#thirty three & a third

[redbootsindoriath]

Knowing Bilbo’s effect on elvenkings and elven lords (and elves in general), it’s probably just as well Thingol never made it to the Third Age.  He wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Transcription:

[Thingol:] “...” [Bilbo:] “...” FIVE MINUTES LATER [Thingol:] “Everyone, meet Bilbo.  He is my own personal hobbit and anyone who so much as threatens to harm him shall die, no questions asked.  He has looted the royal storehouses twice so I’ve decided to make him my new foster son.”

[harrisonarchive]

Photo by Bob Cato.

“‘I’ve always had fun,’ he says. ‘I was never that serious. Late on I got that cause for meditation. That’s serious. ‘I’m a Pisces — like two fish swimming in opposite directions. I’m very serious and I’m very unserious. Everything is relative. Yin, yang. Yes, no. Good, bad. Up, down. I have both sides.' […] ‘[Thirty-Three & 1/3 is] the most positive album I’ve done in a long time,’ Harrison observes. ‘Having gone through a few ups and downs and “loop de loop,” everything has seemed to click in place for me. The last couple months have been the climax of the past year. Things are feeling pretty good.’ Harrison’s conversation and demeanor — in public and in the privacy of his hotel room — exude an inner peace. He is unexpectedly gracious with scores of back-patting record company representatives. He accommodates autograph seekers and teen-aged girls with Instamatic cameras who gather in hotel lobbies. […] He is thin but looks healthy in a rust-colored jumpsuit over a Monty Python T-shirt. His sturdy, hollow face, highlighted by brown eyes and a dark brow, reflects an intriguing character. His shoulder-length dark brown hair is full and wavy. Harrison is alert, modest and straightforward. His memory is good and he is firm in his beliefs. The ex-Beatle has yet to understand Beatlemania. ‘It has become part of history and I just accept it. It doesn’t upset me. I can’t explain it. A part of my memory remembers being something to do with it. But at the same time, I look at it like you probably do. I say, “Who were they?“ It’s a very strange feeling. I don’t go around thinking I am a Beatle or was Beatle or am an ex-Beatle. I go around feeling I’m a person. I’m me. ‘I couldn’t tell you whether it was more difficult being a Beatle or an ex-Beatle. They overlap somehow. But with time, we should learn from our experiences. The whole thing in life is finding out what it’s about and how to deal with it. Now I feel more at rest with myself and so, consequently, it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, ya know. The point is not what you do, it’s how you do it and how much enjoyment you get from it.’” - from an article by Minneapolis Star staff writer Jon Bream, The Minneapolis Star, November 18, 1976 (x)

[gizmocrate-werecrow]

Conflicts in literature as portrayed by the monkees

Monkee Vs Nature

Monkee Vs Society

Monkee Vs Technology

Monkee Vs Monkee

Monkee Vs Self

Monkee Vs Reality

Monkee Vs God

Monkee Vs no God

Monkee Vs Author

[hetagrammy]

Is it weird that I can picture what Molly would sound like? I can picture her voice being maternal and warm, but also firm and strict when she needs it to be

I don't think that's weird! The way I imagine her voice has changed a bit over time. I used to think of her as having a bit of a Dublin accent, but these days she sounds pretty firmly Cork in my brain. For one thing it's a pretty strong accent, but it's also very expressive and a bit sing-songy to me (if that makes sense). Regardless, it has that exact vibe: warm and caring, but capable of ripping someone a new one.

[dice-wizard]

Continuing this art challenge with things you can't erase.

Gel and ballpoint pens + office highlighter

[sorrellegiance]

nice drive up to the campsite with a bookstore stop!

frolicked in the creek while the watermelon cooled in the water and then we ate it on a flat rock in the middle of the creek!

grilled corn and marinated paneer and korean pancakes with the help of a butane blowtorch! opened a pomegranate with my bare hands!

four cheeses!! (brie, gouda, feta, and aforementioned paneer)

got tucked in with my best friend lullabying us all on the ukulele

tried to stargaze through the mesh on the tent roof

thunderbolt and lightning VERY VERY FRIGHTENING

ten minutes scrambling in the dark to get the rainfly on

piling back into the rental car (a little sedan) with all our backpacks and two sleeping bags

listened to the thunder and rain and. oh yes. hail :))))))

slept fitfully. sleeping bag wedged under for lower back support. backseats DID NOT RECLINE.

woke up at the crack of dawn. ran back and forth between the water pump and campsite to rinse off as much dirt as possible. wrestled tent and rainfly into bag. shoes drenched. muddy.

ate stale baguette and cheese off the hood of the car. nice crunchy carrots and spicy hummus!!

lovely drive back! saw lots of cattle and horses and goats and a chicken crossing the road much carpool karaoke.

best friend stayed to help me hose down the tent and it was nice getting splashed because it was so damn hot in the city

end the worst best camping experience of my life

[magicmalcolm]

It's kind of a shame that it's Steiner's last name you can rename in Final Fantasy IX, 'cause otherwise you KNOW I would've had Scott Steiner in my FF9 party by now.

[pi-pi-pingu]

Pingo as George Harrison album covers (1/2)

[nedison]

I recently realized that as of last month, I am currently 33⅓ years old, so I had to break out the very first George record I ever bought in commemoration of my momentous LP BDay!

Also pictured: GH's Brainwashed, which turns 20 today!

[daisychainsandbowties]

stayed awake for 33 hours and now am emotional about the number three. my baby is the best prime out of ALL the primes. 

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[harrisonarchive]

George and Olivia, 1976; photo © Mirrorpix.

“My dad’s favorite number was 7, and a lot of things that he did were according to the number 7, whether he meant it or not. That was the highest honor I could have given a track on the album [Brainwashed], to put it track 7.” - Dhani Harrison, Brainwashed EPK

Track no. 7 series (and a non-Harrisong): “True Love” —

“Just this summer I was sitting ‘round with the guitar and that song came into my mind and I just started playing it. And then I thought that it’s so, I don’t know, off the wall really and it’s such a nice song anyway, it’s a very simple melody and very simple words — it’s only about four words in it — and yet it’s a nice song, it’s a love song, it’s an up-song. And I just like the tune and I started fiddling about with it and with the chords, and then I just heard that arrangement that could be done just like that. That song could be done any way, really, you know.” - George Harrison, A Personal Music Dialogue with George Harrison at 33 & 1/3, 1976

“We’d been watching Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, watching that movie [High Society], and they do a duet, and just that little harmony thing they do, because she wasn’t know as really a singer. He’d play and we’d sing it. It just would get in his head, it would go around and around — I guess a lot of people get loops in their heads about songs — and then the natural progression was to go in the studio and record it. He didn’t care if it was punk rock, he was putting out ‘True Love.’” - Olivia Harrison, Dark Horse Radio, 2018 (x)

[gizmocrate-werecrow]

PART ONE

33 revs per monkee is considered the worst monkees media that stars all four of the guys due to backstage drama, it’s quality and it’s lack of a plot.

however 33 revs per monkee tells a story of the early days of the monkees placed through a psychedelic lens.

One clear sign of this is the opening song where the monkees are kidnapped and their brainwashing begins.

Upon hearing that they will be know as monkee one (Micky) Monkee 2 (Peter) monkee 3 (Mike) and monkee four (Davy), they protest but are unable to finish their protests as the mind control begins.

This can be seen as a reflection on how the monkees were made with no true care to their real lives (this is Clear with Peter Tork)

After a series of fantasies that get highjacked by the scientists, the monkees are now protrayed as dolls and they sing ‘Wind up man’. This song meantions a ‘Wind up world’ and how they were only made for entertainment. This reflects what they were seen as, clean entertainment, no care for their skills as long as they can sing and look good and most hauntingly of all at the end of the sequence, the dolls “break down” and a thing that says ‘this space for rent’ comes down.

will do part two later

[thosereblogs]

33 1/3%

[shadowsandstarlight]

(To guy who doesn’t like dogs for a perfectly good reason) Haha yeah you’ll like dogs better if you have one in your house :) They’re so much fun :)) What do you mean you “don’t like dogs and really don’t want to live with one” what are you a monster? Do you hate animals? Do you think all dogs should die because you don’t want one in your house??? Is that what you want????? They’re such perfect animals you’ll love them if you only give them a chance :))) Everyone loves dogs and if you don’t you’re evil :)))))

[cockaiine]

Gojo the womanizer, they called him.

Yeah, ‘he will break your heart’, you were told.

But they don’t see the look in Satoru’s eyes when you tug at his arm when you ask him to stay the night. No one knows how he kisses your forehead every night, restless until he makes sure you’re asleep.

Your friends warned you, they told you he fucks girls for fun. But they never warned you of the intimacy his grip holds, or the softness in which he huffs your name, calling you as if you were the last girl alive. No one warned you you’d find yourself stuck in his arms every morning, kept close like you’re life itself.

You knew Satoru’s a busy man, everyone presumed he’s busy fooling around with someone else. But you know better. You’re the only one who sees him wounded, muttering that he’s fine, it’s just a scratch, but hissing whenever the cotton dips at his skin.

His blue eyes were dangerous, you were told—and they are, in all the ways you weren’t told. They’re sweet, caring, and lost. He’s not sure what he’s doing, he doesn’t know right from wrong, and he thinks of you as an anchor. You used to think his eyes were crystals, bland and rich and hard to reach. But Satoru’s eyes were an ocean, behind them hid a thousand lives in a man who is not thirty yet.

Satoru brings you flowers every Thursday, a different arrangement from last week, and tells you it’s a good day to celebrate having you in his life. Satoru apologizes when you sneeze because you’re allergic to one of these flowers—he spends the next week making it up to you until it’s Thursday again.

You’d been told he’ll dump you over text, but whenever he’s away on a mission he texts you to make sure you know he loves you. To make sure that you love him. He promises you he’s gonna kiss you until you pass out when he’s back, he tells you he can’t sleep without your snores, he swears he’s going to lose his mind if he can’t see you for much longer.

Satoru listens to every word you say, memorizing every note your voice rises and committing it to memory. He remembers every topic you discuss, every movie you talk about, every pet you gushed over, and even every problem you complained about. But his favorite? Oh, the way you moan his name, trying to hold back but it comes out sobbed and pitched and desperate. He loves it so much he hears it even in his dreams, waking up needy and clinging to you.

And oh, people sing of the miracle he is in bed, chanting of how good they hear he is. But he’s clueless; unsure how to please you, afraid he’d get things wrong. It’s so sweet, really, the way he studies your face, waiting for confirmation that yes, he can continue. That he’s making you feel good.

You heard people say they’d never seen him with the same girl twice, but today you celebrate your second anniversary. Your third anniversary. Your fourth anniversary, when he insists you celebrate at home, unlike every year. Where he gets down on one knee in your backyard, asking you with keen eyes to make him the happiest man alive.

‘Oh, but he’s not a family man,’ You’ve been warned, ‘he’s so busy, your family would be a mess!’ But he swears he won’t be happy until he gets a kid with your eyes. Satoru holds your hand every night, reminding you that he wants to have children and watch them grow with you, promising you you’d be a happy family until the very end of your days.

He’s the strongest, you were told. You told him to stay, you told him it’s too dangerous to go. But he promised he’d come back, what could possibly go wrong? He is the strongest, after all, that’s what all the tales of him tell.

But everything else they said was a lie, and this was no exception. You swore you loved Gojo Satoru, but you’ve never hated him more than when you received news of his death, a baby in your stomach, only three months away. Even when you weep over his coffin, begging him to come back, promising him you’d never be mad at him again, promising him you’d never keep him up late again, promising him you’d never stand in his way again, he doesn’t. 

You don’t regret Gojo Satoru, you never could. But you wonder to yourself every night, what would you tell the little one growing in you? That her father was a legend? Would she understand that?