Posts tagged TGDRC
story qday x5d
A collection of things to keep me writing.
6 notes &
Super hard to get writing done with your butt on my laptop, Canela. :)
Canela says, “Oh yeah? Is that Tumblr I see open on your screen? Betcha that’s not helping, either.”
Canela: Literally a bitch.
This just arrived in my inbox. They are recording the Neverwhere Radio series right this moment.
Best cast. Best adapter-director. Best everything. AND I AM NOT EVEN IN THE SAME COUNTRY AS THEM.
(I’ll try to reblog the first person who identifies everyone in the photo correctly. I’ll give you a clue to start you off with: Benedict Cumberbatch is on the left and he is playing the Angel Islington.)
Benedict Cumberbatch is going to speak words by Neil Gaiman and thus will head, heart, and loins become one (soul).
WAIT IS THAT ANNE BOLEYN?! I THINK THAT IS ANNE BOLEYN/DRESS-CUT-DOWN-TO-THERE QUEEN FROM GoT. OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS. AND GILES. SWEET JEBUS THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD IN MY GOD DAMN LIFE.
-CT
Also, oh yeah, hey Ben.
Also-also, holy shit Anthony Head, still dapper as hell.
Lord, I’m going to be reminded that I’m a Neverwhere junkie, aren’t I?
Oh my god, TGDRC ladies, can we do our own recording? Or would that be massively, massively presumptuous and not to mention completely moot because LOOK AT THIS CAST I MEAN REALLY.
Nina Leen, 1940s
That Thanksgiving when you all came to visit nympheline and me in Paris. Madame was astonished at the amount of food we were able to conjure - tables and tables of it, and the dining room set in burning orange and deep chocolate, with cream and claret candles dripping, unheeded, onto the tablecloth. The ghosts were envious of our many varied culinary delights - sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, cranberry-orange sauce and stuffing, golden turkey wrapped in bacon and stuffed with honeycrisp apples, grilled asparagus and brussels sprouts, escarole with wrinkled black olives and freshly grated parmesean cheese - and sulkily kept to themselves on the balcony. For dessert there were pies of every imaginable iteration, and homemade creme brulee - though, wisely, adi took the torch from me after my third glass of wine, and someone with a steadier hand burned the sugar for the shell.
The Field: 1922 via The New York Public Library
I was going to reblog this to tag it as TGDRC, but then I saw that Emma already did!
(Source: fuckyeahalternabilly, via emmadelosnardos)
38 notes &
Only yesterday I was wondering that artists, knowing each other’s pains so well, did not help each other more, and, as usual, when I have been talking complainingly or suspiciously, something has come which serves me as a reproof. That “something” is your letter, which has brought me the only sort of help I care to have - an assurance of fellow-feeling, of thorough truthful recognition from one of the minds which are capable of judging as well as of being moved. You know, without my telling you, how much the help is heightened by its coming to me afresh, now that I have ceased to be a mystery and am known as a mere daylight fact. I shall always love to think that one woman wrote to another such sweet encouraging words - still more to think that you were the writer and I the receiver.
(via morgan-leigh)
Vintage Halloween Postcards.
Do you remember last Hallowe’en, ladies? We decided to go as members of a roving circus. My aunt, the one who used to be a Vegas show girl, gave us the idea for the cobweb costumes. Ninette’s daughter insisted, simply insisted, that we carve out a real pumpkin for her candy-bucket, and the resultant pumpkin-gut fight had me shaking seeds out of my hairs for days - the ones we didn’t roast, that is. The rest of the night was filled with candy (some of it was grown up candy and liquor-infused) and dancing bears and pumpkin pie and ghost stories around a campfire - (but all the stories had a happy ending, since Holliday simply can’t abide horror, and it was spooky enough out in the woods already.)
It’s going to be a tough Hallowe’en to top. What’re we gonna do?
(via earl-of-lymongrab)
June 13, 1922: Veterans Bureau employee Viola LaLonde and Census Bureau employee Elizabeth Van Tuyl pose beside a Ford automobile before making their cross-country drive from Washington, DC to San Francisco. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)Keep in mind, these women crossed the country before the construction of a national highway system. Forget Econolodges and Denny’s restaurants, they packed their own fuel and food, sleeping in the car.
Eisenhower drove cross country on the Lincoln Highway in 1919 as part of an army convoy which took four months to cross the country. The contrast between that experience and his experience driving on the Autobahn during World War II led to Eisenhower’s proposal for a national highway system.
Holliday and I roadtrippin’.
Remember when we picked up that pilot with the busted ankle, Holliday? And his sweet but somewhat dopey friend? We had to sleep outside to fit his bloody piano in the boot. It was a cramped trip, as I recall, but not unpleasant, and there was a troupe of very grateful ceilidh dancers to greet us at the bar.
i remember that roadtrip! more specifically, i remember being jammed between a piano and a man who kept insisting that yellow cars were more worthy of notice than those of any other colour, while you, a girl whom i’d previously heard sing, “i get no kicks in a plane / flying too high with some guy in the sky is my idea of nothing to do,” with such gusto that you busted the buttons on your braces, suddenly and inexplicably decided to change your usual driving tune to “come josephine in my flying machine.”
Well, it was very cramped, and the poor man was already in a lot of pain from his ankle, Holliday. I thought it’d be a nice gesture, alright? But I’ll have you know that I don’t go throwing out all my ideals just because some ginger stutters at me adorably over the gear shift.
June 13, 1922: Veterans Bureau employee Viola LaLonde and Census Bureau employee Elizabeth Van Tuyl pose beside a Ford automobile before making their cross-country drive from Washington, DC to San Francisco. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)Keep in mind, these women crossed the country before the construction of a national highway system. Forget Econolodges and Denny’s restaurants, they packed their own fuel and food, sleeping in the car.
Eisenhower drove cross country on the Lincoln Highway in 1919 as part of an army convoy which took four months to cross the country. The contrast between that experience and his experience driving on the Autobahn during World War II led to Eisenhower’s proposal for a national highway system.
Holliday and I roadtrippin’.
Remember when we picked up that pilot with the busted ankle, Holliday? And his sweet but somewhat dopey friend? We had to sleep outside on the ground in order to fit the bloody piano in the boot. It was a cramped trip, as I recall, but not unpleasant, and there was a troupe of very grateful ceilidh dancers to greet us at the pub.
“Six HS sorority girls re-enacting solemn, secret initiation ritual by candlelight for photographer because only a real member has ever seen the real thing” Missouri, 1944 (via LIFE )
That night we held a seance that intermittently featured hysterical giggling, tears, and bloodcurdling screaming, because MM and I are entirely too susceptible to suggestion, nympheline is utterly terrified of ghost stories, and adiprose is far too good at telling them.
(via lostsplendor)
