Demodus graduates
d e v o n
NASA
No title available
dirt enthusiast
almost home
Peter Solarz

JVL
DEAR READER
art blog(derogatory)
hello vonnie

Love Begins
AnasAbdin
Sweet Seals For You, Always
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
RMH
sheepfilms
No title available
Three Goblin Art
Jules of Nature
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Germany
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@nimblermortal
Demodus graduates
Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:
Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.
You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.
When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.
A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)
Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)
The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.
Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.
Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.
As someone who spent over a decade catering luxury events, let me add some back of house info:
These events are almost always open bar. They're not trying to make their money back on alcohol. They want you to drink and eat and donate generously.
If there are cocktails, there will be at most two on offer, pre-made in large tubs. You cannot order a different version, it is what it is.
There are two types of events: cocktail style or seated. The first includes roaming hors d'oeuvres or a fancy buffet with tiny plates called a grazing station. For a long night, the roaming food will get a little bigger throughout the evening and have a 'main' at some point based around a protein.
A seated event will usually be more structured and may include multiple courses. Silver service is not in vogue anymore. You are likely to get either alternating meals brought to you like at a wedding, or served banquet style. A good caterer can get a plate to everyone in a 300 person event in about three minutes.
Drunk people are the same no matter how expensive their suits. They still laugh too loud, spill their drinks and slip on the dance floor. They are usually less embarrassed about doing coke in the bathrooms.
A full scale event that starts at 6pm will have staff arriving at noon to begin setup. Earlier if there's a light show or pyrotechnics. Typically venues don't just have 30 tables and three hundred chairs lying around, let alone table cloths, chair covers, etc. It's all rented and brought in on the day. Bands and DJs will be running audio tests in the background throughout.
Most heritage buildings that host these things, like museums and manor houses, aren't really designed for them. They might put down mats so you're not walking in stilettos over two hundred year old wooden floors, the kitchens are weirdly far away, and there are not enough taps. There is never anywhere for staff to sit, so if you open the wrong door you might find half a dozen waiters sitting on upturned milk crates in a room full of million dollar paintings, eating the left over bread.
Really old buildings don't have enough bathrooms, which means the staff will be sharing with the guests.
Clean up starts the second the event ends, if not sooner. Unattended glasses will start to disappear first, then table decorations. When the timer ticks over, the lights come back on and exhausted staff strip the tables, pack up dirty glasses and unopened wine bottles and have to Tetris it all into the back of a van. The venue is booked for that day only, so everything has to be gone before anyone can go home. A large event that finishes at midnight might take until 3am to be cleared away.
These are very long and physically demanding nights for anyone working them. The staff all get to know each other, and will absolutely notice someone trying to sneak in wearing a borrowed uniform. They are not being paid enough to care.
Reopened Storygraph for the first time in years and it's putting books in front of me that are calculated to enrage me. I'm going to invent a corporate ladder of haterism because baby I have bullet points
@sanguineshadows
I will regret this and shouldn't make wheels at 2am but
This tumblr sexyman is your son!
Are you proud of him
yes!
somewhat
I shouldn't be but yes
No
NO.
I'm disowning him
I am scared of him
Results
(sorry if your favourite is not in this poll, I went mostly off the contenders from this year's poll and the classics)
Jack Skellington gets a somewhat, because at least he realized he supremely fucked up and did try to make amends.
Who is Jon Sims? Is he the Magnus Archives guy?
Yeah he has eyeballs I think.
Most people have eyeballs.
I am estranged from my son. He never calls. I don't know what he's doing. I stalk his friends on Facebook and I think he's got a library degree, or maybe archiving. That's... Good, I guess, but I don't remember my son having the sort of selfless dedication to serving the population that I associate with librarians. I will petition the city council to increase library funding anyway.
Someone tell me to go to bed please?
I will regret this and shouldn't make wheels at 2am but
This tumblr sexyman is your son!
Are you proud of him
yes!
somewhat
I shouldn't be but yes
No
NO.
I'm disowning him
I am scared of him
Results
(sorry if your favourite is not in this poll, I went mostly off the contenders from this year's poll and the classics)
Jack Skellington gets a somewhat, because at least he realized he supremely fucked up and did try to make amends.
Who is Jon Sims? Is he the Magnus Archives guy?
Scientists found a massive underwater wall in France that might help explain the origin of the legend of Ys.
my bonnies
Fish woes, or sorroe,
Fishtress
Excruciafin
Trial and trigillation
Dire straits
Diffigillty
Fish woes, or sorroe,
@shadowen
This was conceived in response to this AO3 fic.
None of the things I have sent you are going on AO3. I just don't want to be in a fandom with that many people in it at this time.
I can't help it that Aabria Iyengar makes the best and most fun side characters and therefore has to be in everything
"Okay, so," said Occtis. "How did I do?"
"Eh?"
"You can give me your honest feedback or," he leaned over and began rummaging in a drawer, "I have a rubric. However you'd like to do this. Because I didn't figure I'd be much good at this the first time, or, well, ever. But I know that I can learn. So."
He must have upended half the bedside table pulling the paper out from the bottom. It was, perhaps predictably, a chart, with columns for intensity, generosity, responsiveness, restraint, and stamina. Each column had a score from one to five and tiny script detailing what the value meant.
"I figured those were the main ones, but in retrospect I should have added kink," said Occtis.
"Occtis," said Julien. "I hate this with every fiber of my being. But as a man who has trained many men. I think you need to hear it."
"Oh?" Occtis asked.
"Pobody's nerfect," said Julien with great pain.
"Pobody's... Nerfect," Occtis repeated, with even greater concentration and obviously no understanding. He repeated it as if it might be an arcane incantation that he had failed to understand, and then brightened. "Oh! Pobody's nerfect. That's clever."
"No," said Julien, regretting everything. "It's not."
----
They stared with some horror at the horde of encroaching zombies.
"Okay," said Occtis. "Breathe deep. Pobody's nerfect." He began reciting a spell.
"You fucked this boy?" Thaisha asked Julien in disbelief. "You did? This boy?"
"It's worse than that," Julien said as an enormous ball of fire engulfed the entire field below. He set off without turning to beat the shit out of anyone not clever enough to stay down. "I taught him the phrase."
Thaisha looked out across the field of scattered, charred limbs where she once had seen her doom. "Boy can say whatever he wants," she concluded.
I’m going to level with you. I have listened to The Devil Went Down to Georgia for most of my life. We were a country music household, this was a staple of my childhood along with Johnny Cash, Garth Brooks, and that one Chipmunks country album.
I have no idea what “Fire on the mountain run boys run/The Devil's in the house of the rising sun/Chicken in the bread pan picking out dough/Granny does your dog bite no child no” means and at this point I’m too scared to ask.
For once I can be of assistance.
Each of the lyrics comes from an old-time hickory song for fiddles, and is a lyric from that corresponding song.
"Fire on the Mountain" --> "Fire on the Mountain, run boys run"
Fire On The Mountain - Fiddle Player POV
"The House of the Rising Sun" --> "The Devil's in the house of the rising sun"
House of the Rising Sun
"Ida Red" --> "Chicken in the bread pan peckin' out dough"
Ida Red - Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys
"Granny Will Your Dog Bite" --> "Granny does your dog bite? 'No child, no'."
FTC #149 Granny Will Your Dog Bite
And for your furthered education, The Mountain Whipporwill.
Mountain Whippoorwill (aka How Hillbilly Jim Won the Great Fiddler's Prize)
this is the key part of the song, that a lot of people miss. people have this misconception that the contest between Johnny and The Devil is about who is the better fiddle player. but it isn't. its about who is the better fiddler.
in a time before things like radios and record players, every time you heard music was because there was somebody in the room with you playing an instrument. and many, many, many social events involved dancing, which requires music. so, if you're planning any kind of gathering in the american south or appalachia, you need to find a fiddler. and the fiddler's job is to play music that everybody knows and likes and can dance to.
the mistake The Devil makes in his bet with Johnny is that he misinterprets the contest as being about technical ability, so he has this big flashy song. he plays fast and impressively with a band of demons playing unfamiliar instruments in unfamiliar rhythms. he's definitely more skilled at playing than Johnny, and thinks he has it in the bag.
but Johnny wins because the contest is about being the best fiddler. the song uses these lines mentioned above as a shorthand for saying that Johnny is playing these songs. Johnny launches into a set of the most popular songs, played well, and that's what gives him his big win. A good fiddler knows all the hits, and can read the room to know what to play next. The Devil loses because he completely fails to read the room, and doesn't know the right songs.
feedist kinktober 27 : boozy belly
this was one of the first things i wrote about em. i'm not the best at writing dialogues so i hope it's not to clunky, enjoy!
God, can you imagine someone from Finland (or wherever) heading to a Midwestern state fair and eating every variety of fried thing imaginable?
I have started following the journey of a German soccer fan in the US for the world cup
@laeffy the euros have found buc-ee's
They just invented the world’s fastest sandwich. They’re calling it the autobáhn mì