#oh rose

[cheesecakeonthelanai]

The Golden Girls - Favourite Moments

Season 5, Episode 20 - “Twice in a Lifetime”

[opera-ghosts]

OTD in Music History: Obscure but historically important Armenian-Soviet composer, conductor, and pedagogue Alexander Afanasyevich Spendiaryan (1871 - 1928) -- who often went by "Spendiarov" -- is born in what is now modern-day Ukraine. Spendiarov is a little-known figure today, except in Armenia, where he is still celebrated as the "Father of Armenian Symphonic Music." After obtaining a law degree in Moscow in 1894, Spendiarov traveled to St. Petersburg to show some musical compositions that he had composed in his spare time to legendary Russian composer Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844 - 1908). Rimsky-Korsakov was highly complementary, and, from 1896 to 1900, Spendiarov stayed on and studied music privately with him; according to fellow composer Alexander Glazunov (1865 - 1936), Rimsky-Korsakov always “considered [Spendiarov] to be a serious and talented composer with a great flair for composition.” In the best works dating from his mature years, Spendiarov cultivated a type of late-Romantic Russian “orientalism” in which the elements of folk songs native to the peripheral regions of the Old Russian Empire were adroitly arranged and decked out in the colorful harmonies of the Russian "Nationalist" school of music spear-headed by Rimsky-Korsakov and his colleagues in "The Mighty Five." Spendiarov's relocation from Crimea to Yerevan, Armenia, in in the early 1920s had a significant impact on his creative activities. In Armenia, he focused more of his time on teaching (he was one of the first significant figures to support the young Aram Khachaturian), helped to organize the first symphony orchestra ever assembled in the country, and spent a significant amount of time studying and transcribing Armenian folk music. When Spendiarov died from pneumonia in 1928, he was widely mourned as a national cultural hero. PICTURED: A beautiful publicity photo showing the middle-aged Spendiarov, which he signed and inscribed to a friend in Yalta in 1913.

[rosemarytrash]

Oh yeah, this is the good stuff!

no this is the good stuff

[playlistcenter]

222

it's early morning, or maybe late night. you don't really care, because you're in a 24/7 diner with the person you love.

[spilledmilk4]

couples who jog together make me SICK jk i love them

Rose: “hmmm is she checking you out or me?”

Alexander: *eyeroll emoji*

[strongblacklesbian]

A Fic Fairy wrote:

This universe needs a Doctor. Rose needs a Doctor, because her half-human (far too human) Doctor is gone and she knows what it is to outlive everyone you love, her only company self-important naïve Torchwood personnel and the golden wolf dozing in some far corner of her mind, and she is so alone. She drowns herself in field work, despite protests about how valuable she is to the agency, far too valuable to risk like that — because if there is a Doctor to be found, it will be out among the stars, among the bizarre and dangerous and wonderful. Hope wears away at her, though, and so she tucks it beside the wolf, beside her past, beside a lonely beach in Norway and an even lonelier bedside in Torchwood’s intensive care wing, and focuses on saving the universe one more time.

It’s in a department store, a towering forty-third construct but a department store nonetheless, that she pulls a blond-haired woman away from a sparking console, and an all-too familiar current flashes up her fingers, and sudden tears prick her gaze. “Doctor,” Rose whispers, as the woman yanks her arm away from her, opening her mouth to ask, furiously, she knows, just what Rose thinks she’s doing, and who is she anyways? Shuddering, taking in the hoodie, the fingerless gloves, the sonic in her hand, the dark roots — like her own platinum-dyed hair, far too long ago — Rose reaches for her hand again, unable to stop herself. Rose needs her Doctor, and the Doctor needs Rose, he told her long ago. “Doctor, you don’t know me yet, but my name is Rose Tyler.” A tremor rocks the building, rocks both of them — Rose can see it in her eyes — as she laces their fingers together. “Run.”

[levan-art]

I’m DEAD.

[cottonto]

I’m dug from the rubble and cut from the kill.