At a school where I used to be, our art department was commissioned to design a school emblem. It was chosen, painted all over, embossed on all our stationery.
You got it. One of the words was misspelled. I won no friends when I pointed it out.
None of us are good at seeing mistakes in our work. That’s why we need our wonderful betas.
Everyone is in such a hurry at the end of the year – testing is barely finished when awards ceremonies start and teachers are crazy and miss some of the most important stuff. Did they just die when it was pointed out?’
I don’t know, but I suspect the ribbons were probably purchased a while ago by the PTA, so it’s definitely not on the teachers…either parent volunteers or the administrators. Still funny though.
I’ve made a lot of progress on the inexperienced!Zach fic in the past few days, and it’s been aaaages since I’ve shared anything, so have a snippet!
Zach doesn’t even find out Chris is back in LA until they run into each other out of the blue. It’s early morning, and Zach has made the stroll down the street to the the local coffee shop in hopes that some fresh air and caffeine will jump-start his energy level. He has just put out his hand to open the door when someone scoots around him and gets there first. Before he can work up a head of frustration, a familiar voice says, “Zach,” and Zach turns to find himself staring into familiar blue eyes.
Chris must have just finished up a run, because he’s sweaty and breathing hard, his t-shirt clinging to his chest. He reaches up to push his hair off his forehead, making it stick up in spikes, then motions for Zach to go ahead of him into the shop, obviously eager to get out of the heat and into the air-conditioning. Zach skitters past him inside, then lingers, trying to come up with something to say. They haven’t spoken in weeks—not really. Every now and then he would get a text from Chris, a polite How’s the show going? or some tidbit from Chris’s own filming adventures, but none of it really sparked much of a conversation. Zach couldn’t help but feel like it was just more pity, so he kept his answers short, not wanting to waste too much of Chris’s time. And Chris never pushed too hard, so it was easy for Zach to assume he was right.
Now, he is at a loss, but Chris doesn’t seem in a hurry to jump into small talk anyway—possibly in part because his chest is still heaving in attempt to catch his breath. He puts a friendly hand on Zach’s elbow, nudging him toward the line, and they head over in tandem. When Chris’s arm drops back to his side, Zach still feels the impression of his fingertips.
“I think there are probably better places to go for your post-run hydration,” Zach says at last, hoping he sounds quippy rather than overly eager to break the silence.
Chris scoffs, swiping his forearm across his forehead. “Nuh-uh. I’ve earned this. Gatorade is for the weak.” Zach laughs, and it makes him grin, like he’s proud of himself. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Yeah,” Zach says. “I live just around the corner.”
“Hey, me too.” Chris thumps him on the shoulder. Is he extra tactile right now, or is Zach just hyper-aware of him? “We must be neighbors.”
It’s a wonder they haven’t run into each other here before, Zach thinks. Or maybe they have, back before they knew each other. Maybe Chris would blend into the background if Zach didn’t already know how he lights up in the spotlight, or if he wasn’t intimately acquainted with the plushness of his mouth. Then again…Zach’s gaze catches on a bead of sweat as it rolls down his neck and disappears under the collar of his shirt, and Chris catches him staring and smiles, his eyes crinkling. Then again, Zach amends, maybe not.
My 6th grader came home today with a ribbon for having gotten a 4.0 her whole year of 6th grade. Which I’m of course uber proud of
But… and I shit you not… this beautiful red ribbon lettered in gold with the year and the school seal says “EXCELENCE”
And apparently one of the other sixth graders in her class told the Principal (who has a doctorate in education) “Thanks for the ribbon. You misspelled Excellence.”
And I’m just howling. This might be my favorite story from middle school so far.
Talk about wordplay/foreplay. Ever heard a model talk like this?
“…this new fragrance, Profumo, which is really wonderful and intricate and complex.“
“Succinctly speaking,” he continues, “this line of [the Armani Code] fragrances runs the gamut from the top citrus notes to the deep bottom base notes of tobacco and leather and patchouli, all these things that I tend to love. If you like fragrance and you like it to be well-made, I think you’ll find it here.”
"It’s perfectly timed for this fall, as a fall fragrance, I guess,” he says. “I’m just kind of making that up,” Pine says. “But I say that insofar as it has those kind of notes that are redolent of smoke and leather chairs and sitting around the fire and sharing a great meal and conversations.”
***
“Loooooove overalls,” he says, genuinely enthusiastic. “Overalls are great! Great movement of air happening in the overalls. Great storage device in overalls, harkening back to my love of trains as a child.”
“They’re super fucking comfortable, and I like the blue stripes,” he says. “But you can create whatever narrative you want about it.”
He seems pretty confident to just wear/be/do whatever feels right. He collects blankets? He likes to be comfy. They’re “comfies”.
yes, that’s how he thinks of them, but that doesn’t help the reader envision them either. I’m just going to stick with harem pants. He doesn’t have to be PC in his own head.
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