Y otro dibujico improvisado de estos días: ¡Flight of the Conchords! Una de las bandas y series más importantes para mí <3 <3 <3 Este año ha hecho 10 desde que la estrenaron y 5 desde que la vi yo por primera vez, y es gracias a ella que me abrí a más música y empecé a ver más series (sobre todo comedias, que han acabado siendo de lo que más veo ahora) Así que a este dúo lo llevo en el corazoncico
And another improvised drawing of these days: Flight of the Conchords! One of the most important bands and shows for me <3 <3 <3 This year it’s been 10 since its premiere and 5 since I watched it for the first time, and it’s thanks to it that I opened up for more musica and started to watch more shows (specially comedies and sitcoms, which is the genre that I most watch of) So there’s always a place for this duo in my heart <3
C'entra niente lo star bene, l'essere amati, avere una casa, le lenzuola pulite, un bancomat per la spesa, sentirsi ricchi con l'abbonamento mensile nella tasca, il bronzo delle olive e l'oro dell'uva, la crosta del pane il formaggio il vino rubino, una carta e una penna, saperci ancora fare, gli occhi un poco guasti ma vedenti, le orecchie per farci entrare la musica, la musica, l'allegria, il letto caldo, un rubinetto di acqua potabile, tu che mi aspetti nel vapore della cucina, quest'ottobre clemente. C'entra niente.
Tutto ciò che è stato, mancherà. Manca oggi tutto ciò che si chiama ieri; mancano ieri diversi, in ordine del tutto sparso e casuale, in diversi oggi. Mancano i vissuti che così ardentemente si vorrebbero riavere indietro (al punto di sperare che il paradiso esista e che non sia una beatitudine astratta, ma la libertà di un viaggio a ritroso dentro sé stessi); ma mancano anche altri momenti che lo stesso si vorrebbe rivivere, diversamente o anche allo stesso modo, sebbene sia chiaro e razionalizzato il conforto di saperli lontani.
Perché la memoria, pittrice ancor prima che drammaturga, anche del dolore fa un affresco; ma dalla rappresentazione, di velatura in velatura, fa scomparire i dettagli inutili o inutilmente pericolosi. E nella larga campitura di pece della tenebra, quel che si guarda è il punto minuscolo dell'unico luccicore. E così nei chiaroscuri più complessi, che scolpiscono maestosità.
O almeno: a volte è così.
Perché il ricordo è fatto per servire. Perché il tempo è un fiume; e quanto più ci porta a valle nella sua corrente, tanto più ci fa guardare con clemenza tenerezza alle visioni che abbiamo lasciato a monte.
O forse perché amare ciò che siamo stati significa voler bene a ciò che adesso siamo. Ugualmente, esser grati per ciò che abbiamo avuto, ci aiuta a comprendere meglio il valore di ciò che oggi abbiamo. E difenderlo.
La nostalgia non ha alcun bisogno di essere nobilitata: è, esiste. Pena per chi non ne prova.
Ma la mancanza, con questo suo nome, è un sentimento o un paradosso? Forse sia l'uno che l'altro. E quando non è capriccio, ha a che fare con l'amor proprio.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Starbucks
Not a creature was stirring or causing a ruckus;
The CDs were placed on the counter with care,
In hopes that Clement Moore soon would be there;
The baristas were busy arranging the breads;
While visions of steaming milk danced in their heads;
And the barista in her apron, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s chat,
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the counter I flew like a flash,
Tore open the pastry case, knocked over the trash.
The moon on the crest of the sidewalks and lights,
Put espresso and lattes and scones in my sights,
When what did my eyes see out the front door,
But a miniature sleigh where there sat Clement Moore!
Clement C. Moore went up to the counter,
And he spoke in a voice that grew so much louder.
More rapid than eagles his orders they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Lattes! now, Espresso! now, Teavana Iced Teas!
On, Frappes! on, Cocoa! on, Eggnog lattes!
To the end of the counter! to the seats by the wall!
Now ventis! now grandes! now coffee for all!”
As leaves that before the espresso machine fly,
When they meet with soy milk, and mount to the sky;
So up to the blenders the baristas they flew
With cups full of coffee, and Clement Moore, too-
And then, in a twinkling, I saw in a flash
The drinks were all done with naught but a crash.
As I drew in my head, and was just sitting down,
Clement Moore walked up with a leap and a bound.
He was dressed all in wool, from his feet to his vest,
And he had Starbucks’ logo displayed on his chest,
A bundle of drinks he held on a tray,
And he looked like a barista just starting his day.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His drinks filled our noses, his scone had a cherry!
His box full of muffins was drawn up with a bow,
And the whipped cream on his drink was as white as the snow;
The stump of a straw he held tight in his teeth,
And the juice had now covered the whole floor beneath;
He had a latte and a mug of cappuccino
That shook when he laughed, like the coast with El Niño.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old poet,
And I laughed when I saw him, though I was eating a donut;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And bought all the CDs; then turned with a jerk,
And slurping the last of his huge cup of joe,
And giving a nod, out the door he did go;
He sprang to the sidewalk, to the barista he waved,
And about the great service he continued to rave.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of view—
“Happy Christmas to all, I bought coffee for you!”
The original London Terrace, a row of cottages and apartment houses on 24th St. east of Tenth Ave. built in 1845 by Bishop Clement C. Moore, author of “The Night Before Christmas,” according to NYPL. Photo by Price Brothers, ca. 1927. They were demolished in 1929 and 1930, and replaced by a series of large modern apartment houses which retain the name London Terrace.
Denslow’s Night Before Christmas (1902); pages 20 & 28.
From the de Grummond Children’s Literature Books collection. Written by Clement C. Moore; created and illustrated by William Wallace [W.W.] Denslow in 1902. Published in Chicago by M.A. Donohue in 1902.
…a brilliant species of broad-winged damselfly (Calopterygidae) which can be found throughout Eurasia from the Atlantic coast all the way to Lake Baikal and north-western China. It also occurs in the British Isles. Banded Demoiselles occur in many types of freshwater habitats, and are known to be particularly common in open running water bodies like streams and small rivers. Like all damselflies, banded demoiselles are predatory and will feed on a range of small flying insects.
Castiel, unaware that the Winchester’s don’t celebrate Christmas, tries to spend the holiday with his family. After a few eggnogs and a lot of conversation his true feelings are expressed to his closest friend.
Dean and Castiel find themselves with a night to kill as Sam heads to the Big Apple for New Year’s Eve, so Dean decides to treat the angel to a night out at the local bar. Sure, Earth sucks most of the time, but heaven doesn’t have champagne and fireworks. (Destiel, holiday shmoop, fluffiness all around)
“Honestly, Sammy, if you only invited me for the holidays because you needed my decoration expertise, you had only to ask”
Dean spends Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the weeks between with Sam, Jess, and their new house on Candy Cane Lane. & also, apparently, their next door neighbor, Castiel, who lets slip that “Candy Cane Lane” isn’t just the name of their street. It’s a responsibility.
Dean snaps his headphones in place over his ears and drops his iPod into his shirt pocket. He is not going to listen to Christmas music here in the bunker. He is not going to buy presents. He is not going to hang stockings, and he most definitely, without a doubt, is not going to help decorate a Christmas tree.
Cas wants to have a first Christmas with all the traditions and stuff Christmas brings, but he wants to do it Winchester style. Dean, on the other hand, is coming to terms with his feelings for Cas and is attempting to not be a Scrooge. In the end, Christmas turns out to be one of the best they’ve had in a long time.
A crossover AU loosely based on the film The Holiday with Sam and Gabriel where Sam and Castiel swap houses for a month. Sam ends up next door to Gabriel, a widower with two young girls, and Castiel ends up sharing a house with Dean. Shenanigans, obviously, ensue.
In retrospect, Dean blames Sam, kind of. He confesses to hanging the mistletoe during the Christmas dinner, complaining that no one – with a pointed look at Dean – made use of it. Dean has left him in the charge of the eggnog because someone competent had to take care of the ham (they really are pulling all the stops this year and it makes Dean’s heart sing. Or maybe he actually hums Mariah Carey over mashed potatoes.)
In which the extended Winchester family celebrates Christmas and good things happen.
Dean recruits Castiel to help give Sam a Christmas to remember. In the process, he introduces Castiel to the joys of the holiday and discovers that there is some truth to the ideology behind an angel’s halo.
The Frost King will kiss the unwary at the first frost of winter and then take them to his palace and make them his slave. But it’s sooo way more fluffy than that. Just a Christmas fic from me to you. Base on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Snow Queen, with other fairy tale themes mixed in.
With the apocalypse looming ever closer, the last thing Dean wants to do is stop and celebrate Christmas. Despite growing more and more human every day, Castiel makes it his mission to get Dean into the holiday spirit.
When Cas’s holiday plans fall through, Dean is all too happy to invite him along to Sam and Jess’s for Christmas. What he doesn’t take into account is how much Christmas seems to suit his best friend, what with the lights making Cas’s eyes more beautiful, the themed sweaters making him cuter than he already is, how his cold hands are in permanent need of warming, and - yes, it’s going to take everything Dean has not to kiss him senseless under the mistletoe.
On the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Mr. Castiel Quinn discovers that one of his young students has smuggled male pornography into the classroom. Upon being told that the photos belong to the boy’s uncle, Castiel vows to himself that he will keep the other man’s preferences a secret. It’s 1947; a man experiencing attraction to another man or fantasising about his sexual touch are transgressive faults, which could potentially result in imprisonment - or worse. But then the uncle walks in. The photos are of him: Dean Winchester, a rogue with an empty pocket and a child to feed. Castiel doesn’t know it yet, but his life is never going to be the same again. Years pass between chance meetings, but even though they live their lives apart, Dean and Castiel’s story is proof that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.
Christmas in the Milton household was difficult enough without the added complication of guests- and if Luke and Gabriel placing bets on who can get with Sam first wasn’t bad enough, then Cas developing a ridiculous crush on his sister’s boyfriend definitely is.
If they really go back and think about it… it all started with a tree. A Christmas tree, that is. Castiel is human now, and the apocalypse is not only over, it’s been averted. Sam’s away at NYU, finally finishing law school, and Dean’s stuck in what is probably the most awkward situation of his life. He’s not exactly sure how he ended up sharing a flat with Cas in Media, Pennsylvania, but he does know the curious would-be angel is sort of derailing his plans for a life of decadence and booze. Cas is trying to make the best of his humanity by exploring human holidays. Dean can’t exactly complain because he’s pretty much the reason Cas got his wings clipped in the first place.
Dean didn’t actually want to fall in love, but how was he supposed to know it would all start with a goddamn tree?
This is holiday fluff, pure and simple. It is Christmas on repeat. It is a hunter and his family. It is crappy Christmas songs shared with eggnog and twinkling lights. It is what happens when an insecure man has nothing to lose because it will all just happen again tomorrow. So, he might as well be happy, right? Nebulous timeline in the bunker.
I hope you all enjoy and hopefully do not throw up Christmas ornaments and candy canes from all the freaking fluff and holiday cheer in these fics. Have a happy holiday!