Anonymous asked: hey hey happy thoughts, what's one of your favorite memories(that you feel comfortable sharing?)
It’s the early 00s. I’m living in Bath, and I’m in Moles club. This isn’t unusual. It’s Thursday, so I’m going to be in this place, which basically does the indie-club-with-bands thing better than any place I’ve ever been in my life.
Something else is happening this evening - the Three Tenors are playing the park. The vast majority of the town seems to be there, at this enormous public event - basically, it seems like everyone other than us. We’re in this hole beneath the ground, dancing and sweating and doing the usual.
2am hits. There’s a crowd-sized laugh as the DJ drops NESSUN DORMA.
Queue communal faux-opera singing. In the middle of this, one guy climbs onto one of the small tables, and thrusts his arms forward, as if he’s on the prow of a viking longboat. Four or five friends gather around, and push the table forward. The guy doesn’t change his pose, and is propelled triumphantly towards the centre of the dancefloor. The entire club goes on their knees, reaching out towards him in waves of hands.
The song reaches its climax. Everyone cheers, laughs and turns to go home.
The DJ drops Bowie’s HEROES.
Major turns minor, the crowd turns to each other and dances with all the sad tragedy that the song demands. Everything seems very precise and very meaningful, moving from a us-and-them, to an everyone, admitting difference while embracing a shared humanity and everything and everything and everything.
It’s not always the big things that seem big.
Years and years ago, there was a production of The Tempest, out of doors, at an Oxford college on a lawn, which was the stage, and the lawn went back towards the lake in the grounds of the college, and the play began in natural light. But as it developed, and as it became time for Ariel to say his farewell to the world of The Tempest, the evening had started to close in and there was some artificial lighting coming on. And as Ariel uttered his last speech, he turned and he ran across the grass, and he got to the edge of the lake and he just kept running across the top of the water — the producer having thoughtfully provided a kind of walkway an inch beneath the water. And you could see and you could hear the plish, plash as he ran away from you across the top of the lake, until the gloom enveloped him and he disappeared from your view.
And as he did so, from the further shore, a firework rocket was ignited, and it went whoosh into the air, and high up there it burst into lots of sparks, and all the sparks went out, and he had gone.
When you look up the stage directions, it says, ‘Exit Ariel.’"
— Tom Stoppard, University of Pennsylvania, 1996 (via flameintobeing)
When it comes to superheroes, I’m less “who would win in a fight” and more “who would sing what on karoke night?”
Less “could x beat up y” and more “what would x cook if s/he knew y was coming over for dinner?”