#when you hear about Interview/Business Culture you know you have to dress well. everyone knows that's like step 1. but people havent

[sleepygaymerdisease]

im trying to respond to people on my post who have questions or are confused but theres just so many 😭 i dont know how to explain the intricacies of classism or how hard it is to get a lawyer to start and WIN a discrimination case. especially since i dont know australian laws. but like... this behavior, denying someone a job for their outfit, is really common across the world. classism is pervasive and it's dangerous and it costs people their lives. we would have to change the capitalist system, change policies across the globe, and work on our internalized classist beliefs for the rest of our lives.

[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: Anonymous

our interviewee today is the anonymous author of the "SBI Crit Post". he's asked to both remain anonymous and not to be sought out; he's been incredibly helpful and polite through this entire interview process, and i would ask you all to leave any residual feelings you may have from that time at the door. If you think you remember who posted it, please keep it to yourself. that said, let's begin!

Q: Before we begin talking about the ‘Crit Post’, I’d love to hear what your experience of MCYTblr was like before it was posted. Do you have any standout memories from this time?

A: Not particularly. There's some things that I guess looking back on nowadays is kind of wild, like how in the groups I was running in, shipping of any kind that wasn't DNF was super frowned upon (as in, I trigger tagged for IRL shipping)…but truthing wasn't really? Or, how back then the lines between 'critblr' and main mcytblr were super fuzzy. I hung out with both groups before the Crit Post to no issue. Oh!!! And this is a wonderful piece of MCYTblr lore that you may not know, but when I posted the Crit Post, I was apart of a MCYT art exchange themed after MCC called MC Creatives. I think it only happened once, and I can't exactly remember who ran it. They were a really nice DNF (? or just DTeam) blogger. I think it's cool to see that even back then the community was pretty tight knit and had overarching community activities like we see today. It's interesting to me that our fandom has missed out on some of the more important parts to being a fandom… not many big bangs, only one or two that I know of. It's very sad, but we are a weird fandom in general, and definitely a Modern Fandom, if you understand what I mean by that LOL. There is one memory that does stick out, completely irrelevant to this interview though. The fake Dreambur meetup. I pulled an all nighter for it. I was shaking. I drew fanart (though never posted it). Everyone was hysterical. And then it was faked and everyone went WHAT.

Q: As you let me know in your dms, you were the user who made the original “SBI Crit Post”. Would you mind giving a quick rundown of what it was exactly, for anyone who may not know?

A: I would, but frankly I barely remember anything about it. It was like… I saw someone being like "weird that we aren't as critical of SBI as we are of DT" and I thought, "Well, I can probably try?" and made shit up. It was nonsense. I can't even remember what I said about Philza. The points against the others were "Tommy is too young to be in this business" "Wilbur queerbaits" and… "Technoblade needs to be less honest about his ADHD he's glorifying it" or something like that. Again, it was nonsense at its best.

Q: What was your reasoning at the time for making the post? Did the overall culture around you play a part in it?

A: Here's the part no one knows: At the time of posting, I was 13 by maybe… one, two, or three weeks. And I'd spent almost the entirety of my time as a 12 year old in a community that was like "we need to be Critical of our Favorite Creators because this is Righteous and the Only Good Way To Engage With MCYT" and I was like "Everyone here is older than me and therefore endlessly smarter than me," and therefore just accepted it. You can see it very clearly in the part that was "critical" of Wilbur Soot. He was queerbaiting for what? Acting like he wanted to kiss men? Dressing nice? Ridiculous! But if we called Dream a queerbaiter (and never GNF, because everyone was convinced he was gay), then I thought surely Wilbur Soot could also be a queerbaiter! This made total sense to baby 13 year old me. It's not fair to really call that indoctrination: it's not like I was falling down an alt-right pipeline or anything. I was just a stupid kid with too much internet access who liked minecraft and knew nothing about like Dan & Phil or Septiplier (kind of thing that would make me suspicious of this activity--especially truthing). I thought I was fufilling some honor by saying "and yes, my favorite minecraft boys aren't without fault either!" The people that stayed friends with me after that… some of them were my closest normal non-Critblr friends, who refused to abandon me (shout out to you guys you know who you are), and the rest were the people in Critblr who were… okay with my behavior.

Q: I understand that the backlash to the post was very intense– what was it like from your perspective? Did it have any affect on you?

A: Lots. Lots and lots and lots. I lost a bunch of my close friends who weren't okay with what I'd said or how I'd doubled down, and it really messed with me as a kid in the middle of quarantine. There were times where I genuinely considered hurting myself irreperably as either a way to "apologize for what I had done" or just a way to stop worrying that everyone I knew was going to block me one day. Those feelings lasted for a long time, I still struggle with them to this day, over three years later (? I think). And I was kind of lead to believe that was an okay response. I recieved asks the night that it all went down where I was told I should hurt myself. Of course my own behavior wasn't cool, but neither was that. I know there was a post out there by a popular (at the time?) Technoblade blogger that detailed the faults in that post, but I never read it. All I knew about it was that people saw it, and harassed me because they saw it, and that the OP of that post hated me. It got to the point that seeing that blogger's URL caused me to have panic attacks, a ridiculous thing because that blogger as far as I know never actually did anything wrong. I don't know. Every once in awhile, someone in the server I'm in (hi some of you are definitely reading this :3 i love you guys) will bring up the post in passing and I'll have to mute the channel for 24 hours because I'm scared. Or even when we're discussing normal drama, if something feels too close to the Crit Post, or like it might come up, I'll get shaky and nauseous and have to mute the channel for 24 hours. It's weird, the shit being told to kill yourself because you did something dumb as a 13 year old can do to you.

Q: As a follow-up: What, if anything, do you wish had happened instead?

A: I don't know really. I guess the obvious answer is "I didn't make the post" or "I didn't double down", but I think the real answer has to be that I wish the community I was in hadn't taught me that what I was doing was an okay move.

Q: Do you have anything else to add about the Crit Post, MCYTblr, or the community as a whole?

A: Not really. I "retired" from MCYTBlr in I think 2022, but kept a passing interest in it for a long time, and I'm still active in a discord (hi again) comprised entirely of fans and retired fans. I loved MCYT, and in some ways, I still do. When I'm sad, I put on old Technoblade videos. When I'm really sad, I put on old Purpled videos. These things are my comforts, things that I haven't ever been able to give up. And that's good! Even if I don't talk about MCYT anymore, I'm glad it's there for me.

[littlemixnet]

Little Mix on what it takes to survive being the most bullied band in pop

Still teenagers when they were catapulted to fame, superstardom came at a price for Little Mix. They open up to Francesca Babb about the soaring highs and crashing lows of the past nine years. It is the end of our YOU cover shoot, and I am facing the lesser-spotted sight of a barefaced Little Mix. Wet wipes swipe back and forth across their faces and, as the foundation departs in a deluge of coffee-coloured tissues, Jesy Nelson and Leigh-Anne Pinnock, both 29, and Jade Thirlwall and Perrie Edwards, both 27, visibly relax into their tracksuits and boyfriend jeans, shoulders dropping as they settle into themselves. I’m so used to seeing them contoured and camera ready that I assumed full glamour was their happy place. But perhaps the real Little Mix are not the war-paint-and-leotard-clad pop stars we’ve spent almost ten years watching grow up, but rather the four women they have become behind the glare of the spotlight. It’s those four women that I’m intrigued to meet. Since winning The X Factor nine years ago, there have been highs – selling over 50 million records globally, a significant percentage of which were self-penned, and creating enough accompanying make-up lines and merchandise to keep them and their families comfortable for the foreseeable future (recent reports suggest they have earned a combined £28.5 million to date). But there have also been lows – perpetual picking apart by both the public and the press, bullying and vitriol from online trolls. The most extreme cases of which led Jesy to attempt suicide during Little Mix’s early days in 2013 (she regards a tweet from the controversial Katie Hopkins – ‘Packet Mix have still got a chubber in their ranks. Less Little Mix. More Pick n Mix’ – as the ‘pinnacle point’ for her depression) and pushed Perrie into an ongoing struggle with anxiety. Fame has changed them. In some ways they are still youthful and silly – dropping phrases into conversation that wouldn’t be out of place in a playground – yet, in others, they are wise beyond their years, diving headfirst into battles on feminism, race and mental health. They’re fun enough to be light relief, smart enough to inspire a generation struggling with the pressures of youth and social media even before a pandemic was thrown at them, and ballsy enough to leave Simon Cowell’s record label because they didn’t feel he had their best interests at heart. ‘It’s never really been a cruise, has it?’ Jade ponders, a copy of social activist Bell Hooks’ 2002 feminist theory Communion: The Female Search For Love in her hand (not for show, I might add; when I ask her about it, she is well versed in its content). ‘It’s either been a really big high, or a really big low.’ Jesy, who has found herself the target of some of the cruelest contempt from the world outside Little Mix, agrees: ‘Some of the best times, some of the worst times.’ Comments on her weight, her looks, her place in the band, comments that she should take her own life, all led her into a deep depression and the aforementioned suicide attempt. Her documentary last year, Jesy Nelson: Odd One Out, revealed her journey through it all and, while harrowing, it is essential viewing on the realities of growing up in a world dominated by social media. ‘Before we got in the group, I never looked at myself and thought, “I don’t like that” – I don’t think any of us did. I never thought, “Oh god, I’m fat”, and then we got in the industry, and we all started wanting to change things about ourselves. It’s so sad. There are things [in the past] I definitely wish I hadn’t done,’ she says, referring to the suicide attempt, in which she took an overdose after a two-year battle with depression and an eating disorder. ‘But would I be the person I am today if I hadn’t gone through all of that?’ ‘There was a time when it was worse than it is now,’ adds Leigh-Anne, who has increasingly used her own Instagram channel to vocalise her experience of racism, both overt and underlying, throughout her time in the band. ‘I guess we’re taking steps forward, but I fear for my [future] daughters…’ ‘It makes me not want to have a kid,’ agrees Jesy. ‘Those insecurities that we all have now because of social media, imagine having that embedded in you as a child?’ Before you write them off as four very lucky girls ungratefully complaining about a lifestyle so many dream of, I should point out that they are fully aware of the paradox of their privilege. I suppose the point is, it’s not too much to ask to not be bullied to the point of hospitalisation as a by-product, is it? ‘Little Mix has changed our lives for the better, and our families’ lives, and we have achieved so much,’ says Perrie. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ agrees Jesy (a warning I will hear repeatedly throughout our hour together, perhaps thanks to almost a decade of their quotes being blasted out of context for click-bait). ‘I’m not going to sit here and say we’ve got a terrible life, because we haven’t, but I do think our innocence was taken from us.’ It’s a while since the girls last did any press. Lockdown saw a halt to any activity they had planned, including the launch of their new talent show, BBC1’s Little Mix: The Search (in which they, well, search for a new band to mentor and join them on tour). But the time apart has not diminished their ability to finish each other’s sentences and jump to each other’s aid. It has, it seems, been really rather good for them and allowed them to come back fired up for the release of their sixth album, Confetti, which came out this week. ‘It was needed,’ agrees Jesy. ‘We’re never not with each other and we’re always busy. Our mornings start early, we finish really late.’ Being at home has meant more time spent with their families, with Jade even starting her own show on MTV with her mum Norma. Called Served!, the self-filmed series saw the pair interview celebrity drag queens and challenge each other to cooking competitions. ‘I love drag culture,’ she says, ‘and me mam was by herself in lockdown, so I thought it’d be something nice to keep her entertained.’ ‘Your mum could be on Loose Women,’ Leigh-Anne muses. ‘Imagine our mams on a show!’ shrieks Jade. ‘Nobody else would get a word in edgeways with my mam,’ laughs Perrie. ‘Ooh, when Debbie goes off on Twitter,’ says Jade, of Perrie’s mum’s habit of weighing in on comments from haters. ‘My mam will text me, have you seen Debbie’s been going off on someone!’ It is interesting that all four talk frequently about their mums throughout our chat, and yet there is no mention of fathers. While their mums often appear on Instagram, a sighting of Perrie’s dad on her 23rd birthday was extremely rare. Perhaps the Little Mix dads’ absence in the narrative is because the four girls were predominantly raised by their mothers (all of their parents separated when they were younger), and another reason the group’s bond is so tight. Little Mix are each other’s wall of arms, their own personal bodyguards. Jesy, they unanimously agree, is Scary Mix (although I find her a delight), which is interesting given her own inability to bat off other people’s words. ‘When it’s you on your own dealing with something personally,’ Jesy says, ‘It’s completely different. You feel so vulnerable alone, but we are a force when we’re together.’ It’s not hard to see, in today’s social-media obsessed society where there is little retribution for cruelty, why four attractive, successful young women, with attractive, successful young boyfriends (two footballers – Perrie dates Liverpool’s Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, Leigh-Anne is engaged to Watford’s Andre Gray – while Jade is with Rizzle Kicks singer Jordan Stephens and Jesy is going out with Our Girl actor Sean Sagar), who seem to be living a dream life have found themselves at the heart of a whirlwind of vitriol. There was the infamous spat with Piers Morgan, in which he mocked them for posing naked but for the insults that have been hurled at them painted on their bodies. He accused them of using sex to sell records and called them ‘foul-mouthed, talentless, clothes-allergic little dimwits’, which is not how I find them to be. ‘I take Piers with a pinch of salt,’ Jesy says, rolling her eyes. ‘He does it to cause drama, so I take no notice. When we won The X Factor, we didn’t look like a generic girl band: we’re all different shapes and sizes, we didn’t dress sexy, so immediately everyone was, “What’s this?”’ ‘Usually, when you see a girl band, they’re perfection, they have six-packs – and we didn’t,’ continues Jesy. ‘People saw us as kids, so even though we’re now women, people still think of us that way, so when we come out on stage in leotards, they think, “That’s disgusting!”’ ‘One Direction didn’t get the s**t we get, because they’re men,’ states Leigh-Anne. ‘It’s like, “They’re four girls, let’s come at them”. As soon as it’s girls, they think, “Oh you slag.”’ ‘When it’s men, it’s celebrated, but the minute women sexualise themselves and feel powerful doing it, we’re told to rein it in,’ adds Jade. ‘We’re conditioned to think that women are there to be these innocent and pure beings and the minute you step out of that, it’s carnage.’ Little Mix, however, are not scared of embracing that carnage and of sparking a debate. For their show The Search, Jade describes how it was important for them to set the tone on respect when each new person auditioned. ‘Because we are small women, it’s important to show people that they need to respect us, that we know what we’re talking about and we need to be listened to,’ she says. ‘There’s no nastiness,’ continues Jesy about the show, which has been praised for modernising and freshening up the age-old TV format. ‘There’s no making anyone feel uncomfortable for entertainment.’ They also insisted a large part of their budget be dedicated to looking after the contestants’ mental health, understanding, first hand, the pitfalls of talent shows. The Search is not their first attempt at diversifying their talent. As a group, they have LMX make-up line and also a perfume, Style By Little Mix. Subsequently, they have become expert businesswomen, refusing to make the mistakes of pop groups past, so often left completely penniless at the end of their careers. ‘I remember walking into an early label meeting and saying, “This is who we want to be, this is the campaign we want, this is the imagery we want,”’ says Jade. ‘We knew our brand from the get go and we very much steered that ship.’ It’s a long way from their (as Jesy puts it) ‘working-class backgrounds’. Since joining the band, each one has bought their mum a house and, while their tale is not entirely rags to riches, the jump from Primark to Prada in recent years has certainly been significant. When it comes to business, Perrie describes herself and Leigh-Anne as the ones who will often seek a compromise in difficult situations, while they send Jesy and Jade in when deals need to be made. ‘Jesy’s the badass,’ Perrie laughs. ‘Whenever I’m scared, I’ll stand behind her. She’s the one who puts her foot down in a boardroom full of men and says, “It’s going to be this way.” But we pick our battles. We don’t just argue about every decision – it’s when we feel we have to.’ ‘Nobody could say that we are difficult, and if they do, they’re lying,’ says Leigh-Anne adamantly. Adds Jesy: ‘We know what we want, and we know what kids want.’ Little Mix have lived over a third of their lives in the spotlight. They’ve seen how things work, how things don’t, and they’ve learnt how to cope with it all. The lows may have been spectacularly low, but the highs have surpassed any of their expectations. Their story is not your classic fairytale, but it’s one they have learnt they can write their own ending for. If the Little Mix I meet today is anything to go by, I wouldn’t expect that ending to come any time soon. Little Mix’s new album Confetti is out now. Their movie LM5: The Tour Film will be in cinemas nationwide on 21 and 22 November.

[casually-shipped]

Jeff Wittek is DUMB! Means well, but DUMB!

     That interview. Where to begin? The turn this interview took, I didn’t even want to write this. I’m more torn for metoo which is further harmed by, and at the expense of this shit show. From Jeff’s handling of this, to Ethan and Trisha’s involvement in this conversation. Jeff was thrown from the very beginning. He fucked up. As genuine as he wanted to be, Ethan dominated him because Jeff was unprepared. I am shocked Jeff didn’t refresh his memory on the situation, that he would speak out when he didn’t know fully the information to even speak out about. From the moment Jeff released his own video on his YouTube, he was working without the complete information. Which unravels anything he hoped to achieve. 

     I was very disappointed to realize that Jeff is, and was more interested in protecting himself (excluding his employees) his business, than the concerns of any allegation. I’m glad he realized that too, and said as much. I get Jeff, I get his history, and I see how this situation is not easy for someone like him, his self esteem, his past, secrets, and new found success. He wants to protect himself so much, but at the same time protect his friends, those he loves, and the alleged victims, and he is tripping all over himself. For the morons on the internet, in the court of public opinion, this did him and this situation no real favors. 

     Ethan and Trisha are master manipulators, and very smart when it comes to this. Jeff was very much out matched especially with this team up. The worst part in all of this is Jeff resorted to past problematic behavior imo. He lied! You see, when you choose not to speak truth to power, or speak truth out of fear of saying the wrong thing, or to protect someone, you lose credibility immediately. As you should. I didn’t expect Jeff to take this turn, but I can see it because he was backed into a corner, and when this happens to him, this is the result. He panicked, and fucked up. From this point on in the interview when he says he doesn’t remember the photo Ethan showed him, the interview went further down hill.

      The photo was used by Ethan to trip Jeff up. It was a brilliant move, but someone with actual brain cells would know, that the picture wasn’t time stamped. That was an upload time, but Jeff didn’t realize this, nor understood that, so he doubted his own memory, which I wouldn’t be surprised is screwed up especially after his so called “near death car accident.” (EDit: Further analysis, I thought the photo was an upload from a social media site, it might actually be a time stamp.)  “Which means his memory of events are very questionable, but his entire statements are in doubt regardless!”

     Not only did he doubt his memory, but the situation doesn’t truly matter to him because he believes his truth, that he didn’t bother to do the work. It showed. It showed Jeff doesn’t actually believe the victim, and even if he is telling the truth, even if the victim is lying, this isn’t how you handle this situation. Believe victims, for the sake of the movement until proven otherwise. He tried to walk this line, but ultimately failed. He failed to tell the right truth because he doesn’t truly understand this. He shouldn’t have spoken at all to this degree outside of a court of law in the first place, for his sake, his friends, the metoo movement, and the alleged victim.

      Once he doubted his own memory because of the photo and Ethan’s clever rues, he crumbled. From this moment it was very hard to watch. There came a point where it seemed Jeff was trying so hard to distance himself, it really sounded like, and I believe this is what he was doing, throwing everyone who isn’t him under the bus. Intentionally or not, that was publicly damning.  He acted as if there was a cover up that he wasn’t aware of, and tried to protect himself which came across as confirmation of the allegations. Which again began to destroy public confidence and his credibility. As well as his character. He quickly became an unreliable source. If Jeff wants to remember where he was, if he had his location turned on his phone, he can look up his location from that time maybe? lol Just a thought! Well, the authorities will anyways. 

     Ethan’s way of asking questions was to project a truth that he believes or wants people to believe and plays off that. He makes people think that his opinion or point of view is fact, as well as making shocked faces, using certain tones and inflections, being accusatory, twisting words, ignore and not following up statements, moving past answers in favor of his own answers, talking over Jeff and retailing Jeff’s point of view and the point of view of the allegations, with his own narrative. At points Trisha did the same, which Ethan allowed and played off of. This interview was a hit job, not getting any other side or truly getting to the bottom of something. Ethan disgusts me! This interview DISGUSTED ME! If you can call this an interview outside of an opportunity for exploitation, and monetization. After the interview even began to make jokes was disgusting do to the serious nature of all of this.

      I’m glad I powered through the interview because it was so cringe, too cringe, but I got through it. What a waste of time. I walked away knowing more than I thought I would, but I put myself through mental anguish just to end up with more questions. I have an idea what Jeff is hiding about his eye. I have many theories about Jeff, and David. These theories is pretty eye opening for me when it comes to this situation. I do still give credit to Jeff and surprisingly even Trisha for this situation to a degree. Trisha will however always be trash for me. But she isn’t wrong about how David in some ways treated her, even if it was mental health driving her physical, emotional, and mental abuse towards others and Jason. There’s just no excuse for her. No excuse for David either. David is and was a very insensitive self involved individual. To the point where his pranks deffinetely crossed a massive line. Brandon even thought he was a psychopath, he truly believed it. David had to beg for forgiveness and say even sorry to his parents for what he put Brandon through. An emotionally traumatizing moment. Shit like that David needs to own, and hasn’t.

     If what happened with the victim happened, then she as well as everyone involved has to speak out. Even if it didn’t! That’s just doing the right thing for the movement. Let’s say the victim messed up her story or is lying? You still treat this with the respect it is owed until it becomes a criminal case, or defend yourself in court for defamation and we hear otherwise. If you have privilege then you will gain back anything you lost when the truth is finally known, if you are innocent. Some thing you don’t allow to play out in the court of public opinion, literally fuck the public, it’s the only way to protect victims and the movement from being destroyed by outrage cancel culture, the way it has been. David and others who were there, not speaking is a mistake. However, I disagree with how far you have this conversation. Jeff in my opinion has gone a little too far. Some truths you keep to yourself, even if it makes you look bad, until court. It comes out then not before to respect the victims involved publicly as well as the movement.   

     What are my final thoughts? Personally, I don’t really know what to believe. I in all honesty am not sure I truly believe the victim, but, I choose to because of the movement, and that I wasn’t there. So I don’t know shit! But if you want just my honest opinion, I believe Jeff wasn’t involved in that way, I also don’t believe David would go as far as being insinuated, he’s dumb and careless, but not that. But even then, who really knows? Anything is possible. I just don’t think that part of the story is correct, but that’s just me. I have always at that time when I saw this vlog, thought it was faked. I remember David peaking and nothing was happening. They were all dressed, but that could have been shot at a different times, again no one knows. This is edited footage here.

      David in the past has been involved in edgy sexual content when it comes to consent. Heath (and I can’t remember who else it was, maybe Zane,) were in a hot tub clearly drunk, and David used that moment when they kissed for a fun video moment and that was a moment David took advantage of for content. They may have consented for that video to be uploaded after the fact, but it seems David has always had a problem with consent, AFTER THE FACT! I do believe David has grown and changed a lot, but he still imo hasn’t come far enough. There are things he still needs to take accountability for, and he never has. His video, very much wasn’t that. The whole situation is just awful. I can however mimic some of Ethan’s words at the end to Jeff. I hate Ethan, but damn if he wasn’t right. Credit where credit is do. But fuck Ethan! David HAS to treat this issue with more respect that it is owed!

[firebrands]

the mind-body problem | steve/tony

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, M (for later parts), 4.5k | Stony Bingo Prompt: Off the Record | on ao3

Steve stares at the card in his hands. It's just a little lighter than cream, almost white; dark letters embossed, sans-serif. PEPPER POTTS.

He'd met Ms. Potts a month or so ago, in a conference that was supposed to be attended by the famous Tony Stark. Steve's been in the energy beat long enough not to expect attendance, but he does know to take notice when she appears. Potts is the only direct line to Stark, and he needs to speak to him, at least if the mountain of research he’s done is true. Steve’s done his fair share of investigative reporting—but it’s never been related to what this could be, and this could be… Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself and stopping his train of thought.

“This should probably be lodged under the nation beat, Pete,” he’d said, earlier that day when the editorial team had met to discuss their longer-form stories.

“They’re full up with the Stern inquiry,” Pete, Steve’s editor, said. He didn’t even look up from his notebook as he spoke. “We’re short on hands for this. And you’ve covered Stark long enough.”

“I’ve barely covered Stark, I haven’t even met him,” Steve said.

“Do you not want the story?” Pete’s tone was sharp. Annoyed.

“Of course I want the story!” Steve huffed. “But I don’t want any of those guys taking it from me midway just because the senate hearing ends early. So.”

“Yeah, okay. Fine.” Pete waved Steve off. “Good luck.”

Steve had never intended to end up in the energy beat—he barely knew enough about science on the get- go. But as it was in newsrooms, when one team was short staffed, the most junior staff had to fill in. That was almost three years ago, when Steve had started in the New York Bulletin, writing about culture, art. Next thing he knew he was given a press pass for a two-day green energy summit, then that was it. Steve Rogers, senior reporter for the Energy and Environment section of the New York Bulletin.

Steve taps the card on the table, bites his lip, then pulls out his phone to type out a message.

Steve stares down at his phone.

Then stares some more.

He wasn’t expecting a reply, at least not any time soon; he was ready to go to their office and set up an appointment with her assistant’s assistant’s assistant, but instead, he’s here. In direct communication with the closest line to Tony Stark.

Steve doesn’t even bother checking his schedule before accepting the appointment. He lets out a shaky breath. This seems too good to be true. Just like that—he checks the timestamps of their messages—in the span of 2 minutes, he’s secured an interview with one of the richest and most powerful men in the country.

He needs to find something to wear.

***

Steve sucks on his bottom lip as the elevator begins its ascent. Steve checks his bag for his recorder, notebook, and pen. He checked it twice before leaving the office, once again in the cab, and lastly once more as he pulled out his wallet to hand over his ID for a security pass.

He’s not usually nervous; he’s met his fair share of C-suite executives before. But he’s heard about Stark, about how he behaves during interviews in the few time he grants them. Flippant, wilfully obtuse, and too wildly charismatic for you to do anything about it at the moment. Disarming, his friend from other papers had said simply. Another suggested that Steve check his questions before agreeing to end the interview, because Stark had the talent to take you for a ride you never asked to go on, and make you happy to be on it all the while.

The elevator doors slide open to an office bathed in the afternoon light. Pepper Potts is standing at the entrance, and reaches out to shake Steve’s hand.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Rogers,” she says, smiling down at him.

“You too,” Steve says, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “Thanks for setting this up. We’re really happy to be able to interview Mr. Stark.”

Ms. Potts nods, and gestures towards large double doors at the end of the carpeted hallway. “Let’s go,” she says, and Steve follows, fighting the urge to rifle through his bag again, just once more.

Ms. Potts knocks on the door and peeks her head in. “It’s Steve Rogers from the New York Bulletin.”

The beat, then the door swings wide open to reveal Tony Stark. “Hey Steve, nice to meet you.” He extends his hand, and Steve shakes it.

Here’s the thing about Steve, he realizes glumly: he’s always been very good at recognizing things that are aesthetically pleasing. It’s why he initially chose to focus on art and culture. It’s why he can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by how absolutely gorgeous Tony Stark actually is. Sure, he’s seen photos, and seen Stark from a distance in the few times he’d deigned to make an appearance at events. But seeing him here now, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt—top three buttons undone and sleeves rolled up—Steve can’t help but feel a little helpless when faced with such immediate beauty.

Stark directs him to a sitting area. “Coffee? Tea?” he asks, taking a seat directly across Steve.

“Tea is fine,” Steve says, and Stark nods at Pepper, who nods back. Steve sets down his bag and pulls out the tools of the trade: his recorder, his notebook, his pen.

“Your office looks lovely,” Steve says, hazarding small talk.

“Thank you. It was all Pepper,” Stark says, leaning back on the couch, relaxing.

Without thinking, Steve inches forward—then he catches himself and tries to settle into his chair nonchalantly.

“Is that a Newman?” Steve asks, nodding at the black and white painting behind Stark.

“Hm?” Stark furrows his brow, then follows Steve’s line of sight. “Ah, is it?” He smiles a little to himself, then looks up when the door opens, and a man walks in with two steaming cups.

They remain silent as their drinks are placed in front of them. Tony takes a sip of what Steve assumes to be an espresso.

Steve clears his throat. “So, Mr. Stark. I’ll begin recording now, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t,” Stark says, placing his cup carefully back on its saucer. It doesn’t make a sound.

Steve doesn’t want to face why he’s cataloging all of this. Instead, he nods, turns on his recorder, and asks Tony: “Let’s start with when you first launched the energy arm of SI. Can you tell me about the thought process and rationale for it?”

Stark nods, leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.

Steve catches a whiff of Stark’s perfume. He swallows, and focuses on his pen poised on top of his notebook, ready to write.

“What are the real questions you want to ask, Steve?” Stark tilts his head a little, clearly assessing Steve.

Steve frowns. “These are the questions I’d like to ask, Mr. Stark.”

Stark sighs. “It was in ‘99 when we first began investing in R&D for more sustainable industries.”

As the interview goes on, Steve feels less and less inclined to be on his guard; Stark responds to his questions directly and completely. It’s likely because he’d been prepared by his team, but it’s nice to know that Stark isn’t the asshole everyone paints him to be. But then again, it could also just be something Steve’s gotten used to at this point: Stark doesn’t see him as a threat. No one ever does. That’s why Steve’s so good at getting scoops over other reporters, overzealous and loud and brash, always angling for an interesting story. No one ever expects Steve, quiet and small, to go straight for the jugular.

When Steve gets to his last question, he pauses to take a breath.

There have been allegations that SI’s energy business is just a front. I’d like to know what you think of those allegations.

Steve asks the question.

If he hadn’t been watching Stark so closely, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible tightening of Stark’s jaw, or the way he pushes his glasses up his nose, fully covering his eyes, now.

“Allegations are just that,” Stark says, and Steve finally sees the flippancy everyone had warned him about. “If there’s any basis to them, then whoever’s saying this should be talking to my lawyers.”

Steve nods, scratching Stark’s words onto his pad. “Anything else?” Steve asks, because Stark’s been much more verbose than that in the past half-hour they’d been speaking.

“So this is what the song and dance has been about,” Stark says, smirking.

Steve feels his hackles rise, and he shakes his head. “I am doing a story on SI’s energy business. It’ll be celebrating a decade at the start of next year,” he says, keeping his voice level. “But in the course of my research, I came across these sentiments. I think it’s only fair that I ask your opinion on them,”

The smirk on Stark’s face stays in place. “Fair,” he says, arching his eyebrow. “Sure,” he says, his tone a touch condescending.

Worry pools in Steve’s belly; he can’t afford to be on Stark’s bad side, not if he wants to still cover SI events. “Have you heard these allegations before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Stark responds, shrugging. “But I figure Hammer’s got something to say about it.”

The thought had crossed Steve’s mind, but it seemed baseless to bring up. He thinks back on the massive Excel sheet he had worked on, cross-referencing numbers and seeing how they didn’t add up. Maybe Stark doesn’t know—and that hypothesis, well. It tracks.

“He doesn’t,” Steve says. “Not about your energy arm, at least,” he adds, smiling at Stark and hoping that he gets the joke.

Stark snorts, and that seems to put him in better spirits. “Yeah, and now you’re going to ask what I’m working on, huh?”

Steve bites back a grin. “Well, Mr. Stark, I wasn’t. But now that you bring it up…”

Stark chuckles, then motions to Steve’s recorder.

“Off the record, then,” Steve agrees, and someone in Stark’s PR department definitely dropped the ball on this, because off the record isn’t real. It’s not as if people can just pretend they didn’t hear something, and sure, Steve isn’t going to include this in the story, but he’ll know, and sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“We’re in the testing phases for a new missile,” Stark says, and then there seems to be a real spark in Stark’s eyes, as if finally he’s awake.

“What’s new about it?” Steve asks, tucking his pen into the binding of his notebook. He’s half-afraid to look up at Stark again, luminous with excitement and impossibly more gorgeous. Now that the interview is truly done, it seems like his traitorous brain lets go over its tight grip of professionalism.

“Oh, Steve, it’s magnificent. I developed this new repulsor technology that—” Stark catches himself. “You’re sure you work for the Bulletin, right?” he asks, scrutinizing Steve closely.

Steve holds up his press ID. “No corporate espionage here,” he says.

Stark laughs, eyes crinkling up, and Steve wants to reach out and touch him, wants to make him laugh again like that. Instead, he grips his notebook just a little bit tighter.

***

Two weeks later, Steve is at a Stark Industries event. It’s about something called “Intelli-Crops” which Steve hates the name of, but he can’t help but feel impressed by the science behind it.

Steve is even more impressed (so much so that he nearly drops his drink) when Tony Stark walks out on stage to explain the product himself. Stark is singular in the way he immediately draws all the attention in the room; he walks across the stage and gestures as the presentation flows behind him. Only after a few seconds of watching Stark does Steve realize with a jolt that he isn’t recording Stark’s speech. He pulls out his notebook and takes notes, eyes fixed on Stark’s muscular form all the while.

 Steve is still standing by the bar, going through his notes and double checking the press release included in the media packet when he feels a presence beside him.

“Steve Rogers. Fancy seeing you here.”

Steve’s head snaps up at the voice he’d gotten very familiar with as he’d spent hours transcribing their conversation. Then he’d listened again for good measure, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything. And if he listened to Stark’s voice sometimes in the privacy of his apartment then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

“Mr. Stark,” Steve says, turning to him. “I can’t help but say the same to you.”

“Well it is a Stark Industries event,” Stark answers, eyebrow cocked.

“That didn’t seem to matter much in all the other events I’d attended,” Steve says, snorting a little.

“You wound me,” Stark says.

“I’m sure you can afford the treatment,” Steve says, downing the last of his whiskey. It’s his second of the night, which means he’s had enough. He’s already pretty loose at it is, palling around with Stark like he isn’t Tony Stark, Billionaire Genius Extraordinaire. He sets down his glass and nods at Stark. “It was nice seeing you, Mr. Stark,” he says, extending his hand.

Stark pouts. “What, no follow up questions for me?”

Steve very nearly says, how about I follow you up to your room instead but he still has a grasp on reality. Instead, he shakes his head. “Thank you for the excellent presentation, booze, and dinner, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony, Steve,” Stark huffs. “The program’s done, doesn’t that mean you’re off the clock?”

Steve levels Stark with a look. “How do you think reporters work?”

“Dunno, really,” Stark says, and Steve has a feeling that this isn’t Stark’s first drink of the night. Somehow, that makes him feel a bit braver. He shifts his gaze and looks around the room, worried that Stark will notice that he’s staring.

“But I’d like to learn, if you’ll tell me.”

Steve’s gaze snaps back to Stark, cheeks heating up at the comment and the way Stark’s tone is just a little shy of innuendo.

“I—” Steve stammers. He doesn’t know what to do with that, with flirting, has never known what to do, really, and Bucky is too far away for him to ask.

Steve’s immediate reaction when in this position is run. “Well, Mr. Stark,” he says, trying again to keep his voice even.

“It’s Tony,” Stark frowns. “Seriously, it kills me every time you call me that.”

Steve scrunches up his face. “Okay, Tony. It was nice chatting with you, but I need to send this story in so it makes tomorrow’s paper.”

Stark sighs, then immediately brightens like he has an idea. He turns to Steve with a smile. “How about,” he pauses, resting his hand on Steve’s arm, just above his elbow. “How about you type up your story in my office, and we keep drinking there?”

There are many thoughts that spring to Steve’s mind. First, is that this is a great way to build a relationship with a source. Second, Stark’s hand is warm against the thick fabric of Steve’s shirt. Third, and this is (un)fortunately what spills out of his mouth: “Why me? There are so many other people you could drink with here.”

Stark snorts, as if Steve has said something stupid, which is annoying. “Other people are boring. You’re interesting,” Stark says, like that explains everything. “Let’s go.”

So they go.

Stark’s office floor is dark when they arrive, but lights turn on as they walk towards his office. Steve looks around, wondering who’s flipping the switches, then sees Stark’s fingers dancing along his keyboard, which is answer enough.

Stark motions to the couch, and a strange sense of deja vu floats into Steve’s mind as he settles in, pulling out his laptop.

Stark busies himself by making drinks: “Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat,” Steve answers, not looking up from his laptop as he types. Nervous energy is beginning to build in his belly, and he won’t admit to himself why he’s so intent on immediately finishing this story. Thankfully he’d gotten to start it midway through the program.

“A man after my own heart,” Stark says before plopping down jovially beside Steve on the couch, handing Steve a drink before taking a sip of his own.

“That’s your laptop?” Stark asks, frowning down at Steve’s beat up ThinkPad.

“Office-issued,” Steve answers. “And I like the red button.”

“He likes the red button,” Stark murmurs to himself, disbelief clear in his tone.

They’re silent for a while, the only sounds of the room are Steve’s fingers on the keyboard. Beside him, Stark scrolls through his phone.

“So walk me through your process,” Stark says, setting his phone down and turning to look at Steve.

Steve takes a drink to steady himself. “Well,” he says, still not looking up as he types. “Right now I’m just plugging in some quotes from your presentation.”

Stark hums in response. “You memorized what I said?”

“What? No,” Steve holds up his notebook. “I wrote it down.”

Stark puts down his drink and peers closely at the page. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you have awful handwriting.”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, unbidden, and Tony smiles in response. “Seriously though, shorthand?”

Steve can’t help but feel a little buzz go through him, but of course Stark knows what shorthand is, he’s a genius.

“Yeah, I taught myself in college,” Steve answers.

“That’s really cool,” Stark says. “Can I see more?”

Steve shrugs and hands his notebook over. “I’m almost done,” he says.

“No rush,” Stark replies, but he’s not looking at Steve anymore. He flips through Steve’s notebook, and Steve focuses on finishing his story instead of getting jealous over pieces of paper.

Another drink later and Steve triumphantly shuts his laptop. “Sent!” he crows, and downs the rest of his whiskey.

Stark grins at him. “Congratulations!” He says. “I hope you wrote something nice about me.”

“Of course I did. You let me use your WiFi,” Steve says, matching Stark’s grin with his own.

“If only your colleagues were so easily swayed,” Stark says, sighing dramatically.

Steve huffs out a laugh, putting away his laptop. “Well, it’s hard to write badly about you when it comes to what you’re doing for sustainability,” he admits.

“Is that so?”

Steve shrugs. “I follow the story. So far what you’ve been telling good ones.” The whiskey is getting to his head, but he still has control over himself not to say more, not to pry and allude to what he’d been uncovering.

Besides, just like Stark said earlier: he’s off the clock, now. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself, trying to focus instead on the heat radiating off Stark, flushed pink from the alcohol. He’s strikingly gorgeous, no matter the setting, but to know that only Steve is seeing him like this, in this moment—it makes Steve feel reckless. It’s a good feeling.

Stark nods, trying to look sage. It makes Steve laugh, again. It’s ridiculous, really.

“So, Steve Rogers,” Stark says.

A beat passes.

“So, Tony Stark,” Steve prompts, teasing.

Stark’s gaze snaps to his. “Cheeky,” he accuses.

“Drunk,” Steve says just as quickly.

Stark laughs. “God, who are you? Walking in here and sassing me like this,” Stark says, more to himself.

Steve’s thankful that the desk light is the only thing illuminating the room; he hopes it hides the heat in his cheeks.

“Well, I have been writing about energy and the environment for the Bulletin for the past three years,” he ventures.

Stark turns to him, a pleasant quirk to his lips. He nods. “And before that?”

Steve snorts. “I don’t know, why does it matter?”

“I just want to get to know you, is all,” Stark says airily, before finishing the rest of his drink.

Stark may be relaxed about this, but Steve can’t help but feel that tension has settled in the air. He knows better to sit any closer to Stark—he’s heard those stories, too. The man’s just as much a philanthropist as he is a philanderer, and Steve would never be stupid enough to get in bed with someone like him. Not that Steve has indicted Stark on his ways, but that—he’s one of the most important men in America. Steve can’t afford to get wrapped up in all that and manage to uphold journalistic integrity.

Still, it’s not like he has to get wrapped up in that, he reasons with himself. It could be a one-off, and neither of them would ever speak about it again, and he could go on to cover events that Stark would never show up for anyway.

Of course, that’s all to say that Stark is attracted to him, too. Which is impossible, of course, but then again—why else would he have invited Steve up to his office, made him drinks? Why else is his knee pressed against Steve’s thigh, legs spread open tantalizingly?

Steve swallows.

“Maybe another time,” he says, motioning to get up. Stark grabs his wrist, sending a jolt through Steve. His hand is warm, and his fingers fit perfectly around Steve’s wrist.

“Look, Steve,” Stark says, looking away for a moment and then up to meet Steve’s gaze. “Tell me if i’m reading this wrong, but…”

Stark shifts a little closer and Steve can smell his cologne, rich and heady mixed with the smell of whiskey. His hand slides up Steve’s arm and gently cups Steve’s jaw.

Steve reminds himself to breathe.

Stark’s thumb strokes his cheek.

The world is magnificently silent. Steve isn’t imagining it when he hears the soft rustle of Stark’s clothes as he moves even closer, and Steve’s eyes flutter shut when their lips finally meet.

Stark’s lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, almost tentative. It ends too quickly, and Steve chases after Stark as he pulls away, crashing their lips together, parting his mouth open, swiping his tongue along Stark’s. It’s electric, the slide of Stark’s lips against his, the hard press of Stark’s body as Stark leans over him, pushes him down onto the couch.

But Steve has another idea in mind, shifting and swinging a leg over Stark’s lap to straddle him.

“Fucking hell, Steve,” Stark moans when he pulls away.

Steve blushes, and kisses him again before he can say anything else that could be embarrassing.

Stark runs his hand through Steve’s hair, then tugs his head back sharply so he can kiss down Steve’s throat.

“Ah, Mr. St—”

Stark tuts, and bites on Steve’s neck just for good measure. “What did I say you should call me?” He licks the swath of skin, soothing it, and making Steve’s hips buck in pleasure.

“Tony,” Steve breathes out, his vision blurring as Tony’s other hand slides around his waist and under his shirt. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

Tony’s hand slides through Steve’s hair again, resting just above the base of his neck, “I like the way you say my name,” he murmurs, just before pulling Steve into another searing kiss. His other hand reaches up to grasp at the knot of Steve’s tie, then—Steve pulls away hastily.

“Oh my god,” he breathes out. “Tony—Mr. Stark. I—” Steve clambers off Tony’s lap, uncoordinated and clumsy. “I can’t, we shouldn’t,” he continues to blabber, bending down to pick up his bag. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have,” he says, looking everywhere but Tony, frantically trying to get his bearings. He’s impulsive at best, and Tony’s lips were so soft, and he looked so beautiful under the dim glow of the lamplight, and Steve was more than two drinks in. He nearly stumbles over himself in his hurry to get to the door. Only then does he register through the din of alarm bells ringing in his head that Tony was speaking to him.

“Steve, Steve, wait,” Tony says, and Steve walks briskly down the unlit hallway towards the elevator.

Unfortunately, Tony catches up to him before the doors slide open.

“Sorry for coming on to you like that, I thought,” Tony says, scratching the back of his neck.

Steve curses himself for noticing how rumpled he looks, how his tie is askew. Steve very badly wants to kiss him again, wants to run his hands through Tony’s hair, see him messed up. Wants to hear Tony panting under him, wants to taste his skin, all of it—but he can’t.

He’s a reporter. If he does this, if word gets out—and even if word didn’t get out, how could he maintain any sort of professionalism?

“It’s not your fault,” Steve stammers, pressing the button for the elevator again. “I’m sorry for… all of it. I shouldn’t have come. I hope we can just put this past us and maintain our professional relationship.”

“Our professional relationship,” Tony parrots back.

The door to the elevator slides open.

“Good night, Mr. Stark,” Steve says, stepping in.

Tony is standing frozen in front of him, looking at Steve like a puzzle he can’t make out. It gives Steve some relief.

“Good night, Mr. Rogers,” he says, and with those two words, the relief is wiped from Steve. Still, it’s a small price to pay if it means he can just continue to do his work.

“It’s fine,” Steve says into the empty elevator cabin. “I’m fine.”

[fyexo]

EXO's Kai Talks Independence, Motivation And His Incredible Career

There’s the saying that you’ve made it into the upper echelons of fame when you achieve single-name status. Monikers like Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, and Billie Eilish ring a bell for they’ve relentlessly dominated not just the music charts, but pop culture, fashion and news in general. Then there’s also Kai. The 26-year-old main dancer of popular K-pop boy group EXO and a member of global K-pop boyband SuperM, beloved for his powerful moves, and experimental style — read: crop tops — that challenges the traditional markers of masculinity.

Today, it’s clear that the space Kai inhabits has only gotten bigger since his debut eight years ago, most recently wearing the hat of Gucci’s first-ever Korean male global ambassador — dismantling cultural boundaries and parlaying the mononym, Kai, beyond the K-Pop realm. In this cover interview, the superstar chats candidly about going global, being independent, and why he felt like he needed an Instagram account.

Some time ago you revealed the results of your personality test on Instagram live. With regard to the question “Have you wondered about your existence?”, you answered that you have.

I think I have always thought about the question, “Why was I born?”. Also, I often wonder about questions like, “Why am I not born as someone else but as me; is the world I see through my eyes different from another person’s point of view?”

You revealed that you have an INFJ personality type based on the MBTI — it seems quite accurate.

I don’t really remember my result, so I plan to take it again. My family has taken it too, and after seeing my mum’s result I thought it seemed like a very credible test [laughs]. My mum is a dreamer. Even before I debuted, she said, “You like to dress up, and because I brought you up in that way you are definitely going to have something to do with fashion brands in the future.” Naturally, when I became a Gucci ambassador, she was ecstatic.

Your Instagram feed’s theme is filled with “EXO”, “family” and “Gucci”.

I created my account in 2018 when I was having a shoot with ELLE for Gucci’s Cruise show. I’ve always known that social media was important, but I really felt that even more when a lot of celebrities asked for my account during the show.

You participated in the filming of a global eyewear campaign that was revealed not too long ago in the Amoeba Music store in Los Angeles. Was it a special experience for you as a musician?

Of course, it was supposed to be closed down and so the fact that I managed to take pictures and create memories of that historical place made me feel happy and blessed. The production crew were all non-Koreans, and the atmosphere at the location was different as well so it was all very nerve-racking. I felt like I had gone back in time to when I first debuted.

Even Kai gets nervous. Have you had any other similar experiences when a location you liked disappeared or closed down?

The old SM building I grew up in when I was a trainee and formed so many memories [at] just recently underwent some remodeling works. The rooftop and a few other spaces where I spent so much of my time have all disappeared. Those were places that meant so much to me, so with the new changes made, I was able to actually realise how much time has passed.

There are many people with a good [sense of] style. [Your] outstanding point is that when you try out different styles, it doesn’t seem foreign [to you].

I think that cool and pretty things can be captured easily but capturing a specific concept — in terms of fashion — can be a difficult feat. I use that mentality as an excuse to try out different styles of fashion that I would not have dared to in my daily life, such as the reggae hairstyle that I did in Growl, or the short crop jacket that I wore during my promotions for Obsession. I think two weeks is more than enough to prepare and try out new things [laughs].

You have made appearances in variety programmes such as Knowing Brothers and Radio Star last year. Were these experiences enjoyable?

Thanks to the humorous moments that came about, I actually received many offers from other shows. However, I was worried that the Kai that I portray on stage could be hindered by my different sides shown on TV, and that it might be difficult for anyone to focus on my performances due to the drastic differences.

I can’t not mention SuperM’s group promotions. Three different groups under SM came together to form this sub-unit, as part of a project!

When EXO went on our American tours, we experienced that culturally, races and traditions had been blurred. I could feel that there was less of a “line” separating us. I was able to approach fans more easily; I don’t think there’s a limit to K-Pop. I don’t need to deliberately mention the [global] success of Parasite. The fact that I became the global ambassador of Gucci eyewear proves that race does not matter at all, but it’s more about one’s talents and charisma.

Personally, I felt the progress of K-Pop after watching the safety briefing videos that SuperM and BoA shot together for Korean Airlines.

I am too shy to watch it, but I did receive a lot of video stills of myself from my friends and they didn’t look good at all. They keep sending me parts where I look bad [laughs].

Due to your performances and dancing, I think the pressure on the stage is incredible.

Usually I don’t have much worries, stress, or even anger, but it’s different right before going up on stage. I get so stressed to the point it can be tiring. Honestly, waking up at six in the morning with hardly any sleep just to pre-record our performances for music shows — it sounds impossible. I’m only able to show 20 per cent of my all and that is really sad. Last year was such a busy year, I hardly had any time to recharge myself nor did I feel I was ready to stand on stage, but the show still had to go on. I was not fully satisfied with the performances as a dancer, but it just has to be endured.

What are the reasons that you are able to carry on despite all the difficulties?

The contentment after I get things done, and the comfort that I was able to pull through. On the other hand, I think the sincerity I feel towards everything I do and the constant ambition to do things better is a huge motivation and a relief when I accomplish it. If I don’t feel this way, it will mean that this work no longer means as much as it did to me in the past. Showing my fans the best version of myself, and the comfort and happiness I feel when I’m contented with my performance or work, is really important to me. In the past I couldn’t even sleep after making one mistake, but I sleep really well now [laughs].

And dancing is still something you enjoy?

I’ve been dancing for almost 20 years now. I can’t not dance. Even when I was young, I’d dance everywhere and anywhere, to the extent my mum said, “Stop dancing, it’s embarrassing.”

It’s well known that you have some really special and tight relationships with a few people around you. Do you get any inspiration from their advice, or from their influence?

I’m not the type to ask for advice from anyone first. Even when I ask what’s the better of two choices, I already have an answer [that I’ve] decided on in my mind. I’ve always felt that I needed to be independent; to [think for myself] when I decide, in order to be able to say that it is “mine”.

So, you’re a man of few words around people.

If they want me to be. If necessary, I will say good things, but more [so] the realistic point of view. I always think of the worst possible situation before saying anything [when giving advice], so those who know me well will not ask me trivial questions. When things go south or important decisions to be made, they will look for me. As for myself, I humbly listen to criticism or harsh words.

“Sexy” and “beautiful” are words that you probably hear a lot, but your fans call you “cute”. Which sides of yourself do you think are cute?

None! Even if I have thought of myself as cute, I won’t say it or admit it [laughs].

There are many people who idolise you as they see you as an iconic person. Does [the phrase] “a symbolic beauty of youth” or any other nicknames that you carry, feel a little too exaggerated?

Everyone views me differently, so I can’t say that it’s burdensome or exaggerated. Instead, I’m thankful. I don’t want to think of these nicknames or titles consciously as I live my life. Like, “Oh since they call me this, I should try to behave a little more as such”. I only want to show my true self without having other considerations — always.

What do you consider to be beautiful?

Definitely cool clothes, sculptures, drawings and paintings. When I look at some really good-looking people, I feel that that is beauty too. But personally, I think that true beauty lies in moments. Past memories and ordinary moments that when you look back, [you] realise that what you felt back then was more beautiful and precious than any other happiness that you’ve experienced.

A line from the drama The Miracle We Met pops into my mind — “Memory isnot [just] a record of time, but [is always]accompanied by emotions. That’s something surprising we never expect.”

Good memories always bring back rushing emotions, regardless of when you look back at it. That is really beautiful, and that is why I really love watching movies with film static noise, as it seems like I’m looking into someone’s memories.

Your name Jong (鍾) comes from“iron drum bell” and In (仁) comes from “benevolent”. Your grandfather named you that, which means to be as benevolent as the person who rings the morning bell. Throughout your life, have you ever thought about the meaning behind your name?

Hmmm, firstly, I’m not a morning person [laughs], but hitting the bell at dawn means to be of use to someone and to [have] more initiative, so I do want to live up to that and inspire others. Perhaps I could already be doing just that, I’m not sure.

I’m sure you’ve garnered plenty of praise for your dance techniques, but the shoot today focused quite a bit on your looks too. Which feature of yours do you like?

I do like to think that I have my own attractive features, like my small ears or a round bear like nose which most would say is so-so — but I still like them. If I really had to choose, it would be my chin and eyebrows for now. I think these two features make up 80 per cent of my defining look.

What does family mean to you?

Family is family. There may be no one in the world who will be completely on my side, but my family will still accept me as I am. I grew up happily with two siblings, and so if I were to have a family of my own, I always thought three kids would be just nice. But now when I look at my sister struggling with childcare, I realised it’s definitely not something to think lightly of. My family members are also my seniors (sunbae) in life.

Your eight-year anniversary is coming up soon, and you’ve probably been through many hardships. Do you think it is necessary for a person to go through pain to mature?

Looking back now, not all hardships have changed my nature; I personally don’t see the need for a person to go through change and pain in order to mature. But you know there is going to be a tough time for everyone at least once in their lifetime, and it’s not so bad a thing to be positive and think of precious things to get through it. Most importantly, just because you’re going through something difficult doesn’t mean you should hate yourself or be hard on yourself, because the most precious thing in the world is yourself.

Some may look at you and think that you’ve got it all. In spite of this, is there still anything that you wish to have, and is there a further goal you have in mind?

Before my debut, I had a lot of ambitions but the Kai I am today doesn’t have anything else I could wish for. I don’t think the place I am today is my final station but even if it is, I would be okay with that. Even if my debut was the end, I am proud of the life I’ve led, and I would be super proud of whatever I do. I am able to say this confidently because I learnt that the more fixated I am on something, the less happy I am. I learnt that it is better to focus on and enjoy the present; to enjoy doing what you do.

What type of person do you hope to be to your loved ones?

There is only one thing I wish for and that is for them to always be by my side no matter what decisions I make. Likewise, I will do the same.

SOURCE: Elle Singapore June 2020

[stereostevie]

‘Exuma’ at 50: How a Bahamian Artist Channeled Island Culture Into a Strange Sonic Ritual by Brenna Ehrlich

The performer known as Exuma channeled his Bahamian heritage into a captivating 1970 debut. Fans and participants look back.

Chances are, you’ve never heard a boast track quite like “Exuma, the Obeah Man,” the opening song off Exuma’s self-titled 1970 album.

A wolf howls, frogs count off a ramshackle symphony, bells jingle, drums palpitate, a zombie exhales, all by way of introducing the one-of-a-kind Bahamian performer, born Tony Mackey: “I came down on a lightning bolt/Nine months in my mama’s belly,” he proclaims. “When I was born, the midwife/Screamed and shout/I had fire and brimstone/Coming out of my mouth/I’m Exuma, the Obeah Man.”

“[Obeah] was with my grandfather, with my father, with my mother, with my uncles who taught me,” Mackey said in a 1970 interview, referring to the spiritual practice he grew up with in the Bahamas. “It has been my religion in the vein that everyone has grown up with some sort of religion, a cult that was taught. Christianity is like good and evil. God is both. He unlocked the secrets to Moses, good and evil, so Moses could help the children of Israel. It’s the same thing, the whole completeness — the Obeah Man, spirits of air.”

The music world is hardly devoid of gimmicks, alter egos, and adopted personas. But Mackey’s Exuma moniker, borrowed from the name of an island district in the Bahamas, was never just that — he lived and breathed his culture, channeling it into a debut album so singularly weird, wonderful, and enchanted that it’s not surprising it’s remembered only by the most industrious of crate-diggers. A cuddly Dr. John dabbling in voodoo Mackey was not; Exuma is a parade, a séance, a condemnation of racist evils.

“The eccentricity of [Dr. John’s 1968 debut] Gris-Gris is, like, ‘Let’s roll a fat joint,'” says Okkervil River frontman and devout Exuma fan Will Sheff. “The eccentricity of Exuma is more like PCP.” Sheff became hip to Exuma when his former bandmate Jonathan Meiburg (singer-guitarist of Shearwater) happened to hear “Obeah Woman,” Nina Simone’s 1974 spin on “Obeah Man.” Sheff was entranced by Exuma’s debut, especially the sincerity of its lyrics and Mackey’s whole-hearted earnestness. “There’s something about when somebody is very devoutly religious, where you trust them not to sell you something,” he tells Rolling Stone. “I mean, they may be trying to sell you their religious beliefs, but their religious beliefs are so vitally important to them that they kind of stop trying to sell themselves.”

“He was unique. He was good,” says Quint Davis, producer of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, where Exuma became a mainstay later in his career. “He was like a voodoo Richie Havens or something.”

Macfarlane Gregory Anthony Mackey grew up in Nassau, Bahamas, steeped in both Bahamian history and American culture. Each Boxing Day, he witnessed Junkanoo parades — a tradition dating back hundreds of years and commemorating days when slaves finally had time off — replete with music, masks, and folklore. At the movies, accessed with pocket money earned from selling fish on weekends, he saw performances by Sam Cooke and Fats Domino.

“Saying the word ‘Junkanoo’ to most Bahamians gets their hearts beating faster and their breathing gets shorter and faster,” Langston Longley, leader of Bahamas Junkanoo Revue, has said. “It’s hard to express in words because it’s a feeling, a spirit that’s evoked within from the sound of a goatskin drum, a cowbell, or a bugle.”

“I grew up a roots person, someone knowing about the bush and the herbs and the spiritual realm,” Mackey told Wavelength in 1981 of his life back home. “It was inbred into all of us. Just like for people growing up in the lowlands of Delta Country or places like Africa.”

In 1961, when he was 17, Mackey moved to New York’s Greenwich Village to become an architect, according to a 1970 interview, but he abandoned that dream when he ran out of money. He then acquired a junked-up guitar on which he practiced Bahamian calypsos and penned songs about his home. “I started playing around when Bob Dylan, Richie Havens, Peter, Paul, and Mary, Richard Pryor, Hendrix, and Streisand were all down there, too, hanging out and performing at the Cafe Bizarre,” Mackey recalled in 1994. “I’d been singing down there, and we’d all been exchanging ideas and stuff. Then one time a producer came up to me and said he was very interested in recording some of my original songs, but he said that I needed a vehicle. I remembered the Obeah Man from my childhood — he’s the one with the colorful robes who would deal with the elements and the moonrise, the clouds, and the vibrations of the earth. So, I decided to call myself Exuma, the Obeah Man.”

Mackey’s manager, Bob Wyld, helped him form a band to record his debut album, including Wyld’s client Peppy Castro of the Blues Magoos. “It was like acting. Like, ‘OK, I’ll take a little alias, I’ll be Spy Boy,’ and all this kind of stuff,” Castro tells Rolling Stone. All the members of Mackey’s band adopted stage names, which wasn’t that strange to Castro, who originated the role of Berger in the Broadway show Hair.

“Then I met Tony and then I got into the folklore and I started to see what he was about — this history of coming from the [Bahamas],” he adds. “It was great. It was inventive. We would do a little Junkanoo parade from out of the dressing room, right up to the stage. It was about the show of it all. Coming from somebody who wanted to learn music in a more traditional form, that was kind of cool.”

The band recorded Exuma at Bob Liftin’s Regent Sound Studios in New York City — where the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, and Elton John also laid down tracks — giving the bizarre record a slick sheen. Mackey once said that the music came to him in a dream, and he set the mood in the studio accordingly. “It was so free form. We turned the lights out, we’d put up candles, he’d get on a mic and he’d just start going off and singing crazy stuff and we followed it,” Castro says. “You would go into trances. In those days, I was a little hippie, so yeah, we’d be smoking weed there and getting high. It became a séance almost. It was like, ‘We’re going into this mode and we’re going to see where it takes us.’”

“There were no boundaries with Tony,” he adds. “It was free for him. It’s kind of like what people felt like when they played with Chuck Berry. If you talk to any of the musicians who played with Chuck Berry, you just had to be on your toes because he would change keys in the middle of the song. But there was also the spiritual stuff, you know, just the crazy voodoo-ish stuff. It was just so free for him.”

Everyone Rolling Stone talked with for this story compared Mackey to Richie Havens, but the similarities only really extend to, perhaps, Havens’ role in the Greenwich Village scene and the rich quality of his voice. “You can put on Dr. John and Richie Havens and water the plants. It’s good background music,” Will Sheff says. “But if [Exuma’s] ‘Séance in the Sixth Fret’ comes on shuffle, you’re going to skip it. It’s active listening; it sends a chill down your spine.”

Exuma is a kind of aural movie — fitting, as Mackey went on to write plays — that starts off boastful and proud with “Obeah Man” then descends into darker territory. The second track, “Dambala,” is a melodic damnation of slave owners: “You slavers will know/What it’s like to be a slave,” Mackey wails, “You’ll remain in your graves/With the stench and the smell.”

“It reminds me of Jordan Peele movies — movies that deal with sort of the black experience, a collective trauma,” Sheff says of the song. “He’s cursing a slaver and there’s something so intensely powerful about that.”

Then there’s zombie ode “Mama Loi, Papa Loi,” a frankly terrifying story of men rising from the dead, featuring guttural yelps and groans. “Jingo, Jingo he ain’t dead/He can see from the back of his head,” Mackey sings. That leads into the comparatively peppy “Junkanoo,” an instrumental that recalls the parades of the musician’s youth. Things get dark again with “Séance in the Sixth Fret,” which is just that — a yearning ritual in which the band calls to a litany of spirits. “Hand on quill/Hand on pencil/Hand on pen/Tell me spirit/Tell me when,” Mackey intones. The more accessible “You Don’t Know What’s Going On,” follows, leading into epic prophecy “The Vision,” which foretells the end of the world: “And all the dead walking throughout the land/Whispering, Whispering, it was judgment day.”

The strange, gorgeous record was released on Mercury Records, and at the time, the label had high hopes for its success, as it was apparently getting solid radio play. “The reaction is that of a heavy, big-numbers contemporary album,” Mercury exec Lou Simon said at the time. “As a result, we’re going to give it all the merchandising support we can muster.” But the album apparently failed to break through, and Mackey left Mercury in 1971 after releasing Exuma II. His legacy lived on in the corners of popular culture: Nina Simone covered “Dambala” as well as “Obeah Man,” with both tracks appearing on It Is Finished, a 1974 LP that failed to take off. Mackey himself went on to drop still more albums but mostly operated in a quiet kind of obscurity.

“What he didn’t have was the commercial base, you know, the formula,” Castro says by way of explanation. “Let’s face it, the music business is very fickle and it boxes you in. And if you’re going to join that world, it’s in your best interest to commercialize yourself and to come up with a formula that works. He didn’t have that formula.”

Mackey did find a home, though, at the newly minted New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival in 1978, an atmosphere that seemed more in keeping with his spiritual aesthetic than mainstream radio. “New Orleans is the most receptive place in the world to the artist, this music spirit that flies around in the air all the time waiting to be reborn and reborn,” he told Wavelength in 1981.

“He was a Caribbean Dr. John, so to speak,” festival producer Davis says. “When I heard [his album], I said, ‘Well, that’s us.’ This guy with feathers on his head, his big hat. Everybody loved him and he became part of the festival family.”

“I think he was the first Caribbean act that we had,” Davis adds. “I hesitate to say that he was a trailblazer because there weren’t a lot of people following in his footsteps.”

[rijurambles]

Interview Qs! What cheers you up when you’re feeling down? Is it someone else? Is it an activity, a memory? | How would you describe your physical appearance? If someone were to pick you out from a crowd, what would they look for first? | What are the favourites of your hobbies? Are you any good at them?

HOO BOY HERE WE GO. LONG POST. AND I. MEAN LONG. H.

tysm for this ask @quilloftheclouds !

Twilight Winchester :

When I'm feeling sad? Well, it depends, really. I tend to get lonely very often - even though I'm surrounded by people. It's quite the oxymoron. I find myself lost in the past as well. Letting go of things isn't really my strong suit. But for now, let's put the past behind us, shall we?

It's especially hard for me to get out of a rut when I'm already in one. There is no real cure for it - I suppose it's my mindset that makes me cling to these feelings - but there are distractions. Writing about my thoughts helps me get them out, even if I'm too much of a coward to put them all down for fear of someone reading them. I keep my journal almost religiously. It's not supposed to be sappy, it's supposed to be a record of things so I don't forget, but that never really ended up happening. Nevertheless, it's certainly improved my handwriting.

Swordplay also helps to put me at ease. It really shouldn't, knowing that I hold such a deadly tool in my hands, but it helps me feel safe, I guess. Exercises like training drills and herding the goats help with familiarity. I'm usually lost without a routine. I don't have much time to do anything else, since I'm booked up looking after Colin, Liza, Talo, Malo, and Beth all the time, but I also enjoy knitting. Mi- my companion taught me how. I can usually go through a skein in a few days. It's nothing much, really - and Rusl argues that I'll cut up my hands if I use smaller needles, but it does mean that I always have warm clothes in the winter.

...

I don't think I'm much worth describing. People have told me that I need to take better care of my appearance, but with how much exercise I get, and, in contrast, how little sleep I get, I don't think I could really manage anything. Uli always told me that I look like a tree. I'm sure she didn't mean it that way, but I always thought that meant I was really thin. Not to say that I'm not. And, of course, I get the height speech from everyone. I don't know why everyone else seems to be shorter than me. Perhaps I'll hit another growth spurt and my door will be too small for me.

Some people seem to be perceptive on the whole face-markings thing. It's none of their concern. They're tattoos.

...

I think I enjoy horseback riding the most. Riding across Hyrule emerses me with a special feeling. I suppose it's confidence. I just hope I've never pushed Epona too hard - she does so much for me, and I can't ever really repay her. That reminds me; go get apples from Faron Woods. I'm almost out.

Carly Callisto :

Oh! I'm suprised someone asked about me! Usually I ramble so much about myself that no one really wants to hear more, haha. I don't usually get sad, though! Ever since I started my study of the mind, I've had much better control over my emotions. That's not to say I've never gotten sad, though. Due to my mental disabilities, I tend to feel emotions much stronger than others. It's hard to get out of that mindset, so I try to avoid it at all costs. But of course, a little music can fix anything! Lurelin's historical shanties are very interesting. Unfortunately, Danté's the only one who knows them, and - no offense here, gramps - but his voice is a bit old for the range. Nevermind that, though! It's better to focus on the positive things in life!

...

I'm very proud of how I look! I've been wanting to decide on something that was really me for a long time now. The color scheme is complimentary, of course. Blue and yellow make for a bright and fun time. And then there's my prized hibiscus. It tops everything off - quite literally- on my head. Lu calls me Fräulein Flower cause of how I look. It's a cute nickname!

...

It may be obvious already, but I'm a triple threat! Singing is my passion, but I'm alright at dancing, and I've even helped Dahira on a lot of her performances! Language is confusing, but it's a fascinating study. As of right now, I can speak Hylian, some Sheikah, Gerudo, and of course, I can understand Roxy! Swimming is very freeing for me, since I can't breathe very well. I'm always happy when I get to wade around near Lurelin.

Luto Albelnour :

I don't see why it's your business to be concerned about when I'm sad, but, go off, I guess. Man, you're just like Flower. You probably think you can fix everything, huh? Nevermind. I get sad more than I'd like to. My mind is stubborn and tends to dwell on things that I've already settled. I usually just push through it. I'll get nowhere if I stop to rest. Practicing my magic helps me calm down, though. Dimas says that anger doesn't fuel fire, but I think he might be a little off on that one. Whenever I get especially sad, it's always Flower that tries to help me. I appreciate the concern, but, well, I can handle it on my own. I already have a favorite memory. Of course, it doesn't really work the wonders it used to back when I was learning from Dad. Now it just makes me more lonely.

...

It's optimal for me to keep warm for the best magic ability. Heat is paramount to be able to make a constant fire. Fräulein Flower always says I dress like it's winter in summer, but obviously, she has never actually been a fire mage. Nothing is too hot. I've tossed out the mask now, but if I still wore it, then it'd probably be bad news. People don't usually believe me when I say I'm a Sheikah because of my hair. It....kind of makes me feel bad for dying it. But I don't want to look like him anymore.

...

I don't have time for hobbies. I have work to do - fire training, preserving my culture, meditating, blade practice - et cetera. I hope those garden snakes don't run away.... Eh? Did I say something? No. No I didn't. Clean out your ears.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 32)

From the front door of the building to the elevator there were fifteen steps. Fifteen steps that passed a counter and an orienteering board over the more than ten floor Brooklyn building. 

Just as every morning, Mila counted the steps. It had become a habit, just as she, before entering the elevator, began to unbutton her jacket. Inside the elevator she let out a lioness-que yawn as she parked herself against the back wall. Thankfully it had been a calm morning. Jim was already gone when her alarm yelled at her to ‘get her ass out of the bed’. Juri was already awake and parked in front of the tv, watching Clifford the Big Red Dog in his pajamas, which meant that Mila could take a shower before preparing his breakfast. While Juri ate his oatmeal with honey under a blanket on the couch, eyes glued to the tv screen and the happy, big red monster dog, Mila got dressed. Forty-five minutes later she dropped Juri at daycare, kissed him on the cheek and hurried off to work.  

The elevator stops with a soft thud and she steps out on the ninth floor and heads for the glass doors to the clinic. She’s let in by the receptionists and is welcomed by the constant scent of fresh cut flowers on the reception desk.

”Good morning, Saif. Morning Vanessa.” Mila greets the always happy receptionist couple, lovebirds in real life, behind the counter as she passes through the empty reception. 

The dressing room is empty when she enters. Mila removes her workwear, the slightly fancier than nurses-scrubs in a sophisticated shade of grey, from her locker. She leaves the white coat on its hook (it’s way too formal) and drops the bright pink Adidas trainers on the floor with a thud before starting to undress. They switch between the grey scrubs and plain white every other week; head dentist and dental practice owner Said Kadeem thought it would be a ‘edgy, yet fun way to brand themselves as a fun clinic’. In reality he just couldn’t decide which color he thought looked best. It’s the same with his morning-, lunch- and afternoon coffee; with or without milk? He can stand in front of the machine for hours it seems, with his forehead wrinkled together in concentration to make his mind up. 

I’d die for a cup of plain, as black as fucking possible-coffee right now, Mila thinks as she pulls the grey pants over her hot pink thongs, reminding herself to do the laundry when she gets home. Putting milk into a cup of coffee is a crime if anything. She steps into the trainers and pulls the top over her head. She gives herself a last look in the mirror and adjusts her ponytail, before leaving the changing room, entering the break room. It’s not a luxurious clinic; no celebrity clients wearing bigger than their face-sunglasses or heavy politicians with a tail of bodyguards, but it’s one of the best private dental clinics in the area, which makes the staff spaces and benefits really generous. 

Gotta get some luxury treatment for making it through university with a toddler at home, Mila thinks to herself and steers toward the coffee machine. She greets her colleagues, who are already parked at the table with coffee mugs in front of them, everybody except Lauryn, who’s entire face is hidden behind a huge Starbucks blonde vanilla latte with extra vanilla and coffee plus caramel.

”Rough night?” Mila asks. 

”Never turn thirty.” Lauryn Cassidy groans and puts down the ginormous drink on the table. The bags under her eyes scream ’we need to rest you fucker’. ”Why am I even here today?”

”You’re thirty and responsible.” Kristian Shaffer responds. ”I’m impressed.”

Lauryn groans again.

”I liked myself better two days ago, when I was twenty-nine and carefree.” 

”Remind me to take the day off after my thirtieth birthday then.” Sarah Preston says and pours a pack of raw brown sugar into her coffee mug. 

”Gosh, I’m glad I’ve been there, done that.” Riley Palmer sighs and leans back into his chair. He puts his hands behind his head and flexes his biceps. ”Trust me, thirty is the new twenty.”

”My god such bullcrap!” sterile nurse Ava Cooper rolls her eyes at Riley’s remark. ”It’s almost as bad as that ugly ’carpe diem’ tattoo.”

”What?” Riley looks at Ava, then at his biceps, where ’carpe diem’ is imprinted on his skin with black ink, in a barely readable font. ”What’s wrong with that? It’s inspiring. Like, a mental note that-”

”Ey, we know what it means.” Mila interrupts him. ”And it’s ugly.”

Riley doesn’t get a chance to reply. Kadeem enters the room and a glued-on, convivial atmosphere settles across the table in the blink of an eye. It’s for the best not to quarrel in front of the boss. 

”Preston-” Kadeem announces and points with his whole arm at Sarah. “Hallie Reynolds called and cancelled Phillips’ appointment this afternoon.” 

”Is Phillip the one with the ears?” Lauryn looks at Aaisha to get answers, but the angelic Aaisha only bursts into a muffled giggle.

”No, that’s Lennox. You know, Dumbo.”

”Christ sake, Riley, stop giving my patients names.” Sarah gives Riley the evil eye and slaps him on his upper arm.

”Sergeyevna, you’re on your own this morning, I need to borrow Aaisha for some drilling.”

Mila and Aaisha look at each other. Kadeem loves his job, but most of all he loves a good drilling. Well, there goes that calm morning; making eye contact over the patients, joking around, singing along to the radio and Aaisha’s regular 11 am stretch, combined with: ”I’m gonna go down to the juice bar, you want anything?”

”Fine.” Mila replies to her superior in white. 

”And please, tone down that bluntness today, will you?” Kadeem pleats. ”We can’t have more body builders leaving the clinic crying. Everyone is bad at dental health and everybody knows it, you don’t have to tell them.”

”I thought that was my job?” 

”Our job is to dig around their mouths, smile and tell them to floss properly. And charge for doing so.” Kadeem turns to the coffee machine, which is the start of his first, dreadful choice of the day; milk, or no milk. ”Frankly, I don’t know how you seem to get them to come back every 6 months.”

”Witchcraft.” 

”Really?” Kristian puts his head to his side and grins at her. ”Thought it was your radiant, bubbly personality?”

“Nope, that’s Cooper and Cassidy.” Kadeem says, without taking his eyes off the coffee machine. “Sergeyevna is like me. It’s in our culture.”

Yeah, the much well known, yet tremendously rare Moscow-Russian and Shiraz-Iranian-culture. Mila smiles a little. As soon as it became clear to Kadeem during her first interview that she was a relatively fresh immigrant, he became overjoyed and felt an almost unreasonable bond with her. Sure, they are both honest and forthright, but that’s more likely a personal trait. Otherwise they are like night and day. But she likes him, he’s a good boss. And his wife makes a hell of a baklava, not to speak of the kletcha.

As the clock strikes nine they simultaneously leave the break room and heads for their offices and treatment rooms. Mila turns on the lights, cranks up the radio and looks out of the window with her cup of coffee steadily in her hand. Another workday. She puts the mug down at the counter as she hears steps approaching. In the next moment, Vanessa appears in the door, followed by her first patient of the morning, Mr. Hardin.

“Mr. Hardin, nice to see you again.” Mila gives her patient a bright smile and takes his hand, gives it a firm shake. “How are you doing?” 

She makes a gesture to offer him to sit down in the actually quite comfy dentist chair. She has taken quite a few naps in them after her lunch break since she started working at the clinic.

“Same old, same old.” The man with thinning hair sits down and shrugs at her. “At least I got the health.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Mila replies. “How’s Irene? Must be busy times now?” 

“Yeah she’s got her ass full- sorry.”

“No worries. I bet.” Mila takes a seat in her rolling, saddle chair and rolls up to the computer, where she starts to fill in the patient file. ’Hardin, Mark. Regular checkup. Tartar removal’. Same old, same old. “So, just a checkup today.”

“Correct.” mr. Hardin says. ”How’s the kid? Juri, wasn’t it?”

“Yup, indeed.” Mila replies as she takes two pale blue rubber gloves from its box. “He’s doing well.”

“Is he walking yet?”

”More like running.” Mila focuses on the framed photography on the wall, picturing a tropical beach with clear blue turquoise water. Holy crap, he’s growing up so fast, she thinks as she pulls the gloves over her hands. “He’s been on the run for awhile now. Just as I was apparently.” 

“They grow fast.” Mr. Hardin shakes his head, as if he can’t believe the basic biology of humans, and leans back in the chair. “But you’re young and healthy. That’s good. This virus, huh?”

“Yeah it’s really strange- Scoot, please.” Mila instructs her patient before continuing to check the tray on her cart, making sure all of her tools are in place. “Great.”

“Both New York Presbyterian and Mount Sinai West are soon overrun. I mean, if that doesn’t sound serious I don’t know what does. Irene’s working double shifts at Langone here in Brooklyn and they still seem to get more and more deaths each day. I think the death toll was, about 70 yesterday, and that’s just Langone. Must be like, 300 in New York alone.”

“Mhm, it’s horrible.” Mila replies monotonously, while scrolling through the x-ray of Mr. Hardin’s lower row of teeth from his appointment the year prior. She’s been trying her best to live life as normal as possible despite the deadly virus. Life has to continue, somehow. “Do you have any issues with sensitivity? Pain?”

“No, just tartar. Like, a lot. Irene found these small pieces in the sink-“

“We’ll fix that today.” Mila says quickly and gives her patient a radiant smile. She doesn’t need, or want, to hear what poor Irene Hardin found in the sink. She’s got a pretty good clue. “You’ve quit smoking yet?”

She turns and looks at Mr. Hardin, who’s shoulder goes up to his ears. He transforms from his regular, very accountant-self (because that’s what he is) to an ashamed puppy in the clinical chair. Mila shakes her head at him, smacking with her tongue. Mila turns to the radio and increases the volume of Angus Young’s voice wailin “You’ve been thunderstruck” to the more than famous guitar tapping. 

”Ah. This is why I like going here.” Mr. Hardin says with a smile and points at the radio. ”I listen to NYC Rock in the car, every day.”

“Okay mr. Hardin, let’s rock and roll.” Mila pulls the sterile face mask over her nose. It smells clinical and plastic. She grabs the probe and the mirror and smiles with her eyes at mr. Hardin from underneath the mask. 

She starts to work. It’s a regular day. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining into the office and Angus Young continues to blast out that they’ve been struck by thunder, about a billion times. The only thing that looks like its’ been struck by something is her patient's teeth. What on god’s earth is he doing during the nights? Chewing bricks?

”Mr. Hardin, are you tense?” Mila asks. 

”Howch do choo do chiiit?!” Mr. Hardin manages to utter, with both wide eyes and wide open mouth. ”Schee, chish isch wchy I gcho cher! Ycho are likche a cheraphchist-”

Mila sighs and removes the tools from his mouth. 

”No, Mr. Hardin. You grind your teeth, bad. They look awful. Stop it or you won’t have teeth left.”

”Oh.” He replies and swallows, then bursts into a smile again. ”But you see, this is why I go to you and not that crappy Family smile clinic down in Brownsville, that Irene goes to. Honesty, blunt honesty. I like that.”

”Good to know.” Mila says and signs at him to open his mouth again, to let her continue working on that tartar. ”Not everybody does. I once made one of those body builder’s cry because I scolded him for not brushing his teeth right.” 

Yeah she was pretty hard on that poor guy, but honestly, his gums looked like minced meat. Mr. Hardin smiles as best as he can with his mouth wide open.

The next song is by The Hellacopters, which makes her smile once again underneath the mask. She saw them perform, one of their last appearances, with Darya a couple of years ago. But suddenly, in the middle of ”-hey boy, you understand. Say your prayers, or you'll be damned-” the song’s interrupted by the breaking news-jingle. 

”We’re interrupting with some disturbing news from downtown Manhattan, where chaos has erupted outside Mount Sinai’s hospital.” 

Mila pauses in a movement and glances at the radio. 

”Police have been called to the morgue where the-”newscaster seems to be groping for words, as if he himself does not believe what to say. “The dead seem to have woken up.”

It is only thanks to the slightly sticky gloves, which hug around the tools, that Mila doesn’t drop them in Mr. Hardin's mouth, at that proclamation.

”Police began firing shots as the bodies- patients, began to attack civilians and medical staff.”

Mila returns to the tartar, but she can’t focus entirely on Mr. Hardin’s hardcore tartar infestation, even though it’s an astonishing collection; if Aaisha hadn’t been asked to help Kadeem out, she’d been sitting on the opposite side of Mila, and her big brown eyes would have been bigger than usual by excitement. It’s surely a dentist thing only, being excited by tartar. Mila tries her best to stay focused, but her mind drifts off to the radio and the rise of the living dead, where the ’on the spot’-broadcaster now interviews a doctor from Mount Sinai. 

“-at least ten former patients, declared dead during the week, escaped the morgue and attacked people on the street. Dr. Berkowitz, head of ICU, can you explain what just happened?” 

”I don’t know.”

“Were the patients in a coma?”

“No.”

”Dr. Berkowitz, did you or any of your staff, by any chance, make a mistake?”

”No, as I said, they were deceased. Dead.”

”You’re sure?”

”Yes, ofcourse.”

Mr. Hardin makes a gesture with his hand and Mila removes the tools from his mouth. 

”Turn up the volume.” He says and rises on his elbows. 

Mila obeys, reaches for the radio and turns the volume wheel up a notch. 

“How do you explain the situation, then?” the interviewer asks, now louder than before. He sounds more and more irritated, or afraid, Mila can’t really know the difference. “Dead patients suddenly... awakes?”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Berkowitz, we have to- We get disturbing breaking news from Weill Cornell Medical Center that- what!?” The interviewer exclaims, as if he can’t comprehend what he’s hearing from the third party in his ear. ”Okay, ehrm- we get news that a similar incident occurs right now at Weill Cornell. I repeat, Weill Cornell. Police have been dispatched to the spot and civilians on the street have taken shelter in nearby shops and restaurants. It’s been confirmed that eight- no, nine, people have been injured and a woman has deceased, by severe blood loss. I repeat, one woman is dead and lying in the street. According to eyewitnesses- Neil, you sure about that?” The interviewer asks. “Sorry. Eye witnesses claim that the woman, and I’m sorry about this, is being eaten by the deceased. If you’re in the neighborhood, do not go outside, I repeat; do not-”

Both Mila and Mr. Hardin stare at the radio under complete dead silence. The tools are frozen in her hands and her heart beats hard inside the grey scrubs. 

“I gotta-” Mr. Hardin swallows. “I- I need to call Irene.”

“Yeah..” Mila replies. A rush of sickness runs over her. Is the room suddenly swaying, or is she just, overwhelmed? Is this real? She casts a glance at Mr. Hardin, who climbs out of the leaned back chair, still with the pale blue plastic sheet around his neck. “Yeah, go ahead.”

He leaves the room. Mila hears him talk on his phone outside the door. Should she call someone? Her mind wanders to Juri and mama first. With trembling hands Mila picks up the phone from her pocket, unlocks it and goes into the messages. She changes the alphabet to cyrillic starts dictating a text message to mama. In order not to worry her beloved mama more than necessary, she simply writes: ‘Good morning mamochka. How are you today? Love you.’ 

She presses ‘send’ and then finds her way to the contacts, where she quickly finds ‘Jim’. Signals are heard. She spins in her chair, faces the window. He picks up the phone at the fourth dial. 

“Cricket.” Jim greets her. His warm, amazing smile is felt through the phone and instantly calms her soul. 

“Thank goodness.” Mila sighs and massages her forehead. “Hi.”

Jim chuckles on the other end. She can see him clearly in front of her. Black suit and white shirt. He’s just had a haircut and said bye bye to the ponytail. Tall, handsome beyond comparison. Probably with his tenth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. It’s a miracle he can keep his cool with that much caffeine in his system. 

“Hi.” He replies softly. “What a pleasant surprise. Does milady want to hire a personal security guard?”

She can’t help but smile like an idiot. 

“I can offer a very favorable package price.” Jim continues. “Annually. How about ... ten years? Initially.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Through the phone, she can really picture how one of Jim’s eyebrows starts to go up, towards his forehead. Usually she plays along with his shenanigans and jokes, but she can’t. Not now. 

“You’re on speaker or something?” He asks. 

“No. No, sorry. I’m not.” Mila replies and sighs. “Have you heard?”

“Nope. Or, depends on what I’ve missed. What's the talk of the town?”

“You’re nearby a tv or a computer?”

“I’m in the office. Hold on.” Jim starts tapping on the computer. Mila hears the rustle of the buttons in the background. “Oh. That’s-” Jim pauses and reads. “All of them died of the virus?”

“Apparently.” 

“I’d say it was a mistake by the hospital, if not- but...” he pauses. “‘New York Times reports that it’s more than twenty patients. Could be more.’ What the-”

“What’s happening?” Mila asks, can’t conceal her feel of discomfort. 

“Dunno.” Jim says. “Hey, I can get off work by-” he pauses, as to looking at his watch. “I’ll pick Juri up earlier, in about two hours. I’m sure he’s fine but, just in case. We’ll fix dinner.”

What have I done to deserve this guy, Mila thinks inside her head. 

“I love you.”

“You love me for my incredible mashed potatoes.” Jim grins through the phone. “Love you Cricket. It’s gonna be fine.”

.

.

Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic

[la-jolie-mln-posts]

What is a brand? For most of us it’s a line of apparel, a type of smart phone or your favorite cereal. But a brand goes way beyond just products and extends to people. Some of you will remember the Apple ad that showcased a Bill Gates type (guy in a jacket and tie, looking dull and corporate) against a Steve Jobs type (hip, casual, smart). You get the point. And, so did the audience — Microsoft blah, Apple, cool. It worked!

Who are some of the most visible people with personal brands? Kim Kardashian comes to mind. But if you are interviewing for an executive position at one of the top 5 consulting firms, hers is not the brand image you want to bring to your first Zoom call or in-person interview.

Oprah Winfrey owns her personal brand. She welcomed discussion about body image, embraced her own and never lost her credibility. She dressed for her position, for the occasion and for her image. She never looks sloppy. She’s crossed the Rubicon from entertainment icon to business mogul, but never lost the Oprah brand.

Princess Kate Middleton is a princess, mom and leading figure in the world of outreach to children in need. As her style has evolved, she’s been able to communicate her brand through personal acts and personal style that remains young and hip.

Today women head some of the biggest U.S. corporations.  Here’s just a few….

Susan Wojcicki, CEO of YouTube Lynsi Snyder, CEO, of In-N-Out Burger Marillyn Hewson, CEO of Lockheed Martin Mary Barra, CEO of General Motors Whitney Wolfe Herd of CEO of Bumble

They may not have the same instantaneous brand recognition as the Kardashians, Oprah or Princess Kate, but to achieve the positions they have on the highly competitive playing fields in which they operate, they all had to create something unique — a personal brand.

Branding with the 4 “P’s’

It’s a familiar strategy for experienced marketers. Let’s say you’re launching a new brand of lipstick or changing a trusted brand with new packaging or a new message. You start by thinking through your brand strategy using the 4 P’s:

Product: A product can be either a tangible good or a service that fulfills a particular need for consumers. Whether your product is a brand of potato chips, a household item like dishwasher soap, a hotel chain or a university, it’s essential that you have a clear grasp of what makes it unique before you can successfully market it.

Price: Once the product offering is established, you can make pricing decisions. Price determinations will impact profit margins, supply, demand and marketing strategy. Products and brands may need to be positioned differently based on varying price points.

Promotion:  Once product and price are established, it’s time to promote it. Promotion looks at the many ways advertisers market to consumers and includes includes: advertising, public relations, social media, emails, search engine marketing, videos and more.

Place: Successful brands are all about putting the right product, at the right price, at the right place, at the right time. The mission is to convert interested consumers into actual customers. Today, the initial place potential clients engage is online.                            

Now, create your own brand using the 4 P’s

You are the PRODUCT, so begin by evaluating what makes you special. Ask yourself: Q. Are you dressing for your body? A. If you’re curvy and you love yoga pants, make sure you purchase high-quality yoga pants that aren’t see-through when you stretch or bend over. And consider the occasion before wearing them. If you’re going for a sophisticated look, slim fitting trouser pants may be a better fit. - If you have big chest, go for a v-neckline time. - No matter what the occasion: job interview, business trip, night out with friends or going to your kid’s soccer game, the items you pull together should communicate the same message. “There goes Susan; she always looks fabulous.”

Q. What colors work best for you? A. Navy or black works on just about everyone; here’s a few ways to make it yours: - If you’re going for a job interview, neutral is best. But a pop of color is a great way to express your personal brand. Whether a lush pink shirt under a dark blazer, a red velvet shirt with a black sweater, a dress accessorized with a fun pair of sneakers (only if you can pull off the look), or fun pair of pumps, your signature brand will emerge as you try things out and focus in on what works for you. - Hair can be a fantastic branding tool. If you’ve been blessed with a gorgeous mop, go with it. Hair is one of our best weapons. If you want to call out your inner artiste or you play in a rock band, pink or blue hair is okay. But it’s definitely not for everyone. Some work places, like design agencies, hair salons and big tech firms are amenable to this look. But if you work in a bank or a law firm, probably not. If you simply have to try it, there are always extensions. Remember, the look has to work on you. If you can pull off something like this, go for it…

Let’s talk about PRICE

What PRICE are you willing to accept for your talent, your contribution, your value, and your time? When I worked in marketing at a big corporation in my late 20′s, I met a woman who was hired to be a copywriter. She was actually a former agency owner and had a lot more to offer. The guy who hired her put her in a huge, open office setting where she wrote copy for retail projects such as in-store banners and such. She left after 2 weeks, but she also left an impression.

So, he called her back to see what it would take to hire her. She was polite, but firm. She said, “I’ll need my own office. I want to be paid twice the hourly fee you paid me, and I want to bring in my own creative talent (writers and designers) to work with.”

Done. She got what she asked for. Why? Because she knew what she was her value and had the confidence to ask for it.

Promoting yourself is a tricky business

PROMOTION today is about establishing your online presence. As we’ve seen lately, the cancel culture is a force to be reckoned with. And by that, I mean be careful with the topics you choose to address. It’s easy to be mocked, doxed and dropped from social media — all it takes is one wrong comment.

According to Forbes, “Your personal brand should be an easy daily filter that you create content and reach out to your audience with.” The article quotes Jason Wu, founder of CoinState. “Be the master of your craft, skillset or industry before starting a personal brand. Then your content will amplify who you are.”

In other words, avoid mistakes like the one made by Olivia Jade. She’s the daughter of actress Lori Loughlin who did prison time for getting her kids into college through false claims and a financial bribe. Olivia was a successful online fashion and culture blogger until her mother’s deceit landed on her. Then she made the mistake of using her social media platform to say that she really wasn’t at USC to attend classes. In the end, she lost followers, endorsements and a lot more.

The point? Have some experience under your belt before promoting your personal brand.

Have you found your PLACE?

It’s pointless to tell digital natives to avoid social media until they achieve some maturity. But, as the story above illustrates, social platforms are eternal, and establishing a trashy personal brand while young can come back to haunt you. So, parents need to keep a watchful eye on how kids are promoting themselves, knowing that colleges look carefully at this content.

When it comes to establishing a personal brand, there are tons of articles out there on how to do this. You can spend a day on Google and find lists like this:

What motivates me? What am I good at? What is unique about my personality, talents and style? What do I excel at? What bores me to tears? What do others say drew me to them?

All good and well. But here are a few constants we all encounter on the road to the true self:

Failure happens. You will lose jobs, face financial insecurity and have to reinvent your career. Some of the most successful women I’ve met in my life have transformed themselves as a result of loss. It’s only failure if you don’t get back up and re-start your engine.

La Jolie MLN launching in April 2021

Follow our journey on Instagram or Facebook La.Jolie.MLN

Website coming soon

: www.lajolie-mln.com

We would love to hear from you.  Let us know your thoughts and any topics you would want to hear about.   blog@lajolie-mln.com 

Next blog Jan 31: Doing Business By Doing Good

About Daisy Malek-Shadid

As a little girl, I would be asked what I want to be when I grow up.  I would confidently reply, I want to be a clothing designer and a respected leader.  Fast forward 30 years, after working in the corporate world, traveling, getting married and having children, the aspirations of my youth inspire me today.  I want to create clothes that make women feel both feminine and powerful, beautiful and strong, sophisticated and elevated. It takes a moment to make a first impression.  Dressing well sets the tone, so one can own that moment.  

It is important to La Jolie MLN to give back to the community, to women who don’t have the same opportunity as others. And, for that reason, 10% of every purchase will go toward our goal to donate 100 dresses to Dress for Success, a non-for-profit organization that supports underprivileged women to achieve economic independence by providing various services - one of them professional attire for interviews and new employment.  For more information about “Dress for Success” please visit their website at dressforsuccess.org.

[content-to-convert]

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR...

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR it just made him dress nicer 

By Pat Mellon 

Speaking of your brand evolving, PODCASTS are now a wise bullet to have in the arsenal of promotional weapons. In the early 2000's, for instance, you didn't have the option to record and distribute a PODCAST. The technology didn't exist to even IDENTIFY, much less create one- if you typed PODCAST into an email in 2002, it would have been flagged as a misspelling. 

But now, thanks to Audioblogging, re-branded as PODCASTING thanks to the iPOD, you can reach a targeted captive audience in a car on a long commute, with content that they've actually sought out. It's essentially a radio infomercial for the lifestyle of your product, without the PAID-PROGRAMMING aftertaste. Plenty of people have been slow to warm to the idea of such self-promotion and have waited to see if the technology and its effectiveness sustained or if it waned, the way QR codes did, or video discs did until the invention of the DVD. It can be an amazingly powerful part of your brand. 

Many rejected podcasting, as I did initially, as a waste of energy. In fairness, early on when there were no networks for podcasting and its business model was less focused than now, it smacked of self-congratulatory volunteer work. I saw it as an infringement on my profession. I have 15 years of radio hosting experience. I saw podcasts as competition. In my short-sighted view then, I didn't see the full potential of a podcast. I just saw it as people wanting my job. But as time went on, I began to see the ways, at least in terms of in-car entertainment, that podcasting was the future. And like the cryptic fortune cookie says, "Kill Your Darlings". Or maybe go with the less-confusing, "Reinvent Your Business Constantly. The End Goal May Be The Same But The Tools and Methods Evolve Constantly" which is a Ken Tucker quote I saw on a Snapple Cap. Or even the more direct, "You Have To Reinvent To Stay Fresh and In The Game" which Madonna said once. 

But early on, I saw it as the enemy - the way news journalists must have felt when FREELANCERS started getting a lot of the work in the late 90's. I thought, "If all you need to broadcast is a computer and an opinion, why the hell did I major in Broadcasting? It's like everyone becoming a Youtuber or a Social Media Influencer (seriously, that is NOT a good name. It's just saying what you're doing. It lacks creativity, like naming the glass thing you drink out of a "glass". Or the room with the bed a "bedroom". Or the thing you swing on a "swing". Or the... Sorry-I'll move on.) Anybody can become a Social Media Influencer these days, (and if they're under 14 and haven't been trying for half their lives then you might want to make sure they're breathing) and that means fame, sometimes money, but more important: LIKES. I overheard my 8 year-old playing with her friends and they were pretending there was a genie or something granting wishes and one girl asked for a pony, and another asked for a house of chocolate, and my daughter asked for a million LIKES on her video. LIKES are currency for pre-teen popularity. And LIKES or even merely PAGE VIEWS can be currency in the grown-up world of business. My point is that anyone with a computer and a camera can make money on Youtube if they hustle. It's simply the new normal. It's great, if not dangerous. We've yet to see the fallout of a generation raised on Youtubing, unless, of course, you count cautionary tales like Logan Paul or Jo Jo Siwa, both of whom are rich. It's simply another entertainment option for kids. I kinda thought podcasting was that, but for adults who only wanted quasi-fame; to show-off. But it's bigger than that.

If you're a plumber, for instance, and you want to maximize business, you probably want a decent social media footprint, some solid YELP reviews, and maybe even a podcast. Toilet clogged? Click here for an interview with master plumbers from all over. It's not the ONLY thing you should do. It's ONE of the things you should do.

On the consumer side, you have to realize that traffic, especially the bumper-to-bumper kind, is GOLD to a radio talk show host. People listen the most in their cars, so DJ's in New York and Los Angeles, the #1 and #2 radio markets depending on who you ask*, for instance, who entertain on the radio, are always on their toes to stay funny and relevant because it's so easy to push a button and change the station.

Then suddenly there was a new game in town. People were bypassing the radio altogether and plugging external sources into car sound systems, removing the commercials and unwanted Morning Zoo shenanigans, and rendering my entire college education and training void. My only hope was wishing death to the podcast movement, which I think I did a couple of times on the radio accompanied by a sound effect of a toilet flushing (Take THAT, Podcasting!). It didn't work. I kept hearing the word. Podcast. (eerie voice) PODD CAAAST! My head was in the sand. People would say to me, "you should do a podcast" and I'd cringe and wildly swing fists at imaginary ghosts who were accusing me of "Resting on your laurels" and "Holding on too tight.”

It took a while, but I get the appeal and, more importantly, the power of the Podcast. It's like a book-on-tape for the 21st century- 10 times as cool, though, because it's technologically relevant, and can be different every time you listen. So we agree that podcasts are real. And we acknowledge that there is room for many things on the dashboard of a car, be them outlets, or additional buttons. And we agree that the the way we do business is always changing and we have to adapt to some degree. So why all the hub bub? Because we can't have an intelligent conversation about the delicate existence of Podcasts without talking about Shane Gillis, the comedian who was hired and fired by Saturday Night Live in the same week last year. We need to understand the power of what it was that torpedoed his streetcar (tune into Mixed Metaphors with Pat Mellon Tuesdays on The Podd Couple, right after Poddamnit at 8, and Pod of Thunder with Gene Simmons at 8:17) He and a buddy do this show, this podcast, it's like a radio show but you don't listen to it on your grandpa's Victrola, you tether your MP3 player to the radio inside grandpa's Camry, and there's bad language, which there never is on traditional, boring old dumb talk radio, so right away, it's awesome (honestly, the only difference between Howard Stern on radio and Howard Stern on satellite is the F word) and the internet allows curses and take that, Mr. Suit and Tie, and this is going to be amazing. And on one particular show from 2018, Gillis said "chink" when describing someone in Chinatown. Not a huge scandal, but I guess you'd have to ask Roseanne Barr if the internet can get you into to any kind of trouble. She was exiled from the the entire US for a social media post that mentioned race and monkeys. And the same new normal that allows John Q. Anybody to do a podcast ALSO watches everything you do online and will sink you if it sees something it does not like. America can be confusing that way. Freedom of speech and freedom of complaining about freedom of speech are always at each other's throats, it seems. And you can't have it both ways. The guy who alerted the world to Bill Cosby's dating rituals online is loved by many but is also shunned by others, but that guy knows what he did and he knows not to complain about the ones who, well, complain. It's the price you pay.

The point is, you need to constantly be hustling and using all of technology’s modern tools to get your product out (they’re not burning DVD’s anymore) and maybe one of those avenues is a podcast with salty language, and maybe that podcast exists among your body of work that clients can enjoy whenever they want.

But we live in a new age of retroactive outrage. Eddie Murphy was on SNL and is arguably the most talented person the show has produced. He did a stand-up special in which he explores “What if Mr. T were a Faggot?” It was inflammatory and it was insensitive and it was homophobic (though that buzzword was still a decade from conception) because the premise of the joke- the attribution of homosexual behavior to a big, strong, black man being marginalized as solely predatory sodomy - crossed the line. When I spell it out like that it looks horrible. But it’s a simple comedic device: assigning unlikely behavior to someone for comedic purposes. It’s the fish-out-of-water gag. It’s why we had Mork, and Alf, and Balkie from Perfect Strangers. It’s Freaky Friday. It’s why The Rock playing a babysitter or a tooth fairy is funny. Murphy did this AFTER he was on SNL. But if has been released before he auditioned, do you think he’d have been hired? 

  Of course he would have. Because the Mr. T thing was a small part of that special (though, I recall, an extremely quotable part) and the people who didn’t like or appreciate the language didn’t have the bionic megaphone of the internet so they could get their outrage all over your conscience. The point is that your podcast is a reflection of your brand. You have to weigh your desire to speak freely and loosely with your desire to keep the Cancel Culture at bay. At a MINIMUM, though, you should keep things clean for your clients, listeners, and most importantly, your potential customers. Shane Gillis missed out of being on SNL and fame, instead on infamy because he broke one of society's biggest rules:he said something controversial out loud. Granted, it was in bad taste, but if that were a crime half of us would be in jail. It's just important to remember that your language on a work-based podcast should be professional, which I realize cannot be defined easily, but maybe stay away from slang and cursing. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD.

[seanhowe]

Against Woodstock

“Rock Imperialists” by Mark Kramer, Liberation News Service, 1969 NEW YORK (LNS) The list of stars who will show up at the Woodstock Rock Festival this August is mighty impressive—as fine as any ever. There's everyone: Joan Baez, the Who, Joe Cocker, Janis Joplin, the Jefferson Airplane, Ravi Shankar, Blood Sweat and Tears, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Richie Havens, Canned Heat, Arlo Guthrie,, Tim Hardin, Johnny Winter, the Band, Iron Butterfly, The Grateful Dead and the Incredible String Band, for example. The arrangements to help you spend three days in the wilds sound as impressive as the list of stars—free campgrounds, ample water and outhouses; free rice kitchen for the poor and hungry; catering by Nathan's of Coney Island craft booths which might just be bivouac head shoppes, and which might be craft booths. So the rock imperialists deliver the goods. When you want a banana, United Fruit sells a good banana. And when you want a rock festival, Woodstock Music and Art Fair, Inc., sells a good rock festival—at $7 a day. The Guatemalans who grew the bananas get to eat an occasional bruised model. And the street people, the denizens of the lower east side, of the Haight, let them eat free rice and maybe they'll hear the sounds wafting out past the gates. But they made the culture which the rich fops imitate. Walk down St. Marks Place in the East Village and dig the crowd on either side of the velvet rope which separates those with the bread ($10 a couple) to get into the Electric Circus from those who beg spare change to buy a knish. On the rich side, the same outfits as on the poor side, except ironed and cut from finer cloth—bell bottoms, groovy vests, mucho hair, svelte girls in granny glasses. On the poor side, it's hip...on the rich side, it's a shuck, it's an imitation of Hip. It's fancy boutique clothes cut to look like the old surplus clothes which the street people once wore out of poverty, thereby creating a style. For some, the dress constitutes a case of 'going native' for a night on the Bowery. For others it's simply high fashion. The impulse for kids to dress 'well' is plugged in nasty trend-setting magazines like "Seventeen" and supported by the huge cloth and garment companies, the cosmetics companies and the hygiene-freak companies. The sales job for fashion is easier than others—for the styles come complete with a built-in image. Marlboro has to spend millions to rope together its cancer-sticks and he-manhood. But the Fashion-Makers have it easy this year, because the clothes styles which they plug were once part of a genuine revolutionary and romantic lifestyle. So America's teenagers are exploited by big companies that hold 'lifestyle' out as bait. "BUY THIS AND YOU WILL BE..." You will be what? Hip? You'll own another piece of snappy clothing, you'll be able to crowd the poor girl down the block still further, you'll earn your ticket to daydream about running toward him through tall fields of hay, arms stretched toward the sun—the kind of daydream they push in ads for cunt deodorant. And the kind of daydream they push on album covers. “But (you say) album covers are great. I trip, and look at album covers, and…etc." But it ain't that way. Rock may have come from the Street people, along with styles that grew out of buying surplus clothing, and daydreams that grew out of mystic studies and sunshine state habits. And the communication between the performing artists and you may still bear the same free-you-up message. But in between you and the performer, there's billions of dollars that you're paying and (for the most part) he's not getting. Who is getting it? The huge companies that own the record empires. Here's the puzzle: the same companies that own the recording contracts and record studies which make 'liberated' music, also own government contracts and subsidiary companies which make electronic bombing equipment, spying equipment, death equipment which is used in Vietnam and in our other colonies. The companies don't care how they make money, as long as they make the money. If they can make it from anti-war youth culture by coming on hip, they'll do it. And if they can make it from killing Vietnamese and killing off thousands of years of Vietnamese culture with expensive weapons systems for the government, they'll do that too. For example, CBS owns Columbia records, Masterworks, Blue Horizon, Odyssey, Harmony, Date, Okeh and several other record companies. They have invested heavily in defense contracts as well, working especially in the areas of laser beams, radar, spy photography, underwater detection—the sorts of technological work which keeps up the arms race and makes fat profits. It's the same story with most of the other major record companies. Like true imperialists, they'll go wherever the market is, talk whatever language (be it Vietnamese or hip-ese) needs talking, sell whatever people will pay for, as long as they make a profit. Does this mean you shouldn't buy records? No, of course not. If you wanted to live in this country without supporting the death machine, you couldn't eat or turn on an electric light. What it means is that you should understand a few facts of life. When you sit down with a sandwich (made of food processed by big business) and when you take a bite of the sandwich and start listening to music of YOUR culture, peddled for the profit of THEIR culture, then dig it! That's the corner they've got you backed into. Supporting the very things you hate the most in order to get the few things you want. There's a revolutionary movement growing in this country to fight just that form of oppression. What has this got to do with Woodstock? You might go there and have a fine time, but just remember that someone is making a million on your fun, and it isn't the performers, many of whom come for little or nothing. We interviewed the promoters setting up the Woodstock Festival, at a press conference arranged by the mid-town publicity company they hired. The conference itself was a slick operation. It passed itself off as a consultation between "leaders of the rock community" and the underground press on how to have peaceful good times for everyone. They didn't need to consult with anyone. Way back in April they had hired a federal law enforcement official, Wes Pomeroy, whom they described to me as "a very progressive kind of cat." A very progressive kind of cat who had worked with Johnson on the Safe Streets' Act, and with Republican bigwigs in planning security for their '64 convention at the Cow Palace. That's who the investors ("leaders of the rock community”) consulted with when they wanted security for their investment, not the underground press people. Even though the press conference handout reads, "We have called a special meeting of the underground press and rock community leaders to discuss ways of developing safe and harmonious pop music festivals.” Mike Lang and Artie Kornfield and two other partners put up half-a-million bucks. They're expecting big returns from ticket sales, a cut of concession sales, and also from selling TV and movie rights. Artie used to head Columbia Records. He told me, “I’d dig my daughter to be able to eat too." What about the street people? Mike says "We're not turning our backs on these people—we've got to feed them.” And let them in? “Don't you feel you're exploiting hip culture for your own gain?” Artie said, "Much of us have the same goal, We want to be able to cut out—not take shit—and go live in the country," Except that for most, it is a dream, not a goal, as long as Artie collects from every freak who wants to hear his music. And except that now that so many people want to cut out, they might find it easier to get together and put a stop to the conditions they want to escape. What about the riot that happened at the LA rock festival, Artie? "We are them—when they attack us, they are attacking themselves. If you talk about an army, it's got a lot of different wings. We're just another wing.” Maybe Artie and Mike are fooling themselves and maybe not. But they have extracted from the movement those things which can make them some money—talent, excitement, revolutionary energy, identity with hip looks and talk. But they have missed the heart of the movement. The revolutionary energy of rock and of the movement is a response to oppression—it grew out of the blues, out of the poor white country music, out of the emancipated poverty of the street people and their drug scene, out of the anger about national leaders representing corporate interests, while killing people, anger about how students get lied to and treated in public schools. The movement is made by and sung by people who oppose exploitation, whether by war elsewhere, or by high prices, racism and low wages at home. The movement is not represented in any way by rich investors getting richer by the profits of rock festivals—even if the investors do look hip and talk hip and know hip people. By the way, if you do go to the. Woodstock festival (actually, the grounds are located in Wallkill, N.Y.), Wes Pomeroy has a staff of 400 security people working for him, in and out of costume. When he was asked about kids smoking dope there, he said, "We'll do nothing to protect them. There will be narcs there, same as everywhere—they're going to have to pay $7, too." photograph by Henry Diltz

[goodnightkisseu]

Kim Minseok - Shop Window

Genre: Fluff, all the fluff

Note: In celebration of Exo’s eldest’s birthday, I decided to write a fluff piece for him! I’ve always adored Minseok very much and I thought this type of idea would suit him. I hope that you all enjoy this piece! As always, feel free to let me know what you think! ^^

Enjoy~

Because of the situation with tumblr links, please check my bio for links to my masterlist~

- goodnightkisseu’s admin / ashley <3

Today was an important day. It was a particularly big day for you. So why was it that it felt as if everything was against you today? You had set additional alarms the night before to help you wake up an hour and a half earlier. You slept through all of them, even your usual one that you placed across the room, went off thirty mins late. Luckily your morning routine went alright, except for the fact that your powder promptly exploded on you and the beautiful clothes that you had picked out for the occasion. This led you to scramble around your closet for another clean dress shirt and skirt, both of which had to be ironed. By the time that was all done, you had about ten minutes left before you absolutely had to go, and you had to choose between fixing your disheveled hair, or getting some coffee in you before the morning started. You opted for coffee but realized that you hadn't made a pot yet. So you quickly had to make one, downing the hot liquid at about a minute left before grabbing your purse and running out the door.

You knew that you didn't look as presentable as you wanted to, but you hoped that no one else would be able to notice. After all, you really needed this job, and you weren't sure you could handle being rejected again. Up until three months ago, you had been working at a small graphic design studio. The company did a ton of work for different businesses across many different industries. Everything seemed to be going well. However, as time passed, these companies found other studios to do the work for them, and although the company where you worked tried to appease their clients, it didn't work. Projects dried up, funding was non-existent, and the small graphics house had to close down.  

Though finding a new job was always tricky, you didn't anticipate that it would be as hard as it had proven to be. You thought that you would go at most a month without a job, during which time you had enough savings to keep you afloat. However, by the end of that first month, you realized that it wasn't going to be like that. Every other graphic design how you applied for were either full, looking for managers and not designers, or they were looking for junior people they could boss around. None of this suited you or your experience. Truthfully, the entire process made you question your work experience. You took a couple of freelance positions here and there, but you knew that wouldn't help to sustain you. You had to find a job, and fast.

It wasn't until a couple weeks ago that a friend of yours from college reached out and told you of a company that had just lost one of their graphic designer to a more prominent organization. He suggested that you apply, and within a couple days, they had gotten back to you to set up an interview. Since this job felt promising, you wanted to look your best, but... well... you know how well that went.

You quick footsteps carried you down the bustling streets, passed one of the most crowded coffee shops in your area. There was never a time of day when they weren't busy, and it made it a bit of a bottleneck for those that were trying to get through. You managed to weave your way through the crowd; however, landing squarely in a less busy area. Checking your phone to make sure that you still had time to get to your interview, you smiled a bit when you realized that your fast pace had actually put you a few minutes ahead. Maybe everything wasn't going wrong today after all.

As you were making your way down the street, your eyes momentarily made contact with your reflection in one of the shop windows. Your steps slowed so that you could get a better look at yourself. Honestly, you had rushed out of your apartment so quickly, that you didn't even get a chance to do one last once over. Now that you saw your appearance in this window, you couldn't help but cringe. Your shirt was still a bit wrinkled, lipgloss probably needed another coat. Your hair wasn't as much of a mess as you had expected, but some strands had refused to lay straight. You gently pushed them down and tried to move your fringe so that it wasn't wholly covering your eye. Just as you were looking up from your purse where you had been digging for a hair tie, your eyes spotted a pair of legs through the glass. Wait a minute... a pair of legs would mean-

Slowly, your eyes trailed up the rest of the way, following the legs up to the individual's torso and towards their face. You locked eyes with him, the male grinning at you as he leaned over the table in the small shop to clean it. That was when you realized that you had stopped in front of one of your favorite restaurants and that Minseok was the one looking at you while you were using their shop window as a mirror. You could feel the embarrassment coursing through your veins.

The restaurant that you had coincidentally stopped in front of was owned by Minseok's parents. For as long as you had gone there, Minseok had been working there. The two of you would chat from time to time, but it hadn't been anything more than that. There were times when you tried to pull more information out of each other, but there always seemed to be a boundary there that you both were not comfortable with crossing just yet. This didn't mean that you didn't find him cute though. And the fact that you had just embarrassed yourself in front of him made it worse.

You watched as Minseok chuckled, probably at how red you were in the face. But a smile soon graced his features as he gave you a thumbs up. Was he saying... that you actually looked okay? The thought made your heart speed up a bit. Yet, not wanting to leave him hanging, you gave him a small nod and mouthed, 'thank you.'

His smile grew before he asked you want you were dressed up for. You mouthed that it was for an interview, Minseok quickly nodded in understanding. He put his first up and mouthed, 'hwaiting' to you before you ran off down the street, realizing that you had 'talked' away all that time you saved. Still, it felt worth it. Even if the entire conversation was silent, Minseok encouraging you had put a spring in your step, gave you back some of that confidence you had lost, and now you were ready to take on anything...

The interview process lasted almost the entire day. You arrived at their office just as everyone was getting in. Their office administrator showed you around, told you about the company, and some of the more cultural things about the studios, as well as amenities. You were then led into a conference room, and that was when the real interview started. You had rounds of people asking about your experience, what you had learned from it. You were asked about how you would approach certain situations, or how you would handle a client's wishlist for their logo. Some interviewers brought up your portfolio and had you walk them through one of your designs, asking for what industry it was for and your overall process. This type of interviewing procedure was more extensive than you were used to and it didn't help to ease your nerves. However, you got through it, and the last team told you that they would be in contact soon if they thought you were a good fit. You thanked them and left, early evening having already set in.

Your legs trudged your mentality exhausted body down the familiar streets, trying to bring you to your apartment door before you collapsed. As you passed by the usual shops that signaled to you that you were close to home, a familiar smell filled your nostrils. It was the aroma of your favorite dish, and you knew exactly where it was coming from. Pulling your body out of its pre-determined path, you ducked into the intimate restaurant.

As soon as you entered, you were greeted by Minseok, that smile on his features even made your tired self smile back at him. "Your usual table towards the back?" he asked over the bustling crowd of people that were crammed into the small space.

"That would be great," you said replied, trying to blink your tiredness away as you followed him back to your table, situated in the back corner near the kitchen. Not many people liked this spot. It was a bit louder than others, and there was overall just a lot of foot traffic. But usually, you were here on your own, so you weren't bothered by it. Also, the slightly secluded atmosphere also helped you work... as well as exchange glances with Minseok whenever he walked by.

"Things are a bit busy right now, but when there's a break, I'd love to hear about how your interview went," he said excitedly, pulling your chair out for you. "I'll let father know that you'll have your usual too."

You thanked him as you sat down and watched him disappear into the kitchen. You set your purse down beside you, replaying your entire interview process in your mind as you munched on the sides that his mother had dropped off for you. Honestly, the more you thought about the interview, the more you nitpicked all of the things you shouldn't have done. It was long over now, you did what you could, but your mind still wondered if they would find fault with certain things. Even the smallest things you worried about. You were so concerned over these little mistakes that you made, that you didn't even notice how heavy your eyes got, as you drifted off to sleep in the loud restaurant.

You were awoken from your slumber when it came to your attention how odd your sleeping position was. If you had made it home, why did it feel like you had fallen asleep sitting up? And why was the thing against your cheek kind of hard? Willing yourself to finally open your eyes, you noticed that your environment was still dimly lit, though most of the lights were off. It took you a minute to register the wooden tables, the black cloth that covered the way to the kitchen. As soon as you realized that you had fallen asleep at Minseok's restaurant, your eyes widened, and you quickly sat up. This caused a wave of dizziness to wash over you, and you promptly grabbed your head.

"You're awake," a familiar voice called, yet as soon as he saw you cradling your head, he was quickly kneeling at your side, gently calling your name. "Hey, is everyone alright?" he asked softly.

"Yeah... I'm fine..." you said slowly. "I just sat up too fast," you added, pulling your hand away from your eyes when you felt balanced again. You were greeted by Minseok's smiling face, and your heart sped up again. He was really too kind.

"H-how long was I asleep for?" You stuttered out your question, feeling that heat rising to your cheeks again. You heard a soft chuckle leave Minseok's lips as he took the seat across from you. This only made you more embarrassed. As if Minseok catching you fiddling with your hair in their shop window wasn't bad enough. Now he had you falling asleep in his restaurant. The universe really just wanted him to find you as unattractive as possible, didn't it?

"For a few hours now. Not long after you sat down, mother told you that you were looking a bit drowsy. Then by the time I brought out your food, we all realized that you had fallen asleep. We thought about waking you up, but mother pointed out that we weren't particularly busy and that you looked exhausted and probably needed the rest. So we let you sleep here. Your table is hidden enough where no one really saw you, so you're in the clear."

'But you saw me,' you thought to yourself. "T-thank you, Minseok. I really appreciate it..." you said gently, still too embarrassed and groggy to say much else. Lucky for you, he wasn't.

"We kept your food for you. Why don't I go heat it up, and you can tell me about your interview?" Minseok suggested. He heard you trying to protest, bringing up how late it was, but he quickly declined. "It's alright. You need to eat to get your energy back. I'll eat with you. I think they left me some food," he said with a chuckle before disappearing back into the kitchen.

In no time at all, Minseok had the table set up like it would have been during business hours, side dishes all along the center of the table, your food placed gingerly in front of you, and his in front of him. "So, tell me how the interview went."

And so you recounted your entire day to him. You told him of where the studio was located, about what they usually did, and the companies they had designed for. You told him of the grueling back to back interviews, and as you spoke of them, you could see Minseok's eyes widening. He'd interject from time to time, asking if they had really said the things you parroted to him, and you could tell that some of it made him angry. Yet overall, as you finished up talking about your last interview, he seemed relieved. "I'm glad it seemed to have gone well. You've been here before after other interviews and from the little you had said, they didn't seem to go well. I'm glad this one did though. I'm also pleased that you were willing to share that experience with me."

As soon as those words left Minseok's lips, you came to the realization that this was the most in-depth conversation the two of you had ever had. Often you would just exchange pleasantries, check in with each other on a very superficial level. The restaurant was usually too busy for the two of you to just be chatting in the corner, and so you never got the chance to talk to him. Realizing that this was your first conversation together also made you feel a bit bad. "But Minseok, all did just now was complain about my interview. That's not the type of conversation we should be having..."

"It's fascinating to me, though. I always see you coming in here, sometimes with your drawing tablet, sometimes with a stack of papers and I couldn't help but wonder what it was that you did. This gave me a glimpse into your life, and it makes me happy that you shared it with me," he told you honestly, sending you that radiant smile that you had grown so fond of.

"I still know so little about you though, Minseok," you countered. You watched as Minseok quirked his head to the side, blinking a couple of times as if he were thinking about something.

"You do bring up a good point. Well then..." Minseok started, leaning over his food to get closer to you. "How about, if you get this job, we can go out for a nice evening together, and I'll tell you anything you want to know about me."

You couldn't help but giggle at his attempt as using a date as a reward for getting a job. "Oh? And what if I don't get the job?" you offered, wondering what he would say in response.

Minseok gently bit his lip, thinking over his options before smiling. "Well, then you call me anyway, and I'll take you out and make sure that you completely forget about that rejection. Oh, and you can ask me whatever you want," he added.

"It sounds like I win either way," you pointed out.

"You do, but so do I," he replied, smiling as he held out his hand towards you. You gently placed your phone in it as he quickly typed his number in before handing it back to you. After you finished your meal together, Minseok made sure you got home safely. You slept well that night, knowing that, no matter how you did, the evening still ended well.

The next morning you got a call from the hiring manager at the company where you interviewed. They called to extend an offer to you for the graphic design position. You agreed after hearing their terms, and they told you that an official offer letter would be coming through your email soon, as well as paperwork that you had to fill out. As soon as you hung up with her, you couldn't help how overjoyed you felt. The first person you called to tell the good news to? Minseok obviously. He had a date to plan now, after all...

[dayseternal-blog]

A NaruHina fanfic based off of shamy’s doujinshi posted May 31, 2019.  Please check out her 5-panel illustration!

Summary:  Naruto, a skilled theater technician, and Hinata, a breakout pianist and composer, smile at each other.

Rated: G

Read Chapter 1 here.

Chapter 2: Resting Face

Note: This chapter has been edited from its original Tumblr posting.

Hinata used to think she was just like everyone else.  When she was barely three, she was already taking piano lessons, much like all of her preschool friends.  Everyone took piano classes.  It was just as normal as taking a nap after lunch.  (Later she would come to learn that it’s only normal for rich kids to all take piano lessons).

She didn’t love it.  She didn’t hate it.  It was frustrating at times, but quitting never crossed her mind.  

When her friends started to quit piano lessons and take up other, more fashionable activities, like ballet and soccer, her family unexpectedly up and moved to a new country for her father’s job as a news reporter.  For life to go on as cohesively as possible, her father bought them a new piano, she was enrolled in private lessons again, and she diligently continued to play as she had before.

But life was far from familiar.  She didn’t understand what people were saying, she hardly understood what the school teacher wanted her to do, and everything--the food, the trees, the water, the tv shows--was different.

She clammed up.  She could go a whole day without hearing her own voice.

For awhile, the only thing she felt she could do successfully was play the piano.

So that’s all she did.  

She practiced a lot.  As soon as she came home from school, wrote random lettering on her reading homework, and carefully completed her math homework, she jumped on the piano bench to practice her lesson.  

But when she had done her scales and songs over and over and over and over and over...she had nothing else to do.  

Then one day, she got an old song from home stuck in her head.  It had been the popular tune that all of her friends used to sing at recess.  

She spent hours trying to figure out the correct notes on the piano.  And slowly but surely, she created a simple melody for it.

It became a hobby of hers.  Simple melodies on her right hand quickly developed into two-handed pieces.  A year later, around the time she turned nine, she started trying to add chords to her songs.

Her skill didn’t go unnoticed.  She advanced through her exercise books on her own, showing up to lessons over-prepared.  Her long hours of practice and play helped her to quickly learn several bars of music within one lesson, forcing her teacher to supply her with more difficult songs.

Then her piano teacher recommended her for a competition.  “She has such a good ear,” the teacher told her father.

Hinata didn’t really know what that meant, but she did know that she was so extremely nervous, she thought she was going to faint.  

Until she heard everyone else play.

She won easily in her age category.

Her father said he wasn’t surprised at all, with all the hours she practiced.  

That recognition alone from her busy, busy father encouraged her more than the trophy.  And at school, she was finally starting to understand what everyone was saying.  She began listening to the radio to learn local songs to play on the piano.  It developed her vocabulary and gave her a way to relate to her classmates.

By the time she entered Intermediate School, she could make friends, even if she was still shy.  Music became her key to social and personal success.  She would figure out how to play songs her friends requested.  Then she started trying to compose her own short pieces as gifts for her friends.

She was growing in confidence and identity.

Then they moved back to Fire Country.

It wasn’t nearly as difficult a move as the first time.  She at least knew the language, and they had gone on several trips over the years to visit relatives, so nothing was really unfamiliar.  Adjusting to the school culture took a little time, but she quickly figured things out.  Friends came much more easily since people were interested in her experience living abroad.

What she wasn’t expecting was...piano drama.  

She entered competitions, just as she had been before, and that’s when it started.  

The sudden appearance of a new “prodigy” amongst a group of piano students who had been competing against each other for years was startling, to say the least.  Her win was such an upset, she got interviewed for the newspaper.  Taking advantage of the attention, her school featured her with the symphonic orchestra as an accompanist at school concerts.  She was invited to play with the school’s choir, too.

Students at her school who were in the competition gave her ugly looks and talked bad about her behind her back.  They criticized her playing style, spread rumors that she wins due to her money, background, or her father’s name recognition, or said she was stuck-up.

She tried to talk less, dress plainly, speak politely, or ignore it.  They just called her socially awkward, weird.

She did competitions for another year, until she just...couldn’t.  

She didn’t want to do it anymore.  She was tired of the attention, the good and the bad.  

In her last year of high school, she asked her piano teacher to let her focus on composition, where her real passion lies.  Thankfully, her piano teacher was receptive.  Kurenai helped her record her songs and release them online for public download.  Her teacher used her connections to get Hinata’s profile some attention, and she became known as an artistic youth to keep an eye on.

Through college, she developed her composing skill.  She studied the other instruments, their key changes, and their unique qualities, and began composing chamber music, which opened up an entirely new range of sound she hadn’t had the chance to explore before.  With friends in her music major, they collaborated on and played original songs at student-run concerts.

It was fun and new, but she didn’t experience the same success as when she won competitions.  She knew focusing on technical composition wouldn’t be the same, but she had no way of rating herself against others.  Working beside so many other musical talents who excelled in their instruments, who planned on entering professional orchestras and had a straightforward path after college, gave her anxiety about her future as a pianist and composer.

So she decided to take a break.  To find her passion again.  To not associate piano with winning or losing.  

She studied abroad.  She traveled.  She saw new landscapes, heard new languages, ate new foods, and surrounded herself with new people, just as she had been when she first found sanctuary in music.  

She didn’t touch a piano unless she had a stroke of inspiration.  Sometimes it was a particularly gnarled tree she happened to pass on a bus ride, the sound of a person’s laughter in an outdoor market, or vibrant wall art on a building’s surface.  At other times, she felt the sounds develop over weeks, through repeated interactions with a classmate or watching the movement of customers in her favorite cafe.  Those were her favorites.  She would record it, upload it to her profile, and force herself to be too busy to check the number of hits.

When she finally returned home after her year abroad, she still didn’t want to check her profile’s notifications.  She was too busy anyway with her senior portfolio, which she decided to dedicate around her literal and figurative journey as an artist through her formative years.  She was proud of her work, albeit still nervous about her next steps.

Then Kurenai asked her to come over.  

She informed Hinata that she had been contacted about an opportunity to have her ex-student compose tracks for a dramatization of a popular teen romance novel.  According to the producer of the drama, Hinata’s music ‘carries a nostalgia for beauty, a youthful eye at the fragility of time and age.’

Well, it sounded a little pretentious for what Hinata had actually been trying to get at with her music.  But, she agreed just on the relief alone, understanding that she may never get a chance like this again, and that it would at least delay her worries for a while.

When the drama was released last year, it became the hit show of the season.  It garnered her profile attention, and requests began to come in for her sheet music.  Before she could really realize it, she found herself experiencing a type of success she hadn’t felt before.  

Other pianists were playing her songs!

Now she has young learners of the piano who write to her, calling themselves her “fans” who love her style, who eagerly await her new compositions, who would actually pay to see her perform.

And that’s how she’s found herself in this uncomfortable position.  

Holding her own concert.  

And despite the many times she’s been on stage, she’s never once had to interact with the tech crew.  They were just these mysterious entities who walked around the theatre looking all official and intimidating with their headsets, microphone pieces, and control panels.  

Well, she’s easily intimidated by strangers.  She knows that it’s likely due to her high school experience.  It doesn’t make being naturally anxious any easier.

“You must be Hinata Hyuga?”  A blond man who looks just about her age notices her standing awkwardly to the side.

She nods.  “Hello.”  Why does everything she say sound uncertain?

He closes his laptop and walks up to her.  “I’m Naruto.”  He holds out his hand, which she shakes, hoping her grip was firm enough to not feel wimpy.  “I’m going to be the point person for your concert.”

She nods again.

He grins at her then, for reasons quite unknown to her.  It’s a really nice smile, though, and she smiles a little in return.  “I’ll take you over to meet the rest of the crew?”

“Okay.  Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course!”

He and everyone else are a lot friendlier than she would have expected.  Less business-y.  Certainly a team.

She learns that it’s Naruto’s first time leading, apparently an effort by his seniors to build capacity within the crew.  The thought is somewhat comforting that she’s not the only one doing something new.

“Why you gotta tell her that!” he complains comically.  

His senior just laughs.  “There’s no need to worry.  Naruto’s good at his job, and we’ll all be there to support you.”

The camaraderie among the crew is palpable.  “Thank you..” she replies simply.

Naruto smiles brightly.

She decides that he really has a nice smile, and she can’t help thinking about it throughout their meeting.

After all, he smiles often.  He smiles so widely, his cheeks bunch up to his cerulean eyes.  She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen anyone smile as much as he does, which is saying a lot because she’s met many people.  She wonders if he does it on purpose.  He seems confident enough to know that he has a great smile, but he also seems just genuinely that cheerful.

And that smile of his makes her feel a little less worried about her concert.  If he’s not worried, then she needn’t worry, either, right?

So she focuses as best she can on her task.  Earlier, Kurenai explained that a solo concert is different from a school performance.  She has to keep the audience entertained on her own, that she’ll have the entire theatre all to herself.

It’s really the knowledge of Naruto’s cheer and encouraging smile that keep her from crumpling inward like an origami fan when she gets up on the stage.  She ends up standing there for too long, mentally hyping herself up, then calming herself down, then refocusing on the lighting situation.

Without fail, his smile greets her when she returns to him as the song finishes.  

When they’re halfway through designing the lighting for her setlist, he turns another shining grin at her.  “See?  This isn’t so confusing, is it?”

She nods in agreement.

“You seemed so worried earlier,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s just that it’s the first time I’m doing something like this, so…”  She turns away, tucking her hair behind her ear.  She didn’t realize her nervousness was so obvious to him.

“Hm, yeah, but you’ve won a ton of competitions before.  Concerts aren’t like competitions, right?  I don’t like working competitions.  I can literally feel everyone’s tension in the air.”  He holds his hands up in stress as if he’s holding something heavy.

She stares at him, realizing that this cute guy must have looked her up online beyond just her songs.  Her basic profile doesn’t talk about her past.  The thought automatically triggers her blush.

He goes on, “If you can handle that, then you’ll be fine this Saturday.  Concerts are fun!”

She nods through her embarrassment, understanding that he only did it for his work as her point person.  “Yes, I think it will be fun.”

“Yup!” he replies cheerfully.  “So don’t worry.  Me and the crew will all be there for you, too.  You’re not alone,” he repeats, an echo of his senior’s sentiments, but his words somehow sound even more sincere.

It dawns on her that he’s been trying to help her relax this whole time.  She bites her lips and turns a small smile at him.

Of course, he smiles back brightly.  “Alright, let’s talk about ‘Too Fast to Hide.’  You said it’s a very technical piece, so we could go a couple of different ways with this…”

A steady warmth of assurance wraps her up, and she relaxes more, happy to go along with his mood.  He definitely seems to have fun in his job, and she wants to enjoy this process as much as he is.

His enthusiasm makes it easy for her to forget her nervousness.  His charm makes it even easier.  She can’t help admiring his good nature, his happy demeanor, and by the end of their meeting, she somehow finds herself feeling incredibly prepared for her concert.  She can imagine the entire event, a miracle that’s all thanks to him.

She’s already wondering what little gifts would be acceptable for her to give to the tech crew members, especially for Naruto, to show her appreciation.  Saturday will come quickly, and it will likely be over just as quickly, which was something she was counting on...

But now she thinks she wouldn’t mind getting the chance to have another concert if she gets to meet and work with people like Naruto.  

She peeks at him beside her as she picks up her purse, to see him watching her...with his ‘resting smiling face.’  

What would he think if I told him he has a nice smile?

She imagines he’d just smile wider, and the thought makes her want to laugh.  She doesn’t, of course, since that would be rude, and he definitely doesn’t deserve that.  Not with how thoughtful he is, like inviting her to eat lunch with his team.

To which she maybe too easily agrees, but she thinks she wouldn’t mind spending more time with his team (and him).  

She can practically hear it, the way his expression brightens upon interrupting the other members’ work, how warm it is when he informs them that she’s coming, too.  The downtown foot traffic a lively accompaniment as they make their way past other historic buildings, finally arriving at a nearby food truck.  His sigh of absolute, dramatic relief when he opens his take-out.

And she knows what token of appreciation to give him when she gets home, sits down at her piano, and lets her inspiration run free through her fingers, the memory of him brightly filling the air around her.

[synkiller82]

Collapse Into Me Chapter 17 - Illustrious

“Stop.”  Gabriel’s harsh voice cut through the low music in the background.  “Are you not taking this event seriously?”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Adrien started, only to be quieted by his father’s hand.

“Don’t be sorry, be better.  Your gait is too wide and fast for the music, your expression leaves something to be desired, and those clothes are still too tight,” Gabriel noted without the slightest hint of emotion.  “You will continue on your diet and start an exercise regimen until they fit properly, and correct yourself immediately. Now, go back and start again.”

Adrien moved to the beginning of the small walkway and waited for the music to start again.  He was trying his best, but this week had been exhausting, and there was still another week before the opening gala and Fall Fashion Week.  After a few more passes, he was finally allowed to change into his regular clothes and instructed to return to Gabriel’s atelier.

Adrien made his way back and stood by the door.  “You wanted to see me, Father?”

“I will be unable to attend the opening gala for Fashion Week.  As the heir of this company, you will take my place next to Nathalie.”  Gabriel looked up from his tablet. “You need to start learning how to run this company, Adrien, not just benefit from it.  As such, you will be shadowing employees from varying departments during your breaks from school in addition to your modeling responsibilities and lessons.”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien replied with resignation.  He had hoped to discuss his future with Gabriel, but Adrien knew the tone in his father’s voice meant there was no room for negotiation.  “May I go?”

Gabriel waved dismissively and turned his attention back to whatever project was on his tablet.

Adrien walked back to his room.  While he didn’t want to be CEO of Gabriel, he should’ve known his dreams and desires wouldn’t be taken into consideration, even if he had voiced them.  His future had been laid out for him the moment he was born, and he was supposed to follow the plan without argument or hesitation. He wouldn’t be surprised if his father had already chosen a wife for him, too.  Adrien just hoped he had a say in who he spent his life with, because there was a beautiful, smart, and compassionate aspiring designer that he was becoming more smitten with every day.

---

The next week flew by for Adrien in a whirlwind of photoshoots, interviews, and practices on top of school, homework, lessons, and Chat duties.  By Friday morning, he felt like a zombie as he made his way to school. He noticed Marinette looking almost as tired as he sat down next to her.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alya inquired, leaning over her desk to flick Marinette’s messy bun.  “You both look like the walking dead.”

“Give it a rest, Alya,” Marinette groaned as she buried her face in Adrien’s shoulder.  “It’s been a long two weeks and we still have to get through the gala tomorrow.”

“What has kept you so busy, hmm?” Alya continued.  “I thought you were just going as Adrien’s plus 1.”

“I’ve been working with Maurice.” Marinette looked back at her friend with an expression that clearly indicated that she was done with the conversation before resting her head back on Adrien’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Adrien whispered into her hair.  “I didn’t know it would be this stressful on you too, or I wouldn’t--”

“Please stop,” Marinette whispered back, her blue eyes looking up to meet his green ones.  “I want to do this, Adrien. Maurice told me what was going on and I want to help. We will get through tomorrow together, okay?”

Adrien reached for Marinette’s hand, which she had placed on his thigh when he sat down, and brought it up to brush a kiss on her knuckles.  “Sounds perfect, Marinette.”

---

Adrien stood at the entrance to the ballroom at Le Grand Paris, welcoming everyone as they passed.  It was a tedious and boring task, and Adrien could not wait until Marinette arrived.  

“Adrien, you look fabulous,” Audrey Bourgeois complimented, taking in his black tux and white shirt with red bow tie and vest.  “Where is your father?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bourgeois, but Father was called away.  Nathalie will be back in a moment if you need to discuss business.” Adrien recited for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Adrichou,” Chloe called, hugging him and giving air kisses.  “You owe me a dance for not bringing me as your date this year.”

Adrien untangled himself from her and the monstrosity that was her yellow ball gown.  “As you wish, Chloe.”

“I saw Dupain-Cheng outside,” Chloe whispered as she leaned in.  “She doesn’t look nearly as good as I do, but she cleans up well enough.”  Before Adrien could respond, Chloe winked and walked off. He shrugged. At least Chloe didn’t completely insult his date.

A few more guests passed before Adrien caught the sight of red in his peripheral.  He turned to greet his date and he was temporarily stunned. Marinette stood in front of him in her dress, her blue-black hair pulled into a waterfall French braid with the ends curling over her shoulders.  Her makeup was subtle, allowing her natural beauty to shine through.

“Evening, Adrien,” Marinette greeted quietly.  “You look great.”

“Not half as good as you do.  You’re positively radiant.” Adrien countered, giving her a chaste kiss on her cheek before offering his arm.  He still had about half an hour before he could leave the door, but Marinette stayed by his side and greeted the press and VIPs as they arrived.

Once Nathalie relieved them, Adrien and Marinette made their way into the ballroom and were pulled into a conversation with a reporter from L’Officiel.   “Adrien, what is the status of the spring collection?  We have been waiting weeks to hear something from Gabriel .”

“The spring collection is a global theme,” Marinette answered.  “ Gabriel currently has designers traveling the globe, taking inspiration from multiple cultures to incorporate into the collection.  I’m sure Mr. Agreste will have a preview ready within the month.”

“Fantastic, Ms.--”

“Dupain-Cheng,” she replied.  “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The reporter nodded and thanked them before walking away to her next interview.  Adrien looked over to Marinette. “That was a great answer.”

“I was only repeating what Maurice drilled into my head,” Marinette admitted.  “We weren’t just going over how to eat and walk these past two weeks.”

The couple continued to flit through the room, answering questions and making conversations.  Adrien marveled at how easily Marinette melded into the situation. She exuded confidence, even though he could feel her shaking a bit on his arm.  By the time they sat down to eat, her shaking had calmed.

“I can’t believe the gowns here,” she whispered as they ate.  “This is a designer’s dream come true.”

Adrien quietly smiled and nodded as Marinette went into exuberant detail about which outfits she loved and which she thought should never see the light of day.  He had to admit that she really did make this night not just bearable, but enjoyable. Her enthusiasm was contagious and he was more than willing to be caught up in it.

Soon dinner was over and the chamber orchestra began playing a beautiful waltz.  Adrien held out his hand as he stood from his chair. “May I have this dance?”

“I don’t know, Adrien.”  Marinette bit her lip as she looked from his outstretched hand to the cleared dance floor.  “I’d rather not open up the opportunity to humiliate myself in front of everyone.”

“Do you trust me?”

Marinette looked up and saw a small smirk on his lips.  She had to giggle at his Aladdin reference as she placed her hand in his.  She did trust him, almost as much as she trusted Chat.  

When they reached the dance floor, Adrien moved them into position and Marinette couldn’t help but remember their first dance at Chloe’s party as he led her around the dance floor.  She lost herself in the feeling of their movements and the music, secretly wishing that this could last forever. She tripped a few times, but Adrien was able to counter her each time so no one saw.  

After a few dances, Adrien excused himself to dance with Chloe, and Marinette made her way back to the table to rest.  She jumped when she heard a chair move, and looked up to see Chloe’s mother take a seat next to her.

“So, you’re dating Adrien?”  Audrey started without any fanfare.  “You two seem-” She searched for a word.  “Good, together.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bourgeois,” Marinette replied, wondering where this conversation was heading.

“I have been keeping an eye on you, and your talent continues to impress me.”  Audrey took a sip from her glass as she looked Marinette over. “My offer is still open for you to come to New York.”

“That is very kind, but I can’t leave Paris.”

Audrey waved her words away.  “Fine. I was going to stay in Paris for a while, anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” Marinette stated, her eyebrows furrowed.  “Why do you need to stay here?”

“I want you to feature in Style Queen as an up and coming designer.”  Audrey stood up. “I want three designs delivered to my suite no later than Friday after next by noon.”

Marinette was practically vibrating when Adrien returned to her.  “Adrien, you won’t believe what just happened.” She grabbed his hand to ground herself.  “Audrey Bourgeois just requested three original designs to feature in her magazine.”

“That’s great, Marinette!” Adrien wrapped her in a tight hug.  “I knew you would turn heads in the fashion world.”

---

The rest of the week went by in a flash for Adrien.  He was absent from school while he attended events throughout the city.  Thankfully, he got to see Marinette every night after he was done so she could drop off his notes and homework.  It wasn’t ideal for either of them, but they cherished the time they got.

Saturday and the fashion show finally arrived.  Adrien was a mix of nervous and excited energy, as this was the last event of the week.  After this and the after-party was done, he could go see Marinette. Well, that was his plan anyway.  He knew he had to get this perfect or his father would probably spend the rest of the night letting him know everything he did wrong.

“Calm down, Kit,” Plagg grumbled from his place on top of the bookshelf.  “You’ll do great and then you can go see Baker Girl.”

“You do know she has a name, right?”  Adrien asked, glancing in the mirror at his kwami.

I know more about her than you think, the tiny cat thought to himself.  He just shrugged.

A knock on Adrien’s dressing room door interrupted their conversation.  He sighed and plastered on his best model smile. It was time to go to work.

Four hours later, he found himself outside the Dupain-Cheng residence, ringing the doorbell.  He heard hurried footsteps drumming down the stairs before the door flew open to reveal a flustered Marinette.

“Adrien, what are you doing here?  I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to come by until tomorrow.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground.  “I got done early. I wanted to see if you wanted to get coffee with me.”

She reached out and pulled him inside and into a bear hug.  “Be right back.” She ran back upstairs and a few moments later, was back in front of him with her coat, sliding on her boots.  “Let’s go.”

[marcloveskylie]

Kylie Minogue Sunday Times interview in full. (Thanks to Darren Nixon)

Kylie Minogue interview: the pop star talks love, regret and new beginnings ahead of playing the Glastonbury ‘legends’ slot

Kylie Minogue is glowing. Of course she is. As the blue-eyed, blonde princess of pop music and golden girl of pop culture, idolised by millions since the 1980s, Minogue, I imagine, floats around in a perpetual state of looking luminous. She has also been dancing in front of our photographer for an afternoon and, as she puts it, “should be glowing after all that make-up!” It’s not just the make-up. On the brink of releasing a new album, the gig of her career, her 51st birthday and with the thrill of a new man, she is happy. “I could say nothing and you could read everything,” she laughs, pointing to her smiling face. “I’ve met someone who I feel good with. It feels right.”

Post-shoot, Minogue sits upright and cross-legged on a sofa in our east London studio, her 5ft frame wrapped in a barely-there slip dress. Much has been written about her dabbles with Botox, something she admitted in 2009, but today she looks beautiful and natural — faint lines on her face, yet still miles younger than 50. She speaks so softly that I strain to hear her and she answers many questions with a giggle. On the surface, dainty and delicate. Underneath, nerves of steel. “None of this was handed to me,” she says, “but this was my destiny. I was meant to do it.”

The first music I remember was a 1989 VHS tape of Kylie’s videos. Aged five, I watched nothing else for months. Fever (2001) and Aphrodite (2010) — the CDs scratched from overuse — made up much of the soundtrack to my clubbing twenties. Interviewing her is an excruciating test, as I attempt to maintain professionalism while trying not to touch her face. (Full disclosure: when we hug at the end, I scream a bit. She doesn’t mind.) But aren’t we all Team Kylie? In 2005, when, at the age of 36, she revealed her breast cancer diagnosis, support from fans and the press came in floods. When her highly public relationships end, it is always her the world sides with. She is, perhaps, the only non-Brit considered a “national treasure” by the tabloids — The Sun ran a campaign in the early Noughties to have her bottom listed as a World Heritage Site on the grounds it was an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Brand Kylie has mastered the near impossible: triumphing for three decades, with gold- and platinum-certified records, scandal-free and to global adoration. She’s still considered both a reigning disco diva and a bubbly, Aussie girl next door. Underestimate her at your peril, though. Being Kylie, she says, “takes a lot of work, graft and insecurity — not always what the wrapped-up end product looks like. There have been times when I’ve thought, ‘I just can’t.’ But you’ve got to take the knocks because they’re always coming. It ain’t all roses.” A pause. “But maybe otherwise it wouldn’t be as sweet in the end.”

She values her private life as “precious”, and admits that she has “sacrificed some anonymity”, no doubt because her romances have been tabloid fodder for years. Her most high-profile relationship was with INXS frontman Michael Hutchence from 1989 to 1991. In 1997, long after they broke up, he committed suicide. For four years, she dated the French actor Olivier Martinez, who supported her through her cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy (“Olli was there all the time,” she said in 2006). They broke up in 2007, but were rumoured to have reignited their romance in 2017, claims that she has never addressed. Then there was an engagement to the British actor Joshua Sasse. The two started dating in 2015 and that December she told Desert Island Discs that Sasse, then 28, was “my love”. They announced their engagement in February 2016, but broke up 12 months later; last September, he married an Australian entrepreneur. It strikes me as sad, but her steeliness quickly reappears.

You’ve had your heart broken, I begin. “I don’t know about heartbroken,” she flashes. “I’ve made mistakes.” Such as? “I regret lying to myself. Like, ‘This is OK,’ and doing the merry dance. When that honest bit inside of you knows, but you’re busy covering it up? I regret doing that. It’s not fair on yourself. And yet I think we’ve all been there, we’ve all done it. But I don’t see myself doing it again. I’ve met someone who I feel good with.” She has been dating Paul Solomons, the 45-year-old creative director of British GQ, for just over a year. When talk turns to him, she lights up. “I can feel my face going,” she says. “People say, ‘Your face changes when you talk about him,’ and it does. Happiness. He’s an inspiring, funny, talented guy. He’s got a real-life actual job! It’s lovely.”

Their weekends are generally spent in her Knightsbridge home, watching documentaries on Netflix — “We liked the Ted Bundy Tapes. I was too scared to watch them on my own” — or listening to podcasts — “Have you heard Dear Joan & Jericha [Julia Davis and Vicki Pepperdine’s mock agony-aunt podcast]? I’ve literally creased myself to that, it’s so inappropriate.” He does most of the cooking. “He’s got me cooking too, actually. He’s the first to do that. It can no longer be the family joke that I can’t cook.” Her family are all still in Australia. Her parents, Ron and Carol, worked as an accountant and dancer respectively, and her younger sister, Dannii, followed in Kylie’s showbiz footsteps as a pop star. She also has a younger brother, Brendon. They are a close family who text daily and speak frequently. I imagine they are overprotective about any new boyfriends. Minogue tells me that the first time Solomons met her clan was spending last Christmas with them. “They [already] could tell I was good within myself. They liked him before they met him, and they liked him more after they met him.”

Her Australian accent is still distinctive, but she has lived in London since the early 1990s, when Soho was her stomping ground. “I was really deep in London nightlife back then,” she says. Now, generally, the only time she’s up until the early hours is when she’s on tour. Her last big night out was her 50th birthday party, a year ago, at Chiltern Firehouse, complete with performances by Rick Astley and Jake Shears. “I went to bed at about 5am, but probably had no more than a glass of champagne all night. I was talking and dancing and high on life. The icing on the cake was that I had my special someone to share it with.”

It’s remarkable that Minogue has the stamina to dance until 5am at an age when many women are experiencing the menopause. Indeed, she’s already been there, done that. As is common with younger breast cancer patients, her menopause was medically induced when she had treatment, to suppress her oestrogen levels. On Desert Island Discs, she stated that she would love to start a family. It’s a difficult subject to broach, but I wonder if she feels the chance to have children has passed. “I can definitely relate to that,” she answers. “I was 36 when I had my diagnosis. Realistically, you’re getting to the late side of things. And, while that wasn’t on my agenda at the time, [cancer] changed everything. I don’t want to dwell on it, obviously, but I wonder what that would have been like. Everyone will say there are options, but I don’t know. I’m 50 now, and I’m more at ease with my life. I can’t say there are no regrets, but it would be very hard for me to move on if I classed that as a regret, so I just have to be as philosophical about it as I can. You’ve got to accept where you are and get on with it.”

Born and raised in Melbourne, she attended acting school in her home town and became a superstar at 18 as Charlene in the Australian soap Neighbours. Charlene’s wedding to Jason Donovan’s Scott in 1987 was witnessed by 20m viewers in the UK. Despite no formal singing or dancing training, she left the show to pursue music, and her debut album, Kylie, released in 1988, was No 1 in the UK for six weeks. She has since released 13 more studio albums, as well as dozens of compilation, live and remix records. Next month she is releasing Step Back in Time, her latest greatest hits album. All the big hitters are on there: Spinning Around, I Should Be So Lucky, Confide in Me. She doesn’t have a favourite, but points to Where the Wild Roses Grow (1995) and All the Lovers (2010) — “just glorious”. She had to brace herself, she says, to listen to some of the older tracks. “I recorded Locomotion when I was 18 or 19. I was so young and I felt so young.” She shakes her head in bewilderment.

Minogue has just finished the Golden Tour, six months of shows in Europe and Australia. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got before my showbiz hips and knees start to protest,” she laughs. “They’ll be like, ‘You’ve been treading those boards for a long time, we think you should slow down a bit.’ ” This summer, along with gigs in London, Manchester and even Scarborough, she will take to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury in the Sunday afternoon “legends” slot, previously filled by the likes of Dolly Parton, Barry Gibb and Lionel Richie. It is particularly poignant as she was set to perform there in 2005, but her cancer diagnosis meant that she had to pull out. She sang at the festival in 2010, as a guest of the Scissor Sisters, but has never performed solo. “I’m bound to cry,” she says. On stage? “It’s going to happen. When I was meant to be there, I watched it from Australia. I was dealing with much bigger things back then, but when I’m there it will take me back to when I wasn’t there. But I’ll work through that.”

She confirms there will be guests joining her on stage, but won’t tell me who. Dolce & Gabbana designed the Greek goddess-inspired costumes for her Aphrodite: Les Folies tour in 2011, but her on-stage style now is “more human, more real”. “But even Elvis had a few diamantés on him,” she continues. “Come on! I’m thinking of it as a big sing-along. It’s daytime, so you can’t have the lights, effects and lasers that I normally have. I think the simplicity is part of what makes that slot so magical. Dolly Parton just walked on out. Lionel Richie just walked on out. I mean, I’ll sashay on out.”

Minogue’s manager then intervenes. The car is waiting and the star has somewhere to be. “I keep threatening my team that I’m going to retire,” she winks, safe in the knowledge that there are decades left of her career. And, with that, she sashays out. Glowing.

Step Back in Time is released on June 28