know why they got a “D” in Gym are total lies.)

4. Don’t make a situation out to be worse than it is. I was looking over her math assignments with her, and most of them were 90 or higher. Yes, there were a few 60s or 70s, but right now it looks like she’ll probably get a B+ or an A-, both of which are perfectly acceptable. Being not perfect is okay.

5. Your feelings are valid. This is something I tell her all the time, because I know how much I would have loved to hear that as a middle schooler. Life is frustrating. You’re allowed to be frustrated. You don’t always need a reason-- you can just say “I feel sad right now,” and that’s okay. You are allowed to feel things. Your feelings are not “stupid” or “trivial”-- they are important.

6. Mental healthcare is just as important as physical healthcare. At the end of this whole discussion, she says to me, “I used to see a therapist. I think I’d like to go back.” And I said, “that sounds like a great idea. Talk to your parents.” Destigmatize therapy. I am a firm believer that everyone should be in therapy. (And yes, that includes therapists. Frankly, I would be rather concerned if my therapist didn’t have their own therapist.) There is nothing wrong with therapy-- it just means that you could use some help, and are willing to get it. Sometimes, mental healthcare looks like, “this situation is too stressful for me to handle right now, I’ll deal with it another day.” Sometimes it means actually getting stuff done so you no longer need to stress out about it. Sometimes it looks like, “I really don’t think I’m capable of this, is there an alternative option?” And sometimes it means telling someone, “I love you, but I can’t be around you right now.”

*(Note that all numbers and statistics are completely invented.)

#real life #advice #life advice #middle school #note that i am not actually qualified to advise ANYONE #but imma do it anyway #because people deserve to know these things

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blooms-of-ice · 3 years

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RP Log: Some time in the past, Wyda welcomes Sven to the company!

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn has spent the afternoon tending to the front yard. ‘Gardening’ (if you could call basically drowning plants in water that) and keeping everything tidy! With a broom gripped between her hands, she sweeps the stepping stones leading to the company building with a hum and a tune.

Sven Anovsch walks up slowly, seeing the person 'tending' to the lawn and stepping stones. This unsocialized Hrothgar walks just enough to not step on the stones before clearing his throat and speaking. "Ahem, you are employed here?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn stops sweeping and gives Sven a beaming smile. “Hello! Oh, yes! I’m employed.” A beat. She clears her throat. “I’m one of the officers of Heartwood. What can I help you with?”

Sven Anovsch blinks and forces his head back at the sudden almost excited and quick response. "A-ah. Well good then." He takes a few steps forward. "I have been loitering around that tavern? Hall?" He shrugs before continuing. "In Ul'dah. I saw a few fliers of other companies but figured I'd see if this was a proper one for me...." He realizes he is just talking to much. "I'm just looking for a position is all, what can I do to start that?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn steps to the left for a moment to lean her broom against the wall, and returns with her hands empty. She then presents an open hand to Sven and waits for him to shake it. “A recruit then? Welcome! All you have to do is shake on it.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “...Okay, there’s a bit more to it. I can walk you through what you can expect to do here, if you decide to join. Ahem. But we can get into the nitty gritty stuff inside over a cup of tea.”

Sven Anovsch cants his head looking down to her hand. "That...Is it? Ah, what of questions o- I see, I see. I will agree to that so far." He extends his hand to take hers for a shake. If it was just a normal shake, and no funny business, it would just be a normal but firm shake. Expected of an average Hrothgar.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Let’s head on in. If we stay out too long, then we might get a nasty sunburn.” She eyes Sven curiously, and is about to ask him if Hrothgar can even get a sunburn...but she holds her tongue. Wouldn’t be polite. Wyda steps away and pushes the building doors open, ushering the recruit inside.

Sven Anovsch just perks a brow, but nodding as he follows her lead. "Thanks." He says as he is ushered through the door.

Sven Anovsch takes a decent look around. "Interesting floor." He just stares at the ground now. Obviously completely confused on it and how it is even maintained here inside, though he focuses his attention back on Ais. "A nice building though. A lot better than some dingy building that some companies have." He gives a quick chuckle.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn grins, suddenly feeling a little bashful even though it’s the house being complimented. “We take good care of the place...and we take good care of the members. One sec.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn grabs a folder of documents from the front table and then dashes over to the cafe. Bam, the papers go on the table. Bam, she brings over a pot of tea and a couple of sweets from the bakery. And then bam, she sits herself down and gestures for Sven to join her.

Sven Anovsch gives a nod. "It seems your company does take good care of the place." He follows along and sits down across from Ais. "Do you treat all recruits like this? Or is it a ploy to persuade anyone who wishes to join?" He smirks lightly. Is this a joke? Who knows, but now his eyes lay on the papers. A sigh and nothing further said as he stares.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “All genuine! Nothing fake about this.” She grins, and then pulls out a pencil with the intent of filling out the form in front of her. She stops the moment she tries to fill the first square. “Shoot! What’s your name...what’s my name! I’m Wyda. Ahhh, I was so excited that I forgot the first step in talking with people.”

Sven Anovsch widens his eyes as he forgot himself as well. That's it...He blew it...Another awkward social interaction. He shakes his head before finally speaking. "Sven, it's Sven. Apologies." He sighs, shaking his head. He is better suited for working rather than talking most definitely. Stupid hermit Hroth.

(Sven Anovsch) Love it xD ) (Sven Anovsch) Sven just literally hasn't talked to anyone since he was like 14 or 15 and he is in his early 30's now haha ) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) he's pretty good at talkin for someone who hasn't talked for 15 years! O_O )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmfao well he's been here for like a few months aaand I don't feel like typing like that xD ) (Sven Anovsch) May seem awkward, but he's smartish. He tried suuuper hard to learn the language. We will go with that lmfao )

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Sven! That’s a nice name. S-v-e-n...Sven.” Wyda fills in the first box. “So, we’re a group of adventurers from all sorts of places. Limsa Lominsa, Ul’dah, Coerthas...you name it. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Sven Anovsch is obviously not too excited to talk about himself, though he knows he must. "Thank you. Ah, well I am a warrior, of course. I have only recently came down from way up beyond Ishgard. You can imagine why I am sure. Though, I am not opposed to groundskeeping, brewing or stilling. But I still flourish with fighting, as it seems typical around here to be anyways." He wonders if that suffices.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods as she listens and jots down notes based on what he’s telling her. Ishgard. Warrior. Groundskeeping. Brewing. “Quite a journey if you made it on foot. Now, we’ve got a gardener already, but I’m sure she won’t mind a helping hand now and again. But brewing...now that’s interesting! Erm..” Her eyes light up as her inner alcoholic tries to make itself known. Wyda scrunches her face for a second and forces it back down.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Ahem. ‘Fighting’ is generally how we pay the bills. Guard jobs, hunts, you name it. It’s dangerous, but everyone here is someone you can trust your life with. And if you -do- get hurt, we’ve got a clinic in house.”

Sven Anovsch actually smiles and nods. "Yes, was mainly on foot until I got a bit of coin to be able to afford going down to Ul'dah. A fellow Hrothgar told me it is friendliest to travelers there? Or at least to him. But...I've been stilling a few things for many summers, I've tried a bit at brewing. Not as tasty as like stilling mead or just the stuff that makes you pass out, but good regardless." He chuckles for a moment before continuing. "Seems with at least fighting, I fit in, yes?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn leans back in her chair. Ah, Ul’dah...the city of opportunity, but also the city of shady deals. “Before I found Heartwood, I went to Ul’dah too. Nice enough place, but I’m glad to be where I am now. And I think you’ll fit right in - you’ll find we’re all weird in our own way.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Do you think you could show me how to brew alcohol sometime? I’m a bit of a...” Her mind searches for the right word. Drunk? Accurate, but no. “I’m a connessier.”

Sven Anovsch smiles warmly at that. "It's a bit barren down in Ul'dah. Opposite of what I am used to, but I suppose it does have good food." He chuckles before continuing. "I'd be happy to show you though. It takes a while, but if you do it right, it comes out quite good. By my standards at least."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn fills a cup of tea for herself and Sven. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it! When you make something with love, then it will always taste good.” Wyda says this with absolute seriousness, completely unaware of how cheesy she’s being. God, the cheese.

Sven Anovsch blinks at that. Feta cheese. "Yes...Or just the good quality hops." He chuckles looking down to the cup of tea she poured for him. He reaches to pick it up, giving it a sniff before continuing. "How many members are working here?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn similarly picks up her teacup and wraps her hands around it, appreciating its warmth. “Hm...60 to 70. But some folk are the type to return home in a blue moon while they’re doing their own thing. Certainly, there are regulars like myself. And if you hang around the bar, you’re sure to see the same faces quite a bit.”

Sven Anovsch gives a nod. "Then perhaps I will linger around here more often. I'm assuming this company also partakes in contracts that require bigger groups?" He sips at his tea which leads to an odd reaction. Not a displeased one, but one of just curiosity as he sniffs the tea again? why? He takes another sip and just holds it under his face a bit as he waits for her response.

(Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) lmao what is this strange hot leaf juice xD )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmfao, he's used to his shitty teas he learned to make which are essentially just random shit mixed together. Comes to Eorzea and holy shit there's good tasting tea? Not just 'medicinal' kinds? haha )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) now he's in the lap of luxury, comparatively ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Yeah, maybe...once or twice a month. Depends on whether Eorzeas on fire or not.” She shrugs her shoulders with a lighthearted chuckle. “We’ve fought all sorts of things. Amal’jaa, robot spiders, an aether sucking auracite...It can get pretty dangerous, not gonna lie. I much prefer the time between jobs where we can just kick back and relax.”

Sven Anovsch cants his head. "Robot spiders...?" That's a new one to him. Robot? He shrugs. "Complacency can kill someone, so don't let yourself get too comfortable and relaxed." There it is, the boneheaded Hrothgar attitude. "So, you have me convinced. I'd like to join. What all must I do?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn sighs. How she wishes she could relax forever...but she can’t. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she was slacking around while others risked life and limb for the good of Eorzea. “Not much. Just sign here, and here.” Wyda points to two spots on the forms. They’re the usual stuff found on free company applications. The company isn’t responsible for any untimely deaths, a promise to represent the company in a positive light, etc...

Sven Anovsch can't read...What does he do...He looks over where she pointed but somehow already lost his place on where he is supposed to sign...Sign..? What does that exactly mean. "Uhm..." Is all he says.

(Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) oh noo )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmao BUT HOW DID HE FIND THIS PLACE?!?! wonder of the universe lmfao lots of awkward interactions in asking for help lmfao )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) the universe is a magical and mysterious place............... )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) wyda isn't much sharper tbh ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks up at Sven, then down at the paper, and then back up. You can practically hear the gears move in her head. “Oh! Umm, just. Just do this. Please hold still.” Wyda tries to blacken the Sven’s fingertip with the end of her pen, in an attempt to use his fingerprints in lieu of a signature.

Sven Anovsch just lets her do what she is doing. "I think I understand..." He then takes his freshly inked fingertip and just makes a smudge with it. Not a fingerprint...A smudge... He looks up smiling. "There! It all works, yes? I must admit, I am quite excited to see where this company can take me. It smells positive here, which is a good thing before going out and fighting or something like that, yes?"

(Sven Anovsch) I try to fill in logic holes as I go lmfao. )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) fdsf this is cracking me up ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn picks up the paper and holds it against the light. The smudge is immediately noticeable, like a bowling ball in a field of snow. “Hm.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Perfect!” She practically glows with positive energy.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “And I’m excited to welcome you to Heartwood! So I’ll say it again...welcome, friend!”

Sven Anovsch perks up even more. "Great! I shall eventually bring all my brewing stuff over. I'll even let you use it as you wish. Best way to learn is just experiment." He chuckles. "But, I look forward to working with the people here." And a confident nod at the end there.

#ff14 rp logs #Aiswyda Nuthalwyn #Sven Anovsch #very wholesome but also very much like #1 braincell shared between these two haha #the signing part LOL #the everything tbh

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outside-the-mailstrom · 3 years

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GENERAL BACKGROUND

I've always been a fan of Marvel comics (or, Marvel Comics' properties, at least) I've fragmentary early memories of Batman The Animated Series, and some associated Batman and Superman comics (aimed at younger readers, in a 'Timmverse' style of the TV shows then airing - gorgeous, simple, iconic Art Deco inspired designs), but for the most part my early conception of superheroes came from what was called "Marvel Hour", a Saturday morning television timeslot ft. back-to-back episodes of cartoons from between the 60s and 90s, starring basically the big names you'd expect. I was quite wee, and don't rightly remember who did and didn't have their own show; obviously the big titles are easy enough for you to guess but I also feel (nebulously) that Iron Man, Hulk, Daredevil, and even the Silver Surfer had their own programs; the line-up jostled, there wasn't an Avengers or Defenders team-up show as there would be these days. There was always Spiderman, of course, and there were generally The X-Men.

X-Men The Animated Series, which was written and produced around the same era as Batman The Animated Series, does not (it has been noted) hold up near so well as its famed compatriot; it has its charms, and is a fascinating window into history, but it's not... strong on revisits. It's a little hard to say how much all this galvanized my interest in the subject matter, and how much it merely looks like it as an artefact of looking back through years of other things layering up (notably the early 00's onward movies, the X-Men Evolution tie-in cartoon [of which I was still, as a viewer, at quite a formative young age], a steadily developing interest in the concept of transition and transformation in all things, and ways that my own self-reinforcing creative projects drew from my standing experience of X-Men as a source material in ways that deepened my interest in, and sympathy for, it as a set of signifiers). Substantial engagement with actual X-Comics, however, comes later; primarily as a fan of the podcast Jay & Miles X-Plane The X-Men (which is pretty much as it sounds; a two-hander deep-dive through X-History & continuity, which settles early in its own run into a charisma and humour driven analytical recap of the major story arcs of the history of the franchise, starting at the Bronze Age [70s onward] and working forward practically issue by issue), aboard which bandwagon I found myself early in its days as a snowballing project (less than a dozen episodes as I recall? Certainly some time before it began to resemble a leading voice in intersectional leftist queer focal fandom, although it was always stridently those things, as well as advocating for a pro-soap opera, pro-minor characters, pro-Cyclops revision to popular understanding of what makes X-Men great).

Of course, if you sit two X-Fans down to talk comics for an hour a week for any length of time, really, under no x-ternal supervision or hard guideline parameters for what subjects are, and are not, on topic (amongst many other things more broad ranging and personal) they're going to get to discussing contemporary releases as well as ancient history. So, at the same time as learning, by glitzy guided tour, the history of The Hellfire Club, how the Phoenix Force actually works, why Scott Summers is autistic and Kitty Pryde is queer, I also got the nod-here-reference-there back ally tour of the contemporary X-Line, as it was shaping up; the early days of the Brian Michael Bendis run, the stuff that came out of Schism and Battle Of The Atom.

Consequently this particular period has always seemed, to me, beguiling.

I spent a period intrigued by it (not least because it’s intriguing, and this is a creative, perhaps even visionary author with strong, distinctive, and original ideas for stories that could be done with this premise and set of characters, and [by the accounts that I was receiving] was executing said ideas, if not flawlessly, at least with panaché). The podcast soon became somewhat of a bonding point between myself and my sister, who (being close in age to me) has always been very immediate in my life, but in such a way as can mean a lot of treading on one another's toes (less risk of that now). Like me she was a long time X-Fan, like me mostly from growing up on related media and finding them abstractly cool (we both had tween crushes on Evolution Nightcrawler - I remember printing out pictures of him from the school library, she now has a tattoo). My sister's completionist tendencies led her to track alongside the podcast, reading originally trade paperbacks and eventually Marvel Unlimited (with a cursory reading of revisionist takes on the Silver Age [60s] - X-Men Season One by Dennis Hopeless and Jamie Mckelvie, then hard-in with the real Bronze Age [70s onward], starting at All New Giant Size X-Men #1, and just working forward). I don't know quite where she's up to now.

I gave this a go, I certainly appreciated things about it, but in general it didn't grab me as my starting point - and while there are many other jumping on points between 1975 and 2013 (already three years in the rear-view by the time I decided to get around to this) the more-or-less present day just seemed the more-or-less obvious point to jump on, so I jumped.

Actually I read the first volume of G. Willow Wilson's Ms. Marvel, up to the 2015/2016 Secret Wars event, then I backed up and read Bendis' entire runs on Uncanny and All New X-Men (which notably, themselves, conclude at the start of Secret Wars), I also read, to my knowledge, all accompanying X-Titles coming out concurrently with the Bendis run, comprising what I'll generally refer to as the wider Bendis Era; Storm by Greg Pak, Cyclops by Greg Rucka, Magneto by Cullen Bunn, X-Force by Si Spurrier (all of which were really quite good, to my mind), and All New X-Factor by Peter David (which wasn't really for me - by which I seem to imply that it's probably for someone... in practice I think perhaps it is simply not really that good). I then read all of the X-Related crossover material that tied in to the aforementioned Secret Wars event (as well as a few non-X-related Secret Wars titles on general recommendation from Jay & Miles' Patreon stretch-goal video reviews of contemporary [primarily X] comic publications). My general process was to read an issue or two at a time then cross-reference with video reviews, as a lot of my engagement with media involves parsing it through the lens of critical voices who represent known quantities relative to my tastes (although it would be erroneous to suggest that by this point I'm not in some way attached to somewhat of a cult of personality around the public personas of the hosts, albeit what seems quite a calm and good natured one).

After finishing the Secret Wars titles I faced a relaunch of the line, and, eager as I was to find out what this experience (and the itemized content within) was like, I'd been a diehard Bendis fan through the process so far and wanted to let my recent reading mellow somewhat; to ruminate, and take a beat to work on other projects - breathe, mourn, let my first formative era of fandom settle before steam-rolling on with a new age.

It’s been… a few years, and while I really do have plenty else I ought be on with I've decided to throw myself back in and read some damn X-Men.

As follows are broadly my thoughts on what I will, somewhat snarkily be calling the 'Ordinary Era' (that is, post Secret Wars, through to the end of Jeff Lemire's Extraordinary X-Men, concluding with the Inhumans vs X-Men event), and beyond.

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dear-wormwoods · 4 years

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Just saw a post of someone saying that they spent the whole book wishing that Richie would die because he's racist and just an asshole, and like he has no reason to survive because he has nothing to overcome. And I get that the book has a LOT of problems and Richie's racism is one of them, but they basically said that if you like book Richie then you're a bad person. And I dunno, is it alright to like book Richie? I don't like that he's racist obviously but I'm conflicted now, what do you think?

Imagine wishing death on an eleven year old child for parroting back jokes and stereotypes that were common in the 1950’s...

The thing with Richie is that there is no ill intent behind his impressions and jokes. He’s literally just a dumb kid living in one of the whitest states in the country, with no connection to the outside world aside from the comedians he sees on TV and the movies he sees in the theater. He repeats things he hears. And, spoiler alert, a lot of comedians over time have had racist bits! Kids don’t inherently understand the implications of what they say and they don’t know what is or isn’t right until someone explains it to them. No one in Richie’s life, until Mike came along, was going to sit him down and tell him that he was being offensive. Because no one cared. Because it was rural Maine in the 1950’s.

Some people like to pretend all the Losers were super progressive and offended by Richie but that’s just not true. Ben and Bev didn’t beep him because they were offended, they beeped him because he was being too loud or obnoxious, and they beeped him while still giggling. Stan literally encouraged Richie’s jokes about Jewish people by making his own. How could this 11 year old boy know he was being a dick if his Jewish friend was laughing and playing along? Eddie was the one to point it out, and you know what? Richie stopped, and instead talked about how Catholics are historically way worse than anything he could say about Jewish people. And, it’s also important that Mike schooled Richie sometimes, but the only reason he bothered to was because he understood that Richie’s impressions and misconceptions came from a place of ignorance, not hatred. With other characters, Mike actively did not bother. SK was literally making a statement that racism doesn’t always have to be hateful or violent - sometimes it’s otherwise good people being ignorant. People whose racism stems from ignorance won’t change if they never learn they’re wrong.

But Richie did learn it was wrong, when he grew up. Richie left Maine and attended college during the height of the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War. He was exposed to reality at that point, and I imagine he got put in his place very quickly. Then, he built his career in a much more liberal state, with a much more diverse demographic, than Maine. Through his education and his exposure as an entertainer, he learned a thing or two about what the real world was like during the 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s. And by the time he goes back to Maine, yeah, some of his jokes are still really off-color, but in comparison to what he was like as a kid? Vast improvement. And he’s embarrassed and confused when Derry’s regression magic triggers his more offensive voices. Because people change!!

People who make posts like the one you saw first of all don’t understand the concept of nuance and layers, or like, growth, and they also have no frame of reference for what was acceptable comedy fifty years ago, or even ten years ago. Sometimes people - a lot of people! - are well meaning but completely ignorant. Richie is a lot like Michael Scott, whose heart was always in the right place, but whose entire comedic makeup was based on ignorance and imitating other comedians, and he had to learn what wasn’t okay, and it didn’t happen overnight. It’s unrealistic to expect every protagonist ever created to be perfect in every way, because that doesn’t reflect what real people are like. And it’s dumb to ‘cancel’ every character who is flawed or makes mistakes or, god forbid, is a reflection of the time period and location in which they grew up.

So, yes, it’s alright to like book Richie. He is not a bad person. He is, in fact, a very good person who also has moments of ignorance. And he’s a reflection of his time. Would his racist Voices fly in a modern update? Of course not. But he also wouldn’t do those particular Voices today. Because times change, expectations change, and the comedians on TV also change. So he’d use those new comedians as a reference, do something else that pushed boundaries, imitate other routines. Because his schtick isn’t born from hatred, it’s based on the things he sees that get laughs from audiences. As public opinion changes, so would Richie’s act. Because he wants to be liked. So badly. He just wants attention and laughs. As a kid, he’s not thinking about it any deeper than that, he’s not thinking about what he’s actually saying or the ideas he’s perpetuating, and that’s part of the problem and why he needed to learn - and he did learn!

Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty or bad for liking flawed characters. Interesting characters have flaws. It’s not your problem if some random person on Tumblr doesn’t like Richie. You liking him isn’t the same as condoning every single thing he’s ever said!! Some people just don’t get that, and that’s also not your problem!

#asks #stephen king's it #it novel #richie tozier #tozier tea #my meta #meta #it meta

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years

Photo

Treat Your S(h)elf

Travels with Myself and Another: five journeys from Hell by Martha Gellhorn

The door [of their accommodation for the night] opened onto the street and the smell thereof. The mosquitoes were competing with the flies and losing… I lay on the boards, a foot off the floor, and said in the darkness, ‘I wish to die.’

- Martha Gellhorn, Travels with Myself and Another: five journeys from Hell

This fantastic quote perfectly embodies Martha Gellhorn’s feelings when Hemingway to whom she just married had brought her to the front lines of the Sino-Japanese War for her honeymoon.

Travels with Myself and Another describes her globe-spanning adventures, both accompanied and alone. At heart it’s a collection of "the best of the worst journeys," originally published in 1978 and spanning a swath of history from the WWII Greatest Generation to the 1970's counterculture revolution. In the complexity of her observations ‘she prefigures the works of people like Bruce Chatwin and Paul Theroux and Jonathan Raban and the renaissance of first-person adventure writing. For Martha Gellhorn had a full life that very few of us can only ever dream of let alone emulate.

“Martha Gellhorn was so fearless in a male way, and yet utterly capable of making men melt,” writes New Yorker literary editor Bill Buford in the foreword of the book.

As a hard bitten war correspondent, Gellhorn covered every military conflict from the Spanish Civil War to Vietnam and Nicaragua. Gellhorn witnessed the invasion of Normandy as a stowaway after getting kicked off the press boat and wrote over a dozen fiction and non-fiction books in her 60-year career. A feminist at her core, Martha, M as UC (unwilling companion, AKA Hemingway) calls her, sets off on each “horror journey” as she’s dubbed them, without a great deal of pre-planning, other than the bare minimum required by her destination. The era of traveling by your bootstraps, hopping flights when you need them, hoping to stumble upon a hotel with available rooms each night, etc. is simply unheard of today.

Indeed Gellhorn was enraptured. She went to toe to toe with Ernest Hemingway with her courage as they dodged shell fire together. Gellhorn and Hemingway had been married a few months before and this trip to the front lines of the Sino-Japanese War was in effect their honeymoon Their compared experiences of the trip create much of the humour, as he is happy to drink, smoke, and chat with locals, while she is trying to get material for her article and remember important details, as well as deal with guides and officials that barely speak English. With razor-sharp humour and exceptional insight into place and character, she tells of a tense week spent among dissidents in Moscow; long days whiled away in a disused water tank with hippies clustered at Eilat on the Red Sea; and her journeys by sampan and horse to the interior of China during the Sino-Japanese War.

"We are supposed to learn by experience;" Gellhorn reflects on her repeated travels in her introduction, "fat lot of good that does if you only remember the experience too late." We start out in WWII China with Ernest Hemingway as her unwilling "another," and end with her babysitting her helpless driver in East Africa. Her laugh-out-loud descriptions of lunches with everyone from Chiang Kai-shek and Madame Chiang in war-torn China to Mrs. Mandelstam in the oppressive Soviet communist regime provide an entertaining romp through history with someone who has been there. Her casual mentions of the countries in Africa and realistic dialect of the natives of the Caribbean made me pick up an atlas. Her character as a true free spirit who hires her own boats against the advice of locals shines through in her tight and un-politically correct prose. "I remember West Africa the way one remembers pain, as an incident but never the precise sensations."

While I’m sure there are readers who would find it difficult to turn off their 2018 PC filters and would find her recounting of her 1962 trip to West Africa offensive, at it’s core it is a compelling historical and sociological exploration into the changing nature of how we travel and interact with people, and is definitely worth reading. People can skip it if they feel offended but the rest of the book is a treasure of insight, history, and world travel.

When M and UC (Hemingway) go to China during World War II, it never feels like there is a great threat on their lives. When M goes to the French islands of the Caribbean, I learned a great deal about how the Vichy government affected their lives, but I was never fearful of M’s survival. These adventures, and M’s quite frequent poor decision making – when the pilot of the boat tells you he won’t wait for you to scale a dormant volcano because he can’t dock safely, you should probably heed his warning and not be surprised when you get up in the morning and he’s gone – just a thought. But all these adventures are learning experiences for M and for us, her readers, 40 years after the original publication, 70 years after the adventure.

Still I found myself admiring Gellhorn's quick and direct writing style, impressed by the amount of description she is able to capture in just a few words. I loved reading her stories that contained the honest appraisals of her thoughts and impressions of this most extraordinary woman.

Along with Freya Stark and Beryl Markham and I would have Martha Gellhorn as one of my travel muses. Her books are never far from reach. I would often take a book of hers with me when I went traveling and simply say “Oh Martha”. Travels with Myself and Another opened my eyes to the depth of knowledge in women's lives and stories. And the best of Gellhorn doesn’t typically discuss how her gender has anything to do with her ability to travel and I really love her for that. Reading her I always got a real sense of, “If M can do it, so can I!” not because of my gender but because of my insatiable curiosity and need to travel and explore.

#treat your s(h)elf #books #reading #livres #martha gellhorn #gellhorn #author #culture #travel #adventure #femme #icon

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cherryyharryy · 5 years

Text

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence.

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.”

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many.

“Chinese?” I offer.

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.”

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain.

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks.

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother.

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong.

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it.

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table.

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s.

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window.

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles.

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning.

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh.

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs.

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez.

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.”

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!”

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us.

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it.

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing.

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings.

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday.

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere.

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle.

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.”

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it.

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit.

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away.

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning.

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back.

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class.

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,

Yours, until the rivers all run dry.

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook.

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines,

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him.

I'm gonna stay right here by your side,

Do my best to keep you satisfied

Nothin' in the world could drive me away

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag.

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten.

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs.

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice.

And I'll be yours until two and two is three,

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea

In other words, until eternity

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor.

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back.

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here.

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago.

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am.

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home.

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent.

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you.

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says.

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention.

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name.

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials.

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature.

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction.

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again.

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete.

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here.

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in.

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time.

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before.

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death.

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry.

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today.

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island.

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone.

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time.

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day.

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself.

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years.

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer.

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest.

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs.

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs.

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again.

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me.

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing.

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment.

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument.

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

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Thank you to my wonderful beta readers @aileenacoustic and @bathrobesinparadise!!!!!!!!!

#ta!harry #burning words #harry styles #harry styles writing

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rinnnyxr · 3 years

Text

About my day | Bold what is also true for you :

I woke up around 8AM.

I woke up without an alarm. I woke up nude.

I woke up and drank water immediately.

I checked my phone right when I woke up. I checked my TikTok notifications.

I checked my Facebook notifications.

I then checked my email.

I then went downstairs. I got dressed to go out.

I was in the passenger seat of the car today.

I wore a hat today.

I put concealer on.

I put foundation on.

I put on powder.

I used a beauty blender.

I didn’t brush my hair today.

I wore ugg boots.

I wore jeans.

I wore a zip-up.

I went out to breakfast.

I had 3 cups of coffee.

I had a glass of ice water.

I had pancakes.

I had a bagel.

^ with cream cheese.

I saw friends today.

I saw my boyfriend today.

I saw my goddaughter today.

I gave someone a hug.

I gave someone a kiss.

I pet a cat today.

I uploaded video.

I took a photo today.

I updated that photo to Instagram.

I’m currently listening to music. I’m currently on my laptop.

I’m currently in PJ’s. I’m currently surprisingly comfortable.

I took a shower.

I took a shower but not alone ;)

I have the heat on currently. I wore a bracelet today.

I wore a ring today.

I listened to the radio.

I listened to music on Apple Music.

I didn’t post a Facebook status today. I checked the fridge and saw nothing appetizing. I washed my face.

I used rose water spray on my face.

I used a face moisturizer.

I googled a celebrity. I had cheese and crackers.

I may take a nap soon.

I saw my mom today. I saw my sister today.

I thought about calling my dad today.

I’m not currently wearing socks.

I’m not alone in the room currently.

It’s windy out today. It hailed out today.

I’m really thirsty.

I’m too lazy to get up and get myself a drink right now.

I paid for something with cash today.

I thought about cleaning my room but didn’t…

I listened to God’s Plan by Drake today.

I didn’t blow-dry my hair today. I’m gonna play video games soon.

I’m going to take some more surveys after this. I drank something out of the carton today.

I’m not leaving the house for the rest of the day.

I can see my pet from where I am currently.

There is a TV to my right.

There are headphones to my left.

It’s Sunday today.

I have work tomorrow.

I got in a small argument today.

I told someone I loved them today.

1. had sex? 2. bought condoms? 3. gotten pregnant? 4. failed a class? 5. kissed a boy? 6. kissed a girl? 7. used a little paper bag for lunch? 8. had a job? 9. slipped on ice? 10. missed the school bus? 11. left the house without my wallet? 12. bullied someone on the internet? 13. sexted? 14. had sex in public? 15. played on a sports team? 16. smoked weed? 17. smoked cigarettes? 18. smoked a cigar? 19. drank alcohol? . 20. watched “The Breakfast Club”? 21. been overweight? 22. been underweight? 23. had an eating disorder? 24. been to a wedding? 25. made fun of someone for being fat? 26. been on the computer for 5 hours straight? 27. watched tv for 5 hours straight? 28. been late for work? 29. been late for school? 30. kissed in the rain? 31. showered with someone else? 32. failed my drivers test? 33. ran a mile in less than 10 minutes? 34. been outside my home country? 35. been on a road trip longer than 5 hours? 36. had lice? 37. gotten my heart broken? 38. had a credit card? 39. been to a professional sports game? 40. broken a bone? 41. been unhappy about my weight? 42. won a trophy? 43. cut myself? 44. had an STD? 45. got engaged? 46. been on a diet? 47. tried out to be on a tv show? 48. rode in a taxi? 49. been to prom? 50. played a drinking game? 51. stayed up for 24 hours or more? 52. been to a concert? 53. had a three-some? 54. had a crush on someone of the same sex? 55. been in a car accident? 56. had braces? 57. learned another language? 58. killed an animal? 59. been at a yard sale? 60. been to a Japanese steakhouse? 61. wore make up? 62. talked to someone via webcam? 63. lost my virginity before I was 16? 64. had my wisdom teeth taken out? 65. kissed someone a different race than myself? 66. snuck out of the house? 67. bought porn? 68. had a virus on my computer? 69. had oral sex? 70. dyed my hair? 71. gone skinny dipping? 72. graduated from college? 73. wore someone else’s clothes? 74. voted in a presidential election? 75. rode in an ambulance? 76. rode in a helicopter? 77. caught the stove on fire? 78. got in a verbal fight? 79. met someone famous? 80. been on vacation? 81. been on a boat? 82. been on an airplane? 83. broken something expensive? 84. had surgery? 85. kissed someone before I was 14? 86. beat a video game? 87. found something valuable on the ground? 88. made a survey? 89. stalked someone on a social network? 90. prank called someone? 91. spent over $100 shopping in one day? 92. been to a library outside of school? 93. cut my hair and hated it? 94. peed outside? 95. went fishing? 96. helped with charity? 97. taken a pregnancy test? 98. been rejected by a crush? 99. been suspended from school? 100.broken a mirror?

2008 was a horrible year for me. Actually, it was the best. I’ve been on a cruise before. I like chemistry more than biology. I like taking surveys more than making them. I absolutely despise the color pink. I don’t have a significant other. I get all four seasons where I live. I only shop when I absolutely have the need to. I have an older brother. I have my driver’s license. I don’t want to have kids someday. I wear more jeans than skirts. I’d rather wear sneakers than high heels. I don’t go to church. I don’t like having my fringe in my face. I’m very much into heavy metal music. I own like, a hundred hoodies. I couldn’t draw to save my life. I’m a very good cook. I always have to look at the keyboard when I type. I’ve had surgery before. I don’t mind getting shots all that much. I’m not afraid of bugs. I love hot, hot weather! I have huge eyes and long lashes. I’m naturally very pale. I’m usually not very picky at all when it comes to food. My parents are divorced. I don’t like doing surveys, but I find myself doing them anyway. I’m addicted to Tumblr. I don’t have a Facebook account. I have perfect vision and don’t need glasses or contacts. I don’t wear makeup when I go out. I hate stores like Forever 21. I’m very much into sports. I don’t see what the big deal about photography is. Or fashion design. I don’t really appreciate art that much. Horror movies are my favorite. I don’t care if people cut in line in front of me. I don’t even remember the last time I put on a piece of jewelry. My hair is naturally straight. I support gay marriage. I have more friends online than I do in real life. My siblings are all older than I am. My significant other is younger than I am. I curse in almost every sentence I speak. I always get straight A’s in exams. I don’t know how to play any instrument. I only know how to speak one language. I don’t have my own personal blog. I’m allergic to something. I’ve been stung by a bee at least once in my life. This is the last survey I’m doing today. I have seen someone propose in public before. And they got rejected, poor bloke. I wonder if I will ever get proposed in public. Heck I don’t even know if I’ll ever get married. I know what a sake bomb is. I’ve tried it before. I’ve watched ‘Paris Hilton’s My New BFF’. ^ Ew, sad much? I think Paris Hilton is a brainless bitch. I celebrate Chinese New Year. I’m not Chinese or a tiny bit Asian at all. I have a step-sibling. I have a weak tolerance of alcohol. Are you kidding me? I can drink all night long! I want a new cell phone. I have my own bathroom. I sleep on a single bed. Nah, I have a King/Queen size bed! I think one night stands are no biggie. ^ Slut ^Prude I’ve been on a helicopter before. I’m actually afraid of heights. My date rented a limo to take me to prom. Pfft, I wish I had a date. I haven’t had my prom yet. I like clicking on advertisements. Pop-up ads are so old school. I recently took a bath. I never bother, I just take showers. My Christmas holidays were the bomb! Ugh, mine sucked like hell. I’d love to go to Japan one day. I’ve seen a ghost before. ^ I’d pee in my pants if I did. ^ No, I’d run and scream. I can write lyrics! I can, but I’m not very good at it. I would like to become a musician one day. I love finding things in sofa cracks. I know someone that’s trying very hard to fit in a stereotype. Every cup of water I drink equals to a trip to the toilet. I recently received my exam results. They were quite good! Nope, failed it all. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday today. He never gives me gifts. He buries me with them. I wish I had a boyfriend that actually spends money on me! I love him very much. The Beatles rock my world. Actually, a lot of classic rock bands rock my world. It takes me a really long while to get to sleep. I’m a personality quiz fiend. I am and have always been a night owl. I love reading Sarah Dessen books. My earphones are in my ears practically 24/7. I am an only child and that’s not because of any death. I hate school and everything else connected to it. I’ve never been in any romantic relationship. I have a lot of favorite names. And I plan to use those names on my kids. I’m reading a comic book right now. I’m listening to music right now. I memorize lyrics really easily. But memorizing stuff for school isn’t easy at all. Math is my worst enemy. I love bolding surveys. Nice and easy. I pick Guitar Hero over Rock Band. I really don’t mind being all alone.

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