electronic-mail

My kid does 13K in damage to studio equip, we handle it like lunatics.

[Part 1]

Some background:

I’m an audio engineer and score arranger full time in my self-owned business. It’s how I provide for myself, my fiancée (also CF), and my mother. I record, mix, and master for bands, voice-overs for local commercials, and write music for people’s weddings, college films, indie games, etc.. It was my passion since I was a child and every day I ask myself why I get paid to do what I do.

You know, until today.

I had a woman schedule to come in because she wanted me to record her monologue for an acting class. I thought it was going to be easy enough. I set up a mic and a music stand in the sound booth and got my workstation prepped for tracking. She was supposed to show up at 3:30, so when 4:00 came around, I called her to ask her if she was still coming. It was my last contract for the day and I was wanting to get home to my fiancée, dogs, and dinner.

“Oh, sorry sweetie, I’m going to be there soon. I just had to get my son from ex-boyfriend.”

Uh oh.

4:12, she showed up with her child.

To preface, I’ve never really wanted kids, and don’t really hate them either. But I’ve been childfree of mind for a decade now in league of several bad child experiences in public.

Anyway, I sat her down at the conference table and tried to talk to her about the contract and billing, etc., and just couldn’t because of the six-years-old pile of ovary droppings next to her.

“Mommy it’s cold in here.” “Mommy, I’m bored.” “Mommy, that guy has girl hair.” “Mommy, I want to play on the phone.”

The incessant whining went on for the entirety of the discussion. She did nothing about it. I had an ache in my stomach that this might be a rough session.

I was right.

I showed her to the sound booth, positioned the mic at face level, told her the basics of mic use, and then she floored me with a question.

“Can my son stay in there with you while I do this?” I insisted that he wait in the conference room (across the hall from the control room) because the control room wasn’t a very kid-friendly place considering the 120K of equipment at arms reach.

“But he’s a little angel.”

I shouldn’t have taken her word for it. I SHOULD NOT have taken her word for it. This kid was ANYTHING but. I let him in, told him to sit in one of the office chairs and don’t touch anything. Needless to say, he touched. I queued the recording arm and signaled her to start. She got three lines into her take before I hear a deafening screech and crash.

That little shit machine had just knocked over a $4,000 Korg into a rack with $9,500 of equipment. Completely shattered the touchscreen on the Korg, busted the dials off of half of the effects, and totaled my distressor that I use for almost all the vocals I track.

All of this, by the way, was the room’s length apart from where I told the crotch goblin to stay.

The kid, because of the loud noise, started full-lung screaming. Not crying. Not yelling. Screaming.

The mother, with no hesitation, ran over to the control room and DEMANDED to know what I did to her child. She cussed at me and accused me of hurting her little snot monster. Threatened to sue and even swung at me. When I told her that her precious angel had just racked up at least twelve grand of damages, she said “good”, spit on me, then stormed out, slamming every door on the way. So I pulled the security camera footage and had filed a police report. Grand total: $13,504.25. I also mailed her the bill for her session for good measure.

Of six years in the studio, this is my only truly terrible experience. Fuck mombies. Fuck having children. Thanks for making my vasectomy decision that much easier on me.

[Part 2]

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4

MALFOY CORP. LAUNCHES FIRST WIZARDING WEB BROWSER

In what many consider a shocking move, Malfoy Corp. has unveiled Accio, a web browser for wizards. The conglomerate revealed at last night’s press conference that CEO Draco Malfoy personally hired a small set of muggle-born software engineers for the project, including Mara Finch-Fletchley, a prominent member of the Muggle-Born Coalition for Justice.

‘We are very proud of Accio,’ said Malfoy in his opening speech. 'It is certainly time for the wizarding world to move forward in terms of technology, and bringing muggle tech and magic together opens up very exciting possibilities.’

Exciting and lucrative, it seems, for in the few hours following the launch, the company’s stocks have gone up by 17.5 percent. 

The web browser, which provides unprecedented instant access to magical knowledge, also comes with the major wizarding web applications built into its interface: Marketplace, the all-purpose wizarding store; Orpheus, the wizarding music hub; Floo-net, the global map of existing floo networks; The Daily Prophet, the online newspaper; and Mugglemail, the electronic mail system. 

'For the first time, wizards everywhere can do all these things on the go, using just one device. That’s the philosophy behind the name – instant access. These devices might have been invented by muggles, but they are clearly the product of something approaching magic, and can only be improved by wizarding engineering.’

(Draco Malfoy, 8 Jan 2015)

It is unknown what his father thinks about this. 


More 21st century wizarding here

IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?

Hello y'all u/

Well, this must be my thousandth submission here but still my brain panics whenever I have to give people a first impression of me haha, so I’ll just introduce myself in a normal way this time and hope you won’t find me a weirdo (ow well, at least not a bad kind of weirdo). 

I am Matheus (you can go with Matt in case Matheus is too difficult to pronounce), a 17 year old, 5ft.6in. tall, male ape descendant who knows  what I’m doing with my life as much as a tea-leaf knows the history of the East India Company. And well, I live in a mostly harmless country called Brazil, down here in South America.  

One fun fact about me is that I hate starting paragraphs with a word I already used to start a paragraph before, so I had to add this unnecessary sentence just to satisfy my weird self, yay. Right so, I have an infinite amount of interests - from stupid memes to financial economics-, so just start talking about anything you want with me and I promise I’ll hold a conversation 🙃 Some stuff I really reaaally like though are: 

  • Cinema. I LOVE HORROR & DRAMA, but will watch anything, really. I also have a passion for movie post-production & dream of producing my own movie one day *cough* any movie producer companies over here? *cough*
  •  Music. I mostly listen to alternative bands such as Radiohead (Faust Arp is my alarm 😆), Keane, Coldplay, Pink Floyd, Arctic Monkeys, The Who, The Strokes, etc. & also I play the drums since I was 12 hehe
  • Writing. Not necessarily creative writing, just creating text out of anything. So hey, if you want someone to do your homework you can contact me too (neh jk, stop procrastinating on tumblr and go do your own homework ~ JKJK AGAIN, PROCRASTINATE JUST FOR A LITTLE LONGER AND GO EMAIL ME).
  • Reading. My favorite books are classic ones, specially Russian literature. But I read normal stuff too, like Percy Jackson, The Hitchhikers Guide to The Galaxy, The Lord of The Rings, Harry Potter and such haha

Perfect pen pal: human being (actually not necessarily… aliens you can hmu too). I’m opened to snail mail (never did it but sounds REALLY awesome) or just exchanging long emails (my emails are INSANELY long, almost a novel, so don’t get scared), it’s all up to you, fellow :) 

Contact me via electronic mail: mtdhorahora@outlook.com.br

 

Have a nice life, keep safe & don’t drink and drive (you can drink and email me though, that would be fun).

 

P.S.: Couldn’t find a good picture, so I’ll just upload a random one from my instagram.

swiffer-weeper  asked:

the fool + justice

the fool : something uve always wanted to try
detergent pods

justice : a decision u wish u could do over
when i was like 6 i got baptised and as a “ reward “ for being free of sin or some shit i was allowed to have any one thing i wanted w in reason and i picked a necklace of one of those fucking fish w a cross in it and my mom didnt let me take it off for like 7 years i wish i just asked for a playstation

tarot asks + inbox

Victoria Beckham’s letter to her 18 years old self.

Dear Victoria,

I know you are struggling right now. You are not the prettiest, or the thinnest, or the best at dancing at the Laine Theatre Arts college. You have never properly fitted in, although you are sharing your Surrey school digs with really nice girls. You have bad acne. You think the principal has put you at the back of the end-of-year show (in a humiliatingly bright purple Lycra leotard) because you are too plump to go at the front. (This may or may not be true.)

There is a red telephone box outside the school and you have just rung your parents, crying, “I can’t do this, I miss home, I’m not good enough.” And Mum has told you to come home. “We’ll go to Lakeside and buy a new pair of shoes,” she said. It’s tempting. But then Dad got on the phone: “Stay there, prove everyone wrong.” If you’d listened to Mum, you would be going to Lakeside. (Shoes are important, just not right now.) It would be theeasy solution. And I’m writing to jolly you along, to offer consolation and encouragement, and to tell you, aged 18, to be strong.

You haven’t forgotten being bullied at school, have you? Do you recall that first day at secondary school? Most children were wearing their own coats and had the latest cool bag, but not you. Kitted out in the full St Mary’s High School uniform, you stood in the freezing playground while other teenagers walking past threw soggy tissues and old Coke cans that they plucked from the puddles. But the thick skin that you developed then is already standing you in good stead, and it will do so for the rest of your life.

Your complexion will sort itself out (in fact you will launch your own make-up brand); as soon as the Eighties are over, your perm will die down, and your weight will settle itself. At school you eat Super Noodles and boxes of Frosties because they say they are fat free, and you will endure many other silly fad diets (including an addiction to green juices). Instead, learn to embrace your imperfections – that is what I want to tell you. Let your skin breathe; wear less make-up. (And don’t ever let that make-up artist shave your eyebrows! The effects last forever.) You will always be addicted to Elnett hairspray but you will tone it down. Less of the “Hello! I just got stuck in a wind tunnel”, please. And I should probably say, don’t mess with your boobs. All those years I denied it – stupid. A sign of insecurity. Just celebrate what you’ve got.

Do answer an ad in The Stage, looking for candidates to form a new girl band. Line up around the block and audition to change your life. You love musicals – Miss Saigon, Cats, Starlight Express and Les Misérables – so you will perform “Mein Herr” from Cabaret, while everyone else sings a Madonna song. You haven’t yet heard of the internet or electronic mail or smartphones. Nor have you perfected the art of the selfie for Instagram (you can’t even turn on a computer right now, and Dad still drives to London to send a telex). But one day you will find that audition performance again online, and at the same time discover that your name brings up 47,800,000 search results on Google.

The judges of the competition will match you to four other girls, all misfits in their own ways. Together you will make it OK to look different. And, as the Spice Girls, you will sell 75 million records. You cannot possibly imagine your future life right now. You will travel on private planes, visit incredible countries, stay in fantastic hotels. (At the beginning, you will steal the hotel mini shampoos, shower gels and conditioners, but you soon realise that they leak in your suitcase – often disastrously.) You will storm into people’s offices, leap on to tables in hotels and go crazy (although you will also be the one checking that the table isn’t going to collapse). You will meet Nelson Mandela, Mariah Carey and Elton John. But please, I implore you, keep a diary. There will be so many amazing moments, and you will forget.

There will also be down days and bad days. You will often be so busy that you will be in a different country every day. And being young and a bit silly, you’ll complain and sit in hotel rooms and moan about being tired. Go out and see the country where you are. Go to galleries, go to museums. Soak up the culture. You are lucky to be there. If you don’t join the Spice Girls, you might always be that insecure person in that little shell, and you will never become who you truly are. With this in mind, be kind, be polite, be considerate of others’ feelings, because I know that every one of us would sit here now and say they’re not the main culprit, but we didn’t fully appreciate each other a lot of the time. So practise what you preach when you sing “friendship never ends”, and celebrate everyone’s uniqueness.

You are going to have so much fun with your clothes – PVC catsuits; chokers that say absurd things; weird spiky blonde hair. It will never occur to you that you appear ridiculous. You will turn up at awards ceremonies resembling a drag queen. But I look back at you and smile. It will add interest to your life to go from one extreme to another. I love the fact that you will feel free to express yourself. Fashion will take on added stature one day, but try not to be stifled by it. You will learn, as you mature, to swap heels for Stan Smith trainers, minidresses for crisp white shirts. And you will never be one of those people who just roll out of bed. Wear sunglasses a lot. Even inside. Especially at airports. They turn a nothing-outfit into something quite pulled together and cool. You are going to really like Aviators. (Then one day you will develop your own!)

On boyfriends and lasting love: learn more about football, especially the offside rule. And yes, love at first sight does exist. It will happen to you in the Manchester United players’ lounge – although you will get a little drunk, so exact details are hazy. While the other football players stand at the bar drinking with their mates, you will see David standing aside with his family. (He’s not even in the first team at this stage – you are the famous one.) And he has such a cute smile. You, too, are close to your family, and you will think how similar he feels to you. He’s going to ask for your number. (He still has the London-to-Manchester plane ticket on which you wrote it.) I’m afraid that most of your first dates will be in car parks, which is not as seedy as it sounds. It is because your manager, Simon Fuller, will warn you, “Don’t let anyone see you out together or you’ll get hounded.” At the time, you won’t understand why.

You are going to be very, very famous, both for the band you form and because of the man you marry, and then later for a fashion business you will launch in your own name. You will get used to fame. Although you cannot set a price on losing privacy, you will learn to use celebrity to your advantage. For good things. For charity. One day you will have the privilege to campaign on behalf of the United Nations to end mother-to-child transmission of HIV and Aids in Africa. And people will listen. Changes will happen. That is not to say you won’t be affected by what you see of yourself in the press. It will hurt you when people comment on your weight. It will continue to upset you whatever age you are, because we women are very tough on ourselves.

The paparazzi will become part of your life, their long lenses waiting. Some are nice, some not. They may make your children cry, or they may give you a compliment – but you will not be able to control every image they publish. When you are pregnant with Brooklyn, they will snap you sitting by the pool at the Four Seasons Hotel in Los Angeles in a black-and-white bikini, and the picture will make the front page of a British newspaper. It is an unkind shot and so upsetting that for the rest of the tour you will barely leave your hotel or sit outside. And I’m the same now. Do I relax on the beach in a bikini? No. I am still hugely self-critical, and because of that I can be a little uptight. My 60-year-old self would probably say the same thing to me as I am telling you now: enjoy yourself a little more. Be less image-conscious. Learn to relax. You are going to make mistakes – of course you are. You will be super-super-successful, but you will find out that you can lose it all much more quickly than you can earn it. That is a hard lesson to learn. Collectively, I now see, the Spice Girls were victims of our own success, believing we could do anything, that the sky was the limit, that we could do it all on our own. You will learn from that, and when you have another opportunity you will not lose it again.

On being a mother: once you are a parent, you worry. And you are going to have four, so that’s a lot of worry! Mum likes to say, “You might be 42, but I still worry about you.” Children mean that you will be constantly tired and will develop big bags under your eyes. Your children will always come first, but never forget who you are and what you want to achieve. Is it possible to have it all? To be a successful working mother? You will hear this question asked by many women as you grow older. What you will realise is that by working hard, yet always putting family first, it will be possible to achieve that balance. Nothing will be perfect, but it is only now that I have learnt to appreciate all I have and all I have been blessed with. I am happy.


A word on school sports day: never wear platform heels and flares if you have to take part in the mothers’ race. And never believe another mum when she says she will stick with you at the back of the race. Because she won’t. And when they announce, “It’s the taking part that counts,” it’s not. It’s all about winning. You will shout at home but never at work. Be a nice boss. Ultimately, go with what you think, but don’t smother those who are talented. (If they are not, then admittedly I get frustrated – I’m not very tolerant.)

On marriage: have patience. Bite your tongue. Be supportive. And preserve a bit of mystique. Never let yourself go completely (at least brush your hair, clean your teeth, have a bit of a brow going on because you will always want him to look at you and feel attracted). Always make time for each other. Because if you don’t, everything will revolve around the children and I’m not sure how sexy that is! And do not forget the person you fell in love with. You will follow your man around the world, moving from Manchester to Spain, and then America. In Spain you will revel in watching him enjoy some of his best footballing days. Spain is also where you will lay the foundations for your own fashion brand by collaborating with others on denim and sunglasses.

But I need to warn you: a lot of your time there will be really hard. I’m not afraid to say now what a horribly difficult time it was. People will say awful things. You will be a laughing stock. Every time you turn on the television or look at a newspaper it will seem as though someone is having a go at you and your family. You will learn how mean other women can be. (And it will teach you always to support the women around you, to take them on a journey with you.) Others would crack under the pressure, but you won’t. Use that time to close off, to focus, work hard and protect the children. In relationships people will throw obstacles in your way, and you either manoeuvre around them or you trip up. You will never discuss with David how many children you both want; you don’t say to each other, “Where shall we live?” You don’t discuss any of that because you will be young and in love. Even when you don’t necessarily want the same thing, your support for each other will mean that you will stick together and grow up together. And it will be worth it.

Most days, you will look at your life and think, “Wow! I was never the one who was supposed to get all this.” I want to tell you that I still feel that way now. Recently I was in New York for the British Vogue cover shoot in a penthouse at the Carlyle hotel. I looked out of the window and I could see the sun shining and all the yellow cabs below and I pinched myself. You are going to have many of those moments. Don’t take them for granted.

it started when matt had first been recruited to the foxes. he was quieter and he listened, oh he really listened. 
slowly matt’s twitter wsa filled with quotes from his teammates, entertaining to his less than thirty followers, his top tweet being ‘ that’s fucking physics, fucking FUCK YOU PHYSICS ! - coach wymack ’ being one of the top tweets. when allison followed him, she joined in and over all these were some of the favourites collected:

‘ this team makes me want to gargle bleach ‘ - senior goalkeeper joey alaniz

‘ the eggos are on sale, this is the highlight of my entire school career ‘ - junior dealer chloe william

‘ suck my richard joey? ‘ ‘what the fuck has richard ever done to you? ‘ - jamie pax ( s dealer ) @ s goalkeeper joey alaniz 

in reply to @mattboyd ok, but matt,  who tf is richard

in reply to @allisonreyno1ds a good guy can’t you tell allison??

‘ if you get hit down, you sure as shit better get back up! i didn’t raise you to be quitters! ‘ -our loving captain, leo castro

‘ are you ok? u look like ur in pain’ ‘that’s just my face’ ‘oh’ - offensive dealer dan wilds @ the boyd, matt

‘ you guys ate all the fruit and like… i didn’t even know we had any? ’ - senior dealer james mcgregor 

in reply to @allisonreyno1ds but you need to remember, renee apologized and started to cut the guy up more fruit

in reply to @allisonreyno1ds AND RENEE DIDN’T EVEN EAT ANY FRUIT IN THE FIRST PlACE

and allison’s classic snag,

 ‘ guys can you email me the sizes you want for the new team sweaters? ‘
‘ what?? email?? ’
‘ electronic mail u fuck ‘ - coach + freshie backliner matt boyd

anonymous asked:

Hail O' SuperGreat one. If one were to make an artistic offering to thee, how wouldst one go about sending ye said offering if one is neither a registered Tumblerina nor Twitterist?

I do have an e-mail address that I check from time to time: supergreatfriend@yahoo.com , if you want to send one of them old fashioned electronic mails.

Sending Letters to Eunhyuk and Donghae

There are two ways of sending letters to soldiers in Korea one is via electronic mail and second is hand written mails which we gonna do International fans. Electronic mails are done by  sending letter to the army Fancafe and they will print it out and distribute it but it needed  ID and Korean # to register and they only print few letters for each soldier so it is not sure that your letter will be chosen.

Hyukjae’s Address: (postal code-  26314) 강원도 원주시 가현동 사서함 502ㅡ14호 1군사령부 근무 지원단 군악대 이병 이혁재 (PERMANENT)

Donghae’s Address:  (postal code- 03169)   서울특별시 종로구 사직로8길 31 (내자동, 서울지방경찰청) 홍보단 이동해  (PERMANENT)

It will be Hyukjae and Donghae’s address until they finished their enlistment.

Reminders on sending letter:

  • Please note that all letter will be checked by army officer
  • Please don’t put any gifts e.g cookies, chocolate anything except the letter
  • Don’t use registered mail because army will not accept it, normal airmail only~
  • Use only regular envelops
  • It is better to send the letter using Korean so that postman will not get confuse. if you can’t write it,print it out and paste it in the envelop
  • Please be responsible to the letter that you will send because we don’t want oppas to be scolded by officers \o/

Example: 

#BrainDump

Ok. It’s been about a week. The long and the short of it? I don’t really feel anything. What does that mean exactly? I have no idea. I thought for sure I’d have a mental breakdown by now. I even shuffled around my calendar to allow time for it to happen. Maybe a decade plus of dealing with my many particular idiosyncrasies (addictions and disorders) have finally landed me in that constant zen-like state I so desperately craved. Or maybe I’m in serious denial. Or maybe this is a perfectly acceptable way to feel: Not feeling. I don’t know.

I used to joke with Josh all the time that I could take or leave the band. I was very “whatever” about it. Perhaps the word is: Flippant. It would enrage him. Makes sense seeing as he was the guy who did literally all of the behind the scenes work for the band, in addition to being one hell of a writer. If I remember correctly (and don’t believe a word of anything I try to recall from memory) this mentality continued through at least the first two MCS records, if not the third. Somewhere around 2010 I finally started to refer to myself as a Musician on those entrance and exit cards while traveling abroad, instead of: “Failed Filmmaker.”

I love writing songs. Even more than that I love telling stories. Even more than that I love having an idea, discovering where it starts and ends, and then figuring out how to string it all together. Often times the story shifts on you and refuses to go where you want it to. That’s when you really have to get creative. But it all takes time. Time alone. Alone in a room. A place of your design. Alone with your thoughts and anti-thoughts. Alone in silence and song. It’s almost meditative for me. I listen to the same parts of the demo over and over and over… And I just throw shit at the wall until something sticks (figuratively). But I love this time alone, being frustrated and unable to figure it out… Until eventually I do.

Apologies if this is fragmented. My mind feels fragmented. I feel at any given minute I might explode into a million little pieces. But I know that’s not going to happen. I think it is just me being aware of my anxieties and acknowledging them and then quickly moving on.

What is the point of this? I am not absolutely certain. But I think it starts with me vomiting out all my current thoughts and not-thoughts for any of you who dig reading the thoughts or not-thoughts of someone like me. I’m trying to get better at spontaneity and imperfection. So I’m not going to rewrite this. I’m just going to let it all spill out.

Performing on stage has never been a fully enjoyable experience for me. I’m too in my head to enjoy it like most people claim to. I never seem to have enough of a voice to sing the way I wish I could, and I cannot seem to remember guitar parts or words to my own songs if I go more than a week without playing them. I’m constantly shifting the way I do things while I’m doing them, based on what just happened or didn’t just happen on the last verse, chorus, song, etc… I really wish I could just play and sing without having to do crazy math equations in my head, and just look into the audience and make connections with people in the moment. But instead I am made up of equal parts fear and anxiety, masquerading as someone who is 100% chill and appears to have it totally together.

As I reread everything I’ve just written, I think to myself, “this guys sucks.” I don’t mean to come off as an ungrateful prick who is complaining about getting to play music for nearly 15 years FOR A LIVING. I mean just the opposite of that. And I’ll try to get to it now.

It’s no secret I don’t have the greatest image of myself (I mean, jesus, just listen to the words of any of our songs.) And I have no idea why that is. My parents were wonderful. I had a great childhood. High school both sucked and didn’t suck, but for the most part I have NOTHING to complain about. Yet, somehow I felt broken. And for a while that really messed me up. I thought there was something wrong with me and it sort of fed into this cycle of self-defeating behavior. Alcohol seemed to work for a while. It worked through the writing of the first album for sure. I continued to struggle with both alcohol and myself for two to three more records.

Eventually I accepted EVERYTHING sometime around 2011. Things were very dark though. I was obsessed with death and felt like I wasn’t in my body. That probably sounds weird. What I mean is, I felt as though I were floating through life, almost watching my life through my eyes as though it were someone else’s, like a film or something. Also, it felt like the colors of the world were brighter and each breath I took contained more oxygen than normal. It’s hard to explain… And now I kind of wished I hadn’t tried to. I sound like a lunatic.

It wasn’t until we started writing and recording Panic Stations that I finally found I could revisit old feelings and scenes from my life without being too affected by them. I had been working at this thing (Sobriety, Living in the moment, Self-love, Not being an asshole, etc…) for years and it was finally paying off. I had become an almost complete person. Hell, ten years ago I was playing a show in Scotland and messed up and started crying on stage. CRYING. In the middle of the set. The last few years I started screwing up left and right and was able to finally shake it off and start over (mentally) from whatever moment the screw up occurred.

I know this kind of contradicts something I wrote a few paragraphs back, but it doesn’t. Trust me. I’m about to get to the good stuff. And perhaps the point of all this.

I am most comfortable when I am alone, or with my family; my wife, my kid, my siblings, my parents, or one or two friends at a time MAXIMUM. Taken out of that, I find it hard to be completely authentic. I get too worried, anxious, nervous, fearful, etc… I know that I can play guitar. I know that I can sing. I know that I can hold a conversation. I just wish I were better at all of the above than I actually am. And that’s its own sad kind of constant.

A few years ago I started paying attention to the internet. Twitter, Facebook, emails, etc… I started reading and responding to messages form people who dug the music I was making. It was LIFE CHANGING. Aside from finally being able to communicate with others and hear their stories (post shows I would always be silent in order to preserve the voice I was constantly losing), I was actually learning a lot about myself through their interpretations of my music. Does that make any sense?

It had never occurred to me that I might be bipolar or have panic attacks. I thought several days literally laying on the floor unable to move after several days of incredible creative outbursts was just normal. Or that it was a fear of heights that caused my heart to palpitate and my hands to sweat before every flight, and that several glasses of scotch was the only cure.

I have not been diagnosed with anything by any doctors, and by the time I started reading these messages I had already worked through most of my issues by sheer force of will. Which either means I am a fucking superhero, or my problems were not that big to begin with. Or perhaps, and more likely, things fell somewhere between these two extremes.

More than anything, the last few years have been full of wonderful correspondences with incredible humans all over the world. I’ve read stories about the fucked up things that have happened to you, listened to your bands, declined your wedding invites, recorded awkward messages for your sisters and brothers, given terrible advice, given not-so-terrible advice, advised you not to listen to just one person’s advice (which in itself is one wicked conundrum), but most of all I’ve healed a part of me I forgot was broken.

Being alone all the time is great, but it is important to come up for air every now and again. And I’m not advocating that you need to go outside and run around. Hell no. The sun is for suckers. I’m just saying that it’s good for the soul to just listen to people. Let them tell you about themselves. Let them ask you questions. Let yourself respond to them as honestly as you can in the moment. Be there for a complete stranger.

You’ll have no idea how much our conversations have meant to me over the years. I hope that they don’t stop coming. I apologize for the drought in responses in both actual mail and electronic mail. I aim to start responding to all later this week. You see, I was anticipating a mental breakdown…

Which brings me back to Doe. A deer? A female deer.

The truth is, I’ve been bursting into tears spontaneously out of nowhere. No reason. And no feelings attached to it that I’m aware of. I’ll be mowing the lawn or seal-coating the driveway or emptying out the dishwasher and suddenly I’ll just start crying. IT’S FUCKING WEIRD. I’m comfortable enough with myself to just let it happen, but I am bummed that I don’t have any feelings associated with it. Any psychiatrists out there? Just kidding (but not really).

Did I mention I somehow graduated from high school without ever having learned how to write a proper paper? Can I file this post under poetry? Or claim artistic license or shenanigans? How exactly does shenanigans work? (Rhetorical).

My best attempt at psychoanalysis is this:

I’ve created unattainable goals for myself as a performer and a human which, without fail, I always fall short of. This allows me to focus on my shortcomings (and how to overcome them) rather than dealing with having any real feelings about things, one way or the other.

Maybe now the non-feeling feelings are all coming up. After a lifetime of muscling my way through things, now not having things to muscle through, I’m left to deal with the feelings I’ve refused to have to begin with.

Or maybe it’s more simple than that.

Maybe I’m strangely mourning the loss of identity. For what feels like my entire life I’ve been identified one way, as “that guy with the hair who…” And now that’s gone and I need to find a new identity. But it’s not really gone. And I don’t care to find a new identity. I’m totally fine being known as “that guy with the hair who…”

But things are different now. And the weight of that is everywhere.

In summation, I just want to thank you for digging the tunes that we made, and for coming out to shows, and for sharing your stories with me. Despite all of my overthinkingness, I have had an incredible ride. You have helped define me as a human on planet earth and I will be forever grateful for that.

Hopefully I will see you again someday, further down the river, and we can exchange tales of this and that, and learn a little something new about ourselves in the process.

Much love.

-Justin.

Hi :)

Hi everyone :) My name is Emma and I am 16 years old from the USA. 

My interests are art, baking, music, and reading. I love traveling and fashion too. I would love to learn any other languages (currently learning Spanish and Mandarin). I love learning new things, so maybe we can teach each other. 

Some Favorites: 

-Favorite Artist: Andy Warhol

-Favorite TV: Once Upon A Time, Gilmore Girls

-Favorite Book: can’t decide, too many to choose!

Favorite Youtuber: Liza Koshy 

I honestly am good with any kind of communication (snail mail or electronic). But maybe work our way up to video chatting or meeting up?

My perfect pen pal is someone who is around the same age of 16. Other than that, I am openminded to race and gender. I like someone who I can joke around with but also have serious conversations. As I mentioned before, it would be cool to meet up. 

Contact me: emmazcheung @ yahoo .com

Me trying to act natural asking editors for their email addresses on Twitter: “Hello, if it mightn’t be too much of a burden, might thou’st provideth an electronic mail to whom’st I could sendeth und pitch?”

Hello everyone!

My name is Amber, I will be 23 (this Saturday!) and I’m from the U.S.

I don’t really have the ideal pen-pal in mind; I’m just a down-to-earth person who enjoys life and making the most of it. I am highly conversational and have no bias towards gender, sexuality, race, religion, etc, because I love everyone! I would really love to have a pen-pal from the UK, however, location will not be an issue in the least. I am highly interested in letter writing; I think it is a very personal form of communication, and while I am no artist, I love to doodle and create my own stationary! I would also love to send little gifts and things to my pal (I love DIYing and getting crafty), but I will also be completely open to electronic mail as well :) I don’t want this post to drag on, so if you’re interested feel free to contact me at:

ambernolan@ymail.com

or at my tumblr: https://littledaisychain.tumblr.com/