#philip rosenthal

[cosmoglass]

"I’ve been told that I eat like Gollum from Lord of the Rings" - Kelly Macdonald on Somebody Feed Phil.

[ashleybenlove]

“I love turning Patton on to food because, you know, he’s Remy from Ratatouille.” 

Oh my gods, Phil.

[wmlz]

„Wer aufhört, besser zu werden, hat aufgehört, gut zu sein!“

Philip Rosenthal

[roosterforme]

The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out. 

"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.

"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.

"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"

"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."

He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."

You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."

"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market. 

Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about. 

"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

---------------------------

It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.

Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug. 

"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.

"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean." 

Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.

He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal. 

But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?

"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were. 

Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly. 

"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."

You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly. 

Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"

Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."

"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot. 

After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."

Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."

"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."

"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."

Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"

You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair. 

"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.

"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."

"He's handsome!"

"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.

"He wants to fuck you!" 

"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."

Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you. 

"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."

"He better fucking not."

You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."

Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way. 

"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it." 

Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway. 

Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room. 

"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this." 

You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."

"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."

The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him. 

You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."

Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart. 

You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand. 

"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning. 

"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.

"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too. 

"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."

"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there. 

"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."

"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit. 

He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."

"Bradley!" 

"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking. 

"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering. 

"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."

"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"

"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."

"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."

It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs. 

"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders. 

"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."

Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."

You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked. 

"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."

"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.

"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face. 

----------------------------

"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.

Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy

You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building. 

Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.

"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.

I want your lips and tongue, too. 

You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything. 

----------------------

Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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@xoxabs88xox

[todaysdocument]

Discharge Petition for H.R. 7152, the Civil Rights Act of 1964

Record Group 233: Records of the U.S. House of RepresentativesSeries: General Records

This item, H.R. 7152, the Civil Rights Act of 1964, faced strong opposition in the House Rules Committee. Howard Smith, Chairman of the committee, refused to schedule hearings for the bill. Emanuel Celler, Chairman of the Judiciary Committee, attempted to use this discharge petition to move the bill out of committee without holding hearings. The petition failed to gain the required majority of Congress (218 signatures), but forced Chairman Smith to schedule hearings.

88th CONGRESS. House of Representatives No. 5 Motion to Discharge a Committee from the Consideration of a RESOLUTION (State whether bill, joint resolution, or resolution) December 9, 1963 To the Clerk of the House of Representatives: Pursuant to Clause 4 of Rule XXVII (see rule on page 7), I EMANUEL CELLER (Name of Member), move to discharge to the Commitee on RULES (Committee) from the consideration of the RESOLUTION; H. Res. 574 entitled, a RESOLUTION PROVIDING FOR THE CONSIDERATION OF THE BILL (H. R. 7152) which was referred to said committee November 27, 1963 in support of which motion the undersigned Members of the House of Representatives affix their signatures, to wit: 1. Emanuel Celler 2. John J. Rooney 3. Seymour Halpern 4. James G Fulton 5. Thomas W Pelly 6. Robt N. C. Nix 7. Jeffery Cohelan 8. W A Barrett 9. William S. Mailiard 10. 11. Augustus F. Hawkins 12. Otis G. Pike 13. Benjamin S Rosenthal 14. Spark M Matsunaga 15. Frank M. Clark 16. William L Dawson 17. Melvin Price 18. John C. Kluczynski 19. Barratt O'Hara 20. George E. Shipley 21. Dan Rostenkowski 22. Ralph J. Rivers[page] 2 23. Everett G. Burkhalter 24. Robert L. Leggett 25. William L St Onge 26. Edward P. Boland 27. Winfield K. Denton 28. David J. Flood 29. 30. Lucian N. Nedzi 31. James Roosevelt 32. Henry C Reuss 33. Charles S. Joelson 34. Samuel N. Friedel 35. George M. Rhodes 36. William F. Ryan 37. Clarence D. Long 38. Charles C. Diggs Jr 39. Morris K. Udall 40. Wm J. Randall 41. 42. Donald M. Fraser 43. Joseph G. Minish 44. Edith Green 45. Neil Staebler 46. 47. Ralph R. Harding 48. Frank M. Karsten 49. 50. John H. Dent 51. John Brademas 52. John E. Moss 53. Jacob H. Gilbert 54. Leonor K. Sullivan 55. John F. Shelley 56. 57. Lionel Van Deerlin 58. Carlton R. Sickles 59. 60. Edward R. Finnegan 61. Julia Butler Hansen 62. Richard Bolling 63. Ken Heckler 64. Herman Toll 65. Ray J Madden 66. J Edward Roush 67. James A. Burke 68. Frank C. Osmers Jr 69. Adam Powell 70. 71. Fred Schwengel 72. Philip J. Philiben 73. Byron G. Rogers 74. John F. Baldwin 75. Joseph Karth 76. 77. Roland V. Libonati 78. John V. Lindsay 79. Stanley R. Tupper 80. Joseph M. McDade 81. Wm Broomfield 82. 83. 84. Robert J Corbett 85. 86. Craig Hosmer87. Robert N. Giaimo 88. Claude Pepper 89. William T Murphy 90. George H. Fallon 91. Hugh L. Carey 92. Robert T. Secrest 93. Harley O. Staggers 94. Thor C. Tollefson 95. Edward J. Patten 96. 97. Al Ullman 98. Bernard F. Grabowski 99. John A. Blatnik 100. 101. Florence P. Dwyer 102. Thomas L. ? 103. 104. Peter W. Rodino 105. Milton W. Glenn 106. Harlan Hagen 107. James A. Byrne 108. John M. Murphy 109. Henry B. Gonzalez 110. Arnold Olson 111. Harold D Donahue 112. Kenneth J. Gray 113. James C. Healey 114. Michael A Feighan 115. Thomas R. O'Neill 116. Alphonzo Bell 117. George M. Wallhauser 118. Richard S. Schweiker 119. 120. Albert Thomas 121. 122. Graham Purcell 123. Homer Thornberry 124. 125. Leo W. O'Brien 126. Thomas E. Morgan 127. Joseph M. Montoya 128. Leonard Farbstein 129. John S. Monagan 130. Brad Morse 131. Neil Smith 132. Harry R. Sheppard 133. Don Edwards 134. James G. O'Hara 135. 136. Fred B. Rooney 137. George E. Brown Jr. 138. 139. Edward R. Roybal 140. Harris. B McDowell jr. 141. Torbert H. McDonall 142. Edward A. Garmatz 143. Richard E. Lankford 144. Richard Fulton 145. Elizabeth Kee 146. James J. Delaney 147. Frank Thompson Jr 148. 149. Lester R. Johnson 150. Charles A. Buckley4 151. Richard T. Hanna 152. James Corman 153. Paul A Fino 154. Harold M. Ryan 155. Martha W. Griffiths 156. Adam E. Konski 157. Chas W. Wilson 158. Michael J. Kewan 160. Alex Brooks 161. Clark W. Thompson 162. John D. Gringell [?] 163. Thomas P. Gill 164. Edna F. Kelly 165. Eugene J. Keogh 166 John. B. Duncan 167. Elmer J. Dolland 168. Joe Caul 169. Arnold Olsen 170. Monte B. Fascell [?] 171. [not deciphered] 172. J. Dulek 173. Joe W. [undeciphered] 174. J. J. Pickle [Numbers 175 through 214 are blank]

[hellotom14]

„Erfolg im Leben ist etwas Sein, etwas Schein und sehr viel Schwein.“ Philip Rosenthal

Ein schönes Bergfest wünsche ich, euch.

[swede1952]

Good morning 🍁🍂🍂

It's cold out this morning, not nearly as cold as it is in the Northeast. Wherever you are, take care when you go out.

"Because you know what happens when you say 'hello' or 'good morning?' You make a connection. And isn't that what being human is all about?" - Philip Rosenthal

[lordeasriel]

Getting to know you meme!

I was tagged by @jamlavender thank you very much!!!

Favourite time of the year: Spring-Summer, which is Brasil is essentially the same thing except spring is windy af. I like rainy days as much as the next person, but nothing beats a sunny, windy day!

Comfort foods: Pastel, which is a kind of deep fried pastry with different fillings (my fav is chicken and cheddar!) and Panettone, cause I’m a Christmas baby!

Do you collect anything: I don’t think I do. Maybe different pens? It’s not deliberate tho.

Favourite drinks: Orange juice, sprite and a good old caipirinha, which is a Brazilian cocktail featuring lime (usually, cause lemon is expensive here), sugar and cachaça(tm).

Favorite music artists: I shift a lot between artists, especially when they release new music, changing the vibes I met them by, but I currently really enjoy Jonathan Bree, Tom Rosenthal and CMAT. They’re very unique to their styles and I enjoy their music very much. I also really enjoy peremotka (hopefully that’s how it’s written in roman alphabet!) Their post punk vibes are smashing!

Current favourite songs: No Face by Haley Heynderickx, I Like it When You’re Gone by Tom Rosenthal, Valentine by Jonathan Bree, Peter Bogdanovich by CMAT

Favourite fics: I haven’t been reading a lot of fics recently, but I have some all time favorites to recommed!

Safe as Houses (Vera Claythorne/Philip Lombard): very good, very smutty, very sad;

Bird of Passage: The Book of Dust centric, this follows spy business from Oakley Street during TSC. I wholeheartedly recommend it if you want more to dive into Lyra’s world!

Lyra’s Uncle: some good old AU, giving Asriel a little brother and making it all very sad. Sami writes a lot of good stuff, but this is my favorite piece of hers.

Applied Heresy (Marisa/Asriel): Honestly, I love this fic to bits, I have it downloaded on my kindle and phone. It is the best Masriel experience pre-show you’ll get. The writer also delves deep into Lyra’s world pre-TBOD, but she makes it seems so believable and it’s good old worldbuilding! If you haven’t read this yet and you’re in the HDM fandom, what are you doing????

Favourite video games: I’m a massive Bioware fan, so my favorite games feature nearly everything they’ve ever done. I lovethe Mass Effect trilogy (especially the 3rd one, sorry lol) and I love Dragon Age and I have a devotion to Star Wars: The Old Republic! Been playing it strong for 8 years and I love it pieces. That is excellent Star Wars, Disney don’t interact please lol

I’ll tag @queenofnabooty @cozcat @moustache-bonnet (please feel no pressure to do this, bye)

[ulkaralakbarova]

With a serial strangler on the loose, a bookkeeper wanders around town searching for the vigilante group intent on catching the killer. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Kleinman: Woody Allen Prostitute: Kathy Bates Student Jack: John Cusack Irmy: Mia Farrow Prostitute: Jodie Foster Hacker’s Follower: Fred Gwynne Clown: John Malkovich Alma: Julie Kavner Marie: Madonna Magician: Kenneth Mars Eve: Kate Nelligan Doctor: Donald Pleasence Prostitute: Lily Tomlin Mr. Paulsen: Philip Bosco Spiro’s Assistant: Robert Joy Simon Carr: Wallace Shawn Vogel’s Follower: Kurtwood Smith Priest: Josef Sommer Hacker: David Ogden Stiers Cop at Police Station: John C. Reilly Woman with Baby: Eszter Balint Vigilante: James Rebhorn Roustabout: Richard Riehle Cop: William H. Macy Undesirables Onlooker: Fred Melamed Killer: Michael Kirby Vigilante: Victor Argo Vigilante: Daniel von Bargen Landlady: Camille Saviola Dwarf: Tim Loomis Fat Lady: Katy Dierlam Strongman: Dennis Vestunis Prostitute: Anne Lange Student: Andy Berman Student: Paul Anthony Stewart Student: Thomas L. Bolster Police Chief: Greg Stebner Cop at Police Station: Peter Appel Cop at Police Station: Brian Smiar Cop at Police Station: Michael P. Troy Cop at Police Station: Remak Ramsay Cop at Police Station: Ron Turek Bartender: Peter McRobbie Cop with Priest: Ira Wheeler Baby: Rebecca Gibson Hacker’s Follower: Robert Silver Spiro: Charles Cragin Vigilante with Spiro: Tom Riis Farrell Vigilante with Spiro: Ron Weyand Roustabout: Max Robinson Film Crew: Additional Casting: Todd M. Thaler Casting: Juliet Taylor Writer: Woody Allen Producer: Robert Greenhut Assistant Editor: Mark Livolsi Costume Design: Jeffrey Kurland Production Coordinator: Helen Robin Executive Producer: Charles H. Joffe Executive Producer: Jack Rollins Editor: Susan E. Morse Hairstylist: Romaine Greene Assistant Art Director: W. Steven Graham Casting Associate: Laura Rosenthal Supervising Sound Editor: Robert Hein Director of Photography: Carlo Di Palma Gaffer: Ray Quinlan Sound Designer: Dan Sable Foley Artist: Brian Vancho Set Decoration: George DeTitta Jr. Assistant Costume Designer: Donna Zakowska Production Sound Mixer: James Sabat Production Design: Santo Loquasto Assistant Sound Editor: Stuart Levy Co-Producer: Joseph Hartwick Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Lee Dichter Construction Coordinator: Ron Petagna Key Scenic Artist: James Sorice Production Assistant: Robert C. Albertell Makeup Artist: Bernadette Mazur First Assistant Director: Thomas A. Reilly Art Direction: Speed Hopkins Property Master: James Mazzola Assistant Production Coordinator: Ilyse A. Reutlinger Still Photographer: Brian Hamill Standby Carpenter: Joseph A. Alfieri Jr. Scenic Artist: Cosmo Sorice Set Dresser: Dave Weinman Assistant Camera: Michael Green Sound Recordist: Frank Graziadei Camera Operator: Dick Mingalone Script Supervisor: Kay Chapin Set Decoration: Amy Marshall Boom Operator: Louis Sabat Dolly Grip: Ronald Burke Key Grip: Robert Ward Wardrobe Supervisor: Patricia Eiben Second Assistant Camera: Michael Caracciolo Camera Trainee: David E. Baron Art Department Coordinator: Glenn Lloyd Second Assistant Director: Richard Patrick Assistant Editor: William Kruzykowski Transportation Captain: Peter Tavis Transportation Captain: Harold ‘Whitey’ McEvoy Production Assistant: Justin Moritt Wardrobe Supervisor: Bill Christians Foley Artist: Elisha Birnbaum Additional Casting: Judie Fixler Key Construction Grip: Vincent Guarriello Production Assistant: Danielle Rigby Projection: Carl Turnquest Best Boy Electric: Jim Manzione Costume Assistant: Lauren Gibson Assistant Art Director: Robert Perdziola Foley Editor: Lori Kornspun Assistant Art Director: Peter Eastman Location Scout: Megan Monaghan Assistant Art Director: Richard Michael Miller Apprentice Sound Editor: Yasmine Amitai Location Manager: James A. Davis Movie Reviews:

[story-photographer]

Speisemeisterei Hohenheim

Sidenotes Dynasty Mood Photo Story of the 2 Michelin Star Restaurant Speisemeisterei Hohenheim by Nadine Wilmanns “A good restaurant is like a vacation; it transports you, and it becomes a lot more than just about the food.” (Philip Rosenthal, Television Writer and Producer). Do your know or remember the 80s TV series Dynasty with Alexis and Blake? I used to watch it with my mom when I was a kid,…

[elanaspodstudiosem2]

READINGS - Joan Mitchell: Drawing into Painting by Mark Lawrence Rosenthal.

Rosenthal, Mark Lawrence. Joan Mitchell: Drawing into Painting. Cheim & Read, 2016.

NOTES + QUOTES:

“As a teenager, Joan Mitchell was a competitive diver, tennis player, figure skater and horseback rider, activities that would endow her with a tough physical confidence that stood her in good stead as an artist. Even late in her life, athletic prowess provided a metaphor to characterize the full implications of her artistic practice, as when in 1986, she exclaimed, “Painting is a way of forgetting oneself…It’s like riding a bicycle with no hands. I call that state ‘no hands’... It’s a state of non self-consciousness…It is lovely.” With that sense of assuredness, Mitchell’s art is without personal anguish; instead it is brimming with self-possession - both in terms of her handling of paint and of her posture with regard to the art world” (Rosenthal).

“It is fascinating to contemplate the fact that another American abstract painting living in New York, Cy Twombly, also chose to depart for Europe. In his case the destination was Italy (he moved there in 1959) - a locus for his immersion in the art and literature of antiquity. The woman, Mitchell, and the gay man, Twombly, had both decided to abandon New York in order to embrace a culture they had long admired, even if those cultures represented faded glories. Too, their decision might well have reflected the degree to which they felt personally comfortable among the swashbuckler-crowd in New York. In effect, each chose to separate from that crucible of abstract painting in order to forge their new career phase within a different milieu” (Rosenthal). 

“Very soon after Untitled of 1960, and throughout the mid-1960s, Mitchell introduced a new element into her pictorial vocabulary - a large, irregularly shaped, more-or-less black mass that dominates each composition. Versions of this shape and variations of the somber color appear repeatedly in these years, at times cloud-like, at other occasions heavy in pictorial weight. Mitchell’s dramatic and unidentifiable form added a degree of gravitas to what she exhibited in her 1960 Untitled. Compared to the all-over energy of that work, she imbued the subsequent paintings with a singular focus and concentration. It is not as if Mitchell’s characteristic vitality was absent; rather, its warriors strands were now restlessly bundled into one unknowable mass. Viewers of Mitchell’s earlier paintings found their eyes stilled and struck by a previously unseen type of mood. One might add to this discussion a point that Mitchell made, in 1986, that it is “without time…It never ends, it is the only thing that is both continuous and still. Then I can be very happy. It’s a still place. It’s like one word, one image.” With the black lumpy mass, she had effectively stilled the flow of time in her art, at least for the moment” (Rosenthal).

““My black paintings” is how Mitchell described this period in her work. Her characterization is particularly fascinating if one compares it to certain concurrent developments: starting in the late 1950s and continuing until the end of his life, Mark Rothko created his own series of dark, somber compositions; in 1959, Mitchell’s old friend Philip Guston began a major transition is his art that would evolve through the 1960s, whereby his palette changed from bright to largely black and gray, and his canvases became dominated by dark forms that would eventually become recognizable as heads; beginning in 1958, another acquaintance, Hans Hofmann added sizeable, albeit colorful, rectilinear blocks of color to his gestural style; finally, Tony Smith, a much-admired sculptor and friend of the New York School painters, made Die, a six-foot, cubic, black sculpture in 1962, in a darin premonition of all that would be soon called “Minimal Art.” Some new idea was certainly in the air on both sides of the Atlantic. In retrospect, one wonders whether this “trend,” if that is an accurate assessment, represented a newly imagined convergence between gestural painting and contemporaneous forms of planar abstraction, such as was practiced by Rothko, Ad Reinhardt and Barnett Newman, among others. In other words, an ambition became evident for a kind of rapprochement between the then dominant forms of abstraction” (Rosenthal).

“If the evolution of Mitchell’s art was from the appearance of rambunctious energy to a more concentrated, if no less emotional, vocabulary, the last phase of her career, from 1969 to her death in 1992, might be termed pictorially opulent. Now happily ensconced in Vétheuil, she embarked on a sustained period of extravagantly colored, large-scale paintings. Mitchell’s art overflowed with saturated blues, yellows, greens and oranges, and volatile and/or languorous brushstrokes, all packed densely together. Evocative of her surroundings, and recalling the styles of Monet, Paul Cézanne and Vincent van Gogh, the late works were imbued with her profound feelings about nature and its manifestations” (Rosenthal).

“Klaus Kertess memorably wrote than in Mitchell’s hands “‘Pastel’ is the chamber music of her greatness.” Another way to characterize her work in this medium is to call it a microcosm of her oeuvre. Not all artists who paint on a grand scale can translate their touch onto a sheet of paper, and in pastel no less, which is an exceedingly delicate medium. But here again, up close, one observes Mitchell’s consummate skills, for every stroke matters and is assured. She turned to pastel only at certain moments in her career, but more often late in her life. When she did, she created a body of highly refined works, with each a finished endeavor rather than a study or way station toward a larger painting. Taken together, the pastels exhibit a sensational variety of colors, moods and compositions” (Rosenthal).

 “The earlier comparison between Mitchell nd Twombly was inspired by their nearly simultaneous turn from the New York art scene, a turned based on cultural predilection and, also, perhaps, triggered by matters concerning identity. They remained expatriates until the end of their lives, preferring the old world to the new. Not surprising given their European milieus, they exhibited a certain literary affinity in their art, with Mitchell comparing painting to poetry, and Twombly creating narratives based on literature from antiquity. Beyond lifestyle choices, one can point to a potential interplay between these two artists, too, as if each is occasionally learning from the other. Twombly tuned to Mitchell-like multi-panel works in the mid 1970s, making abstract narratives that swept across great expanses, as Mitchell had done starting in the mid-1960s. At about the same time in the 1970s, in other words, after Mitchell, Twombly made frequent use of great masses of dense color as a central formal protagonist of his artistic vocabulary” (Rosenthal).

“Indeed, with her work Mitchell induces the potential for a kind of revelation - about her exceedingly sentient character, her emotions before the grandeur of nature, and the sheer potential of color and paint to be transcendent. Mitchell’s art is an intense demonstration of what she feels to be alive in the world” (Rosenthal).

^ Images of Mitchell in her studio and of some of her works that are in the book.

I found this book really interesting and once again loved looking through all the images of Mitchell's works like I did when I did my earlier research post on her. She has really inspired me and even though at the moment our works don't physically look very similar, I think our intentions have overlapping interests.

[whereisthebigstabbyman]

I really liked this little moment here. It’s framed like the ending of a New York based rom com. You would believe it’s a rom com ending if you have no context. It’s actually from a food and travel show.

from Somebody Feed Phil (2018)

[darkdamiaknight]

Of course you can get VR headsets in a Mexican street market. It’s the 21st century.

[nofatclips]

The Mysterious Vanishing of Electra by Anna von Hausswolff from the album Dead Magic - Director: Maria von Hausswolff

[oh-my-dead-vicious-wizard-duck]

sometimes a family is Cindy and her two prankster husbands, and her two children, and Philip

[ginzyblog]

April 5, and it’s now been 25 years since Allen passed away. We’re commemorating it by posting the video 1998 of the complete memorial for him held at Cathedral Church of St John the Divine. Check AllenGinsberg.Org for today’s post. We’ll post clips of it here on IG throughout the week as well. These have only just recently been transferred so the footage has never been made public till now.

It’s Patti Smith and Philip Glass’ first time sharing a stage together and they totally blew us away with “On the Cremation of Chogyam Trungpa, Vidyadhara” and “Spell”, Patti’s version of Allen’s ‘Footnote to Howl.’

other participants include Jayne Cortez, Anne Waldman, Pedro Pietri, Natalie Merchant, Andy Clausen, Danny Schechter, Patti Smith and Philip Glass performing for the first time together, The Fugs, David Greenberg, Eliot Katz, David Dellinger, pretty much everyone on the poster except for Amiri Baraka who showed up just after the show ended. Emceed by Bob Rosenthal & Ed Sanders