#literally this and les mis I think are literally the best musicals ever to grace this earth

[ourownbelovedbohemians]

Moulin Rouge The Musical Appreciation Post! <3

Update: if this gets 100 notes I'll make a full lyric video of one of the songs and I'll draw the characters for it (Channel: AniMusicals)

Update 2: It got 72 that's enough go to the listed channel it's on there

[theeyesofmymother]

I remember just after high school when i was driving in the car with my friends and we played the les mis movie soundtrack. Before it started i warned them that i was going to sing every word of it because i loved the sound track and i knew all the words. And one of them responded that yeah… i wasn’t the only one who knew all the words, they all knew it. And i felt very shamed in that moment. And it’s one of those weird things that has stayed with me ever since. Literally 10+ years. Because i was so embarrassed. I hadn’t been bragging about knowing all the words. I was just used to driving with my parents whomst i did not sing around because it seemed to annoy them and because i’m not very good at singing. I’d grown up having my singing always criticized by my mom in particular. Telling them that I was going to be singing was a warning and an explanation (i love and know all the words, i feel safe to sing out loud with you all). I don’t know what that friend thought i was saying instead. I have always assumed that she thought I was trying to brag a little and became defensive (she did musical theatre). But also, assuming intent is what makes us react in ways that can unknowingly hurt others for years on end. I am doing my best to not assume intent.

Totally different situation, but same message: there’s this old woman who is a regular at my job who comes across as very rude. However, also based on how she acts and the things she says, I don’t think she is aware that she comes across as rude. I don’t think her intent is to be mean to me or my coworkers, but she comes across that way every time. Part of becoming less reactive, which was a goal of mine last year, has ultimately been not assuming intent from others. I ask myself in most interactions what I think someone’s intent is, what else it might possibly be, and allow grace for both them and myself to be two ships passing in the night, unable to fully see or hear the other.

I do fear that I’m being too nice. It’s possible that someone is trying to be rude to me for their own glee. But…for me to assume that is to assume they take glee in harming others. And that’s in and of itself mean. I’d much rather give people I meet the benefit of the doubt. I am not also a doormat. I do not allow myself to be disrespected or minimized. If someone is being rude in a way that seems outright and disrespectful, I do my responsibility and tell them that their tone sounds as such.

I can get disappointed with myself sometimes for still struggling with anxious attachment or whatever, but I also can look at my communication skills and know that they have improved massively. I can recognize when I am being disrespected or misinterpreted and I can effectively communicate my intentions and wishes to others.

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

☕️ movie stars headlining film adaptations of musicals.

i have really mixed feelings about this

Sometimes, they can be done right, and be done INCREDIBLY well:

The 2007 version of “Hairspray” continues to be one of my favorite musical-to-film adaptations. The cast was incredible, the way they played the characters was perfect, and Queen Latifa, Elijah Kelly, and James Marsden still have my favorite songs of the movie, as well as my favorite performances.

- Likewise, “Sweeney Todd”, the 2007 film, was incredibly well done. Johnny Depp was an INCREDIBLE Sweeney, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen were amazing, and overall, and don’t even get me started on Alan Rickman. It's one of my favorite musical adaptations.

Then you have the in-betweens:

“Into the Woods”, for the most part, was semi-enjoyable. Emily Blunt was a beautiful Baker’s Wife, Chris Pine and Billy Magnussen were hilarious as the two princes, and Christine Baranski, as always, was wonderful. Additionally, though it was a brief scene, Johnny Depp was, again, incredible as the wolf. However, the other performances felt lackluster, and not as impressive, particularly Meryl Streep’s performance as the Witch, in my opinion.

I personally loved Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway in “Les Mis”. Hathaway’s version of “I Dreamed A Dream” made me cry in theaters, and Hugh playing Valjean is everything I could have ever wanted. However, in the same movie, Russell Crowe and Amanda Seyfried left a lot to be desired, especially Crowe’s performance as Javert. (i’m not mentioning any of the stage performers, such as Aaron Tveit or Samantha Banks, because i think their performances were utter perfection)(also, like in Sweeney Todd, Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen were amazing).

“The Prom” is difficult to judge. Ryan Murphy made it so much about the Broadway actors (DeeDee and Barry), that we never really got a chance to know Emma or Alyssa. While I’m not going to judge Jo Ellen Pellman, as I think she did the best with what Ryan Murphy changed, I do wish the movie had stayed true to the stage musical. Ariana DeBose and Jo Ellen Pellman could have done wonders with Alyssa and Emma’s story, but instead, James Corden took front and center once again, and really made Barry feel like the protagonist. 

I didn’t particularly enjoy his performance, and I do wish Brooks Ashmanskas could have reprised his role as Barry in the film.

One of the saving graces of the movie was, obviously, Andrew Rannels as Trent, but I won’t talk much about him as he is a Broadway actor.

This movie would have been the perfect opportunity to give unemployed Broadway actors a chance, or perhaps even have the OBC reprise their roles, but unfortunately, and quite ironically, the film went from being all about Emma and Alyssa (as it should have been), to making the focus the two Broadway Actors who were literally called narcissists at the beginning of the film.

i’m sorry i have strong feelings about “The Prom”

Then they can be just plain awful:

“Cats” is an obvious thumbs-down for the way it was done. That is a show where almost all the actors should have a strong Broadway background. While some of the major stars had entertaining performances (Jason Derulo, for one, was actually quite a wonderful Tugger in my opinion, and I did love Les Twins as Plato and Socrates), all the others fell flat when compared to Robbie, Steven, and Francesca.(Laurie is the exception. His Misto did end up becoming very endearing). Had they made most of the major cats Broadway actors, I think the movie could have been much more enjoyable, and much more respected, since they wouldn’t have particular cast members making fun of it.

So yes, musical-to-movie adaptations can be done correctly and still feature movie stars, but they can also be done horribly. 

I definitely think it depends on who the actors are, and who the directors are, because that will absolutely play into it.

in conclusion, Tom Hooper should never be allowed to touch another musical again and James Corden should stop being cast in musical-to-film adaptations

[teatreethot]

UNPOPULAR MUSICAL THEATRE OPINIONS (im so sorry)

Okay first of all, I am a theatre kid. I literally did Phantom Of The Opera cosplay when I was 3 because I didn’t want to make an animal mask with the paper plates. Also, this is MY opinion. So please don’t spam the comments calling me a fake fan. This fandom is already toxic as it is.

- I don’t like Starkid. I’ve watched every Starkid show and honestly none of them are funny or entertaining.

- Hamilton, DEH, Heathers, BMC, BOM, Falsettos and Six are all incredibly overrated. Lemme explain why:

- Hamilton is overrated because Jesus Christ. I’ve listened to Hamilton since they were off Broadway and can I just say, while it is an amazing piece of art and is somewhat educational (literally half of it is fanfiction) the fandom has taken it out of proportions and destroyed it. It’s just gotten so cringy because of people who like it a bit too much. 

- DEH and Heathers are both good musicals. They are not bad okay. I’m not saying that but I feel like they are a bit too overhyped. Especially DEH. ‘Treebros’ is necrophilia and we don’t have that stuff on this blog okay. Again, I’m not saying that I hate them, because the music is good, but there are better things.

- Side note: DEH should not have won Best Orchestrations at the Tonys because The Great Comet was by far superior.

- I hate Be More Chill. I can’t even explain why. The thought of it makes me cringe. I can’t look at the cover of the soundtrack without flinching. I’ve listened to the entire thing and I regret it. I will never like it.

- BOM, Falsettos and Six are all great musicals, but everyone just keeps talking about them. Like yes, I know about BOM, and yes I know that it’s funny and has good music, but it’s not better that Phantom Of The Opera? And Falsettos is good but it is so goddamn overhyped. It was NOT robbed at the Tonys, because ti had a very limited cast and no ensemble so it was pretty obvious that it was going to be lost between things like DEH, TGC and Hello Dolly!

- Side note: I don’t think Hello Dolly! should’ve won all of the things it did but I’ll get to that later.

- Six is good. But it is so annoying. It was great at the start but the only songs that people actually listen to are Don’t Lose Your Head and Don’t Lose Your Head. I’m so sick of it.

- Anyways, classics like Phantom and Les Mis and anything Lloyd Webber or Sondheim are far superior to modern day musicals because they encompass the true spirit of musical theatre.

- The 2017 Tonys.

- The 2017 goddamn Tonys.

- I’m just gonna go and say it. Hello Dolly! did not deserve all of it’s awards. DEH did not deserve Best Orchestrations, which rightfully belonged the TGC. Speaking of TGC, that is a show that was truely robbed. Lucas Steele should’ve won best featured actor, not Gavin Creel. He literally danced, sung, acted and played advanced violin all at the same time. And the set of TGC was basically stairs and platforms, so it was more of a challenge. He deserved it an I will stand by that until I die.

- Mike Faist didn’t deserve the nomination. He was barely on stage and barely a character.

- Falsettos wasn’t robbed. Don’t even start me.

- I CANNOT HANDLE LAMS. OR JAMILTON. I JUST CANT.

- I you want to know why I can’t handle Hamilton ships (Lams and Jamilton in particular) than DM me and I’ll give you my 700 word essay because damn.

- I’m going to get attacked for this but here is a list of actors/actresses that are widely overrated in my opinion (I’m not saying that they’re bad because they are obviously amazing but I don’t really connect with them): Mike Faist, Phillipa Soo, Lin Manuel Miranda, Ben Platt, Daveed Diggs, Barret Wilbert Weed, Ben Frankhauser (i spelt his name wrong i am so sorry), Gavin Creel, Andrew Ranelles, Jonathan Groff, Laura Osnes (butchered her name too i think?), Willemijn Verkaik, Desi Oakley, Mariah Rose Faith.

- I don’t really like Mariah Rose Faith’s voice and while she is honestly amazing, I feel like she isn’t right for Regina George.

- One of the best shows to ever grace the Broadway stage is Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812.

- I’ve read War and Peace over 4 times. I know the plotline. TGC covers it perfectly. The acting, the actual stage and how it is so interactive, Lucas Steele, the way that all the ensemble dances, sings and play and instrument, Lucas Steele, Lucas Steele playing the violin. Like damn. It is the true meaning of robbed.

- Lucas Steele deserves so much more recognition.

- I like Denee’s Natasha better than Pippa’s. They are both incredible singers who blow me away everything they open their mouths, but I feel like Denee really shows Natasha’s character. Pippa does the same with Eliza.

- Lucas Steele and Reeve Carney recognition month. Their falsettos can blow me into next Spring.

- The ‘and Peggy’ joke was never funny. Watch me offend the whole Hamilton fandom with that.

- Lams isn’t or wasn’t real. Sorry.

- Say what you goddamn want, but I will literally never like the Prom. I have been called homophobic for not liking it so many times and I really am not. I just don’t like the music, I’m not saying that I’m against the LGBT community,

- I have watched all of Glee (and a secret deleted bootleg of Darren Criss’s Hedwig run) and I don’t like Darren Criss. There. I said it.

- Here’s a list of underrated actors/actresses: Leslie Odom Jr, LUCAS STEELE, The entire Broadway cast of Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812, Rachel Tucker, Jessie Mueller, Eva Nobelzada, REEVE CARNEY, Christy Altomare.

- I don’t like how LMM was actually in Hamilton or In The Heights. He can write songs, sure, but he’s not the best singer. I feel like Javi should’ve been on the cast recordings. Then I would be more inclined to listen to them.

- These are only the ones that I can think of without having to actually think (this sentence makes no sense) so I’m sorry if I offended you. Please remember that this is just my opinion.

[angrypixie-sarisa]

Hasta pronto, mi corazón.

Piedras rodantes Pt. 9

Sam x Mexican!Fem!Witch!reader x Dean (polyamorous)

Warnings: fluffy and kinda sad. Crowley appears in this one. And i guess it’s a long one. 

GIf is not mine, credits and love to the owner. 

It was perfect, everything was just perfect. You never thought it could be possible for you to pass more time together, but since that night, you hardly kept your hands off each other. And you finally understood what the big deal was. You always heard the songs of Calle 13, talking about how sex was great, really, really great. And in its majority it was, not at the point where you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself; until you had a taste of Sam Winchester. Then you became a song, a song of sex and passion, sex on the floor, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, without clothes, in the morning, afternoon, night, for breakfast, for dinner… It was all exquisite.

You still hadn’t named it, although you were both damned sure what you were. But you still had no rush in pinning what you had into a certain category. You just enjoyed each other so much and you knew at least the feelings were mutual and real.

“So get this…” Sam said behind you. He hugged your waist and rested his chin on your head. It was morning and as much as you enjoyed his company, you really appreciated when no one talked to you in the mornings. You considered yourself a morning person; you just needed some moments of silence before you collected yourself. And as well as any rational human being, you needed caffeine and a good breakfast. It was important. If your breakfast wasn’t at an acceptance level, then you knew it was going to be a long day.

Even so, you let him whisper whatever thing came into his mind as you pressed the on button of your coffee maker. You would’ve preferred it French pressed, but Sam wasn’t into those “fancy things” as he called them once.

“There’s this new latino bar that opened a few days ago.” You turned around in his embrace and slowly started to smile. You liked the way this conversation was going.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I figured we could go tomorrow. I’ll take a day out of work.” You hummed dazedly, the smell of coffee started to fill your kitchen, you could already taste it.

“What?”

“Under one condition, corazón.” You smiled naughtily.

“Which is?”

“You let me teach you to dance.” Sam groaned and pulled away, already regretting telling you about it.

“Come on! You don’t expect me to go to a latino bar and not dance. It’ll be fun! I’ll teach you cumbia, bachata, salsa, reggaeton…” He looked away. You glared at him.

“Sam, don’t make me pull out the big guns.” Then he looked at you, mock in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” You gasped, raised eyebrows and all, passing your tongue underneath your teeth slightly and putting your hands on your hips.

“Okay.” You shrugged. “Fine, I’ll dance with someone that actually wants to dance with me. Because that’s all I wanted, to dance with you. Pero el señor no quiere, so I’ll just conform for people inviting me to dance. Yes, to dance those songs that require such little space between two people…” You then slightly closed your eyes as you graced your fingers from your neck through your cleavage, sighing.

Sam suddenly picked you up, placing you on top of your tall kitchen table, earning a squeak from you when he made you lean backwards a little bit so his lips would have access to the exact part you caressed.

“You win, I’ll do it.” He said between kisses.

And you laughed, for you knew you both had better things than breakfast in your minds.

“Y/N, I cannot do this!”

“Yes, you can! You just gotta fall into rhythm and move your hips! Come on, it’s not that hard, Sammy. Concentrate.”

“There are two options, either I concentrate in moving other parts of my body or I concentrate of moving my hips.” You groaned in annoyance.

“Como eres payaso. It’s not that hard.” You took his hands and placed them in your hips. You decided first to teach him what you thought would’ve been the hardest, and you were right, it was the hardest for him.

His head was resting in your shoulder, whining in defeat.

Your lips touched his ear, placing a quick peck underneath.

“Look at me, Sam.” You whispered. He took in a deep breath before complying. You pulled your soft but firm eyes, with the light entering your living room, they sparkled. Or maybe you made them sparkle.

“Feel me, corazón. Feel how my body moves, forget the music, that’s what my body responds to; find your own center of command. Find what moves you.”  Another song started playing. To be honest it was one of your favorites. Hay una mujer, que domina mis sentidos con solo tocar mi piel. Y como a mí también, a otro hombre esto le puede suceder. Que sólo por un beso, se puede enamorar. Sin necesidad de hablarse, sólo los labios rosarse, cupido los flechara. Un beso significa amistad, sexo y amor, en cualquier parte del mundo no importa la religión. Por un beso de su boca voy al cielo y hablo con Dios, alcanzó las estrellas de emoción.

“Sammy, you’re doing it!” All that time he was looking into your eyes, sneaking glances into your lips, singing along the song. Now, he looked down, he was indeed moving his hips in sync with yours. His leg was between yours, he could literally feel everything going on.

You were right, this dances barely left space between two people.

He was happy you made him dance with you.

After that, the other dances, the other songs came more natural to him, what make him learn them so well was, well, you. You and your damned charm.

  “Hey! What ‘ya painting?” Diego asked as he made his way out of the portal you had opened for him.

“I don’t know yet. Wanna see?” He came to stand beside you and adopted your same expression. He placed his hand in his chin, looking at the not empty but not complete canvas.

“How do you think it looks?” You took a seat, stuffing some Oreo’s into your mouth, still thinking.

“It looks like sorrow. Girl, are you alright?” You swallowed before answering.

“Alright? I’m at my best. I have a guy who fucks me so good.” You sang the last part. “But I agree with you, the painting looks sorrowful; I just don’t know why.”

“Maybe it’s because of that Winchester.” You both heard an all too familiar voice. Diego got nervous instantly, however you remained calmed. You turned around to see Crowley pouring himself some of your best cheap wine. That bastard.

“I’ll never understand why you like to paint in your kitchen.” He added.

“Okay, first of all, the lightening is better here. Second of all, who gave you permission to grab some wine? Third of all, what do you mean it’s because of Sam?” Diego started to shield his figure behind yours, making the demon smirk.

Eres un collón, Diego.

Es Crowley, mija. A ti no te va a tocar ni un pelo, pero no dudaría en que a mí sí.

You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t need your permission, little one.” You stood up, placing your hands on your hips. Crowley resisted your stare for one whole minute before cracking.

“Okay, fine, may I have some wine?”

“Please?”

“Please.” You nodded and took out another glass so he would pour you some as well.

“Anyway, would you argument your opinion? Why do you think the canvas represents Sam?” Slowly, Diego made his way closer and closer to the kitchen table. You thought Crowley was having fun seeing him all scared up.

“I don’t know, maybe because he’s a hunter and a Winchester.”

“So?” Both men scoffed at your question.

“What, you’re taking his side?” You accused your fellow witch friend.

“Y/N, I don’t think you’re hearing him. Sam is a hunter, not just any hunter, he’s a Winchester. Sí, a lo mejor las cosas ahorita son de color rosa, but you gotta understand que tal vez no lo serán por siempre.”

“Yeah, whatever he said.” You squinted at the demon.

“I thought you knew Spanish.”

“I lied and that’s beside the point. Look, I may not be the nicest guy…” Diego laughed at this, muttering under his breath a Yeah, no kidding.

“But I care about you. We care about you; we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Wait, you’re coming in behalf of everyone?” Crowley shrugged but didn’t correct you.

You were someone kinda special. You were really good friends with Crowley, even though you didn’t approve of his methods or always changing plans. You were one to believe that just because something, someone is supposed to be evil by popular opinion, it didn’t exactly mean that it was the case. Of course, the first time you met he was a total dick to you and planned on lore you into making a deal with him, as every other demon you had met. However, you weren’t one to fall into temptations easily or one to let anyone treat you without respect. Apparently they liked that. By the passing of time, here you were, friends with the dangerous and evil.

“Oh my God, well that’s just great. Well…” You took a swig of your wine. “Here’s the deal, everyone respects my decision, don’t stick their noses where they’re not wanted and trust my ability to kick Sam’s ass if he ever disrespects or harms me or anyone that I love. Have I made myself clear?” The men shifted their feet, looking down at them.

“I cannot hear you and I assure you I will not repeat myself.” They sighed before muttering their agreement.

“Good.” Crowley hugged you from the waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I gotta go, see ya, little one.” In the blink of an eye he disappeared. You looked at Diego who visibly relaxed at the disappearance of the demon.

“You gotta stop being afraid of him.”

“Ya’ha, when pigs fly, honey.” He hugged your shoulders and mimicked the kiss the last mentioned gave you.

“Seriously, Y/N, if you ever need help for anything, you know I’m here for you, right?” You sighed placing your hands on top of his.

“I know. Thanks.” For a long silence you stood there, enjoying each other’s company, until he got a text message.

“You know mom and dad miss ya, Tyler too, he wants to hang out sometime, wants you to read his cards.” You chuckled.

“I’ll visit soon, I promise. I would never refuse some good ol’ New York pizza and entertainment.” He patted your back before saying goodbye and stepping into the portal. You finished yours and Crowley’s wine from one gulp before closing the door.

  You were nervous; Sam had called you a few minutes before he got out of work, saying he’ll be staying the night. It usually didn’t take him long and it was a small town, the traffic wouldn’t be that bad and if it were, you were sure he would’ve told you so.

You didn’t want to feel this way, but you knew being a hunter, a Winchester, brought a lot of trouble even when he pulled himself out of the lifestyle for a while.

You heard his footsteps before hearing him knock at your door. You quickly got up from the couch and hurried to open the door. The words something’s not right, repeating in your head as you swung the door open.

“¡¿Qué?! ¡¿Qué chingados?!” You took his hand, resisting the nausea of the feeling of the sticky blood and guided him towards your bathroom immediately; not even letting him shut your front door. He was going to question you about it until he heard it shut behind both of you. Something inside him wanted to think the wind shut it but he knew better, he knew you had something to do with that creepy thing scary movies did. Because it didn’t shut with a loud bang, on the contrary, it shut gently barely making any sound.

You sat him on the edge of the bathtub and as you moved to reach for your first aid kit, you hesitated.

“You didn’t get injured, right?” You wanted to believe it badly. Sammy was fine, he was just covered in blood, but maybe it wasn’t his blood. Only that made matters worse. Or it could be someone else’s and his. Or it could be all his.

“I… Yeah, I did. But!” he added as he looked at your worried face. “Not badly, just some cuts, some bruises, no major injuries.” You still took out the first aid kit though you didn’t open it. Instead you leaned in and opened the shower tab and waited for the water to be at an acceptable temperature.

“Clothes off, now.” If he hadn’t just fought his fellow hunter friends, if they weren’t willing to put his co-worker in danger, he would find himself turned on. However he relaxed at the thought of a shower; starting to discard his clothes. You took them once he was completely naked and went to throw them into a trash bag. You doubted the stains would come off and if they did, you doubted Sam would want those particular clothes back. His shoes being the only thing you could save.

You stayed nearby the shut door of the bathroom, alert at any sound of distress or cry for help or hurting. Luckily there wasn’t any of that. But he did take longer, he kept thinking of the scene and the girl he had to keep safe. He kept thinking about the hatred in the men’s eyes and couldn’t help but to think that it was indeed all his fault. He wanted nothing more but for everyone to be safe, for you to be safe and if the world ended, he wouldn’t… He wouldn’t forgive himself if anything ever happened to you. He took another look at his wounds. She’s gonna kill me, he thought.

He comes out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, holding the first aid kit in his left hand. As soon as he gives one step you’re already close, clasping his hand in yours and guiding him to sit at the edge of your bed, ready to patch him up. He could’ve done it himself, but he knew better than to tell you that. He let you take care of him, knowing how anxious it made you not to do anything knowing you could be helping.

Sam’s hands rested on your waist as you cleaned and passed your fingers over the last and most superficial bruises, those being in his face. He gulped.

“Are you sure it’s alright to… to heal them with magic?” You didn’t answer, passing your hand once again at a bruise on his shoulder, knowing it could be healed better.

“You’ve told me before that sometimes it wears you out to use magic in these situations.” You meet his eyes; your mouth was a thin line. You shrugged and closed the kit before setting your hands gently on his shoulders.

“They’re not that severe, I’ll be fine.” You ignored the starting ache at your left wrist. This was something you hadn’t yet talked about with him. Not because it ashamed you, you literally forgot about it, the subject never came up and the bother wasn’t that intense to make you vomit or pin you in your bed until you passed out. It was such a normal aspect of your life it had never occurred to you that people didn’t or needed to know. You were so oblivious to it.

“Sweetheart.” He whispered. His hand placed at your aching wrist, which was shaking slightly. He took your hand up to his lips and kissed him, thinking it was just your worried nerves. It was when you didn’t relax that he started to worry.

“What is it?” You shook your head; tears starting to form in your eyes.

“Nothing, it’s…” You cleared your throat. “No es nada, corazón. No te preocupes.” But you kept trembling and the pain started to expand towards your elbow and your shoulder.

“Fuck, might as well tell you, right?” You laughed nervously, supporting yourself with your right hand in his shoulder and he now kept a firm hold on your waist. If your knees failed he’d catch you.

“I have…” Your breath falter, the pain was growing bigger. You took some deep breaths, concentrating only in the air coming in and out of your lungs. “I have this thing called nociceptive pain, specifically somatic pain. It’s… It’s a type of chronic pain in my arm. I had this… This injury in my arm a couple of years ago and it healed, but… I still feel the pain, from time to time.” You close your eyes as a sad smile spread in your face. “I didn’t think healing you will trigger it, I guess I was wrong. Sammy, what happened?” You kept controlling your breathing. It was alright; certainly you had been through worse. What pained you was the worried look he gave you and how he didn’t hesitate to hug you, to comfort you. “It got bad again, sweetheart. Things are getting bad. I…” His eyes started to glass up.

“I guess I kept things from you too. The, uh, apocalypse, I…”

“What?” You jerk your head to look at him dumbfounded. Slowly you reach for the kit again; you had enough of the pain, and took an ointment out. Sam helped you apply it, he didn’t need to know what it was, if it helped you he was down for it.

“There’s this kind of prophecy where Michael and Lucifer are going to fight each other and that… They… They need vessels for the battle and I’m...Lucifer’s.” His fingers spread the ointment up to your shoulder as you vaguely indicated. They pain had eased up, however its presence was still there.

He kept explaining everything, the fight at the bar, what he and his brother had gone through and the way they found out. How it was his fault that the gates of hell opened. Lilith, Ruby, Castiel. The demon blood was the worst. Somehow, his body relaxed, as if an imaginary weight was lifted from him. It was nice to confess those things to someone that wasn’t a hunter, someone that listened before judging. Someone as kind as you.

“Sam…” He wasn’t meeting your eyes nonetheless he didn’t pull away either.

“I think we both know what’s on your mind.” You whispered. You leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his neck.

“Listen to me, Sam Winchester. When I found out you were a hunter I didn’t give up on you. I went in knowing what could happen, knowing that one day there’ll be this job that involved people needing you. And I’m not selfish enough to keep you from saving the world.” He looked at you then, hesitation still printed in his gaze.

“You better save the world or I swear I’ll find your ass in the astral realm and kick it so hard you’d bounce from realm to realm and you’d be known only for that.” How were you still capable of making him laugh? Even in moments like this?

“I’m not joking.”

“I know.” He whispered as your noses touched and he granted himself a goodbye kiss.

Ay, corazón, this isn’t goodbye. Your voice sounded in his head. If you hadn’t eased him up on it, he’d be freaking out. But it wasn’t going to be the last time you pulled a trick or two out of nowhere.

I promise I’ll come back. He thought.

Not breaking the kiss, you intertwined your pinky finger with his.

Hasta pronto, mi corazón.

[schmergo]

Scarlet Pimpernel at Lincoln Center (informal review)

I just saw the most amazing show at Lincoln Center last night. I said to someone the other day that I don’t usually write informal “reviews” of limited-run productions because nobody else would probably be able to get tickets to them, but this was something special. It was a one-night only semi-staged version of The Scarlet Pimpernel, which originally ran on Broadway from 1997-2000 and has never yet been revived. A rarely-performed musical, my friend Wren and I discovered it in 10th grade and quickly fell in love with the catchy score but never thought we’d see a professional production.

When I first heard about the Lincoln Center concert, I burst into tears with excitement and thought, “Oh MAN, I wish I could go!” and moped around for a few days. Then I realized, “Hang on, I have some money saved. I have lots of unused vacation days. It’s only a four-hour bus ride away. What’s stopping me from going?” And I am so glad I did. Was it a flawless production? No. Was it painstakingly and meticulously designed and rehearsed? Definitely not. But was it one of the liveliest, most entertaining shows I’ve seen with top-notch vocals, hilarious gags, and tremendous audience response (actors sometimes having to cut off the excessive cheers and applause after certain numbers) that culminated in a 100% standing ovation? All that and a bag of pommes frites.

If you’re unfamiliar with the story, The Scarlet Pimpernel is based on a classic adventure-romance novel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy. Set during the French Revolution, it’s often called the original superhero story, in which a disguised vigilante hides behind a mild-mannered secret identity. When fashionable English gentleman Sir Percy Blakeney suspects his new bride, Marguerite, may be a spy for the French Revolution, he sets off on a mission to rescue innocent people from the guillotine- without his wife finding out. But he and his band of merry men don’t fight terror with terror. No, they employ witty disguises, tricks, and antics, leaving behind the mark of a flower called the Scarlet Pimpernel (Percy’s family crest). Back home, the men escape suspicion by exaggerating their mannerisms into ridiculous caricatures of fancy fops who care more about French lace and silk than French Revolutions.

But when Marguerite’s ex-lover Chauvelin (now a high-ranking French agent) blackmails her into discovering the true identity of the Pimpernel lest her brother die, she little knows how close to home her mission will hit.

It sounds like it could either be an overwrought melodrama or a Looney Toons short- and indeed, it is a bit of both. The musical itself endured many extensive rewrites during its short run, never quite finding the right balance. This concert seems to be a mish-mash of about three different past versions with at least one new song. But despite the jarring shifts between heart-wrenching ballads and silly slapstick in which tap shoes become a valuable component in a duel and executioners are distracted by 123 rampant geese, this performance was so rich in heart, joy, and spirit that the whole audience beamed along.

Of the leading roles, the only one I’d never seen or heard before was Tony Yazbeck, inhabiting the many hats (literally) of the Pimpernel himself. I can confidently say that he gave one of the most brilliant performances I’ve ever seen, period. Although he’s already an accomplished performer, I suspect this one-night show might catapult him to being a massive star. He’s, like, a quadruple threat, with so much stage presence that he shimmers. Yazbeck’s Percy can be ludicrously silly or achingly sincere, powerful or vulnerable, with a powerhouse voice and untiring energy and grace. I was sitting close enough to see all of his facial expressions, however over-the-top or subtle, and he was totally immersed in the character the entire time, sometimes hurling his script to the ground with emotion. (Remember, it was a staged concert with about a week of rehearsal.) He frequently breaks the fourth wall, trying to steal a violinist’s bow, dropping ad-libbed comments, sitting in the audience or dancing down the aisle, without dropping his polished English accent. I can’t wait to see what he’ll do next.

My personal favorite singer, Norm Lewis, co-starred as sinister French operative Chauvelin, who I can best describe as a more seductive Javert who is constantly humiliated by those around him. Having recently seen him in the Music Man, in which he gave a jovial performance but struggled with some lyrics, I was relieved to see that he held his script in hand most of the time here. He still flubbed the occasional word and seemed overly reliant on his script at times, but oh my good golly, I have NEVER heard his voice sound better. He has one of the richest, most powerful voices on Broadway, not to mention a huge vocal range, and this score puts all of it to use. This is the 6th time I’ve seen him live (plus his filmed performances in the 25th anniversary Les Mis concert and NBC’s Jesus Christ Superstar), and every song he sang here sent huge chills up my spine and fireworks off in my brain. Gosh, I love him. I do think Mr Lewis bit off a little more than he could chew doing these two semi-staged concerts only a week apart— he did seem less confident than the other performers— but I still feel so lucky to have seen him in both.

Laura Osnes sparkles as the sensitive and vivacious Marguerite. Her voice is higher and lighter than how I’d heard the role performed before, but she can certainly belt out a tune when required. She gives nuance and genuine feeling to Marguerite’s inner conflict, even joining in a sword fight to defend her husband! Osnes shows remarkable poise, rarely consulting her script. She has especially great onstage chemistry with Corey Cott, who plays her little brother with earnest puppy dog eyes and a strong pop vocal.

Though I didn’t like all of the changes in the song listing, lyrics, and script, I was completely invested the entire time. The able and versatile ensemble took on a variety of roles, from Percy’s merry men to French guards. Drew Gehling gave a particularly scene-stealing turn in the dual roles of Robespierre (stern and sardonic) and the Prince of Wales (utterly zany and wearing a magnificent feathered hat). Backed by a chorus of over 200 people and a full orchestra, the music was nothing short of sublime.

The pared-down nature of the show mostly came across in costumes and props, or lack thereof- Percy’s elaborate 18th century suits were clearly necessary to the plot, but stood out against most characters’ contemporary clothing. Supporting characters merely threw on a cheap-looking accessory or two to connote a different character or disguise, and Marguerite wore modern ball gowns. Sometimes, the script referred to characters changing clothes without the actors actually doing so. Still, the movement and staging was more complex than I had expected, and I was particularly taken by the effective guillotine prop.

All in all, I left the theatre electrified and touched that this huge audience- David Geffen Hall holds 2,738 and this show was pretty much sold out- had all seen and evidently loved this musical that means so much to me, that over 200 people put in so much effort and enthusiasm to bring it to life, and that I got to be there.

Another thing that unexpectedly moved me was Percy’s character arc. I’ve always strangely related to Percy despite not being heroic, rich, or fashionable, but I AM known for being kinda silly and flamboyant. And like Percy, I like to think there’s more to me than that. Although Percy becomes the Pimpernel out of anguish and desperation, he seems to genuinely relish getting to act so weird and over-the-top. He seems so comfortable in his own skin. Even when his identity is unmasked, he continues to be outlandish, even forcing Chauvelin into a tap dance battle. He and his wife desperately love one another, his friends care about him and always have his back, and he’s able to be his true and complete self— strong, smart, and brave, yes, but also in touch with his feminine side, compassionate, theatrical, romantic, and generally outrageous. As someone who feels equally accepted by my loved ones despite my outsized personality, I love this non-conformist romantic hero who proves you don’t have to be macho and grimly stoic to save the day.

“And that is why the lord created men!” Percy sings after springing a trap on Chauvelin. Marguerite and Madame Tussaud, who both helped, cough. “And women!” he sings to cheers from the audience.

I loved this show. I wish you could have been there. I’m heading home on the bus right now and this piece reminded me more then anything how much I value and appreciate all of the people in my life. Onward, ho!

[sleepyandwitchy]

hey so it’s valentine’s day and i would like to announce like @j0hnmulaney is the actual best

‘why do you think that’ you ask? well first, i don’t just think it, i know. but secondly here is a list of reasons why:

they are the literal kindest person you will ever meet. such a fucking softie. they made me an entire breakup playlist after only knowing me for two weeks! how lovely is that??

one time they let me watch them ramble for two hours on instagram live about tv shows and musicals they liked where i discovered they might be the most insightful person ever?

they indulge my buffy ramblings despite not really knowing what i’m going on about half the time, and is even now rewatching it with me

i have never known anyone to be so unashamedly passionate about les mis as they are and it warms my heart

one time sent me this message:

has the CUTEST smile know to man kind

not only has an entire folder dedicated to love memes, but also make their own!

bring so much joy to everyone who they meet. and i have proof of this too! here are some actual messages from their friends’

‘Hi! I hope you have a really great Valentines Day. I just want you to know I appreciate you so much. You’re so kind and smart and you’ve always been here for me. Thank you for being such a great person in general. I hope you have the best day today. Love ya to the moon!!’ - grace

‘Hey Soy, I hppe you have a lovely Valentine’s Day, and be reminded of how heart warming, beautiful, kind, clever and amazing you are as a person. You deserve ALL the happiness and heart memes in the world and heaven. When u look at your little rainbow light remember that’s how u look and feel to us. Love you more than Cheryl loves Toni’ - issey

‘You deserve all the love the universe could possibly give you because you’re always trying to give back and be the kindest version of yourself. You buy people drinks when they’re thirsty and are always there when others are sad. You’re an amazing friend’ - bas

i love you with all my heart, darling 💛💛 happy valentines

[becasueimtheworstkindofperson]

Episode 1: Many Mouths Which Speak and Very Few Heads Which Think Transcript

Good morning girls, goths, and gays, and welcome to the very first episode of Because I’m the Worst Kind of Person! My name is Kate and I’m here to guide you through the minefield that is classic literature! For the very first season, I’m going to be tackling one of the longest books I own. Clocking in at two thousand four hundred and fifty three pages in it’s online pdf form, you know it as the brick, that’s right, it’s Les Miserable by Victor Hugo!

You might be thinking to yourself, “Is Les Mis really the best book to be starting on?” and honestly, It’s probably not. I’ve never taken a single french lesson in my life so I’m going to butcher this baby! But the fact of the matter is, it’s been on my reading list since I read Hunchback, and my sister’s getting really annoyed that I refuse to watch the musical before I read the book. It’s not a great standard to have, I wouldn’t recommend it. This is going to be my third time attempting to get through it.

Now. Which version will I be using? I can’t read french either, so I would obviously need a translation. At first I thought I would be fine to use the copy I had, a nice thrifted signet classic copy I picked up for a dollar. Then I ran into an issue. Copyright Law. The copy I owned was translated by Lee Fahnestock and Norman MacAfee, and while it was based on the original C. E. Wilbour translation, it wasn’t something I could just read out loud to you guys. So I had the brilliant idea to pick up a copy of the Wilbour translation! How hard could it be! Very hard apparently. By the time my copy arrived in the mail, I realized that it was the abridged version. Now I have nothing but respect for people who want the abridged version of a Hugo novel. Victor is equally, if not more concerned with us knowing every building the protagonist passes, every festival that might be taking place, the backstory of every minor character, as he is with the main plot. It can get exhausting. That said, Momma didn’t raise no bitch, and I’m very used to biting off more than I can chew. By this point I realized that since I’m going to be putting up transcripts, and I didn’t want to type up Les Mis word-for-word, it would probably be in my best interest to just use an online pdf, which lead me to the version I will be using, translated by  Isabel F. Hapgood who died in 1928, which puts me safely in the public domain. I’ll put a link in the shownotes to the pdf I’m using so y’all can read along with me.

Before we get started each week, I’d like to share a fact about the author with you. They’ll start out pretty mundane, but since this book is long as hell I’m sure I’ll get into the weirder aspects of Hugo’s life before long, and there were some pretty weird aspects. To start us out, Victor Hugo was born in 1802 at the age of zero and died in 1885 at the age of eighty three.

Without further ado, let’s get started on the book!

[From this point on, text from the novel will be formatted normally and commentary will be bolded]

 PREFACE 

So long as there shall exist, by virtue of law and custom, decrees of damnation pronounced by society, artificially creating hells amid the civilization of earth, and adding the element of human fate to divine destiny; so long as the three great problems of the century— the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light— are unsolved; so long as social asphyxia is possible in any part of the world;—in other words, and with a still wider significance, so long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of Les Miserables cannot fail to be of use. HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 1862. 

VOLUME I. 

FANTINE

BOOK FIRST—A JUST MAN

CHAPTER I 

M. MYRIEL 

In 1815, M. Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D——. I’m not abbreviating that for dick or anything, it literally just says ‘D’ with two dashes after it. And I’m just going to apologize for all the names I’m going to completely decimate here. He was an old man of about seventy-five years of age; he had occupied the see of D—— since 1806. 

Although this detail has no connection whatever with the real substance of what we are about to relate, it will not be superfluous, if merely for the sake of exactness in all points, to mention here the various rumors and remarks which had been in circulation about him from the very moment when he arrived in the diocese. That is the most Victor Hugo sentence I have ever read. True or false, that which is said of men often occupies as important a place in their lives, and above all in their destinies, as that which they do. M. Myriel was the son of a councillor of the Parliament of Aix; hence he belonged to the nobility of the bar. It was said that his father, destining him to be the heir of his own post, had married him at a very early age, eighteen or twenty, in accordance with a custom which is rather widely prevalent in parliamentary families. In spite of this marriage, however, it was said that Charles Myriel created a great deal of talk. He was well formed, though rather short in stature, elegant, graceful, intelligent; the whole of the first portion of his life had been devoted to the world and to gallantry. 

The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation; the parliamentary- Christ. “Events succeeded each other with precipitation.” Okay… Sorry guys, that’s- that seems really redundant there. Let’s try that one more time. The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation; the parliamentary families, decimated, pursued, hunted down, were dispersed. M. Charles Myriel emigrated to Italy at the very beginning of the Revolution. There his wife died of a malady of the chest, from which she had long suffered. He had no children. What took place next in the fate of M. Myriel? The ruin of the French society of the olden days, the fall of his own family, the tragic spectacles of ‘93, which were, perhaps, even more alarming to the emigrants who viewed them from a distance, with the magnifying powers of terror,—did these cause the ideas of renunciation and solitude to germinate in him? Was he, in the midst of these distractions, these affections which absorbed his life, suddenly smitten with one of those mysterious and terrible blows which sometimes overwhelm, by striking to his heart, a man whom public catastrophes would not shake, by striking at his existence and his fortune? No one could have told: all that was known was, that when he returned from Italy he was a priest. 

In 1804, M. Myriel was the Cure of B——. And here we’ve got in brackets Brignolles, which I’m assuming is Italian. He was already advanced in years, and lived in a very retired manner. Oh same.

About the epoch of the coronation, some petty affair connected with his curacy—just what, is not precisely known—took him to Paris. Among other powerful persons to whom he went to solicit aid for his parishioners was M. le Cardinal Fesch. One day, when the Emperor had come to visit his uncle, the worthy Cure, who was waiting in the anteroom, found himself present when His Majesty passed. Napoleon, on finding himself observed with a certain curiosity by this old man, turned round and said abruptly:— 

‘Who is this good man who is staring at me?’ 

‘Sire,’ said M. Myriel, ‘you are looking at a good man, and I at a great man. Each of us can profit by it.’ 

And then everyone clapped.

That very evening, the Emperor asked the Cardinal the name of the Cure, and some time afterwards M. Myriel was utterly astonished to learn that he had been appointed Bishop of D——. 

What truth was there, after all, in the stories which were invented as to the early portion of M. Myriel’s life? No one knew. Very few families had been acquainted with the Myriel family before the Revolution. 

M. Myriel had to undergo the fate of every newcomer in a little town, where there are many mouths which talk, and very few heads which think. He was obliged to undergo it although he was a bishop, and because he was a bishop. But after all, the rumors with which his name was connected were rumors only,—noise, sayings, words; less than words— palabres, as the energetic language of the South expresses it. 

However that may be, after nine years of episcopal power and of residence in D——, all the stories and subjects of conversation which engross petty towns and petty people at the outset had fallen into profound oblivion. No one would have dared to mention them; no one would have dared to recall them. 

M. Myriel had arrived at D—— accompanied by an elderly spinster, Mademoiselle Baptistine, who was his sister, and ten years his junior. Why is she elderly then? I know, I know, it’s like 1800’s France, but still.

Their only domestic was a female servant of the same age as Mademoiselle Baptistine, and named Madame Magloire Magloire? Madame Magloire [this worked better in audio], who, after having been the servant of M. le Cure, now assumed the double title of maid to Mademoiselle and housekeeper to Monseigneur. I’m, again, so sorry about all this French.

Mademoiselle Baptistine was a long, pale, thin, gentle creature; she realized the ideal expressed by the word ‘respectable”; for it seems that a woman must needs be a mother in order to be venerable. She had never been pretty; her whole life, which had been nothing but a succession of holy deeds, had finally conferred upon her a sort of pallor and transparency; and as she advanced in years she had acquired what may be called the beauty of goodness. So like, she’s not hot, but she’s got a great personality. What had been leanness in her youth had become transparency in her maturity; and this diaphaneity allowed the angel to be seen. She was a soul rather than a virgin. Her person seemed made of a shadow; there was hardly sufficient body to provide for sex; a little matter enclosing a light; large eyes forever drooping;— a mere pretext for a soul’s remaining on the earth. 

Oh my god I hate how men write women so much. So this is not a modern problem, folks!

Madame Magloire was a little, fat, white old woman, corpulent and bustling; always out of breath,—in the first place, because of her activity, and in the next, because of her asthma. 

On his arrival, M. Myriel was installed in the episcopal palace with the honors required by the Imperial decrees, which class a bishop immediately after a major-general. The mayor and the president paid the first call on him, and he, in turn, paid the first call on the general and the prefect. 

The installation over, the town waited to see its bishop at work.

End of Chapter 1.

CHAPTER II 

M. MYRIEL BECOMES M. WELCOME 

The episcopal palace of D—— adjoins the hospital. 

The episcopal palace was a huge and beautiful house, built of stone at the beginning of the last century by M. Henri Puget, Puget? [Again, it works better in the audio] Doctor of Theology of the Faculty of Paris, Abbe of Simore, who had been Bishop of D—— in 1712. Oh my god. There are so many run on sentences which, like, I get and I am also guilty of them, but come on, Victor. This palace was a genuine seignorial residence. Everything about it had a grand air,—the apartments of the Bishop, the drawing-rooms, the chambers, the principal courtyard, which was very large, with walks encircling it under arcades in the old Florentine fashion, and gardens planted with magnificent trees. In the dining-room, a long and superb gallery which was situated on the ground-floor and opened on the gardens, M. Henri Puget had entertained in state, on July 29, 1714, My Lords Charles Brulart de Genlis, archbishop; Prince d’Embrun; Antoine de Mesgrigny, the capuchin, Bishop of Grasse; Philippe de Vendome, Grand Prior of France, Abbe of Saint Honore de Lerins; Francois de Berton de Crillon, bishop, Baron de Vence; Cesar de Sabran de Forcalquier, bishop, Seignor of Glandeve; and Jean Soanen, Priest of the Oratory, preacher in ordinary to the king, bishop, Seignor of Senez. I don’t think I have it in me to do another take of that, so again, like, that is completely butchered, and if I was just reading this to myself I would have completely just skipped over that list. The portraits of these seven reverend personages decorated this apartment; and this memorable date, the 29th of July, 1714, was there engraved in letters of gold on a table of white marble.

The hospital was a low and narrow building of a single story, with a small garden. 

Three days after his arrival, the Bishop visited the hospital. The visit ended, he had the director requested to be so good as to come to his house. 

‘Monsieur the director of the hospital,’ said he to him, ‘how many sick people have you at the present moment?’ 

‘Twenty-six, Monseigneur.’ 

‘That was the number which I counted,’ said the Bishop. 

‘The beds,’ pursued the director, ‘are very much crowded against each other.’

‘That is what I observed.’ 

‘The halls are nothing but rooms, and it is with difficulty that the air can be changed in them.’ 

‘So it seems to me.’ 

‘And then, when there is a ray of sun, the garden is very small for the convalescents.’ 

‘That was what I said to myself.’ 

‘In case of epidemics,—we have had the typhus fever this year; we had the sweating sickness two years ago, and a hundred patients at times,—we know not what to do.’ 

‘That is the thought which occurred to me.’ 

‘What would you have, Monseigneur?’ said the director. 

‘One must resign one’s self.’ 

This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground-floor. 

Oh my god. He’s as bad as Hemmingway, there were like no dialogue tags. Anything that was like, ‘oh yeah, it looked like that to me’ that was the bishop just so you guys all know.

This conversation took place in the gallery dining-room on the ground-floor.

The Bishop remained silent for a moment; then he turned abruptly to the director of the hospital. 

‘Monsieur,’ said he, ‘how many beds do you think this hall alone would hold?’ 

‘Monseigneur’s dining-room?’ exclaimed the stupefied director. 

The Bishop cast a glance round the apartment, and seemed to be taking measures and calculations with his eyes. 

‘It would hold full twenty beds,’ said he, as though speaking to himself. Then, raising his voice:— 

‘Hold, Monsieur the director of the hospital, I will tell you something. There is evidently a mistake here. There are thirty-six of you, in five or six small rooms. There are three of us here, and we have room for sixty. There is some mistake, I tell you; you have my house, and I have yours. Give me back my house; you are at home here.’

On the following day the thirty-six patients were installed in the Bishop’s palace, and the Bishop was settled in the hospital. 

M. Myriel had no property, his family having been ruined by the Revolution. His sister was in receipt of a yearly income of five hundred francs, which sufficed for her personal wants at the vicarage. M. Myriel received from the State, in his quality of bishop, a salary of fifteen thousand francs. On the very day when he took up his abode in the hospital, There is just one sentence every now and then that I just cannot get. Let’s try this one more time.  On the very day when he took up his abode in the hospital,  M. Myriel settled on the disposition of this sum once for all, in the following manner. We transcribe here a note made by his own hand:—

And here’s the note.

 NOTE ON THE REGULATION OF MY HOUSEHOLD EXPENSES. 

For the little seminary … … … …. . 1,500 livres 

Society of the mission … … … …. . 100 ‘ 

For the Lazarists of Montdidier … … …. 100 ‘ 

Seminary for foreign missions in Paris … … 200 ‘ 

Congregation of the Holy Spirit … … …. 150 ‘ 

Religious establishments of the Holy Land …. . 100 ‘ 

Charitable maternity societies … … …. 300 ‘ 

Extra, for that of Arles … … … …. 50 ‘ 

Work for the amelioration of prisons … …. 400 ‘ 

Work for the relief and delivery of prisoners … 500 ‘ 

To liberate fathers of families incarcerated for debt 1,000 ‘ 

We can get behind that.

Addition to the salary of the poor teachers of the diocese … … … … … …. 2000 ‘ 

Public granary of the Hautes-Alpes … …. . 100 ‘ 

Congregation of the ladies of D——, of Manosque, and of Sisteron, for the gratuitous instruction of poor girls … … … … … …. . 1,500 ‘ 

For the poor … … … … … …. 6,000 ‘ 

My personal expenses … … … … … 1,000 ‘ 

——— 

Total … … … … … …. . 15,000 ‘

M. Myriel made no change in this arrangement during the entire period that he occupied the see of D—— As has been seen, he called it regulating his household expenses. 

This arrangement was accepted with absolute submission by Mademoiselle Baptistine. This holy woman regarded Monseigneur of D—— as at one and the same time her brother and her bishop, her friend according to the flesh and her superior according to the Church. She simply loved and venerated him. When he spoke, she bowed; when he acted, she yielded her adherence. Their only servant, Madame Magloire, grumbled a little. It will be observed that Monsieur the Bishop had reserved for himself only one thousand livres, which, added to the pension of Mademoiselle Baptistine, made fifteen hundred francs a year. On these fifteen hundred francs these two old women and the old man subsisted. 

And when a village curate came to D——, the Bishop still found means to entertain him, thanks to the severe economy of Madame Magloire, and to the intelligent administration of Mademoiselle Baptistine. 

Okay. I mean, at least they’re semi-equals. It’s not the best.

One day, after he had been in D—— about three months, the Bishop said:—

‘And still I am quite cramped with it all!’ 

‘I should think so!’ exclaimed Madame Magloire. ‘Monseigneur has not even claimed the allowance which the department owes him for the expense of his carriage in town, and for his journeys about the diocese. It was customary for bishops in former days.’ 

‘Hold!’ cried the Bishop, ‘you are quite right, Madame Magloire.’ 

And he made his demand. 

Some time afterwards the General Council took this demand under consideration, and voted him an annual sum of three thousand francs, under this heading: Allowance to M. the Bishop for expenses of carriage, expenses of posting, and expenses of pastoral visits. 

This provoked a great outcry among the local burgesses; and a senator of the Empire, a former member of the Council of the Five Hundred which favored the 18 Brumaire, and who was provided with a magnificent senatorial office in the vicinity of the town of D——, wrote to M. Bigot de Preameneu, the minister of public worship, a very angry and confidential note on the subject, from which we extract these authentic lines:—

 ‘Expenses of carriage? What can be done with it in a town of less than four thousand inhabitants? Expenses of journeys? What is the use of these trips, in the first place? Next, how can the posting be accomplished in these mountainous parts? There are no roads. No one travels otherwise than on horseback. Even the bridge between Durance and Chateau-Arnoux can barely support ox-teams. These priests are all thus, greedy and avaricious. This man played the good priest when he first came. Now he does like the rest; he must have a carriage and a posting-chaise, he must have luxuries, like the bishops of the olden days. Oh, all this priesthood! Things will not go well, M. le Comte, until the Emperor has freed us from these black-capped rascals. Down with the Pope! [Matters were getting embroiled with Rome.] For my  part, I am for Caesar alone.’ Etc., etc. 

On the other hand, this affair afforded great delight to Madame Magloire. ‘Good,’ said she to Mademoiselle Baptistine; ‘Monseigneur began with other people, but he has had to wind up with himself, after all. He has regulated all his charities. Now here are three thousand francs for us! At last!’ 

That same evening the Bishop wrote out and handed to his sister a memorandum conceived in the following terms:— 

EXPENSES OF CARRIAGE AND CIRCUIT. 

For furnishing meat soup to the patients in the hospital. 1,500 livres 

For the maternity charitable society of Aix … …. 250 ‘ 

For the maternity charitable society of Draguignan … 250 ‘ 

For foundlings … … … … … … … 500 ‘ 

For orphans … … … … … … …. 500 ‘

 ——-

 Total … … … … … … …. . 3,000 ‘ 

Such was M. Myriel’s budget. 

As for the chance episcopal perquisites, that’s perquisites not prerequisites the fees for marriage bans, dispensations, private baptisms, sermons, benedictions, of churches or chapels, marriages, etc., the Bishop levied them on the wealthy with all the more asperity, since he bestowed them on the needy. 

After a time, offerings of money flowed in. Those who had and those who lacked knocked at M. Myriel’s door,— the latter in search of the alms which the former came to deposit. In less than a year the Bishop had become the treasurer of all benevolence and the cashier of all those in distress. So basically, he organized socialism in his diocese Considerable sums of money passed through his hands, but nothing could induce him to make any change whatever in his mode of life, or add anything superfluous to his bare necessities. 

Far from it. As there is always more wretchedness below than there is brotherhood above, all was given away, so to speak, before it was received. It was like water on dry soil; no matter how much money he received, he never had any. Then he stripped himself. Probably not in a sexy way though. He is a man of God after all

The usage being that bishops shall announce their baptismal names at the head of their charges and their pastoral letters, the poor people of the country-side had selected, with a sort of affectionate instinct, among the names and prenomens of their bishop, that which had a meaning for them; and they never called him anything except Monseigneur Bienvenu. Which means Welcome, and I have that in brackets there. We will follow their example, and will also call him thus when we have occasion to name him. Moreover, this appellation pleased him. 

‘I like that name,’ said he. ‘Bienvenu Bienvenu? Bienvenu? Tweet at me if I’m saying that wrong. ‘I like that name,’ said he. ‘Bienvenu makes up for the Monseigneur.’ 

We do not claim that the portrait herewith presented is probable; we confine ourselves to stating that it resembles the original.

And that is the end of Chapter 2!

[From this point on I’m done reading the text so everything will be formatted normally]

Okay, so first impressions, or I guess third impressions in this case. Both times I tried to read it I didn’t get through the bishop part which is weird cause I actually really liked it. It reminded me a lot of Death Comes For the Archbishop which I read a couple years ago, and that was really good.

I haven’t had a personal great experience with religion, but it’s nice to see that in theory it can work out. I mean, it’s fictional, but like, there are genuinely good people out there practicing religion and practicing the way it is meant to be practiced, quote unquote.

I guess we almost passed the Bechdel test here. We did have two women talking to each other, and they’re both named, but it was about a man. It wasn’t romantic, which was nice, it was more about “Jesus Christ I wish he’d give us some amount of money so we can be a little comfortable.” Which honestly, Madame Magloire… I appreciate her. I appreciate all of them.

I don’t know how much of this is going to make it in the final cut, I’m just rambling at this point. But like, sorry you had to sit through like, two income statements. That’s probably not an income statement, I’m gonna get a bunch business majors yelling at me. Except I’m not because why would a business major be listening to my literature podcast. Checkmate atheists!

So yeah, let’s see where this goes.

Okay! So, well, to finish us out, I’d like to mention some more contemporary media I’ve been consuming. You know, something a little more recent than the 1800s. Uh, just so you know that this isn’t the only thing I’m doing with my life. I do- I do read modern stuff and I do watch modern stuff too. I’m not a complete nerd, or asshole depending on how you interpret that.

So, I’ve actually  found the third season of Twin Peaks at my library so I’ve been working through that. Putting a plug in for your local library, please go visit it. They- They are just happy to see people there. So, yeah, I’ve been working through the third season of Twin Peaks. It’s definitely interesting to see how it’s changed from the first two seasons. Cause this one was made in like 2016, versus the first two which were in like 1990 and 1991. And it’s a lot more gory and a lot more violent, which I’m not like the biggest fan of, but it does have a lot more of the surrealist and supernatural stuff, which I’m living for. I think it has to do with changing standards of media, honestly, and of what can be seen on television, along with the fact that they’re no longer the trope-setter. You know, they’re building off of twenty years of increasingly weird and violent crime dramas so they have to kick it up a notch somehow. So my favorite episode so far has got to be number eight, which is Gotta Light?And it was just gorgeous and abstract and terrifying all at the same time, and it was amazing and incredible. I don’t even think there’s talking for more than five minutes in it. Like, a giant portion of it is silent, and that is something I love in films and TV, is when they can utilize silence because we’re so used to having, just, constant noise, and I’m guilty of this too. I listen to all my podcasts on like two times speed because I just can’t deal with the silence. But it’s so interesting to see it incorporated in like, art forms other than- or I guess art forms at all. You know, as someone who took music lessons for like twelve years and then promptly forgot everything, or most everything. You know, the pauses and the silence are what makes the music, or it’s what makes the sound.

Anyway, so I just want to thank everyonefor listening! The intro and outro are Sunrise Expedition by Joseph McDade, if you like it, go check him out on Patreon! If you want to reach out to the show or bully me for my terrible pronunciation, you can follow the show on twitter @bcimtheworst and on tumblr and instagram @becauseimtheworstkindofperson. Transcripts will also be posted on tumblr. My personal socials are @imsoglitter on tumblr, instagram, and twitter.

Stay tuned for episode two and hear me butcher the French language even more than I already have! Why? Because I’m the worst kind of person!