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#i got this picture from a 1980s magazine

identifying-rollercoasters · 4 months

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Atomic Coaster, Senyo Kogyo Co. Ltd

Location: Japan Monkey Park, Japan

Status: Defucnt

#i got this picture from a 1980s magazine #coaster id #senyo kogyo co #japan

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archeolatry · 5 days

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Go take a look at this beautiful trove of old SparkSound magazines someone is selling on eBay. For the price they might as well be made out of gold, but the seller's been nice enough to take big, largely readable photos of so many of the issues. Is there a similar digital hoard of scanned versions? I'd love to see more! (I've seen photo pages in full but only snippets of the rest.) The absolute like... raw, sloppy, fanzine chaos of these as as official publications from a major label band is blowing my fucking mind, even if it is just for the fan club. It's literally their mom cutting and pasting and cramming mentions from both Melody Maker and TV Guide onto an A3 sheet of paper, layouts be damned. The apostrophe on her typewriter is broken for a couple issues but she carries on with an asterisk. She's also around 60 by this point and banging this out to an audience of hundreds or thousands like it's a local Kiwanis club newsletter. But she's doing it with gusto, by gum, and it's punk as hell. The best thing about it is that the lack of style is made up for by the absolute top-tier access to the band, and her being surprisingly on top of pertinent details.

For those of you who weren't in a fandom before the internet, those behind-the-scenes photos were like your favorite band's proof of life. There was no Instagram or Twitter, or anything that proved they existed between national TV appearances and touring in your area (besides those mentions in Melody Maker anyway). If you were lucky, your fandom had the capacity to trade videotapes and people in Scranton could see local TV appearances in Los Angeles and vice-versa. If you were really lucky they weren't all copies of copies with potato quality sound and video. Likewise, if you wanted the 12" extended European dance mix of a song with a B-side unavailable in the US, you had to either special order it somewhere and pay through the nose, hope it was in the imports section of a record store (and still pay through the nose), or you had to trade cassettes or burned CDs and hope the other person didn't flake on you. The fact that she's saying "Don't go running to the import section yet, the single will be out on ____ record label on this date with this track listing" is WAY more info than we usually got from our official sources. All "Mary Martin" needed to do for exclusive content was take pictures of her sons on vacation. On one page she's absolutely dunking on Russell them in wry cut-and-paste captions and on another she is the perfect hype man, telling people shows at The Greek Theater are gonna sell out so get your tickets early (but hold your horses on travelling- they're working on Japanese dates for September so you may not need to fly to the US). The personal thank-yous! The CARE! *slams fist on table* If any other band had their mom as the head of their fan club it'd be the most contrived shit in the universe, a complete lie, or both. I fucking love these guys.

#sparks #sparks band #Like…even the seminal punk rock fanzine Slash was typeset #And Mary over here is taking care of business between games of canasta #be quiet an old hipster is speaking #i'm a part time sparks blog now

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ghouljams · 2 months

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Bridgerton costumes suck… they’re played up for modern audiences. They got rid of bonnets!!! Bonnets are a staple of the period!

That bullshit scene where they tight lace that Featherington girl when she’s wearing a semi stays made no sense. You can’t even see her waist so why would you tight lace?? Tight lacing didn’t even become a thing under the later half of the century, right? The eyelets were hand sewn so it was impossible until they were galvanized, right?? Or am I remembering incorrectly.

My area of expertise is the mid-20th century! I have a collection of 30 pieces from the 50’s, 15 from the 60’s but I loooooove *most* era’s. (Love-hate the 1980’s)

The Edwardian period is so pretty. Artist-Ellen just drew a month’s worth of food themed costumes. Whatever time period the food was invented: that’s what she themed the costume around. I’d die for the Edwardian strawberry shortcake dress!!

It’s nice talking to someone who loves fashion history….

I forgot to ask! Can we see a picture of the dress??? I’d love to see!

Oh yeah tight lacing was not a thing during the edwardian period also because short stays were a thing, and the silhouette didn't call for a cinched waist. But even if it was they literally had maternity stays? And the upper upper class was the only one that could afford to tight lace because it makes it really hard to move.

I fucking love bonnets, they're so cute! Bridgestone also had too bright of colors and too many embellishments. Regency clothing was much more demure. (I am in love with Daphne's wedding dress in bridgerton, I can't deny that).

I have a lot of vintage clothes, and my favorite 20th century fashiln came in the 60s and 70s. I tend to buy a lot of patterns from those decades and recreate the clothes as best I can. In high school I recreated an "hour party dress" from a magazine pattern from the 1920s. It took me significantly more than an hour and I don't really like it but I still have it! It really gives an interesting look at what people were actually wearing from that time period.

As for my regency dress, I actually have to repattern it! I finished the bodice and realize I had made the bust waaaaay too big, which is on me for being careless with how I laid my pattern. All that cording and hand stitching gone to waste 😭 I might share a photo when it's done, but I don't want to clog up this blog with too much of my other hobbies. This blog is for cod and writing only, so I gotta use my main for my sewing.

#ghoul speaks #i love talking fashion history!!!!#its so interesting such a fun glimpse at how people in the past lived

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vintage1981 · 3 months

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAROLINE MUNRO!

Caroline Munro (born 16 January 1949 in Windsor, Berkshire) is a British actress and model best known for her many appearances in science fiction and action films of the 1970s and 1980s. According to Munro, her career took off in 1966 when her mother and photographer friend entered some headshots of her to Britain’s The Evening News “Face of the Year” contest.

“I wanted to do art. Art was my love. I went to Art School in Brighton but I was not very good at it. I just did not know what to do. I had a friend at the college who was studying photography and he needed somebody to photograph and he asked me. Unbeknownst to me, he sent the photographs to a big newspaper in London. The famous fashion photographer, David Bailey, was conducting a photo contest and my picture won.”

This led to modelling chores, her first job being for Vogue Magazine at the age of 17. She moved to London to pursue top modelling jobs and became a major cover girl for fashion and TV ads while there. Decorative bit parts came her way in such films as Casino Royale and Where’s Jack? (1969). One of her many photo ads got her a screen test and a one-year contract at Paramount where she won the role of Richard Widmark’s daughter in the comedy/western A Talent for Loving (1969).

1969 proved to be a good year for Munro, because it was then that she began a lucrative 10 year relationship with Lamb’s Navy Rum. Her image was plastered all over the country, and this would eventually lead to her next big break.

Hammer Films CEO Sir James Carreras spotted Munro on a Lamb’s Navy Rum poster/billboard. He asked his right hand man, James Liggett, to find and screen test her. She was immediately signed to a one-year contract. Her first film for Hammer proved to be something of a turning point in her career. It was during the making of Dracula AD 1972 that she decided from this film onward she was a full-fledged actress. Up until then she was always considered a model who did some acting on the side.

A string of fantasy and horror roles followed, including starring turns in Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1973), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1974), At the Earth’s Core (1976), The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), StarCrash (1978), Maniac (1980), The Last Horror Film (1982), Faceless (1988), and The Black Cat (1989).

By the 1990s Munro had decided to focus more on her family, daughters, Georgina and Iona, and husband George Dugdale. However, since 2003 Caroline has renewed her interest in acting and has appeared in a number of film and audio productions. Since 2021 Caroline has been presenting the hit television series The Cellar Club for Talking Pictures TV.

The title First Lady of Fantasy was given to Caroline by journalist Steve Swires, who wrote many Starlog and Fangoria (@FANGORIA) articles on the actress in the 1980s and 1990s.

Happy Birthday Caroline!

Official Website: http://www.CarolineMunro.org

Representation: Thomas Bowington/Bowington Management

Some of her credits include: Dracula AD 1972 (1972), Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1973), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1974), At the Earth’s Core (1976), The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), StarCrash (1978), Maniac (1980), The Last Horror Film (1982), Faceless (1988), The Black Cat (1989), Flesh for the Beast (2003), Turpin (2009), Midsomer Murders (2013), The Landlady (2013), Crying Wolf (2015), Vampyres (2015), Cute Little Buggers (2016), Frankula (2017), End User (2018), House of the Gorgon (2019), The Haunting of Margam Castle (2020), Ulalume - A Ballad (2023), The Pocket Film of Superstitions (2023), and the upcoming The Presence of Snowgood (2024).

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fauxfickle · 7 days

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Another month, another info dump of things you already know, or the search for "The Great All-American Pizza Show!"

Last time, we talked about the Citrus Heights commercial produced by Bob Wilkins Advertising Inc and it's potential showing at the Orinda Theatre. The bad news is that I don't know anyone from CA and I don't have anywhere near a big enough platform to spread the word. Was it there? Was it not? We'll never know! Good thing is that the Psychotronix Film Festival is putting on another show in May at Foothill College, also in CA.

But on to other news! I finally got a response from PBS about Ben Wattenberg's segment on PTT. They said they didn't have it so yeah...

I've been looking around for Ben Wattenberg's 1980 and PM Magazine listings on Ebay, hoping for maybe a DVD copy or something but nothing comes up. These aren't really my top priority since they aren't part of TGAAPS but it helps me from burning out looking at a million commercials

Let's move onto the real meat and potatoes, the ads themselves. Starting with the Citrus Heights commercial, I've been doing research on Bob Wilkins' ad company and you'd be surprised how scarce info is on it. His obituary states that he made ads not only for PTT, but Lay-Z-Boy as well. This newspaper from 1981 says that his agency makes over $1M annually and was doing "amazingly well" which makes it all the more stranger that there's so little documentation of it. I also found a house in Oakland, that was used by the company at some point. I won't link the house, the company is so far removed from it and I don't want the people living there to be bothered. Something funny I found while looking on other search engines for traces of BW's agency is that Bing's AI assistant literally uses my post as a source. It's surreal seeing the info I wrote be regurgitated back at me by an AI. Weird...

Now the animated ad! I'll admit, I've been slacking a bit when it comes to looking for this ad, however I found 3 people on Linkedin that worked for Colossal Pictures during the late 70s. Also found out that Adam Savage from Myth Busters worked for (C)P at some point. Hmm, having your company initials be CP wasn't the smartest move in hindsight. Maybe that's why they added the parenthesis.

Something that wasn't found by me :( was a storyboard for one of the live action commercials. From what I've heard, it was posted in the showbizpizza.com discord server and spread from there. In the bottom left it says UBC which I can't really link to anything. I thought maybe it could be a production company, or an acronym, but I've got nothing. Maybe it just says Inc. Bottom right isn't much better, it's completely illegible and the first page of the storyboard is in even worse quality. An exciting find for sure, but not one that really helps me.

Or so I thought! In the end card it says (location tag), not just "Kooser and Blossom Hill". Unlike the radio ad, nothing in here denotes any sort of specific location like having a certain guest star or cabaret act. Sure it uses the Winchester bots, Kooser bots, and Mopsey sisters but people aren't really going to pay attention to whether the backup singers are mops or crows and they probably wouldn't even notice the small diffences between the portrait bots and a cyberamic in a 60 second ad.

Here's my big theory though. Oh yeah, we're getting conspiratorial! Someone asked me about that forum post I discovered that mention a PTT jingle from 1978 - 1980. Way back in my first post, I found that this person was most likely from the Detroit area, and probably didn't see the ads that I thought at the time were only in the Bay Area and aired during early 1980. I thought that because the ads ended around spring and the first store to open in MI was around November, this person was simply misremembering the "Smile America" ads from 1982. It's been a few months, and in that time I've learned probably more than any sane person should know about this campaign, and while looking at the store lists on the Cheese-e-pedia after that person mention the post, I realized something that made me feel like a complete idiot. The first PTT to open in MI was in Westland. I looked up where that was, and low and behold, Westland is A SUBURB OF DETROIT. I felt so stupid but also really happy that this tiny detail actually meant something. My theory is that maybe, just maybe, one of, if not a few of these ads were aired outside CA with the location tags edited for each store. PTT has done that before, so I feel it's not totally out of the picture for them to have done it few years earlier. If this is true, then it expands this search from just CA to Nevada, Utah, Texas, Arizona, Ohio, Colorado, North Carolina, and of course, Michigan.

I still want to keep most my searching in the Bay area, but I think this could lead to exciting things. Or I could be delusional, who knows? Until next time!

#chuck e cheese #pizza time theater #pizza time theatre #the great all american pizza search #the great all american pizza show #lost media #lost commercial #archival #ptt #cec ptt #probably gonna realize i have a thousand spelling mistakes after i post

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a-night-like--this · 1 year

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The Cure photographer Paul Cox: “Robert Smith is a normal bloke – but he has a presence”

Cox tells us about his new photo book 'The Cure "Stills"', years of working with the band, and recent correspondence with Smith

By Andrew Trendell | 6th January 2023

The Cure's Robert Smith shot by Paul Cox

Photographer Paul Cox, who has released a new book of his images of The Cure, has spoken to NME about his experience of working with the band and his correspondence with frontman Robert Smith over the years.

The Cure, who recently completed a lengthy UK and European tour with a string of acclaimed shows at London’s Wembley Arena, are expected to release the long overdue ‘Songs Of A Lost World’ – the group’s first new album since 2008’s ‘4:13 Dream’.

To give patient fans something to digest in the mean time, Cox recently released The Cure “Stills” – a book documenting his long visual relationship with the band since he first started shooting them for a magazine session back in 1980, before soon taking photos of them during a Top Of The Pops performance. Their shoots together would often start in the early afternoon and go on until the early hours of the morning.

The Cure on ‘Top Of The Pops’ in 1980, shot by Paul Cox

“I was quite young, and they came across a little bit intimidating – but interesting; and that was always the thing,” Cox told NME about their first meeting. “You get a little bit of a vibe off people. From that one little session I just kept pestering them and got to shoot them more and more.”

Cox continued: “Robert is a very down to earth person – a normal bloke – but he has a presence when he walks into a room. He knows what he wants and nothing is going to stand in the way of how he presents himself. He won’t do interviews for the sake of it, he won’t do pictures for the sake of it; there always has to be a reason and he’ll put his all into it.

“Working with him over the years, he always puts a lot of effort in. That’s not him trying overly hard but just knowing what needs to be done and projecting himself in a certain way. He’s just great to photograph and a real character.”

The Cure’s Robert Smith shot by Paul Cox

Despite Smith’s image as one of rock’s most iconic figures, Cox doubled down on his reputation as “a normal bloke”.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like inside Robert Smith’s house, but I think it would be fairly normal!” he said. “I can imagine him putting a shelf up. He’ll do things himself. When we were doing the book, I first asked his permission out of courtesy, then he ended up curating it. It took so bloody long because of various things happening and people dying and whatnot. It took five years to do this book when it could have taken six months.

“Anyway, while we were putting the book together he was actually moving house at one point. He didn’t get people in to do it for him. At one point he told me, ‘Oh, this is the 10th trip I’ve done in a van!’”

The Cure, shot by Paul Cox

As for what his photographs reveal about the band, Cox said that The Cure “haven’t changed at all really”.

“You see their fashion changing slightly like when they went for the suits for a bit in the ‘80s, but generally Robert Smith in particular hasn’t changed at all – the big hair, the red lips, the eyeliner, his commitment. How many bands have survived as long as them? Not many.

“The members dip in and out, but I would imagine that [Smith] is really hard work to work with, but he’s just so driven.”

Cox went on to say that he “didn’t know” if he’d ever work with The Cure again, or if the band would be likely to do many more photo shoots.

“In the kindest way, they don’t need to promote themselves pictorially,” Cox argued. “They are what they are and can get by with a little drawing. Photography and what photos are used for have changed and now taking new photos is kind of unnecessary most of the time.”

The Cure, shot by Paul Cox

Smith has repeatedly teased the band’s upcoming record to NME as a dark, “merciless, relentless” piece, inspired by a period of great loss following the passing of several family members, and in a similar spirit to their 1989 gothic art-rock masterpiece ‘Disintegration’.

Quizzed on if he had any inside knowledge on ‘Songs Of A Lost World’, Cox replied: “No, not at all! Haven’t they been working on a couple of albums? I know one was supposed to come out back in the autumn, but I can understand why it didn’t. Sometimes you won’t hear from him for three months at a time, then he’ll come back with shitloads all at once! A lot of personal things have happened in his life over the last few years, and he just puts his priorities in the right place.”

The Cure “Stills” by Paul Cox is out now. Visit here for more information.

The Cure “Stills” – by Paul Cox

Speaking about the book in a statement, Smith said: “The ‘look’ of the various incarnations of The Cure, through many different periods, is inextricably linked to Paul’s pictures; his vision, expertise and patience played a huge part in portraying us, not just as we wanted to be, but as we really were.

“An excellent photographer, and an excellent man… and a very good job he wasn’t put off by the very weird job that was The Cure on top of the pops in 1980!”

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apollafire · 13 days

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Chapter One

Summary; Dr. Kate Harrison has her first day as a member of staff at Columbia. The work place she was provided with is less than stellar but the neighbors aren't so bad.

Warnings; swearing, Dean Yeager's an asshole but not present, Venkman being Venkman

Final Word Count; 1071

Columbia University 1980

“My baby sister, a doctor! And a professor! Ugh I can’t believe it.” The click of a camera shutter went off several more times, “Hold still for God sakes, I have to get one for Aunt Rose.”

“First of all, I’m not a professor. Yet.” Kate Harrison sighed deeply, “I’m a glorified lab assistant, and I will be until Dr. McNulty either finally decides to retire or ends up dying. Damn tenure.” She muttered looking down at her shoes, “Look, Irene, I really do appreciate the ride but if I knew you had planned on taking enough pictures to fill up a magazine I wouldn’t have accepted.”

“Oh so you could’ve sat on the subway with no one to talk to and get your fancy white coat all dirty? Not on my watch.” A few more camera clicks.

“Irene, you’re going to make me late. I have to finish setting up my office.” The woman turned away to start heading towards the front door of the building.

“Okay, okay. Just remember, dinner this Saturday at mine and John’s. I know you have nothing going on so you better be there.”

“No promises.”

The basement. Dean Yeager stuck her in the basement after promising her office would be right next door to Dr. McNulty for convenience for herself and students alike. There weren’t even any damn windows and grow lamps for her plants definitely were not provided like agreed upon at the end of last semester.

“That motherfucker.” She muttered as she pushed the door open and took in her new domain, at least all her boxes seemingly made it down here unscathed. After procuring a blank sheet of notebook paper and a black marker, she wrote DR. KATHERINE HARRISON - BIOCHEMISTRY & BOTANY in big capital letters. She taped that paper to the door and shut it behind her as she got to work unpacking, figuring it was highly unlikely she was to ever actually get her name permanently painted on the frosted glass. After getting her music to a level she liked and could block out the world for a while, she got started with the desk and the metal shelves behind it.

Unbeknownst to her, the sudden burst of music from the formerly empty room interrupted some “very important work” in the Paranormal Studies laboratory next door with which she shared a wall.

“The damn janitor must’ve brought a radio down for his smoke break.” Peter Venkman grumbled from under a magazine as he laid across an old beaten down couch, “Ray go kick him out again, will ya? I’m missing out on prime sleep time over here.”

Ray looked up from the book he was reading with a furrowed brow, looking from where Peter lazed over to Egon to see if he could force him to go do it this time. But the man was so deep into whatever mold sample he was looking at through the microscope that it would be a while before he came up for air. He sighed deeply and rolled his chair back a few feet before getting up and making his way out to the hallway. The less muffled sound of Ozzy Osbourne’s Mr. Crowley met his ears as he walked to the next door over, raising his fist to knock loudly. He stopped as he read the paper on the door that was not there when him and the guys got in that morning. Tilting his head in slight confusion, he reached out and gently just pushed the door open slowly.

“You know, Aleister Crowley was actually a very interesting man.” He called out after a moment of observation, seemingly startling the woman as she caught a book that had begun to fall from her hands.

“I do know, actually.” Kate spoke after regaining her composure, gesturing to the shelf that now housed all three volumes of the Collected Works of Aleister Crowley as she reached to the radio to turn it off, “I’m not a fan, but my grandparents may have been Thelemians back in the day. Real hush hush about it though.” She walked over to the stranger standing in the doorway, “I’m Kate Harrison. Sorry for the noise, I didn’t realize anyone else was banished to the basement.”

“Really? Oh wow that’s fascinating. I’m Dr. Ray Stantz.” They shared a friendly handshake and continued to speak, “My colleagues and I work next door in the Paranormal Studies lab. We thought you were Paul the janitor, he’s usually in here on his smoke breaks.”

“That explains the ash and butts everywhere, for a janitor he doesn’t really clean up after himself.” She looked down at the floor and kicked a few of the said cigarette butts aside, “Paranormal Studies you say? Sounds like a secret almost.”

“Nope, we are fully funded by the board.” Ray put his hands on his hips proudly, “You should come by and check it out! Maybe I can convince the guys to come and help you unpack so you’re stuck in here all day.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Lead the way Dr. Stantz.” She said with a smile before following the man down the hallway.

“Hey guys!” Ray grinned as he opened the door and stepped back into the lab, letting Kate come in behind him, “We have a new neighbor.” No movement or acknowledgement from either man made the woman look at Ray skeptically.

“Wow Ray, didn’t realize your colleagues were just mannequins that you positioned around the room.” She said playfully. Boom, that got their attention. The man on the couch shot up with such a speed he almost fell to the floor as he made his way over, hand outstretched and what he probably thought was an award winning smile stretched across his face.

“Pete Venkman, pleasure to meet you.” He said, shaking her hand, “Egon, get over here, Ray actually brought home a woman to meet us for once.”

“You lay it on pretty thick, don’tcha Dr. Venkman.” She responded with a small laugh. Her gaze fell to the man standing up from looking into a microscope, watching him pick up a pair of glasses and slip them on before turning in her direction.

“I’m Dr. Egon Spengler.” Just with that sentence, Kate could listen to him talk all day, “It’s a pleasure, like Venkman said.”

“Dr. Kate Harrison, and the pleasure’s all mine.” She smiled brightly.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters oc #egon spengler #egon spengler x oc #katherine harrison #apollafire #dearly departed #fanfic

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freshlyrage · 10 months

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Running Like Water

Chapter 4

whats playing: Querida by Juan Gabriel

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues, first few chapters are flashbacks to high school, they WILL NOT be explicit just fluff.

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

A/N: Lets pretend that Querida by Juan Gabriel was out in 1980, listen on apple music it says "1976" although thats definitely wrong. Anywho.... this is a special one.

word count: 9k (forgive me)

In April your mom agreed to host her home for pre-prom activities. Letting Javier and Frankie get ready in Frankie’s room. Lorraine and Genie getting ready in your room. You prepared your room to have your guests, your bed perfectly made and your embarrassing posters rolled and tucked in your closet. Your frilly pillow meticulously placed in size order, large in the back and little ones in the front. They hadn’t known that when you slept you pushed them all on the floor.

You sat crisscrossed on the bed with a magazine on your lap, your beige room contrasting the bright colors on their dresses. Mama made you dress up too, she wanted to get you in on the pictures. Obviously, you didn’t look as glamorous as the girls adjusting their breasts in your long mirror that had small images tucked on the border.

Purple and short for Genie. Blue and shiny for Lorraine.

“Javier has a hotel room for us tonight-” She lifts the top of her dress. The shoulders had a puffy padding with a princess waist. The sun from your window reflecting off the metallic color. You bit the inside of your lip, jealously was in your nature. Especially when it came to Javier. You don’t think you will ever get used to being so close to his very serious girlfriend. Leaning back against the headboard as you watched the older girls look so pretty.

You look to Genie, her dress was very similar to Lorraine’s but was shorter accompanied by a large bow at the lower waist. She cut bangs specifically for this night, it framed her soft features so well. “You guys have had sex, right?” Genie asks. You unwittingly hold your breath waiting for Lorraine’s answer. She was leaned over, looking in the mirror with a makeup brush frozen near her cheek at the question. You watch as her smile grows into a proud grin in the mirror. Genies eyes widen and she pushes her over.

Lorraine groans, “You’re going to fuck up my makeup.”

“You whore!” Genie giggles and they both were in a fit of laughter. Was me being silent and listening on awkward? Fuck that, I mean they were in my room.

Her proud grin doesn’t leave, “and he’s … oh my god he’s so good!” she nearly yells, her eyes shutting from embarrassment. Your cheeks flush red as you pretend that April 1980’s Vogue was the most interesting piece of literature at that moment. "I mean I was a virgin when I met him but like theres no way it gets better than that."

You always wondered. Always have, but it feels so wrong finding out this way. You also kind of knew, almost all of your friends were already having sex-of course Javier and Lorraine would be. Watching his girlfriend get ready to go to prom with him. Your own very “dressed down” dress itching your legs. It was halter style-something you've grown accustomed too over the years-black with a drop waist. They giggle back and forth. Before Lorraine turns to you, “You’re a virgin, right?”

“Duh!” Genie speaks for you but then looks to you worried that her quick response hurt your feelings- “Like not saying you can’t get guys or whatever. You’ve got a killer bod and face.” She rushes her words, and you could only laugh in response. Of course you were, even though you were older than all your friends you still were technically a freshman, sex still made you nervous.

“Chill out, yeah, I am. I mean I’m only 16 so I don’t know.” Your voice trails off. You had this weird feeling of pressure for whatever reason. Again you knew that all of your girlfriends had already had sex, but then again, they had boyfriends. You weren’t sure if you would ever get to that-not so soon.

They both nod, Genie turning to look at Lorraine’s hair. “Okay, let me fix your hair again. Fuckin’ Texas humidity.” She grabs her arm, and they hurry out the room. “Be right back Drea! Don’t want the smoke alarm going off, like two summers ago.” She pulls a fake blunt between her lips and laughs-referring to the time she smoked in your room while your mom was away.

A groan leaves your lips and you slide down your headboard. Your hair getting trapped in its wiring spirals, causing you to get even angrier before untangling yourself and slamming back onto the bed. Facing the ceiling. You would suffocate yourself with the pillow but you didn’t want to ruin their prom night with the sight of your dead body.

You swore, you swore at your lacrosse game that you couldn’t get jealous about these things anymore.

You were fucked. Like grade A fucked.

You grab the magazine and begin whacking yourself in the face.

Stupid, I’m so stupid. Javier Peña. Lorraine Smithfield- oh god Lorraine Peña. That’s my worst nightmare. Maybe this fucking magazine would knock me out, this is so ridiculous-

“You good there cariño?”

A screech parts from your mouth as you sit up straight and your murder weapon (the magazine) falls. Javier leaned up against my open doorway, in a blue suit. “Jesus fucking-”

He waves his arms out before completely entering the room, “Language! Your moms down the hall you psycho.” He pleads. He knows your good catholic mother would storm down the hall and whack you if she heard the profanities that just left your lips. She'd probably use the magazine too.

“Oh my god.” You pant, still startled. A hand over your heart. “You just walked in on my attempted suicide” lifting the magazine. His lips twitch before crowding the bed, his hips leveled with your face. The position causing your heart to skip a beat, or two...maybe six you actually weren’t sure if you were breathing in that moment. The way he’s looking down at you. Looking at you through his prominent brow bone. You pull your dress down past your knees.

With a hand on his hip, he grabs the magazine staring at the close-up of Gia Carangi before tossing it back in the bed. “Well Vogue isn’t gonna cut it, querida.” He gives a faulty frown laced with sarcasm. “What’s up?” Your brain still strung on him calling you darling in Spanish. Still strung on this, how you're sat on this bed. Cariño was just his thing with everyone but querida? You have never heard him call anyone that.

You need a cold shower.

You brain levels to recognize his question. Well, your issue was him. Him going to prom with someone who wasn’t you. Him using words of endearment to identify you. This position right now, as he towered you. How handsome he looked in that suit. How his eyes always lowered with a sense of adoration when he looked at you. Your heart caught in your throat all you could was- you lie, “My-my dress is ugly.” Half-lie. The dress was ugly, fact. But your issue was far from something so materialistic. Again, your issue was him.

That issue only blossomed when he smiles down at you, tilting his head before whispering, “You look beautiful.”

Your eyes go doe-not having heard those words in a long time. Never thinking you’d hear him say it, not in this way at least. While he looked at you as if he wanted to do something about the ugly piece of fabric clanged to your body. Your lips purse and you just wished you could kiss him. You wanted to kiss him so bad. And for a moment you convince yourself that maybe he’s thought about kissing you before because his eyes fall to your parted lips.

But that moment was short lived. He looks back to your eyes and smiles with a sigh. His eyes move to the wall behind you before turning to leave the room. “Cute picture, see you downstairs!” He calls as he walks out the room. You turn in record time to see the image on your own wall.

New Years, you looking up at him-shamelessly with so much adoration as he lays his arm on your head.

Breathless in the bed. You could only stare ahead and let frustrated tears fall without fail. Your shaking hands wipe them quick before his girlfriend and your future in law join you in the room. Gina Carangi staring at you from the far side of the bed.

I will find a way to die by the hands of that vogue magazine

A few weeks passed after your moment with Javi. You kept on with your daily routine of school, practice and home. You hadn't really had any time to stay Javier's for dinner anymore. By the beginning of May you realized you hadn't hung out with him-or with anyone since the start of April. But a folded envelope in your locker with fancy writing and the familiar word of quinceañera brought you back in business. Plus one rquired.

You asked Liandra herself if it really was required, to which she stared at you with a dull face. She let you in on the fact that her mom had a head count and that was bible. After days of begging Frankie, he found an excuse to throw at you. Said he reserved a table at a restaurant out of town for Genie. “Sorry, ask someone else hermanita,”

He says it with a frown, but you know it’s taunting. You have nothing else to do but yell into your pillow, yet you yell a bit too hard. Your hands holding your pillow to your face-you had a dress and everything. And this time it was actually pretty, it was long-black with delicate flowers and small puffed sleeves. Your mama bought it for you as a gift for your sixteenth birthday but you hadn’t found a place to wear it. It was pricey, about a hundred dollars and she handed you cash without batting an eye.

Speak of the devil, your exaggerated teenage groan was loud enough for your mama to slam your bedroom door open. “Andrea, ¿qué te pasa?” She asked with less energy than she used to yank the door open. You sit up, you and your mom weren’t the closest-you kind of had to just be okay with that. You think she just never expected to have a daughter-you were her mirror and maybe it was a bit too much. She loved up on Frankie, without a doubt.

You sit up, looking at the dress hanging on your chair and sigh. “I promised Liandra I’d go to her Quince with another person, to fill the space.” you shake your head, feeling embarrassed at how silly your issues sound as your mom sighs in relief. She was lucky all your issues were innocent and juvenile, she’d be fucked if you had any real issues.

Your mom moves her hair from one shoulder to the next, staring behind you for a moment. Her lips form a thin line and you could just see the gears turning and a light bulb. “I can call Don Chucho up, have Javier go with you.”

“No!” You blurt, already petrified at the idea of your mom asking him on your behalf. Of course you had thought of him. He was the first person you thought of when she mentioned a plus one-not your stupid brother. You wanted to go with Javier, but that was out of the picture… obviously. That would just be weird.

Your mom rolls her eyes, “Call him or I will, need you to stop moping around about him. Grow up.” She moves from the middle of your room, and you pout, grow up? Relax.

She leaves your room as quick as she walked in.

You stared at the dress for a few moments more.

Two hours later you dial his house and thank god he picked up.

“Andrea?” He asks without a hello, he always picked up the phone in that way. He knew it would be you, Frankie would never phone his house, he would just drive over.

Immediately you’re nervous, like you’re asking him on a date-don’t be stupid. Relax, grow up. He’s your friend, friends go to party’s all the time. All the time—“Andrea?” He asks again, his smooth voice rings.

Oh fuck, “Oh Yeah, Hi Javi!” You squeak as if you weren’t the one who called him. You try to picture him, you wonder what he’s wearing on a Thursday night. He skipped school today so you hadn’t seen him, how much he’s been changing this year. He was already looking like a real adult as he approaches his eighteenth birthday.

You hear him exhale through his nose, “Hi? Is everything okay?”

You nearly face palm at the question, do you really only ever phone him when you need something? This is so embarrassing, just hang up.

That dress, ugh that dress.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” You ask in a rushed manner and you hear some commotion from the phone. A females voice, a voice you know well. And whatever confidence you had for a second was crushed, a nervous hand twiddling with the pink spiral chord.

Javier’s line is silent like he covered the phone, then he speaks. “Uh-what for?”

Oh. It was a rare response from him, he was always so willing for you and his tone this time was uninterested and cold. You look around the room, wondering if you could make something up but you decide to be truthful. “Oh, sorry, I was just wondering if you’d be my plus one to Liandra’s quince—but if you’re busy or don’t want to don’t worry I can ask around or—“

“Relájate, I can pick you up whenever you need."

You knew that Javier would be in your driveway at five yet you begin to get ready at one. You straighten your hair, bump the ends. You lean over when putting on your bra, you read in Cosmo that applying your bra that way pushes up your breast more. You even put on lip gloss, mascara. You stood in the mirror, tussling with your hair, which shoulder looked the best. Should you wear it up? No.

You vote on down and you take even longer picking out earrings but settle on medium sized hoops. You were doing it for Javier, that was a fact. You fought with yourself with guilt. You shouldn’t be taking so much time to earn a glance from a taken man.

You argued internally some more until coming to a conclusion…

You had been so respectful, so good. You sure as hell weren’t going to make a move on him tonight or ever for that matter. You weren’t even going to flirt, you were way too shy for that.

You were just going to let this be the night you get to dress pretty because you liked a boy. And that was all. You got to make yourself look pretty for him, with no expectations.

And you looked pretty. Maybe the prettiest you’ve ever looked. Earning a “pretty dress” from you brother as he brushed his teeth in your bathroom. The compliment was so rare he might as well have said, “You are so beautiful.” So, there was a smile permanently imprinted on your face.

Your mama was in the living room when you rushed down the hall with the gift in hand. She called you beautiful and said to pop in every picture they take, and you agreed. Hearing a beep from outside. You look down at your dress again and walk out the door and down your driveway.

You were nearly breathless at the sight of Javier wearing a plaid button down.

You would have never noticed but he was just as stunned to see you in that dress, his knuckles tighten as you settled in next to him with a smile. He wonders where did he go wrong? He wonders why his chest was tight the entire drive. It was a fucking quinceañera, he had been to more of those then anything else in his life. There was something underlying about going with you, especially since you tried so hard to look pretty for him. Truthfully, you never had to try.

Javier clears his throat before backing the car out, you speak finally. “I signed the card from the two of us so don’t worry.” You reassure him. You had only called him yesterday, so you knew he’d be fucked on a gift. Fortunately, you fished out some money from your savings to buy her a handbag.

Javier sighs, he hadn’t even thought of it. He was arguing with Lorraine when you called, he was startled by it. You had called when his girlfriend was ranting about their apartment in Houston and admitting to something that has been plaguing his mind ever since. Javier was so scared you had heard whatever was said. “Fuck, okay thank you.” He couldn’t help it, he gave you a double take when the may air blew through your hair. You just looked so pretty, you had a permanent blush, maybe it was just when you were around him.

The two of you make it to the small venue, half of town already sat in their pink decorated tables. You look to Javier who has a face of uneasiness but it hardens once he realizes you were looking at him. It was cute. His hand found the small of your back as he walked you through the kids playing with balloons and chatter until you were at your table. You peered to see who were surrounding you at the five seater round table. Monica, Christian and Xavier. Your brows furrow at the name, sounded familiar but you weren’t sure. You feel Javier’s on guard presence, like there was a threat at hand at Laredo’s few small venues. “Relax, will you?” You snap, and his bouncing knee halts. You couldn’t have known what Lorraine broke to him only a day before. You surely couldn’t have known that he was moving away in a matter of weeks. His eyes snap to you with its familiar expression, his big brown eyes. You just wish you could have him. It physically pained you that he could be so beautiful and not be yours. Especially when you’re this close.

“Sorry, just hate being around everyone from town.” He breathes and scans the room again nervously. You frown. Your first thought was that he was at unease for accompanying you-considering you weren’t his girlfriend. It probably didn’t look the best on his part. You did the best with that, you were great at jumping to conclusions that were made to make you feel insecure or upset because just the thought makes you slump in the chair when Liandra enters the ballroom in a large frilly pink dress with light beading at its bodice.

Still feeling Javier’s uneasiness, you stood up to watch her enter with her court. Javier stands too watching as they do their traditional dance. Monica was a bit late along with her boyfriend and the Xavier kid. He was pretty cute, Mexican like Javi but with real light hair and one dimple on is right cheek. Monica of course wiggled her eyebrows at your plus one. Thankfully Javier was too mesmerized by the mariachi to catch your perverted friend.

Once the party truly begins you are all able to sit. You engage in all their conversations. Monica goes on how sad she’s going to be when she graduates next year, how she would visit as much as she can. Her boyfriend was always quiet, he was the observer type. His eyes mostly glued on Javi as he was also practically silent the entire time.

That Xavier kid sure spoke. “So you don’t dance? Like nothing no cumbia? Salsa, bachata? Basic slow dancing?” He leans into the table to get closer to you, but Javier’s lax body was lodged between you. You laugh, but you feel Javier’s denim knee bounce and you begin to regret even asking him to accompany you. You look to Javier and his arms are crossed as he stares off into the distance. He’s never like this, not with you.

“No, I’ll dance but I can’t guarantee I’ll be good” You fake laugh in response yet your eyes continue to flick to Javier. The boy recognizes as he moves his conversation to Monica and her boyfriend. You scrape the metal chair against the floor, barely audible with the Mariachi playing. You move closer to Javier, whisper into his ear. “I’m sorry for making you come along, you should’ve brought Lorraine.”

Javier’s mouth goes dry at your closeness and choice of words. He shakes his head, “No, I’m sorry for being distant. We never get to hang out just us, I’m being a dick head.” He admits, leaning forward into the table picking up the small decoration you had been eyeing. It was a small envelope with a dove on it with lace trimming, there was nothing in it. It just went with the pink floral center piece, the small lace trimmed envelopes.

“Cute.” He inspects it.

You reach to touch it while it’s in his hands, your fingers grazing. “This would look so cute on my vanity.” You smile and Javier nods before leaning back into the chair, the envelope still in his hands but now on his lap. Your eyes follow and you lean back in your chair, mirroring him.

He scans his eyes around before whispering put-it-in-your-bra out the side of his mouth with his typical baritone.

“What?” You barely heard him and he was obviously trying to be sneaky.

“Put it in your bra, you want it right.” He whispers passing the decoration to you. Your eyes widen at his words, you almost snort a laugh in a very Monica way. He can’t be serious?

“Javi—I can’t just, no I’m not doing that.” You laugh quietly, also scoping the party as if the two of you were committing a felony. You swat his hand away and place the envelope in his lap.

He sighs, still in his spy whisper, “You made me do this.” Javier bucks his hips before unbuckling his belt, your jaw goes slack and your hand stupidly flies to his thigh to sit his bottom back down and he reacts instantaneously at your touch.

“Javier, what the fuck are you doing?” You whisper yell, your palm still on his knee, accidentally sliding higher once he had sat back down, you dig your nails into his jeans. Javier’s stomach so dangerously dips at your touch. He continues to loosen his pants before tucking the envelope in his waistband. You stare dumb founded as he tightens his belt again before he points up at nothing. “What now you psycho?” You laugh, your hand hasn’t moved and he hasn’t made any effort to change your position.

His smiles ear to ear, “You hear that? Querida, the songs called Querida. Let’s dance.” He then grabs your hand from his thigh, the Juan Gabriel song finally coming to the forefront of your brain. Your cheeks warm at the question and at the connection he makes.

“Javier, I have two left feet.” You joke—half joke.

He stands and pulls you with him, you could feel Monica’s stare from your left side. You could just picture her face of joy. He squeezes your hand, “Querida, I’ve got two right feet, maybe it’ll cancel out.” He says from in front of you as he walks you to the crowded dance floor of very close half-drunk adults, leaning into each other. This was your dream, you dreamt of going to prom with him—slow dancing. You were getting this, a slow dance at a Quince a week after prom.

He holds both of your arms out before pulling your small body flush against his own, his mood changed so quickly it gave you whiplash—maybe the whiplash was from him pulling you in this close. And your head lays on his chest as you sway to the beginning of the song, trying to take note of every lyric of the song. You could hear his heart, it was distracting you from the song. You just wished things could be different.

You had time, maybe it’ll be worth the wait. You hoped to God, you prayed.

Javier had lied, he knew how to sway your body in the right direction and when the song lightened towards the end he knew when to pull away and follow your steps. You were a giggling fit and when the song moved onto another trumpet ballad he doesn’t let you go. “Two right feet my ass.” You mutter against him and you feel his chest rumble below you in laughter.

“You on the other hand…”

Your hand that was flat on his back slaps him lightly right there and he laughs again. You could be dreaming right now, your cheek smushed into his chest, and his hands on your lower back, his thumb occasionally rubbing circles in place. You just wished you could grab him and kiss him—in front of all these people. You shook your head against him. “T’s my first slow dance Mr. Peña” You admit against him, for a moment you two just continuing to move with music before he parts from you, turning your body in front him. He takes a generous look at you—it drives him crazy just how beautiful you are. He feels physical pain about it, he didn’t know what to do. But he brings your body back into his own again. He is so afraid to leave, to leave you behind. He’s afraid of what was going to happen with Lorraine, how will he live with her after this. He’s afraid of doing something stupid tonight. Something stupid but something he knows he will never regret and maybe want to do again-over and over.

He hums above you, “Mmm, the envelope is cutting into my lower stomach right now.” You giggle like an idiot before running an experimental hand down the side of his stomach and steadying on his waist. Goosebumps jolt against his skin, his stomach dipping at your soft touch-how were you so soft?

And then the music changed suddenly, a typical cumbia song. And now you were really out of place, maybe you’d think growing up in a majority Mexican community your Puerto Rican ass would learn-but no. Javier knows that and still could care less. He grabs you again and taps your hip. “Just put this leg,” He taps the outside of your left thigh, “In between my leg, and your right one on the outside. Just move with music you aren’t bad bebita,” He uses a new nickname and your suddenly jolted with confidence as you watch as the other women are tangled in their partners. This was close, very close, his hand now skating the lowest part of your back, nearing your ass. And you dance, and you’re both smiling like fools, dancing poorly.

You really were overdressed as most of the girls dancing were in their jeans and vaquero boots, their partners very handsy and quick. Javier remained respectful though, guiding your steps with a large hand bracing your waist as you catch on.

“You’re a good teacher Javi, ever thought of ditching the academy?’ You joke, a small laugh leaving your own lips. Yet Javier’s smile fades a bit and shakes his head. It was in the back of his mind the whole time, the thought of leaving for his career. He watched as your smile fades with his and he can’t let that happen, not tonight. He smiles again and shakes his head.

“de ninguna manera, querida” He says over the fast paced tune, his face screwing at a sight behind you, you nearly turn before you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Xavier is dancing towards you, “No tratar de robar a tu mujer, but could I dance with her for a song, want to test her can’t dance theory?” He smiles at Javier, and he isn’t too pleased or entertained by the boy’s charm. His face is deadpan as he holds you before looking to you. He gives you a look of annoyance and you squint at him sympathetically nose scrunch; you didn’t want to part from him but you just didn’t want to reject the boy. Javier reads you, deciding your face was too cute to say no to and he exhales an irritated breath.

“One song.”

Well, he kept you for longer than a song. You spoke and danced with the boy. He talked about the classes he registered for last week and you giggle at him having to retake home and careers because he burnt every meal they made in class. You passed it with flying colors, but you didn’t tell him because he seemed really worked up about it. “Well, you’ve got time to practice this summer.” You beam.

He turns you and now Javier’s mean mug is in your view as he sips a beer at the table, you know he’s being dramatic, so you just smile and shake your head over the boy’s shoulder. Javier can never hold a frown in your presence as his lips quirk into a smile before taking another swig at his beer. Xavier’s lips hit your ear accidentally with your head moving to follow Javier. “Maybe you could tutor me? This summer.”

You giggle and look back at him, Oh he’s serious. He was flirting and you hadn’t even noticed, yet all you could do was sneer at the advance. You lean your head into his chest hiding your red face, and you feel him sigh at your rejection. “Hm, right your boyfriend is probably planning my murder as we speak, verdad?” Your eyes widen and you make more distance between the two of you, just to see if he was serious. He was.

“I think you know he isn’t my boyfriend.” Song three begins.

“Hm, do I?”

You shake your head at his sass, “I think you know that he dates Lorraine Smithfield.” A small bubble of nerves rising at the name you brought up. Everyone in school knew them, they were the most popular couple in the school. Everyone loved her and everyone wanted to be close to him. Xavier looks to Javi who was now getting his ear talked off by Monica.

Xavier’s nostril flares with a head shake, “Would Lorraine be pleased with how you two danced for nearly half an hour?”

You heart clenches in its place at his words.

Everyone dances like this. It didn’t matter who you were dancing with, everyone does this.

Fuck, had you crossed the line? You nervously shake your head feeling sick at the question before ultimately parting from him with a head shake. He grabs you again, “I’m sorry—I just think you’re a beautiful girl and you shouldn't be worrying about some taken guy.”

A hand grabs at your lower back and Xavier’s face drops for a moment. You turn to see Javier’s broad stance behind you. “Come on, I served you a plate.” He says softly to you but doesn’t let up his stare on Xavier. The two having macho off at the dance floor as Xavier also flares his own nostrils at him.

You nod and let Javi walk you to the table. He speaks once you're far enough. “What did he say? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You stare at your heels as you try to catch up with his long strides to your table at the far end of the room. His thumb again circling through your dress on the small of your back.

“Was just sort of implying that I was a home wrecker.” You let out a chuckle, a mortified one. You round the table and sit in front of your plate. Javier feels his own chest tightening, he was afraid to say anything. It had been so recent so quick he hesitated. Before you called yesterday, he and Lorraine had gotten into a small argument about what to bring on their move in a few weeks. Somehow it ended in her angrily admitting that she had hooked up with her co-worker two weeks ago.

Javier hadn’t really felt mad, he was just torn. His shoulders sunk at the thought—despite the ideas of Andrea running in his head he put down that line that he could never cross. He stared at his lap wondering what he was going to do, they had signed the lease. She had been so ecstatic the past week, knowing she had cheated on Javier. That was the sadness, the second tear was about having a moment to breath. He had told her that he was done with her and that they would figure out Houston.

She left the house in a yelling fit- saying he should try to understand her but Javier was finished. And maybe this was the out he needed but it came too late. It came after a deposit was put down on an apartment he would never be able to afford alone. “There is no house to wreck.” He says with a mouthful of rice once the two of you had settled down.

Your lips quirk into a frown at the statement, to say you were lost would be an understatement. “What?” Javier wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin with a nod.

Your eyes widen in realization, oh.

How, you wondered, When? You had heard her on the phone yesterday. My god you felt like such an asshole, that’s why he was so distant earlier. He had just broken up with his girlfriend. Wow, how long were they together – 5 months? That’s real serious for high school, was it because she was going off to college? That would make the most sense, you hoped they were okay. “Oh, I’m really sorry.” You stare off into your food. He was so upset earlier.

Guilt was the first emotion you felt, you had secretly wished them apart. For so long you resented their relationship, you had wanted him to choose you. You wanted to be with him but he very obviously loved her. And now they weren’t together and so selfishly your first thought was one of hope. Oh my god Andrea, don’t be stupid.

“Don’t have to be, it was my decision.”

“Why?” You ask a little too quickly, too eager. But curiosity was seriously killing you inside despite him only breaking the news to you just a few moments ago. You hoped it wasn’t anything serious, you hoped he was okay. You hoped she was okay, you weren’t as thrilled to hear the news like you’d figured you’d be.

His lips thin in a line, you observe the mustache growing above it that have added at least ten years on his face. It was sexy, but you scold yourself internally. “Better I don’t say-you know she’s your friend too so—"

“You were my friend first.” You correct him, your eyes flitting down to the lace envelope peaking from his waistband. A small smile forming again. Javier likes when you correct him, he likes when you cut him off and put him in his place. It reminds himself that you were truly his friend, that you cared about him enough to smack him upside the head literally or metaphorically.

He laughs a somber one, “Apparently, she uh- she hooked up with her co-worker a few weeks ago, just make out. Not sure why but she did.”

You feel as if the beating in your chest stops for a moment. The thought of Lorraine cheating is something that you would have never fathomed. It didn’t seem to be in her character, your lips quirk in a small frown. Javi’s brows crease and you can’t help but reach your hand to his, but Xavier comes into view and you snap your hand back into your lap like you were caught. Javi’s frown deepens at your action, but his attention quickly gravitates to Xavier sitting next to him.

He leans in over Javier, “Andrea, I’m really sorry it came out wrong” Javier huffs and moves forward in his chair to cut your line of view from the boy. He turns to him, and you stare at the back of Javi’s head as it moves.

“What’s your name again?” Your crush asks with a stern and taunting voice. You can’t see Xavier from Javi’s flannelled broad back blocking you, but you can make out the shift in Xavier’s mood as he lets silence fall after the question. Xavier mutters his name in response. “Okay Xavier, next time you speak to Andrea, make sure you know what exactly you’re talking about.” A shameful smile hits your face, and you look down to your lip hiding how Javier’s tendency to be an asshole ignites something in you.

“Listen man, I didn’t mean any disrespect—”

Javi tilts his head slightly, “Disrespect? If you were to have disrespected her this conversation would be very different, Xavier.”

The conversation ended just as quickly as it began as Xavier opted to not respond and leave the table. A smile still on your made-up face, you didn’t care if it was silly or stupid. You could take care of yourself, you knew that. People being rude to you or stepping out of line was something you could handle on your own. Honestly, you hated asking for help. You hate when Frankie used to step in to solve issues for you. You were and are capable. Now, when it was Javier stepping in you really couldn’t be bothered by it—in fact it excited you more than you would ever admit. Maybe it was old fashioned-cave-mannish, you couldn’t care when it came to him. You would never tell Javier how it made you feel since that would cross lines since he was with—right, he wasn’t with her anymore. Still, telling him how it made you feel, especially now, would feel opportunistic.

But he caught your smile once he leaned back into the chair, his thighs parting with his satisfied stretch. He narrows his eyes at you, “What’re you smiling about, cariño?” You look to Monica and Christian who were both watching the interaction after Javier practically bitched their friend.

“You’re so ridiculous.”

He jolts forward and winces before patting the space where the envelope dug into his stomach. “Me? Ridiculous, for what? Defending you?”

“Oh please, you did that for no one but yourself.” You half joke, you kind of figured that he liked to assert dominance over anyone that even dare cross you. He rolls his tongue on the inside of his cheek and smiled with a shrug.

The party goes like every quince. You watch as Liandra is presented her first birthday dress, you watch her slow dance with her father and hear the tearful speech from her mom. The night was nearing a close and you almost didn’t want your rare hang out with Javi to end. Before the dance floor attendance shrank you sighed, “I think I need air.” You stand and he follows.

It was gospel as a teen to take a “walk” when at a party. It was a debrief moment, you walked with your friends around the neighborhood and talked shit or you sat on the steps and joked about the night. You weren’t sure which it was for this night, but you knew that the air conditioning in the venue wasn’t the most efficient and you were beginning to regret the long dress.

You walk out the building with Javi trailing behind you. The air wasn’t cold by any means, but it was at least breezy for a late spring night. Your mind was still spinning from your closeness all night, all the stolen touches and his gaze on you. Lorraine circled your brain when it was silent. You were upset with her. You had opened to her, you liked her a lot, even if it meant having to give up your silly crush. Like you had said before, Javi was your friend first. You knew that if you brought a boy into the group and he cheated, Javi surely wouldn’t let that slide. Maybe that was unique to just the two of you, you both had this possessiveness over each other, Javier’s a bit more apparent.

“We can go home if you’re tired.” His voice smooth through the wind blowing your dress as you sit at the steps outside the venue. There were a few people loading into their cars to head home, it was nearly ten but these sorts of parties went on well into the night. Javier sits next to you, and you fight the urge to lean your tired needy body against his. You pull your dress in place instead, closing your eyes feeling the air.

You hum, “We can stay until half past ten, unless you’re needed at home.” Eyes opening to look at him but he was already looking at you through half lidded eyes, his face so still yet you can practically see that he was thinking heavily about something.

His voice gets deeper the more tired he gets so you know he wants to leave soon, “I’m needed wherever you want me to be.” His gaze is so fixed on you, you nearly lose your breath at his words. The beers must be kicking in, you giggle with your ears heating up. You were a crush-stricken mess and he thought you were so beautiful.

Javier was almost getting irritated that you couldn’t catch a clue as you continue to give him a bashful head shake, “You like to embarrass me, you’re cruel.” You can’t help but look back at how naïve you were at sixteen. Javier shakes his head at your cluelessness, whatever stupid thing he was thinking about leaves him in that moment. Javier licks his lips and parts, feeling slightly rejected.

Whatever he felt at this moment wasn’t because he was fresh off of a breakup, he had been feeling this way for too long. Being single in that moment just made it all more real, especially when you were so close. Especially with the way you had been clinging to him all night. He felt physically sick at the thought of leaving you.

He almost thought about telling you that night. Javier guesses that the thought of not being with Lorraine held him back, like maybe he wouldn’t have to go. Maybe he would have stayed and just continued on with being a kid for a bit longer. He completely decided against telling you when you leaned your head on his shoulder. You really were tired, Javi closed his eyes for a bit, trying to silence all of his thoughts and just feel for once. You look out at the lot, it wasn’t the prettiest sight but just being with Javier on a night like this-you were so glad all those beat up cars were facing the two of you.

How you’ve dreamt of this, you manipulated small moments to be romantic in your head for years on end. Tonight, you told yourself that you were just going to be a girl out with a boy but you knew truthfully that it could never be that simple. Not when you actually love him with every aching bone in your body. Your cheek is pressed on his flannel, you breath in his scent. That was one of the things you loved about him, his smell. He didn’t have that typical cologne scent with notes of sage and woods—he smelt sweeter, chocolatey, nutty, smooth. No man you’ve ever met had ever smelt the way he did.

Javier’s eyes aren’t closed anymore, but he is basking in the warmth of your body. How had he messed up so bad, why didn’t he just try with you? Sure, he had been avoiding the feelings that lived in him for so long, even before he met Lorraine but it showed itself to him. Sure he also knew that Frankie would kill him with his bare hands. But that risk was worth it. He went crazy over the thought of you being with someone else, it drove him mad. He had felt so silly for being so possessive—and it was, you weren’t his. He could’ve changed that fact though, but he chose someone else who in turn cheated on him. He brought Lorraine into your life, he made you two friends and then she betrayed him, and to him she betrayed you-Frankie and Genie. He fucked it all up with asking Lorraine to come with, he fucked up for not thinking twice he hadn’t even fathomed that she would cross that line and now he was attached to her in this fucking lease.

Javier looks down at you, this time your eyes were shut you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the night dragging you down. It was too calm out here for you to not doze for a bit. Xavier’s face flashed in Javi’s head. Name copier.

He obviously had the hots for you, Javier would never know peace, everyone adored you. It changed from when you were younger, boys would tease you because they were too scared to show that they had a crush on you, back then Javi would swoop in his own routine. Then you joined him at the high school and it’s like your name was written in the halls of the school, every guy wanted you—but you were too sweet, too good. Sure you caved in for Daniel, but Javier knew deep down that it was just an experience thing, trial and error. He was still jealous out of his mind though, he hated that such a loser is what you chose but it wasn’t his business. Christ he wanted it to be his business. Fuck it.

“Do you like Daniel?”

Your brows crease through your sleepy haze. What a random question after such a long silence, You look down at his knees which were now touching your own, you think about it for a second. You hum and ‘hmm’ through sleepy lips. “Mm, no, not too much.”

Javier’s stiff body relaxes for a moment and you take note, tucking it in the corner of your brain along with every other interaction you’ve convinced yourself were signs that maybe he liked you too. Good, he thinks although he knew, he wanted to hear you say it. Javier looks down at your resting head, he can’t really see your face from this angle but he remembers what it looked like a few minutes ago. He mentally scolds himself when he realizes he hadn’t even called you beautiful tonight.

His lets an experimental hand rub your arm and you feel all your senses come together at once, “You look very pretty tonight Andrea.”

He mentally punishes himself at how juvenile the compliment sounds compared to all the beautiful words that were running through his head. Regardless, you feel all the hair on your body stand and a pit in your lower stomach form. Your only reaction was to blush and push your face further into his shoulder.

And fuck, he was blushing at your sleepy response.

“Okay, up let’s go home.” He changes the tone, he felt a bit embarrassed by how red he got that he decided to just cut all of this short. Continuing would just complicate this further. You can’t help it, as he stands your heavy head falls in place.

The whole night was coursing through your veins as he pulls you up from the steps and holds you close to walk you to his truck. God, you slow danced with Javier Peña. He called you pretty, he rubbed circles on your back. He conducted an elaborate heist for a decoration you thought was cute. He let you sleep on him with the thought of kissing heavy on your mind. He walked you through the lot, you were tired yet you could walk on your own but Javier just wanted more of an excuse to hold you. You feel his broad presence once you let go and approach the car door. You attempt to pull at the handle, realizing its locked, duh. You turn to see him behind you with keys in hand.

This time, you look him up and down. A small smile on your lips, “Did I tell you that you looked handsome tonight, Javier?” You tilt your head teasingly. His lips twitch for a moment before he inches closer while your stood against his truck. He gives a slow approving nod with a new look in his eyes. You were feeling whatever he was feeling because as he moved in to trap you against the car you continued, “Like super handsome I couldn’t keep my eyes off of—”

Finally, his large, calloused hands grips to your face with quickness and he chases your pouting lips with his. You gasp at the sudden contact, a contact that only existed in that corner of your brain. You don’t think twice about moving your lips with his own, they looked so soft, you didn’t think they’d feel this good. You could feel him exhale from relief, like he had been waiting on this for a long time. You waste no time in gripping his flannel, pulling him closer so that you’re completely pressed up against the truck.

He finally had you, Javier’s entire body relaxed against you for a moment. And you were just as soft as he imagined, your lips so large as you nipped at his own lips. It was slow, painfully slow and painfully-painfully just lips. Javier didn’t want to startle you with a lick at your lips, now the only sounds of wetness being your lips slowly slotting together. Your grip on him felt like you were trying to brace yourself, it made his head spin. The thought of you being so enveloped by him that you had to physically hold yourself upright against him. How badly he wanted to make space for his tongue against yours. He moves his left hand slowly down your cheek to the curve of your jaw and then to hold your neck.

You wanted the same, his tongue, so you licked against him first and he nearly moans at your invitation, at your ask. He wastes no time in lapping his own hot tongue against your own. Christ, you have never felt this hot before. People could be coming out of the venue, you two could be caught—what a scandal it would be. The thought makes you moan this time, an audible one against his tongue.

Javier could feel his pants shrink some sizes at your hold and your noise, this was dangerous. Your balled hands open and move up his chest, touching him in anyway, are you real?

He keeps you like this, pressing harder into your dress. He couldn’t help it, you both had waited so long. His hand moves quickly down the side of the dress, groping at any soft skin he can grab at through it. “Oh, Javi,” you moan against his lips when his left hand grips at your rib, and his right lightly lifts your dress above your knee. His palm gripping at the soft skin on the inside of your thigh, a small whimper falling against his open mouth. He groans in response. His body completely covered your own against this car, he could do what he wanted and recover you quickly if anyone approached you two. He groans at the sound of his name as he keeps his tongue at yours. You usually hate tongue kissing, but it was so messy and hot, you were in love with this art.

Javier, finally having you, finally.

Too much excitement is what you felt. You bite at his lower lip. But he suddenly is parted from you As you stand shocked and breathless Javier hurries to fix your dress that was pulled up so high your panties were nearly exposed to the still air. Your breath caught in your mouth and your lips swollen as a family approaches the car next to you. Javier swiftly leans up against his truck next to you, both of you looking more suspicious than ever as the familiar adults round their own car. Your chest is rising and falling quickly as you bring your hand to your kiss-swollen lips. Javier is a horny mess, trying to think straight as he rapidly blinks. Knowing he's straining the pants on him. He just wanted to get back to it, do whatever he needed for you, anywhere you wanted.

He was so fucked

The man waves at Javier, “Pequeño Chucho, que tengas una buena noche,” The guy gestures to Javi before his eyes fall to you, “Tú Tambien.” He smiles, a knowing one before getting in his truck. You look down at your heels, biting back a smile. You just had a make out session with Javier Peña, against his car. Your eyes widen replaying every grip as he stood next to you in silence. You couldn’t dare look at him after moaning into his mouth so shamelessly. Something shamefully forming under your dress.

He looks to you though, a smile ghosting his glossed lips. You had been kissing so hard that you hadn’t even noticed his lips wearing what once was on your own, and on his cheek. You smile back realizing that whoever that man was most definitely knew he had just caught you two. Your eyes were still laced with exhaustion and Javier made the decision that this wasn’t the time for the two of you. Javier knew you needed to be home, asleep, soon.

He pushes off the car door and opens the door for you. Your chest is still rising and falling, you almost want to slam the door and kiss him again but you climb into the pickup instead. He turns the corner and gets in and starts the car in one movement. Eyes immediately drifting at the sound of the wheels scraping asphalt.

You wake up in your own bed the next morning.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 1 month

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"The sad truth is that musicals are the only public art form reviewed mostly by ignoramuses. Books are reviewed by writers, the visual arts by disappointed, if knowledgeable, painters and art students, concert music by composers and would-be composers. Plays, at least in this country, are reviewed by people who don't know de Montherlant from de Ghelderode and couldn't care less, whose knowledge is comprised of what they read in Variety and gossip columns, and who know nothing, of course, about music. Musicals continue to be the only art form, popular or otherwise, that is publicly criticized by illiterates."

Stephen Sondheim has stated that his original ambition was to become a mathematician and that he became a composer largely by chance. A big influence was the fact that famed lyricist Oscar Hammerstein (of Rodgers & Hammerstein) was a neighbor of his when Sondheim was a boy. When he wrote a musical for a school production, he showed it to Hammerstein who told him it was the worst musical he had ever read. However, Hammerstein also told him that nonetheless it showed a lot of latent talent and proceeded to tell him everything that was wrong with it and how to fix it, for which Sondheim was always grateful.

"Oscar Hammerstein had urged me to write from my own sensibility, but at that time I had no sensibility, no take on the world. My voice snuck up on me. I started to develop an attitude in 'Saturday Night,' a laconic lyrical style in 'Gypsy' and a structurally experimental musical one in 'Anyone Can Whistle.' They all came together in full-throated fruition in 'Company.' 'Oh,' I thought at the end of the opening number, 'that's who I am.' From then on I could afford to try anything, because I knew I had a home base that was mine alone and that would inform everything I would write, good and bad."

"Just before he died, he gave me a picture of himself and I asked him to inscribe it, which is sort of odd because he was a surrogate father to me, it's like asking your father to inscribe a picture. And he thought for a minute, and he was clearly a little embarrassed. And then he got a smile on his face, like the cat had just eaten the cream. And he wrote something. And when he left the room, I looked at it. And it said 'For Stevey, my friend and teacher.' That's a measure of Oscar. He wrote a lyric, as a matter of fact, in 'The King and I' -'By your pupils, you are taught.' He was a remarkable fellow."

A musical based on the memoirs of Gypsy Rose Lee was a project of producer David Merrick and actress Ethel Merman. Merrick had read a chapter of Lee's memoirs in Harper's Magazine and approached Lee to obtain the rights. Jerome Robbins was interested, and wanted Leland Hayward as co-producer; Merman also wanted Hayward to produce her next show. Merrick and Hayward approached Arthur Laurents to write the book. As he relates, Laurents initially was not interested until he saw that the story was one of parents living their children's lives. Composers Irving Berlin and Cole Porter declined the project. Finally, Robbins asked Sondheim, who agreed to do it (Sondheim had worked with Robbins and Laurents on the musical "West Side Story"). However, Merman did not want an "unknown" composer, and wanted Jule Styne to write the music. Although Sondheim initially refused to write only the lyrics, he was persuaded by Hammerstein to accept the job.

"Gypsy" opened on Broadway in May of 1959, and is frequently considered one of the crowning achievements of the mid-twentieth century's conventional musical theatre art form, often called the book musical. "Gypsy" has been referred to as the greatest American musical by numerous critics and writers, among them Ben Brantley ("what may be the greatest of all American musicals...") and Frank Rich. The role of Mama Rose was played by Rosalind Russell in the 1962 film version; the closest Merman got to recreating her stage success on the big screen was in the hospital scene in "Airplane!" (1980) (she starts belting out "Everything's Coming Up Roses" and has to be sedated).

Sondheim on the song 'Everything's Coming Up Roses' from "Gypsy": "The difficulty was to find a way to say 'Things are going to be better than ever' without being flatly colloquial on the one hand or fancifully imagistic on the other. I was proud of the solution, and especially so when I picked up the New York Times one morning in 1968 and read the first sentence in the leading editorial: 'Everything is not coming up roses in Vietnam.' I had passed a phrase into the English language." (IMDb/Wikipedia)

Happy Birthday, Stephen Sondheim!

Cinema Shorthand Society

#Cinema Shorthand Society #Stephen Sondheim #songwriters #musicals #the theatre #song lyrics #history #Rogers and Hammerstein

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morrak · 2 years

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Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 82

This week: a diversion from typical format and focus, as well as answers promised explicitly to @shiny-good-rock and @sagehaubitze and implicitly to the rest of you. I’m going to allow myself one paragraph per thought cluster not as a challenge, but because I’ve been out in the heat and my brain is as an egg. Runny but denatured, like.

In 1927, some German guys under the banner of the Reichs-Ausschuß für Lieferbedingungen (that is, RAL, that is also National Committee for Delivery and Quality Assurance) established their own color space because that’s what such guys do. After some tinkering around with their system, out plonked (among other colors, because that’s what color spaces do) RAL 6011 (that is, Resedagrün, that is also reseda green) which after some stuff happened got used in a bunch of military applications and then some civilian ones. By the 80s RAL 6011 was the standard color for machine tools in continental Europe. Deckel, Schaublin, Opus, whatever. Still gets used a lot by certain kinds of machinist, restorers, hobbyists, and model makers. See below.

In the 1980s, my dad’s parents moved to the Netherlands after several decades living in places other than the Netherlands. My grandmother was not a creative or crafty woman except for occasional pattern sewing — she did not like to alter clothes, mind, just follow patterns — or, along the same vein, simple guided painting. Because she spent time around Hindeloopen and because she liked finding local furniture wherever they happened to live, she got reasonably into folk art. She got into it enough she started painting on her own — trays, mostly, but also small containers and the odd stool or book rack. I grew up with a weird amount of Hindelooper art. Poppies, dog roses, sometimes even birds. See below.

In 2020, I was given my poor little lathe practically at the same moment as a friend was given a poor old (1921ish) Singer sewing machine and table we slaved for a while to restore. Adoptive siblings, those machines. Last year (that is, 2021) I got a wild hair and up-gunned the lathe with a servomotor intended for industrial sewing machines. Knowing I’d need to repaint it eventually, I considered hand-detailing over black lacquer like an old Singer, but realized that would require creativity and craft. Nah. I further realized a common base color in the Hindeloopen style is similar to RAL 6011 (if darker on average, but always with 6011-friendly accents in gold and/or powder blue and/or brownish), which I thought would be a very silly visual pun. See below.

When I rebuilt the spindle and headstock a couple weeks back, I found the closest match I could obtain quickly and cheaply. Currently only the headstock bears the new paint, but I’ll recoat the rest as agrees with more urgent projects. See below.

I have several other priorities with the machine overhaul — custom headstock hardware, finishing the solid toolpost riser that’s sitting in the chuck in the picture there, metal handwheels for the carriage and tailstock, etc. and so on ad nauseum — but eventually it will be all dressed up like a piece of Hindeloopen furniture. Only I, my dad, and about seven other people alive (plus I guess you, reader) will get the reference, but when the hell have I ever bothered with appealing to people with my obscurities?

I’ll need some practice painting the motifs and guidance with drafting custom spreads, though, which is why this is counting toward UWLS’ tally. For a couple months now I’ve been scouring eBay and similar for old craft magazines that fit the bill. Luckily my grandmother was far from the only sucker that bought into yet another clever Dutch ploy targeted at foreigners looking for quaint whatsits, so I’ve hit on a minor but distinct, if extinct, publishing niche. So far my collection comes to two (2) items. See below.

I need more. I also need to practice a lot. I also also need to experiment with layering acrylics over the alkyd enamel I’m using on the lathe, and with topcoating the whole deal to ward against oil and solvents. Much to do, but we’re getting there. When I inevitably die in some kind of slapstick labelmaker incident, good luck fighting over these gems.

#images #untitled wednesday library series #fixings

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lexxypillz · 4 months

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The Day Blue Got His College Roommate - a Dick Figures fanfic

Blue arrived in his college dorm room. He felt a breath of fresh air as he walked in. He decided to move to a new college after living with his mother for the past eighteen years. This was the moment he deserved and his chance to make friends. He couldn’t resist the troubles he went through in his teen years.

He opened his traveling case and removed his clothes, toiletries, and game consoles. As a young child, Blue’s mother insisted him to dress formally because according to her, casual clothing was associated with the devil. Since he didn’t live with his mother anymore, he planned on wearing skinny jeans and blue Converse sneakers instead.

Blue arranged his bedsheets on the mattress and hung his calendar of the U.S.S. Enterprise above the frame. He placed his Funko Pop of Worf on the desk and placed his notebooks and pencils into its drawers. He tried to avoid thinking of his mother as he organized his area. At this moment, his roommate knocked on the door.

“What’s taking you so long?” said the voice from outside. “I want to have sex with you.”

A long, unkempt mop of fiery red hair burst through the dorm. An emo bang stood out from a red backwards cap. He wore a black sleeveless tee and torn jeans. This appeared to be an immediate sign of danger for Blue.

His roommate had brought a red sleeping bag and a worn-out backpack with him. He tossed the bag onto the mattress and didn’t care if he made a mess or not. He just wanted to prepare for school as soon as possible.

“You seem familiar,” said Blue. “When was the last time I saw you?”

“When we were 13, I guess,” said the redhead. “I remember when you had tiny boobs.”

Blue took out a photo from his case and saw an image of his mother and three children. He frowned at the picture and recalled his memories of being a small girl.

“Why are you still calling me a girl?” said Blue. “I’m a boy for Christ’s sake. Do you think I’m a girl because of my hair?”

Red noticed his roommate’s long blue curls. To him, that must be a girl.

“You definitely look and sound like one,” said Red. “This year, I’ll have sex with ten thousand ladies. And a few guys as well.”

Blue stared at his roommate. “College isn’t about getting ladies. It’s more important for you to get a bachelor’s degree and a full-time job.”

“I already have a job. Fucking tons of bitches.”

“Sex doesn’t sound like a good job. You obviously didn’t go to high school, did you?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Red. “I love getting laid.”

“Listen, Red. I’m struggling with depression right now. My father is dead, and my mother doesn’t give a shit. If only I needed help for this.”

“Why don’t you try some beer and see what happens?” asked Red.

Beer? The idea of drinking haunted Blue. He never tasted it before, and only heard of it through commercials on his uncle’s TV.

“I’m definitely not drinking beer today,” said Blue. “I was raised in a Catholic family and went to a private school. My mom thinks I’ll die if I touch it.”

“Come on, Blue. You won’t die if you touch beer. If a giant robot attacks our building, drink beer. If King Kong climbs the largest skyscraper—”

“Please don’t get me into this. I’d rather study and play video games.”

“Just shut your mouth and drink beer. It’s good for you”

Blue was still having doubts about this mysterious drink. If his mom saw him drinking beer, she would punish him. He felt she would take away his belongings and pressure him to roll around in the mud with pigs. At least he had an annoying roommate to deal with.

He couldn’t believe what he saw when he peeked into one of the pockets of Red’s backpack. It was full of softcore porn magazines and 1980’s cassette tapes. A pack of cigarettes lay in the pencil pouch. Red was obviously too young to own any of these. How could his life be so messy and careless?

He opened another pocket. An entire supply of beer cans awaited him. Blue hesitated; he didn’t want to piss off his deeply religious mother. As he browsed through the cans, he wondered why on Earth a young man his age would own a full stash.

“How much beer do you have?” asked Blue.

“Over ten thousand,” said Red. “That shows how awesome I am.”

“I only see twelve. You’re clearly stretching yourself.”

Blue took out a can from his roommate’s backpack. He could sense the fear he faced as a child when his mother warned him not to drink it. He was afraid of how his mother pressured him to join a religious school where he wasn’t allowed to display his true gender. He was afraid of the trauma he experienced when his mother insulted him for trying to act like a boy.

He glanced at the expiration date which read June 12. Today was September 9.

“That beer’s expired!” said Blue. “You clearly can’t read. You can’t even store it properly!”

“I don’t own a refrigerator! That’s why I keep my beer warm!”

“Then how do you get all that money to buy these porn magazines? You purchased a fake ID, didn’t you?”

“I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen!” exclaimed Red.

“Sixteen?” Blue felt worried. “That’s way below the legal drinking age. How did you get into this?”

“One time, I was captured by an evil scientist who told me to try something and I got crazy feelings from it. I got so used to it that I—”

“I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” said Blue. “Do you have anything else to make me feel better?”

“You could watch porn.”

Blue sighed. “I’m not attracted to boobs. I made one friend who was a girl, but was never attracted to her. I only cared about her personality. Unless—”

He looked into his case which was still halfway full. He looked through his batch of crappy horror films from the 1960’s and 70’s. These were the only ones his mother allowed him to watch as a teenager.

He picked out a movie and held it in his hand. “Let’s watch a cheesy movie instead. It’s more appropriate for the college. Trust me, we don’t want anyone catching us.”

“Wait, our school doesn’t allow porn?” said Red. “I wanted to see boobs.”

“You’ll get boobs when you attend your classes. Now why don’t we go watch a damn movie?”

“Fine. I won’t annoy you this time.”

Blue finished emptying his case and left the dorm. He brought the movie with him.

“You seemed smarter when I first met you.”

#dick figures #red #blue #fanfic

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art-of-manliness · 8 months

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Odds & Ends: September 1, 2023

Benchmade Bugout Knife. I’m always on the lookout for new pocket knives. I recently picked up the Benchmade Bugout based on reviews that I’ve read about it, and I’m digging everything about this simple folding knife. It’s a great EDC knife — slim and lightweight but incredibly sturdy and strong. You can open the blade easily with one hand, and holding the knife feels great. The length of the blade is perfect too. “How Chuck Norris Facts Gave Birth to the Modern Meme.” If you’ve been on the internet for more than 15 years, you remember Chuck Norris Facts. Notable examples: * When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he’s pushing the Earth down. * Chuck Norris doesn’t read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants. * Chuck Norris drinks napalm to fight his heartburn. This article from ESPN takes a deep dive into the history of Chuck Norris Facts and makes the case that they gave birth to the modern-day meme. Make sure to check out our podcast episode about 1980s action heroes, including Chuck Norris. Concluding Unscientific Postscripts by Søren Kierkegaard. My deep dive into Kierkegaard this year continues. I just finished his beast of a book entitled Concluding Unscientific Postscripts. It’s been on my to-read list ever since Jacob Howland mentioned the book in our podcast episode about Kierkegaard’s The Present Age. Kierkegaard’s big idea in this book is the distinction between objective and subjective truth. Objective truth consists of facts about the world that we can all agree on. The world is round, 2+2=4, etc. Subjective truth consists of personal, religious, and existential experiences that can only be experienced by a person individually. Feeling passion about life, love for a child, or faith in God are examples of subjective truths. For Kierkegaard, life is about cultivating those inner subjective truths. To be clear, Kierkegaard’s idea of subjectivity isn’t that truth is relative or whatever you want it to be; rather, it’s about experiencing life with vitality and passion. Concluding Unscientific Postscripts is a long book and hard to read, but packed with some great insights about life, faith, and being a human being. Did People Look Older? If you’ve ever looked through your parents’ high school yearbooks, you probably felt like the 17-year-olds in 1962 looked like they were 30. I’ve got some magazines from the 1940s called Pic: The Magazine for Young Men. They feature “young men” on the make, and the guy will look like he’s 45, but the caption says he’s only 29. What gives? Did people actually look older in the past or do our brains think they look older because we’re looking at old pictures? YouTuber Vsauce investigates in this fascinating video. Quote of the Week Labor is one of the great elements of society, the great substantial interest on which we all stand; not feudal service, or predial toil, or the irksome drudgery by one race of mankind subjected on account of their color, to another; but labor, intelligent, manly, independent, thinking and acting for itself, earning its own wages, accumulating those wages into capital, educating childhood, maintaining worship, claiming the right of the elective franchise, and helping to uphold the great fabric of the State—that is American labor; and all my sympathies are with it, and my voice, till I am dumb, will be for it. —Daniel Webster The post Odds & Ends: September 1, 2023 appeared first on The Art of Manliness. http://dlvr.it/SvVfrW

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dealgemeneverwarring · 10 months

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De Algemene Verwarring #94 - 26 juni 2023

The ninety-fourth episode of De Algemene Verwarring was broadcast on Monday, June 26, 2023, and you can listen to it by clicking on the link below that will take you directly to the Mixcloud page:

https://www.mixcloud.com/MedialabKortrijk/de-algemene-verwarring-94-26-juni-2023/

Pictured below is a band called The Charlottes, a female fronted shoegaze/pop band from Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire in England. They formed in 1988, released two albums and a few EP’s, and got lost in the enormous amounts of shoegaze bands that were active in that area. To be honest, I had never heard of them before. I usually also don’t buy Record Store Day releases, but this one was smiling at me at a recent flea market in Kortrijk. The seller had attached some much needed “duiding” to the record, calling it ‘a milestone of the whole shoegaze and c-86 Indiepop era’, and compared the band to Black Tambourine and The Swirlies, So yes I was intrigued, especially by the reference to the C-86 cassette that was released by NME magazine in 1980 (later also released on LP by Rough Trade), so I bought it and wasn’t disappointed at all. It collects the LP “Lovehappy” with tracks from the 12″ “Liar” and the 12″ “Love In The Emptiness”. It also has a raging cover of Shocking Blue’s “Venus”. Iwanted to play a track from this record, and because I wasn’t really prepared for this episode, I quickly selected some records of what I call “meisjespop”, or girlie pop I guess. Some of the other girlie bands featured on this episode are Shop Assistants, Ribbon Stage, En Attendant Ana, Moxie, Dum Dum Girls, and Neo Boys. New stuff from Yfory, Annelies Monseré and Tramhaus, and old stuff from Cop Shoot Cop, Myelin Sheaths and My Bloody Valentine of course. Oh, and I’m also ranting about late night Brussels shows that I can’t attend. And below the photo you can find the playlist for this show. Enjoy!

Playlist:

Myelin Sheaths: Stackticon (7” “Stackticon” on Bachelor Records, 2009)

Frankie Traandruppel: Divided By Zero (LP “Castling” on Ronny Rex & Feles Music, 2023)

Neo Boys: Empty My Head (2xLP “Sooner Or Later” on K Records & Mississippi Records, 2013)

En Attendant Ana: I’ll Be Your Mirror (12” “Songs From The Cave” on Nominal Records, 2017)

Honey Radar: Carousel Society (LP “Ruby Puff Of Dust” on What’s Your Rupture Records, 2019)

Ribbon Stage: Nowhere Fast (LP “Hit With The Most” on K Records & Perennial records, 2022)

Yfory: Baled Y Dolmen (7” “Yfory” on Static Age Records, 2023)

Shop Assistants: All Day Long (LP “Shop Assistants” on Blue Guitar Records & Chrysalis Records, 1986)

The Charlottes: Liar (LP “Lovehappy” on Radiation Reissues, 2020, originally released on 12” “Liar” on Cherry Red Records, 1990)

My Bloody Valentine: Lose My Breath (CD “Isn’t Anything” on Creation Records, 1988)

Moxie: A Day Off (CD “Blue Sky, Maybe” on My First Sonny Weissmuller Records, 1998)

Dum Dum Girls: Bedroom Eyes (LP “Only In Dreams” on Sub Pop Records, 2011)

Naked on The Vague: All Aboard (LP “The Blood Pressure Sessions” on Siltbreeze, 2008)

Tramhaus: Beep Beep (7” “The Goat” on Subroutine Records, 2023)

Cop Shoot Cop: Interference (CD “Release” on Big Cat Records, 1994)

Algebra Suicide: Heat Wave (LP “Still Life” on Dark Entries, 2019)

Troth: Aether Frolic (LP “Oak Corridor” on Knekelhuis, 2021)

Annelies Monseré: My Finest Hour (LP “Mares” on Horn Of Plenty <O, 2023)

#radioshow #de algemene verwarring #meisjespop #girlie pop #post punk #indie #shoegaze #experimental music

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calyxaomphalos · 2 years

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In April 2022, I did Camp NaNoWriMo and wrote a little over 50k words, but did not reach the end of my story. A few months later for the July Camp NaNo event, I wrote another 10k+ more. I'm ALMOST done.

I posted some photos near the beginning of April explaining the theory behind my process. I used the solo RPG Over the Mountain to generate semi-random writing prompts. The plan was to write four game encounters per day of writing. That turned into "or 1700 words, whichever came first," which is why by the end of April's writing event and having reached the goal of 50k words, I was still working on scenes from the 24th.

Wrestling with tumblr's drafts and queue/schedule may prove to be my undoing, but if you're seeing this, then I've managed to get it all in. If I'm smart, I'll be tagging all these posts with the novel's title, the game's name, and maybe a few other tags like 'writeblr' and 'nanowrimo'.

I'm debating how to format posts with regard to how much shows up before the 'keep reading' cut, and what exactly that'll be. I figure the majority of the chapters will be under the cut. Things above the cut may include the meta information about the dice rolling and the naming/describing of the first encounters with the various locations and neighbors.

The scene below doesn't involve rolling any dice. It's more about describing the setting and a bit about 'my' backstory. I also made this 'cover' for the novel, The Ghosts of Windy Ridge.

It's just after midnight on the 31st of March and I've gotten myself into the rental unit in Windy Ridge after a long drive. I had a few things to unpack from my car, but not a whole lot. I'm traveling light. The pictures promised a homey cabin with a view of the scenic downtown. I guess I'll find out about the view in the morning. The daylight might improve the looks inside here, too.

Just inside the door to the right is the kitchenette, not much more than a sink, a cooktop and a small refrigerator. The small bit of countertop has an outlet in the wall behind it, but no appliance there, as I'd requested. This is where I set up my little espresso maker. It's a morning ritual I can't do without. I'm sure some folks think that bringing an espresso maker disqualifies me as traveling light, but I haven't brought a whole lot more with me, really.

Around the corner against the next wall is a small dining table and two chairs. I've got my laptop here on the seat further from the kitchen area. I figure that when I eat at the table, I'll do it sitting the other seat. Behind me in the wall opposite the kitchen is the bathroom door. One of the best things about this place is the tub, a great old-fashioned claw foot.

On the other side of the cabin, there's a big sofa on the left when coming in the front door, then a fireplace along the wall opposite the dining table. A low coffee table sits between the sofa and two overstuffed chairs. Behind those chairs is the continuation of the wall of the bathroom, with a second door. This leads to a very tiny bedroom, not much larger than the bed itself.

Besides my coffee maker and laptop, I've got a suitcase of clothes, a toiletries kit, and a small bookbag with some notebooks and a handful of Tarot decks. I'm not entirely sure how Tarot will be received by the people of Windy Ridge. But then again, Mo lived here, so they can't be all bad.

I probably need to say a few words about Mo. Maurice Forrester. We met not long after I'd gotten out of my BA program and into a gig as a layout artist for a magazine, using cutting edge computer technology of the day. I'm talking late 1980s, so electronic graphic design was a brand new field.

Mo was doing some work with a radical new type of graphics software, which is how we met, but what got us into trouble was that we both had an interest in fine art painting. That sounds innocent enough, but between us, we had enough knowledge and skill to pull off a couple forgeries. There was a particular gallery owner on the coast of Big Sur who Mo knew. I never had direct dealings with the man, but I produced a couple paintings at Mo's direction which resulted in him being able to cut me a check for a couple hundred thousand. Back then that was some real money.

A lot of life got in the way between then and now. Mo passed away a few years ago, and that's a problem. A strange voicemail I'd gotten a few weeks back left me very unsettled. I couldn't make out all of the words. Between a bad connection and a thick accent, about all I could pick out was "painting," "fake," and an overall threatening tone. The guy has an advantage over me if he knows who I am, as I have no idea who he is. Mo kept that from me. I've been trying to use Tarot to reach him with no luck. All I kept getting was a message to come here, to Windy Ridge.

#the ghosts of windy ridge #writeblr #nanowrimo #over the mountain

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tycal12345 · 2 days

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Images Ruin Art

For a very long time, humans saw only occasional imagery (besides the shimmering and bright image of Vision itself). An image — which we’ll define as a still two-dimensional picture meant to consume your attention — was a rare, and sometimes holy thing.

For viewer,

Then, the age of print and television descended, and gradually the average man or woman got used to seeing images everywhere — on the covers of magazines at the grocery market, on the living room TV, on the sides of buses. On billboards glaring down over traffic jams,

Eventually, the introduction of the smart phone made this unholy process suddenly explode into an epidemic of anti-art malevolence. Far from being a giant art gallery where visual artists could connect with an audience, each image sent into the Websphere represented a tiny death for true Art.

(Something about stats on images here. How many currently on the web? How many per day? Compared to before? I once worked for a company that sold stock photos. The company, a small family-run enterprise, had been in the business since the 1980’s. They told me that the primary change in the economics of stock photography through the transition from analog to digital photography was that each single photograph was now worth less. They had once housed hundreds of thousands of physical photo slides, each a precious artifact worth its weight in gold. Now in the digital age, each image, captured as a collection of mere pixels, was scarcely worth anything (and the concept feels even more absurd by AI-produced images).

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xtruss · 3 months

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I Don’t: My Very Modern Marriage!

Here Comes The Tax Break, or Why Getting Hitched should Be About Finance, Not Love

— By Anna Baddeley | Illustrations: Mari Fouzp

“You can hold hands if you want to.” We had arrived at the part in our ceremony where we had to parrot a legal declaration, and the registrar was clearly desperate to inject some romance into proceedings.

In June, my partner and I were bound together in the eyes of the British state. We didn’t get married though – we got a civil partnership, a type of union invented for gay couples in 2004 that was recently opened up to straight couples after a long campaign to change the law.

We had opted for a pared-down ceremony, with no guests apart from the two friends who were acting as our witnesses. The venue was Room 99, the cheapest space to get married at Islington Town Hall in north London.

“I’d rather not hold his hand,” I said. “Mine are too sweaty.” The registrar apologised, worried she had offended me. I hadn’t meant to make her feel awkward, but I’m one of those people who instinctively makes a joke when put in an uncomfortable situation. And I was keen for the ceremony to be as unromantic as possible. We were doing this not for love, but for tax.

Some Women grow up dreaming of a white wedding. I didn’t. My parents weren’t married when I was born, as was the norm at my primary school in east London. Then we moved to a small town in the countryside. My new school-friends were scandalised. A teacher who had assumed my parents were divorced was shocked to discover that they were still together: “But they’ve got different surnames!”

I’d Rather Not Hold His Hand, Mine Are Too Sweaty

My mum and dad got together in the early 1980s when it was cool to be anti-marriage, at least in lefty London circles. At that point most people bought into the idea that the engagement of the heir to the throne was the greatest love story ever told. Few seemed bothered by the prospect of a 20-year-old virgin marrying a man rumoured to be seeing another woman, and who, when asked if he was in love with his betrothed, said “whatever love means”. Spare Rib, a feminist magazine, sounded a rare note of dissent, giving away badges that read “Don’t do it Di!”

In 1989 a picture of my family appeared in a women’s magazine under the headline “Maternity without matrimony” – my parents had agreed to be interviewed about what was then still an unconventional lifestyle choice. “Whether they’re out on a shopping spree on a Saturday afternoon or queuing up to see the teacher at their elder daughter’s school open day,” the article begins, “Kate and George and their two small daughters, Anna and Natasha, look like any other normal family.”

When I was growing up, marriage seemed like a relic from another age. I assumed everyone else felt the same way and was slightly perturbed when my university friends started getting engaged. “But why?” I recall asking one of them. Marriage seemed so conservative, so anti-feminist (a father “giving away” his daughter to another man?) and, since it had become socially acceptable to have sex before it, rather unnecessary (unless you were very religious).

Staying together because you signed a contract also struck me as wholly unromantic. Goldie Hawn once said that she chose every day to be with Kurt Russell (together, but not married, for 37 years and counting). I thought that was lovely.

As for weddings, I could see why some people liked them but I hated being the centre of attention. I also hated wasting money. When the average deposit necessary to buy a flat in London is £50,000, it seems obscene to me that British couples typically spend more than £30,000 on a single day. No wonder they ask their friends and family to pay for their honeymoon, possibly the worst wedding trend of recent times.

The Social and Economic rationale behind marriage used to be clear: sanctified, legal reproduction; a business deal between two families. Now that the feudal backdrop has disappeared, people get married for more waffly reasons. For most millennials, it’s merely an excuse for a party.

I Was Keen For The Ceremony To Be As Unromantic As Possible

When marriage is seen purely as a celebration of love, the legal and financial benefits are obscured. I suspect few of my friends got married because of the tax breaks, but in Britain marriage can reduce your income-tax bill, capital-gains tax and the inheritance tax your children have to pay (you also get automatic status as the next of kin in times of crisis and the right to claim some of your spouse’s money if you break up).

Both in Britain and America marriage is increasingly confined to the moneyed middle-classes, perhaps because weddings are so expensive. Because marriage brings so much socio-economic clout, this increases the gap between the rich and the poor, unwed masses. Bridget Jones was right to moan about “smug marrieds”.

As I began to read the money pages of the newspaper and got more clued up, I wondered if my partner and I should grit our teeth and get hitched, especially once we became parents. But the cultural baggage of marriage, particularly its patriarchal roots, bothered us.

We wanted our relationship to be recognised in law. But we also wanted a modern, equal partnership, clean of assumptions about what a marriage should be and the inescapably gendered roles of husband and wife. Which is why a civil partnership appealed, particularly if the ceremony could be conducted quietly.

That heterosexual British couples can become civil partners is something of a legal accident, rooted in historical discrimination against gay people. Civil partnerships were drawn up to appease the bishops of the Church of England, who still get a say in British lawmaking, and who, in the 1990s at least, didn’t think gay people should be able to get married.

Civil partnerships gave gay couples more or less the same rights as marriage gave straight couples. But soon after civil partnerships were introduced, straight people wanted to get them too. Many countries already allowed heterosexual couples to ratify their relationship without getting married – in France, a contract known as pacs has long been a popular alternative to marriage.

When My University Friends Started Getting Engaged, I Asked Them Why

Over the years various attempts to expand the scope of civil partnerships in Britain failed. Making different provisions for heterosexual and gay people looked increasingly odd after the latter won the right to get married in 2014. Then, in 2018, a judge ruled that exempting straight couples from civil partnerships was illegal under equality law, forcing the government to support a change in the rules.

Opposite-sex couples have been able to become civil partners in Britain since December 31st 2019. I asked our registrar whether Islington Town Hall had seen an increase in footfall from marriage-avoiders. She said it had, mostly “mature couples” who wanted to get their affairs in order. I didn’t ask whether, on the wrong side of 35, we counted as one of them.

Despite my allergy to romance, I surprised myself by how much I enjoyed our moment of union. We weren’t going to tell anyone apart from our families but then decided that we might as well. Being congratulated is nice. And it has made my mother-in-law very happy. Is there still time to open a honeymoon fund? ■

— Anna Baddeley is a Eenior Editor of 1843 Magazine

#1843 Magazine #Modern Marriage #Anna Baddeley

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