okay but imagine bees with tiny flower crowns
the tiniest flowers i could find
sending “I hope you get that job” vibes to the people out here tryna get jobs
reblogging for yall bc the shit worked for me lol
Karma will pop me if I don’t
1. At some point a composer thought to himself, “You know what would be cool? A musical about cats where all the characters are cats.”
2. The composer likely shared his idea with friends, family members, and colleagues. At least a few people in his life said, “A musical about cats where all the characters are cats? That sounds like a good idea for a musical.” These loved ones apparently harbored no ill will or malice toward the composer, and their support was genuine and not part of any elaborate plan to humiliate or ruin him.
3. Around this time, the title “Cats” was conceived to really play off of the overwhelmingly cat-centric content of the musical.
4. A first draft was written. This draft included moments where cats sing, dance, and tell stories, setting up a conceptual framework wherein the cats are magic and vying for a spot in cat heaven.
5. A second draft was written in which the composer, who was actually already kind of successful, read over his musical about cats called Cats where all the characters are cats and attempted to identify weaknesses and correct them. In spite of this, the second draft of Cats was still a musical about cats.
6. The song “Memory,” the grand dramatic climax of Cats, was completed. The final crescendo of the song, and thus the emotional apex of the musical about cats, featured a cat belting the lyric, “Touch me!” The composer played this song for his father, who continued to love and respect his son and did not say anything to the tune of, “This is ridiculous and you are wasting your life.”
7. The musical about Cats was pitched to a producer who did not immediately kick the composer out of his office. In fact, the producer agreed that the musical about Cats was a good idea for a musical and was willing to put up a great deal of money, like fucking $5,000,000, to produce the musical for a public audience. That $5,000,000 is not a metaphorical $5,000,000 exaggerated for emphasis, but the literal amount of money spent to produce Cats, a musical about cats where all the characters are cats.
8. Auditions were held. People of sound mind and solid judgement willingly chose to participate in these auditions. It is conceivable that a very talented young actress on the cusp of a promising career was rejected by the producers for not sounding enough like a cat.
9. A choreographer, makeup artist, costume designer, and set designer were all hired, knowingly attaching their names to the project. None demanded to work under a pseudonym, none were being blackmailed, and none were working on the musical in order to pay back a blood debt.
10. During rehearsals, the director likely angrily shouted, “No, damn it! More like a cat!”
11. Cats, the musical about cats where all the characters are singing and dancing cats, opened to the public. It was neither financially nor critically a complete and massive failure. Without having to be motivated by morbid curiosity, actual human beings paid money to see Cats, and theater critics, with no trace of sarcasm or irony, declared Cats a hit, encouraging even more mentally stable adults to pay their hard-earned cash to see other mentally stable adults dress up like cats and dance around for two hours.
12. Not satisfied with simply existing, Cats won the Tony Award for best musical in 1983, permanently recording in time a moment where three other musical productions were told, “I’m sorry, but there is a musical with singing and dancing cats that is better than your musical.”
13. Cats has since been translated into over 20 languages, meaning this isn’t just one of those white people things. Some productions have grossed over $155 million dollars, up $155 million dollars from what rational thought would lead one to guess it would gross. Cats went on to run longer than any other Broadway musical in history. No, seriously. I shit you not, it continues to be a beloved musical today.
i think we all need to take a moment and revisit this in this trying time.
- me, ordering a drink at starbucks: i'll have a large caramel macchiato
- barista: you mean a venti?
- me, understanding that the barista does not make up the names for the sizes and it is in fact part of her job to clarify what i am ordering to avoid mistakes in my order: yeah, a venti. thanks.
somebody once trolled me, successfully rickroll’d me
im not the sharpest n00b in the thread…
I was typing kind of dumb WITH THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON ON.
i bet u thought this post was finally dead
well the memes start coming, and they dont stop coming
grabbing all the breadsticks, I’ll leave the shop running
didn’t make sense not to live for
gun
your left side’s beef but your pizza none
So much reblog
It’s very wow
Can this Doge meme finally die now?
It’s spoopy how fast the memes spread
They’ll never die until we’re [glances at smudged writing on hand] bread
Amanda Palmer, eight months pregnant and exquisitely painted, recreates Damien Hirst’s Verity statue (top) in a performance art piece for the New York Public Library’s children’s book drive. Proud papa-to-be Neil Gaiman (bottom) extends a loving hand to this modern-day nude descending a staircase, after donating a copy of his own charming children’s book, Chu’s Day.
For more of Palmer’s beautiful bibliophilia, treat yourself to her bewitching poetry readings of Polish Nobel laureate Wislawa Szymborska.
It seems like a hundred years ago, she was pregnant. Now everything is baby…
newfavething asked:
When you have time, would you tell us something about the Annunciation?
notbecauseofvictories answered:
i. there’s this girl.
there’s this girl, and she lives in a village that barely earns the name—not even five hundred souls, living off rock and scrub, but there are flocks of goats in the hills and one synagogue hewn from stone, older than she has memory.
nothing good comes from galilee, they say, but her mother is there, and her brothers, the half dozen girls she has know since they were all babes gumming at their mothers’ teats, and yoseph, whose carpentry-rough hands cradled hers when he said, I will ask your father, I will.
the sky is vast and blue over nazareth, and it is almost enough to fill her arms.
.
ii. one day she comes back from the well, and there is an angel sitting at the table of her father. It has many eyes that blink languidly at her, and a circlet of fire at its temples; at her coming, it rises to its feet (a brightness that goes up, and up, having to crane its neck to fit beneath the thatched ceiling) and says, hail maryam, full of grace, the Lord is with you.
(its voice is like summer thunder, iron on iron)
be not afraid, the angel says more gently, for maryam’s breathing has gone ragged, her heart stuttering in her chest. you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name yeshua.
how? she demands, though her voice breaks on the word and she feels light-headed. yoseph, she thinks. oh yoseph. I am not yet married.
er, the angel answers, and none of its eyes will meet hers. you might want to sit down for this bit.
