"2008 was a monster; 2009 was a poltergeist."

OH GOD

obsessed

with these blogs about good-looking, West Indian twenty-something hipsters who rap or model or style and photograph themselves----
this one's sorta whatever....but this one linked by the other is mad engaging, like a Katy Keene digest.

In mid-December 2005, I was calling for a car to Laguardia on the first morning of the transit strike. I was packing a duffel in my boyfriend's ground floor Bushwick bedroom and eating an egg and cheese and making up my mind to never come back (or something). It had been a miserable visit, one of several under the guise of "temporary distance." That autumn, my parents had insisted I move home to Memphis and my education (I had been unenrolled and unemployed and staying up all night for too many months). I believed I would reapply to school in the City, and, in the meantime, fly up (on my parents' dime) as often as I could to "keep my 'LIFE IN NEW YORK' and relationship as whole as possible." I hadn't accounted for seasons, or for growing up. I had left in August, the most fantastically grubby summer, bounding up and down the Avenues, rolling up and down Cedar Hill, feckless, oozing privilege in the form of friends and false hardtimes and false hardtimes outfits. But each visit subsequent to my dramatic departure brought cooler weather and a narrowing of democracy, the openness of Warm New York gave way to the prick of achey, mean-spirited Cold New York, where wandering and smiling are discouraged. And we were falling out of love. The more I took in the tonic of life with my family and schoolwork, the less the messy, party-addled life of my boyfriend and Co. made sense to me. I had, as he had predicted months before (being a good deal older and sort of wiser), begun to read the vast difference between us, where we were, where we would go, where we came from. So I flew South. We broke up a few weeks later. And when my letter of acceptance to that New York school arrived in Spring '06, I joyfully declined.

This "vintage" 2005 Gawker post reposted the other day made me think about my own December 2005. And also how much I despise Gawker, their damn unstylishness, general vileness. And then this little contest. It's endless...their obsession with Paul and a thing that happened (and then also didn't) here in the almost over Aughts. And I've been un poco obsessed too, in so much as I wanted to better understand my past relationship and glimpse at a mean scene and also why it stopped or changed or kept going, why I left up out and Hollywood moved in....whatever. I'm being cryptic and also obvious and boring myself (and likely you) with stuff I've written about before.

Now, it's winter 2009 and I live here all of the time. And I work, which is terrible. I live here because it was inevitable, because I was born here and I have friends and family here and there was nothing for me to do in Memphis. But, you know, I hate it. I hate never being in control of when or how I get home at the end of the day (or night)—not having a car. I hate schlepping (more than ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD). I hate not having a porch or a grill or a decent grocery store or mega-store. I hate how I never see friends who live in 'inconvenient neighborhoods' or in neighborhoods too far from my 'inconvenient neighborhood.' I just hate inconvenience and bad weather and having to schlep in bad weather. But most of all I hate Gawker and their insistence that New York is a place just for drugs and drink and misery and social-climbing and...hate...the kind of hate that's currently spewing out of me. Gosh. It's just winter (the absolute overatedness of seasons!). And how expensive everything is so I think I'll never be able to leave. Hating New York/taking it for granted is utterly normal, and our right. And I will have no problem going someplace else when I'm older.

But of course I love it too. I must. I just haven't viewed the City as a vehicle for luck and power and bright futures so much as I did in that warm part of 2005 (or the preceding 14 years of family trips and luncheons and movies). And how could I when that view was all airy fiction, candied stories with gaping holes, sheer ego? The way I love New York now comes in fits and starts or it's so basic I can't read it clearly.
I love trains, subway and commuter, as long as they're not so full. I love being able to board a train and get out of Town or get back in, fall in love, take a seat, give someone a seat, read an article.
I love the other morning I went to Chinatown and it was sunny and freezing. Canal Street was empty and so I got to look up (at the peaks of the Financial District) and move slowly. It was warm in Big Wong on Mott Street and the fellow behind the counter remembered me and we had a nice chat.
I love parks (actually used by grown-ups, not just teens scamming for homeless folks to buy them booze).
I love America.
I love museums.
I love Brighton Beach, and that it's close to our apartment.
I love cops and firemen.
I love the News.
I love bodegas. SO MUCH.
I love black plastic bags.
I love sandwiches.
I love garbage chutes.
I love cabs (though I can hardly afford them anymore).
I love restaurants, at peak or nearly empty.
I love, though I complain about congestion (and bad manners) bitterly, being around people—strangers—having to look at them and sometimes talk to them, walk beside them or behind them, hear them speak.
I love rivers.
I love the familiar geography, that I know where the water and bridges are, where the ground elevates, what places are called.
I love doormen (I don't have one but I like passing them and nodding, up and down Park Avenue).
I love baseball.
I love hotels.
I love business (or it's men, buildings and papers).
I love roofs.
I love being alone.
I love districts and boroughs.
I love heights.
I love elevators.
I love pigeons.
I love sycamores.
I love ginkgos.
I love Permissions, the big, careless permissiveness (sometimes indifference) of the place.
I love auction houses.
I sort of love department stores.
I love small, uncomfortable movie houses.
I love moldings and masonry.
I love tables on the sidewalk.
I love fountains, marble public spaces.
I love benches.
I love signs.
I love windows.

hell

Melky Cabrera traded to the fucking Braves. I'm applying to grad school and I think I have three bed bug bites.

This is the coat I want, exactly as I've been describing it---hibernation in motion!

Memento Mori

specs

Sob

at the beach

specs

Christmas

Alicia Keys is corny. Not slickly schmaltzy like Leona Lewis (who I love), but corny. Occasionally it makes her insupportable in outfits and a few songs, standing while she plays the piano. But mostly (at least musically) the corniness is perfect, as in her hook for "Empire State of Mind" or her 2003 single (with Mos-featuring video) "You Don't Know My Name." This new track, "Try Sleeping With a Broken Heart" (off a record called [ahem] The Element of Freedom) is that exact kind of perfect corn, sweetly, Reunion-ly old-school, making obvious choices with total earnestness. I would be terrified to write a chorus that goes, "So tonight I'm gonna find a way to make it without you/ I'm gonna hold onto the times we had..." But thank goodness Alicia isn't, ever-ready to soundtrack rolling credits and homecooked New Moon montages.

Love in This Club

In late 2004, Petrova and I (and a few other people but it was our idea) started saying "be Charlie Sheen" or "be Tony Danza," intermittently, as advice. The phrases were distinct. I think to be Tony meant to be fearless in a wholesome, fall-on-yr-face way (like having a talk show). And to be Charlie...well it's obvious (and pretty damn 19-year-old-y). The whole thing was so wrapped up in early statement t-shirts and trucker hats and Facebook culture and was totally suitable back then I swear.

Michael K posted this picture yesterday and then Pillow said something about it and it's mesmerizing.

Verses

Song
Frank O'Hara
(around 1959?)

Did you see me walking by the Buick Repairs?
I was thinking of you
having a Coke in the heat it was your face
I saw on the movie magazine, no it was Fabian's
I was thinking of you
and down at the railroad tracks where the station
has mysteriously disappeared
I was thinking of you
as the bus pulled away in the twilight
I was thinking of you
and right now

*teen drunks*

specs

oh no!---'those were gifts'...

Wassily Kandinsky
Composition IX
1936

specs

fire(y) sale

Verses

Transcript of The Hills, Season One, Episode One---
"New City, New Drama"

Lauren: (V.O.) Hi, I’m Lauren. I grew up in Laguna Beach, a small town with big drama. But now, it’s time for me to move on. I got an apartment with my good friend Heidi, I’m going to fashion school and I scored an interview for a killer internship with Teen Vogue. It’s my chance to make it all happen, in the one city where they say dreams come true.

CUT TO: Opening Credits

CUT TO: Hillside Villas

Lauren pulls in. She gets out of her car and walks to the back, where Heidi is laying by the pool.

Heidi: Hi! (Lauren runs up to Heidi) I’ve been so lonely.

Lauren: This is cute.

Heidi: Hi. (Hugs Lauren)

Lauren: Are you all moved in?

Heidi: No I didn’t do anything.

Lauren: Heidi!

Heidi: (Laughs) Well I think it’s like something we should do together like a bonding thing, you know?

Lauren: I wanna like see my apartment.

Heidi: Okay let’s go see it.

Lauren: Okay?

Heidi: Let’s go see it.

Lauren: Come on, come on. (It cuts to the apartment. Heidi opens the door)

Heidi: Close your eyes.

Lauren: Shh!

Heidi: Close your eyes. Surprise!

Lauren: I like the red.

Heidi: Isn’t it gorgeous?

Lauren: Oh my god.

Heidi: So we need to figure out how big we can get a couch here too.

Lauren: A really little one. (Lauren goes up the stairs)

Heidi: Isn’t upstairs awesome?

Lauren: Heidi?

Heidi: Yeah?

Lauren: The TV’s up here.

Heidi: Yeah. (Lauren comes downstairs) I can see myself like running up here like really hard.

Lauren: We can get a firepole. Like Whoo!

Heidi: What time is your Vogue thing today?

Lauren: 5:00.

Heidi: Are you nervous?

Lauren: Yeah.

Heidi: How are you gonna do your hair?

Lauren: I’m gonna do my hair normal.

Heidi: They’ll be like “Wow, you’re really fashionable you should work here”. (Lauren’s phone rings and she answers it)

Lauren: Hello? Yeah this is she. Oh, I can get there as soon as I can. K, bye. Okay, bye. (She hangs up her phone) My…the person I’m interviewing with has…

Heidi: What?

Lauren: She has an event tonight and they just asked if I can go be there in 20 minutes.

Heidi: What?

Lauren: Dude I have to get ready in ten minutes.

Heidi: What’s the look you’re going for?

Lauren: (Rubbing something on her face) I don’t know!

Heidi: Like sophisticated, cute?

Lauren: The look that I…I had till 5 to get ready! (Heidi is looking through a suitcase as Lauren puts on makeup) Okay shoot.

Heidi: Oh black cardigan found it.

Lauren: (Putting an iron on her skirt) Okay this is probably really bad for my skirt. (Heidi laughs)

Heidi: Uh yeah.

Lauren: It’s a flat iron, it irons my hair. I gotta go. (Puts on sunglasses as she runs out)

Heidi: Good luck!

Lauren: (Grabs her purse) Thank you!

Heidi: I’ll be by the pool if you need anything. Love you bye. (Heidi shuts the door after Lauren runs out)

CUT TO: Teen Vogue Offices

Lauren is going inside for her interview. A woman brings her into an office where a woman named Lisa Love is sitting at a desk.

Woman: Lisa this is Lauren.

Lisa: Hi Lauren. How are you?

Lauren: Nice to meet you.

Lisa: Nice to meet you. (The door is shut as Lauren sits down. Lisa’s phone rings) Can you hold on one second? I’m sorry. (Lisa answers the phone) Hello? Okay. (Lisa writes something down) Okay. (It shows things in the office as Lauren looks around) Okay thanks. (She hangs up the phone) Why Teen Vogue?

Lauren: Because I mean love Vogue, I’ve read Vogue for years and I love Teen Vogue because like that’s…that’s where I get ideas for everything I do and I like that it does have all the fashion and then like in every one they have like an issue that affects teens.

Lisa: Can you write?

Lauren: Can I…? Yeah.

Lisa: You can? Good?

Lauren: Um well, I enjoy writing.

CUT TO: Hillside Villas

Heidi is by the pool talking with Audrina when Lauren shows up.

Heidi: Hey baby.

Lauren: Hello.

Heidi: Lauren this is Audrina, Audrina this is Lauren.

Lauren: Hi. (They shake hands) Nice to meet you.

Audrina: Nice to meet you. (Lauren sits down)

Heidi: This is my first new friend in LA.

Lauren: Oh are you having a hard day, babe?

Heidi: I’ve been very busy.

Lauren: Heidi!

Heidi: I had to make friends for us! All right so let’s hear about it.

Lauren: I seriously hope I get it. I’m gonna be so bummed if I don’t.

Audrina: What intern did you apply for?

Lauren: I applied for an internship with Teen Vogue.

Audrina: Oh okay. I’m sure you’ll get it.

Heidi: (To Audrina) Well you definitely have to hang out with us.

Audrina: Cool.

Heidi: You’re adopted. (Audrina laughs)

CUT TO: That Night – Geisha House

Everyone (Lauren, Heidi, Jordan, Brian Audrina) are there eating and talking.

Heidi: So what nights…how many nights do you work? (Heidi kisses Jordan’s cheek)

Audrina: Normally I usually work like 40 hours a week.

Jordan: Holy?! Full time?

Audrina: Yeah.

Jordan: I just really don’t like working.

Lauren: Guys, you know people do have full time jobs. Crazy thought I know like way out there.

Brian: I have a full time job. I go out every night. (Everyone laughs)

Audrina: That is a full time job itself.

Brian: Lauren when do you find out about your job or not if you get it?

Lauren: I don’t know. They said sometime this week. So hopefully like tomorrow or the next day.

Heidi: They wouldn’t leave you hanging.

Lauren: Yeah they would.

Audrina: Some people do; like they just…you don’t get a call back.

Heidi: It’ll happen. It’ll be good. (Lauren puts on a sad face and crosses her fingers) Teen Vogue.

Lauren: Thanks guys you’re so reassuring.

Jordan: Don’t worry about it you’ll get it.

CUT TO: FIDM – Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising – Registration Day

Lauren and Heidi are there to register.

Heidi: I can’t wait to start going out more.

Lauren: I know. But as soon as we start school it’s gonna be kinda hard ‘cause we’re gonna be busy.

Heidi: Crap, school gets in the way of everything. I’m like already like ready to finish.

Lauren: Heidi you haven’t even started here.

Heidi: I know. (A woman comes over to them)

Susan: You must be Heidi and Lauren.

Heidi: Yes.

Lauren: Hi. (They stand up)

Susan: I’m Susan Aronson.

Lauren: Hi.

Susan: Very nice to meet you.

Heidi: (Shakes her hand) Hi I’m Heidi.

Susan: Heidi, nice to meet you.

Heidi: Nice to meet you as well. I’m gonna start with you, Lauren.

Lauren: Okay.

Susan: (To Heidi) And then I’ll come out and meet with you right after that.

Heidi: Okay.

(Cuts to Susan’s office, where Lauren and Susan go inside and sit)

Susan: Come in. Have a seat and welcome to Los Angeles. I do want to tell you that we are very proud of you.

Lauren: Oh thank you.

Susan: Because we noticed your 3.6. It’s a whole new story.

Lauren: Yeah.

Susan: It’s almost one grade point above and that’s a wonderful beginning. How do you feel about your major, product development?

Lauren: I like it so far. I mean it seems like…I’ve kind of looked over ‘em all and this is definitely where I have the most interest.

Susan: You had an interview with Teen Vogue?

Lauren: Mm-hmm.

Susan: Oh that’s very exciting.

Lauren: I know. (Laughs)

Susan: It’s a great opportunity.

Lauren: Mm-hmm.

Susan: A lot of students would pay to have that opportunity.

Lauren: To work for Teen Vogue that’s like the top. When I get an opportunity like this that I’m really interested in, then I devote everything to it.

Susan: Well then like that…(Lauren crosses her fingers and they both laugh. It cuts to Heidi going in to talk with Susan. They both sit down)

Susan: Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.

Heidi: Oh it’s so pretty. Okay.

Susan: How would you characterize yourself as a high school student?

Heidi: I never learned anything, I never went to school, I never did anything, I just like went shopping and hung out.

Susan: Mm-hmm.

Heidi: Going out so…

Susan: Have you looked at the curriculum?

Heidi: No.

Susan: Have not looked at the curriculum?

Heidi: No.

Susan: Well let me ask you this: What do you…what are your goals?

Heidi: Well I wanna do PR. That’s like my ultimate goal. I wanna be like the fun party PR girl in LA type of thing so…um, that’s kind of what I wanna do, kind of more like the party scene.

Susan: Party scene. Mm-hmm. It usually takes someone being in the industry for a very long time to land on the fun type “I wanna organize the party position”.

Heidi: Really? It’s not like right away, you get to do that?

Susan: No.

Heidi: (Laughs) No?

Susan: No. I mean would you be willing to work in retail sales?

Heidi: You mean like actually working the floor and stuff?

Susan: Actually working the floor and stuff.

Heidi: Yeah I don’t think I could do that.

Susan: You couldn’t do that. Mm…mm-hmm. Are there any other majors you’re thinking about or other industries other than fashion?

Heidi: No.

Susan: You feel…are you sure you’re in the right college?

Heidi: Yeah.

CUT TO: Hillside Villas

Heidi and Lauren are in the apartment when Lauren’s phone rings.

Lauren: Can you get that? (Heidi hands Lauren the phone) Hello?

Chantal: Hi Lauren, it’s Chantal from Teen Vogue. I have Blaine on the phone for you.

Lauren: Oh okay.

Chantal: Can you hold please?

Lauren: Yeah. (Mouths “Teen Vogue” to Heidi)

Heidi: Teen Vogue? (Lauren nods)

Lauren: It’s a long hold. Hello?

Blaine: Hi Lauren, it’s Blaine. I’m one of the editors here at Teen Vogue.

Lauren: Hi.

Blaine: I just want to give you a little feedback.

Lauren: Okay.

Blaine: First of all it’s really tough for us to make this decision. There are not a lot of interns that uh, we find that are ready at the age of 19.

Lauren: Mm-hmm.

Blaine: it’s just uh, you need to have a lot of experience uh, in writing and in fashion and publicity and all of this stuff if you want to be an intern at Teen Vogue. So um, that said, Lisa really liked you and saw a lot of potential and we’d like to offer you an internship.

Lauren: Oh you had me nervous.

Heidi: You had me nervous.

Blaine: And we think it might be a good match and we, we have high hopes for you. So yeah again if you want to think about it and get back to us, that’s okay, um…

Lauren: Oh no I would like to formally accept.

Blaine: Okay great. Well then that works out really well. We’ll see you tomorrow.

Lauren: Thank you very much Blaine, bye. (Hangs up)

Heidi: Woo! What a freakin’ relief.

CUT TO: The Next Day – Teen Vogue Offices

Lauren is pulling in for her first day. It cuts to Lauren sitting in a chair, waiting. Another intern named Whitney comes in.

Woman: Hi

Whitney: Hello. Today’s my first day.

Woman: What’s your name?

Whitney: Whitney.

Woman: Whitney?

Whitney: Yeah.

Woman: (On the phone with Lisa) Hi Lisa, Whitney’s here in reception waiting for you. Okay great thanks. (Hangs up) She’ll be right out. You can just wait over here. (Points to where Lauren is)

Whitney: Okay. (Whitney sits down) Thank you.

Woman: Okay girls you ready? We’ll take you back now. (They get up and follow the woman) Okay Whitney you can have a seat right here. Lauren, you can sit right here. (The girls sit down) And someone will be with you in a minute. (The woman leaves) Bye.

Whitney: Thank you. This is awesome. I don’t want to touch anything because I don’t know what I’m allowed to touch yet. (Lauren’s computer makes a noise) You’re fired already. (Lauren laughs) You’re fired.

Blaine: (Comes in with a woman named Olivia) Hi this is Olivia.

Whitney: (Stands up and shakes her hand) Hi.

Blaine: Olivia this is Whitney.

Whitney: I’m Whitney nice to meet you.

Olivia: Nice to meet you. (Lauren stands up)

Blaine: This is Lauren.

Olivia: (Shakes Lauren’s hand) Hi.

Lauren: Hi.

Olivia: Good to meet you.

Blaine: Olivia is one of our fashion editors. I want to have her, you know check out your ensembles ‘cause we want to always look our best for Lisa.

Olivia: I just want like…I want to get something to commercial this a little bit maybe. (Puts a jacket on Lauren) So obviously the Teen Vogue style is all about the mix, which is why like a little jacket on top of this would really be ideal. (Goes on to Whitney) I feel like maybe it’s a little too matchy, matchy. We’ve kind of done the western look.

Whitney: Okay.

Olivia: (Grabs a belt. Whitney takes off the belt she has on) Why don’t you give that a whirl?

Whitney: Okay.

Olivia: It’s probably gonna be a little bit big on you but…

Whitney: Mm-hmm. (Puts the belt on)

Olivia: That looks great.

Blaine: Good, you happy?

Olivia: Just more Teen Vogue.

CUT TO: Lisa’s Office.

Whitney and Lauren come in with Blaine.

Blaine: Hello.

Lisa: Hi Blaine.

Blaine: How are you doing?

Lisa: Hi. How are you?

Blaine: These two, you remember these ones.

Lisa: Good.

Whitney: How are you?

Lisa: Hi. How are you? Good.

Whitney: Whitney.

Lisa: (Shakes her hand) You look great.

Whitney: Thank you.

Lauren: Hi.

Lisa: (Shakes her hand) Hi Lauren. (Whitney and Lauren sit down and Blaine shuts the door) In terms of working for Teen Vogue now you’re representing Teen Vogue so it means that whatever you do in the outside world also reflects on us and we take it really seriously so if you’re out and you’re employed by us, you work for us, you represent us, you look great, you don’t behave badly, you don’t do anything that we would be embarrassed by because if it comes back to me, then you’re in trouble. (They nod)

CUT TO: The Intern Room

Whitney: It’s just like the work day’s over and we’re probably going to get a job right now. (A woman named Nicole comes in)

Lauren: I know.

Nicole: Hello.

Whitney: Hi.

Nicole: I am Nicole, one of the features editors at the magazine in New York. We just came out today with our Hollywood issue, which is basically for me like the biggest issue of the year. When it comes out, we have a party for it and we need to get the invitations out, it’s a lot of invitations. Um, there’s you know almost 500 of them. Everything has to be done pretty, glamorous, chic, Vogue, beautiful. And that is like down to the stamps, okay?

Whitney: Okay.

Nicole: All right let me know if you need anything.

Whitney: Thank you.

Nicole: Okay.

Whitney: Nice meeting you. (Nicole leaves. Whitney is writing on envelopes as Lauren types on the computer)

Lauren: Oh Josh Duhamel is on here.

Whitney: Oh my god he is my love.

Lauren: Oh and Gavin Degraw.

Whitney: Oh!

Lauren: (Writing on an envelope) Did you ever see that Seinfeld episode where like that bald guy’s fiancée like licked all the envelopes and she died from like glue poisoning?

Whitney: No. (Lauren licks an envelope)

Lauren: There’s like 300 of those. It would be so better if we get to go to this.

CUT TO: The Next Day – The Hillside Villas

Heidi and Lauren are lying by the pool as Lauren talks about the internship.

Lauren: The thing with the internship, it’s kind of fun work you know? I had to do like a bunch of RSVP’s for that young Hollywood party.

Heidi: Are you gonna be able to get us into that party?

Lauren: No.

Heidi: Yeah, are you gonna ask?

Lauren: I’m gonna like mess up my internship and do like something shady just like to go to a party?

Heidi: Yeah.

CUT TO: Teen Vogue Offices

Whitney and Lauren are talking as they work (Whitney is on a computer while Lauren is working on a dress).

Whitney: So like the other night I had my, um, my soritory invite…

Lauren: Shh! (Lisa and Blaine come in)

Lisa: Hi Lauren

Lauren: Hi.

Lisa: Hi, how are you?

Whitney: Good, how are you?

Lisa: How are you guys doing?

Whitney: Good.

Lisa: So we’re gonna have you guys work tomorrow night, at this party. Um, Whitney, you’ll be at the door, with Blaine.

Lauren: Ooh.

Lisa: Lauren, you’re gonna be uh, in the party, and you’re…there’s a section of seats that we’re reserving for celebrities.

Lauren: Ooh.

Lisa: But what I really want you to do is to understand that you’re working. You’re not partying, you’re not playing, you’re not sitting down. If I see you sitting, hanging out, you’ll be gone. (They nod) Okay?

Blaine: Cool. (He gets up. They leave)

Lauren: Well we’re going.

Whitney: So exciting.

CUT TO: The Party, celebrities showing up.

Blaine: Your job is simply to stand here, okay? And guard this area.

Lauren: Okay, so no one can sit here?

Blaine: No one can sit here.

Lauren: Can they sit here until they come?

Blaine: No.

Lauren: Okay.

Blaine: I want you to guard it.

Lauren: You got it Blaine. You have fun. (Waves at him)

Blaine: Thank you. (He leaves. It cuts to Whitney outside then to Lauren inside. She is using a mic to call Whitney)

Lauren: Whitney come in it’s Lauren.

Whitney: I know.

Lauren: Whitney! (It cuts to outside where Heidi, Jordan, Audrina and Brian are trying to get in the party. Heidi gets out her phone to call Lauren.)

Audrina: Are you gonna call Lauren?

Heidi: Yeah I’m gonna call her.

Audrina: Yes! Okay. I hope we get in.

Heidi: I hope we get in. (Laughs)

Lauren: Hey Heidi. How are you darling?

Heidi: Um, well I’m standing outside with Jordan, Audrina and Brian. Can you get us in?

Lauren: Seriously?

Heidi: Yeah we’re here.

Lauren: What are you doing here Heidi?

Heidi: Well we’re trying to get in, we’re gonna sneak in.

Lauren: Okay, but you’re not on the list.

Heidi: No but just, just sneak us in.

Lauren: Yeah I just don’t wanna get in trouble for letting you guys in but Whitney’s working the door so I’ll see if she can let you guys in.

Heidi: Just do whatever you can please.

Lauren: Go up to the front, ask for Whitney, she’s wearing a white dress.

Heidi: All right we’ll go find her. (Lauren hangs up and pages Whitney)

Lauren: Whitney, Whitney come in it’s Lauren.

Whitney: Yeah.

Lauren: Okay, um, I have a couple of friends. How much of a big deal would it be to get them in?

Whitney: If they come right now like right this second maybe I can do it.

Lauren: Okay well they’re gonna ask for you right now so they are coming up to the front door.

Whitney: Okay.

Heidi: Whitney? Hi I’m Heidi I’m Lauren’s friend.

Whitney: Hi, you guys are Lauren’s friends? (Shakes her hand)

Heidi: Hi, yeah.

Whitney: Okay. (Checks them over)

Heidi: Thank you so much. (Heidi, Audrina, Jordan and Brian go in. Heidi runs up to Lauren and hugs her) You look gorgeous. Thank you for getting us in.

Lauren: You guys can not get me in trouble.

Brian: Are you stressed out? You look stressed.

Lauren: I have a very stressful job.

Heidi: What are you doing?

Lauren: I have to guard this VIP area.

Brian: This right here? This is VIP?

Jordan: Oh that’s our table now.

Lauren: No, no, no, no, no.

Brian: Jordan. (They sit down there) You can sit on my lap.

Lauren: Brian, you can’t sit here.

Brian: Where?

Lauren: Brian, stop. You’re gonna get me in trouble. Brian, up. (He laughs. Heidi twirls around)

Audrina: Where did Heidi go?

Jordan: To hook up with John Paul. (Heidi is talking closely with a guy)

John Paul: I don’t have a girlfriend so now I’m like shopping for one.

Jordan: Drama, always drama.

Lauren: Hey, hey. No, no, no, stay here. (Jordan gets up)

Jordan: No, no, no. (Talking with Heidi) This is the second time he’s done it. ‘Cause you know what he’s saying to you. He’s trying to…He wants to get in your pants, bottom line.

Heidi: I don’t do anything. I walked over there, I went to the bathroom, calm down.

Jordan: Next time, I’m beating his ass. (He walks away from Heidi)

Blaine: (Walks over to Lauren) Can I talk to you for a second?

Lauren: Yeah. (She gets up)

Blaine: What was all the drama at the door?

Lauren: There was drama at the door?

Blaine: Yeah like sad and crying and fights and tears?

Lauren: Oh it was just them fighting but you can see it’s all better. (She points at Heidi and Jordan) They were just fighting over something but now they’re fine. They’re boyfriend and girlfriend, they fight a lot. But everything’s okay. Is everything okay with you?

Blaine: Yeah we’re good.

Lauren: Okay.

Blaine: Okay. Okay, good.

Lauren: Thank you. (Blaine leaves and Lauren goes over to Heidi and Jordan) You guys! Hey! You can’t fight in public anymore. (Lauren sits down)

Heidi: We’re not fighting.

Audrina: You look teary eyed for a second there. I was like…

Lauren: No I’m fine. It’s just so frustrating when they show up, especially when you ask them not to. (Lisa comes over to them)

Lisa: And who are these people?

Lauren: (She gets up) These are…this is Brian and Audrina and David.

Lisa: Nobody should be sitting here yet. Okay?

Lauren: Okay.

Lisa: We’ll talk about it on Monday.

Lauren: Okay. Okay, get up, get up, get up, I’m getting in trouble. (They get up)

Audrina: Lauren was that who you work for?

Lauren: Yeah.

Audrina: Why did she get all mad?

Lauren: I don’t know. (Whitney comes over to them)

Whitney: Did she just yell at you? Did something just happen?

Lauren: She was like…she’s like “No one should be sitting here”. She’s like “I’ll talk to you about it on Monday”.

Brian: (To Jordan) Yo, this party’s over. Let’s leave. (Everyone starts to leave, except Lauren. Lauren walks around the party area. It shows Heidi, Audrina, Jordan and Brian leaving. Then it shows Lauren standing outside at the party. Then the camera moves to show the party from the sky and then the lit up city of LA.)

END

sleeeeep

Another week (a frigid one), another Lindz Lohan shoot that bears discussion.
So....okay. "Fashionart." I am continually guilty of that maybe-twee stringing words together approach to communication. That's not problematic to me (though it is an unaesthetic instance, containing, as it does, letters to form "shit" and "fart"). The clumsy bedding of fashion (a word--btw--that goes the way of "classy" more and more each day) and art for the sake of cash and noise seems a thing best left in this near-past decade. The two will meet always, but I think we ought to tread lightly for a while, get cautious and critical, dialogue rather than sign contracts (leave room for artists to be genuinely critical of the boundless market). And muses. Gawwd. I hate the very concept, antiquated, condescending to women (or rather, beautiful and/or eccentric persons).

The photographer's Page Six ramble ending in that supposed Lindz soundbite, "I want to make this iconic." ----

She is one of those figures whose very image is valuable, despite its wide availability. She has a whole life in pictures, daily pictures, tabloid pictures, pictures that contain sudden, instant, artless information (where she was and what she wore and what she was on and who she was with and what time it was and what her hair and nails looked like). She looks to us like a photograph. And really, the only iconic images (except these cuz duh) of Lindz are tabloid shots (ahem). She sells all kinds of magazines, an apt cover model, who does (unlike most actresses) know clothes and wear them well. But a set of dark, strange poses with a hazy "color story" about the 90s. Yawn.

She looks unwell (and that's not so glamorous as it has been [in say, 1995 or 2005]). En este momento, Lindz has this muscled thinness, a body that somehow signals struggle, not health. Wan, sad, raspy, a mad addict (and therefore *maybe* a kind of parasite, full of hunger and wiles and less and less luck). What a bummer.

WHEN Toad found himself immured in a dank and noisome dungeon, and knew that all the grim darkness of a medieval fortress lay between him and the outer world of sunshine and well-metalled high roads where he had lately been so happy, disporting himself as if he had bought up every road in England, he flung himself at full length on the floor, and shed bitter tears, and abandoned himself to dark despair. `This is the end of everything' (he said), `at least it is the end of the career of Toad, which is the same thing; the popular and handsome Toad, the rich and hospitable Toad, the Toad so free and careless and debonair! How can I hope to be ever set at large again' (he said), `who have been imprisoned so justly for stealing so handsome a motor-car in such an audacious manner, and for such lurid and imaginative cheek, bestowed upon such a number of fat, red-faced policemen!' (Here his sobs choked him.) `Stupid animal that I was' (he said), `now I must languish in this dungeon, till people who were proud to say they knew me, have forgotten the very name of Toad! O wise old Badger!' (he said), `O clever, intelligent Rat and sensible Mole! What sound judgments, what a knowledge of men and matters you possess! O unhappy and forsaken Toad!' With lamentations such as these he passed his days and nights for several weeks, refusing his meals or intermediate light refreshments, though the grim and ancient gaoler, knowing that Toad's pockets were well lined, frequently pointed out that many comforts, and indeed luxuries, could by arrangement be sent in -- at a price -- from outside.

Now the gaoler had a daughter, a pleasant wench and good-hearted, who assisted her father in the lighter duties of his post. She was particularly fond of animals, and, besides her canary, whose cage hung on a nail in the massive wall of the keep by day, to the great annoyance of prisoners who relished an after dinner nap, and was shrouded in an antimacassar on the parlour table at night, she kept several piebald mice and a restless revolving squirrel. This kind-hearted girl, pitying the misery of Toad, said to her father one day, `Father! I can't bear to see that poor beast so unhappy, and getting so thin! You let me have the managing of him. You know how fond of animals I am. I'll make him eat from my hand, and sit up, and do all sorts of things.' Her father replied that she could do what she liked with him. He was tired of Toad, and his sulks and his airs and his meanness. So that day she went on her errand of mercy, and knocked at the door of Toad's cell. `Now, cheer up, Toad,' she said, coaxingly, on entering, `and sit up and dry your eyes and be a sensible animal. And do try and eat a bit of dinner. See, I've brought you some of mine, hot from the oven!' It was bubble-and-squeak, between two plates, and its fragrance filled the narrow cell. The penetrating smell of cabbage reached the nose of Toad as he lay prostrate in his misery on the floor, and gave him the idea for a moment that perhaps life was not such a blank and desperate thing as he had imagined. But still he wailed, and kicked with his legs, and refused to be comforted. So the wise girl retired for the time, but, of course, a good deal of the smell of hot cabbage remained behind, as it will do, and Toad, between his sobs, sniffed and reflected, and gradually began to think new and inspiring thoughts: of chivalry, and poetry, and deeds still to be done; of broad meadows, and cattle browsing in them, raked by sun and wind; of kitchen-gardens, and straight herb-borders, and warm snap-dragon beset by bees; and of the comforting clink of dishes set down on the table at Toad Hall, and the scrape of chair-legs on the floor as every one pulled himself close up to his work. The air of the narrow cell took a rosy tinge; he began to think of his friends, and how they would surely be able to do something; of lawyers, and how they would have enjoyed his case, and what an ass he had been not to get in a few; and lastly, he thought of his own great cleverness and resource, and all that he was capable of if he only gave his great mind to it; and the cure was almost complete.

When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. Toad sat up on end once more, dried his eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began talking freely about himself, and the house he lived in, and his doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot his friends thought of him.

The gaoler's daughter saw that the topic was doing him as much good as the tea, as indeed it was, and encouraged him to go on.

`Tell me about Toad Hall," said she. `It sounds beautiful.'

`Toad Hall,' said the Toad proudly, `is an eligible self-contained gentleman's residence very unique; dating in part from the fourteenth century, but replete with every modern convenience. Up-to-date sanitation. Five minutes from church, post-office, and golf-links, Suitable for -- -- '

`Bless the animal,' said the girl, laughing, `I don't want to take it. Tell me something real about it. But first wait till I fetch you some more tea and toast.'

She tripped away, and presently returned with a fresh trayful; and Toad, pitching into the toast with avidity, his spirits quite restored to their usual level, told her about the boathouse, and the fish-pond, and the old walled kitchen-garden; and about the pig-styes, and the stables, and the pigeon-house, and the hen-house; and about the dairy, and the wash-house, and the china-cupboards, and the linen-presses (she liked that bit especially); and about the banqueting-hall, and the fun they had there when the other animals were gathered round the table and Toad was at his best, singing songs, telling stories, carrying on generally. Then she wanted to know about his animal-friends, and was very interested in all he had to tell her about them and how they lived, and what they did to pass their time. Of course, she did not say she was fond of animals as pets, because she had the sense to see that Toad would be extremely offended. When she said good night, having filled his water-jug and shaken up his straw for him, Toad was very much the same sanguine, self-satisfied animal that he had been of old. He sang a little song or two, of the sort he used to sing at his dinner -- parties, curled himself up in the straw, and had an excellent night's rest and the pleasantest of dreams.

They had many interesting talks together, after that, as the dreary days went on; and the gaoler's daughter grew very sorry for Toad, and thought it a great shame that a poor little animal should be locked up in prison for what seemed to her a very trivial offence. Toad, of course, in his vanity, thought that her interest in him proceeded from a growing tenderness; and he could not help half-regretting that the social gulf between them was so very wide, for she was a comely lass, and evidently admired him very much.

One morning the girl was very thoughtful, and answered at random, and did not seem to Toad to be paying proper attention to his witty sayings and sparkling comments.

`Toad,' she said presently, `just listen, please. I have an aunt who is a washerwoman.'

`There, there,' said Toad, graciously and affably, `never mind; think no more about it. I have several aunts who ought to be washerwomen.'

`Do be quiet a minute, Toad,' said the girl. `You talk too much, that's your chief fault, and I'm trying to think, and you hurt my head. As I said, I have an aunt who is a washerwoman; she does the washing for all the prisoners in this castle -- we try to keep any paying business of that sort in the family, you understand. She takes out the washing on Monday morning, and brings it in on Friday evening. This is a Thursday. Now, this is what occurs to me: you're very rich -- at least you're always telling me so -- and she's very poor. A few pounds wouldn't make any difference to you, and it would mean a lot to her. Now, I think if she were properly approached -- squared, I believe is the word you animals use -- you could come to some arrangement by which she would let you have her dress and bonnet and so on, and you could escape from the castle as the official washerwoman. You're very alike in many respects -- particularly about the figure.'

`We're not,' said the Toad in a huff. `I have a very elegant figure -- for what I am.'

`So has my aunt,' replied the girl, `for what she is. But have it your own way. You horrid, proud, ungrateful animal, when I'm sorry for you, and trying to help you!'

`Yes, yes, that's all right; thank you very much indeed,' said the Toad hurriedly. `But look here! you wouldn't surely have Mr. Toad of Toad Hall, going about the country disguised as a washerwoman!'

`Then you can stop here as a Toad,' replied the girl with much spirit. `I suppose you want to go off in a coach-and-four!'

Honest Toad was always ready to admit himself in the wrong. `You are a good, kind, clever girl,' he said, `and I am indeed a proud and a stupid toad. Introduce me to your worthy aunt, if you will be so kind, and I have no doubt that the excellent lady and I will be able to arrange terms satisfactory to both parties.'

Next evening the girl ushered her aunt into Toad's cell, bearing his week's washing pinned up in a towel. The old lady had been prepared beforehand for the interview, and the sight of certain gold sovereigns that Toad had thoughtfully placed on the table in full view practically completed the matter and left little further to discuss. In return for his cash, Toad received a cotton print gown, an apron, a shawl, and a rusty black bonnet; the only stipulation the old lady made being that she should be gagged and bound and dumped down in a corner. By this not very convincing artifice, she explained, aided by picturesque fiction which she could supply herself, she hoped to retain her situation, in spite of the suspicious appearance of things.

Toad was delighted with the suggestion. It would enable him to leave the prison in some style, and with his reputation for being a desperate and dangerous fellow untarnished; and he readily helped the gaoler's daughter to make her aunt appear as much as possible the victim of circumstances over which she had no control.

`Now it's your turn, Toad,' said the girl. `Take off that coat and waistcoat of yours; you're fat enough as it is.' Shaking with laughter, she proceeded to `hook-and-eye' him into the cotton print gown, arranged the shawl with a professional fold, and tied the strings of the rusty bonnet under his chin.

`You're the very image of her,' she giggled, `only I'm sure you never looked half so respectable in all your life before. Now, good-bye, Toad, and good luck. Go straight down the way you came up; and if any one says anything to you, as they probably will, being but men, you can chaff back a bit, of course, but remember you're a widow woman, quite alone in the world, with a character to lose.'

With a quaking heart, but as firm a footstep as he could command, Toad set forth cautiously on what seemed to be a most hare-brained and hazardous undertaking; but he was soon agreeably surprised to find how easy everything was made for him, and a little humbled at the thought that both his popularity, and the sex that seemed to inspire it, were really another's. The washerwoman's squat figure in its familiar cotton print seemed a passport for every barred door and grim gateway; even when he hesitated, uncertain as to the right turning to take, he found himself helped out of his difficulty by the warder at the next gate, anxious to be off to his tea, summoning him to come along sharp and not keep him waiting there all night. The chaff and the humourous sallies to which he was subjected, and to which, of course, he had to provide prompt and effective reply, formed, indeed, his chief danger; for Toad was an animal with a strong sense of his own dignity, and the chaff was mostly (he thought) poor and clumsy, and the humour of the sallies entirely lacking. However, he kept his temper, though with great difficulty, suited his retorts to his company and his supposed character, and did his best not to overstep the limits of good taste.

It seemed hours before he crossed the last courtyard, rejected the pressing invitations from the last guardroom, and dodged the outspread arms of the last warder, pleading with simulated passion for just one farewell embrace. But at last he heard the wicket-gate in the great outer door click behind him, felt the fresh air of the outer world upon his anxious brow, and knew that he was free!

Dizzy with the easy success of his daring exploit, he walked quickly towards the lights of the town, not knowing in the least what he should do next, only quite certain of one thing, that he must remove himself as quickly as possible from the neighbourhood where the lady he was forced to represent was so well-known and so popular a character.

As he walked along, considering, his attention was caught by some red and green lights a little way off, to one side of the town, and the sound of the puffing and snorting of engines and the banging of shunted trucks fell on his ear. `Aha!' he thought, `this is a piece of luck! A railway station is the thing I want most in the whole world at this moment; and what's more, I needn't go through the town to get it, and shan't have to support this humiliating character by repartees which, though thoroughly effective, do not assist one's sense of self-respect.'

He made his way to the station accordingly, consulted a time-table, and found that a train, bound more or less in the direction of his home, was due to start in half-an-hour. `More luck!' said Toad, his spirits rising rapidly, and went off to the booking-office to buy his ticket. He gave the name of the station that he knew to be nearest to the village of which Toad Hall was the principal feature, and mechanically put his fingers, in search of the necessary money, where his waiscoat pocket should have been. But here the cotton gown, which had nobly stood by him so far, and which he had basely forgotten, intervened, and frustrated his efforts. In a sort of nightmare he struggled with the strange uncanny thing that seemed to hold his hands, turn all muscular strivings to water, and laugh at him all the time; while other travellers, forming up in a line behind, waited with impatience, making suggestions of more or less value and comments of more or less stringency and point. At last -- somehow -- he never rightly understood how -- he burst the barriers, attained the goal, arrived at where all waistcoat pockets are eternally situated, and found -- not only no money, but no pocket to hold it, and no waistcoat to hold the pocket!

To his horror he recollected that he had left both coat and waistcoat behind him in his cell, and with them his pocket-book, money, keys, watch, matches, pencil-case -- all that makes life worth living, all that distinguishes the many-pocketed animal, the lord of creation, from the inferior one-pocketed or no-pocketed productions that hop or trip about permissively, un-equipped for the real contest.

In his misery he made one desperate effort to carry the thing off, and, with a return to his fine old manner -- a blend of the Squire and the College Don -- he said, `Look here! I find I've left my purse behind. Just give me that ticket, will you, and I'll send the money on to-morrow? I'm well-known in these parts.'

The clerk stared at him and the rusty black bonnet a moment, and then laughed. `I should think you were pretty well known in these parts,' he said, `if you've tried this game on often. Here, stand away from the window, please, madam; you're obstructing the other passengers!'

An old gentleman who had been prodding him in the back for some moments here thrust him away, and, what was worse, addressed him as his good woman, which angered Toad more than anything that had occurred that evening.

Baffled and full of despair, he wandered blindly down the platform where the train was standing, and tears trickled down each side of his nose. It was hard, he thought, to be within sight of safety and almost of home, and to be baulked by the want of a few wretched shillings and by the pettifogging mistrustfulness of paid officials. Very soon his escape would be discovered, the hunt would be up, he would be caught, reviled, loaded with chains, dragged back again to prison and bread-and-water and straw; his guards and penalities would be doubled; and O, what sarcastic remarks the girl would make! What was to be done? He was not swift of foot; his figure was unfortunately recognisable. Could he not squeeze under the seat of a carriage? He had seen this method adopted by schoolboys, when the journey-money provided by thoughtful parents had been diverted to other and better ends. As he pondered, he found himself opposite the engine, which was being oiled, wiped, and generally caressed by its affectionate driver, a burly man with an oil-can in one hand and a lump of cotton-waste in the other.

`Hullo, mother!' said the engine-driver, `what's the trouble? You don't look particularly cheerful.'

`O, sir!' said Toad, crying afresh, `I am a poor unhappy washerwoman, and I've lost all my money, and can't pay for a ticket, and I must get home to-night somehow, and whatever I am to do I don't know. O dear, O dear!'

`That's a bad business, indeed,' said the engine-driver reflectively. `Lost your money -- and can't get home -- and got some kids, too, waiting for you, I dare say?'

`Any amount of 'em,' sobbed Toad. `And they'll be hungry -- and playing with matches -- and upsetting lamps, the little innocents! -- and quarrelling, and going on generally. O dear, O dear!'

`Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,' said the good engine-driver. `You're a washerwoman to your trade, says you. Very well, that's that. And I'm an engine-driver, as you well may see, and there's no denying it's terribly dirty work. Uses up a power of shirts, it does, till my missus is fair tired of washing of 'em. If you'll wash a few shirts for me when you get home, and send 'em along, I'll give you a ride on my engine. It's against the Company's regulations, but we're not so very particular in these out-of-the-way parts.'

The Toad's misery turned into rapture as he eagerly scrambled up into the cab of the engine. Of course, he had never washed a shirt in his life, and couldn't if he tried and, anyhow, he wasn't going to begin; but he thought: `When I get safely home to Toad Hall, and have money again, and pockets to put it in, I will send the engine-driver enough to pay for quite a quantity of washing, and that will be the same thing, or better.'

The guard waved his welcome flag, the engine-driver whistled in cheerful response, and the train moved out of the station. As the speed increased, and the Toad could see on either side of him real fields, and trees, and hedges, and cows, and horses, all flying past him, and as he thought how every minute was bringing him nearer to Toad Hall, and sympathetic friends, and money to chink in his pocket, and a soft bed to sleep in, and good things to eat, and praise and admiration at the recital of his adventures and his surpassing cleverness, he began to skip up and down and shout and sing snatches of song, to the great astonishment of the engine-driver, who had come across washerwomen before, at long intervals, but never one at all like this. They had covered many and many a mile, and Toad was already considering what he would have for supper as soon as he got home, when he noticed that the engine-driver, with a puzzled expression on his face, was leaning over the side of the engine and listening hard. Then he saw him climb on to the coals and gaze out over the top of the train; then he returned and said to Toad: `It's very strange; we're the last train running in this direction to-night, yet I could be sworn that I heard another following us!'

Toad ceased his frivolous antics at once. He became grave and depressed, and a dull pain in the lower part of his spine, communicating itself to his legs, made him want to sit down and try desperately not to think of all the possibilities.

By this time the moon was shining brightly, and the engine-driver, steadying himself on the coal, could command a view of the line behind them for a long distance.

Presently he called out, `I can see it clearly now! It is an engine, on our rails, coming along at a great pace! It looks as if we were being pursued!'

The miserable Toad, crouching in the coal-dust, tried hard to think of something to do, with dismal want of success.

`They are gaining on us fast!' cried the engine-driver. And the engine is crowded with the queerest lot of people! Men like ancient warders, waving halberds; policemen in their helmets, waving truncheons; and shabbily dressed men in pot-hats, obvious and unmistakable plain-clothes detectives even at this distance, waving revolvers and walking-sticks; all waving, and all shouting the same thing -- "Stop, stop, stop!"'

Then Toad fell on his knees among the coals and, raising his clasped paws in supplication, cried, `Save me, only save me, dear kind Mr. Engine-driver, and I will confess everything! I am not the simple washerwoman I seem to be! I have no children waiting for me, innocent or otherwise! I am a toad -- the well-known and popular Mr. Toad, a landed proprietor; I have just escaped, by my great daring and cleverness, from a loathsome dungeon into which my enemies had flung me; and if those fellows on that engine recapture me, it will be chains and bread-and-water and straw and misery once more for poor, unhappy, innocent Toad!' The engine-driver looked down upon him very sternly, and said, `Now tell the truth; what were you put in prison for?'

`It was nothing very much,' said poor Toad, colouring deeply. `I only borrowed a motorcar while the owners were at lunch; they had no need of it at the time. I didn't mean to steal it, really; but people -- especially magistrates -- take such harsh views of thoughtless and high-spirited actions.'

The engine-driver looked very grave and said, `I fear that you have been indeed a wicked toad, and by rights I ought to give you up to offended justice. But you are evidently in sore trouble and distress, so I will not desert you. I don't hold with motor-cars, for one thing; and I don't hold with being ordered about by policemen when I'm on my own engine, for another. And the sight of an animal in tears always makes me feel queer and softhearted. So cheer up, Toad! I'll do my best, and we may beat them yet!'

They piled on more coals, shovelling furiously; the furnace roared, the sparks flew, the engine leapt and swung but still their pursuers slowly gained. The engine-driver, with a sigh, wiped his brow with a handful of cotton-waste, and said, `I'm afraid it's no good, Toad. You see, they are running light, and they have the better engine. There's just one thing left for us to do, and it's your only chance, so attend very carefully to what I tell you. A short way ahead of us is a long tunnel, and on the other side of that the line passes through a thick wood. Now, I will put on all the speed I can while we are running through the tunnel, but the other fellows will slow down a bit, naturally, for fear of an accident. When we are through, I will shut off steam and put on brakes as hard as I can, and the moment it's safe to do so you must jump and hide in the wood, before they get through the tunnel and see you. Then I will go full speed ahead again, and they can chase me if they like, for as long as they like, and as far as they like. Now mind and be ready to jump when I tell you!'

They piled on more coals, and the train shot into the tunnel, and the engine rushed and roared and rattled, till at last they shot out at the other end into fresh air and the peaceful moonlight, and saw the wood lying dark and helpful upon either side of the line. The driver shut off steam and put on brakes, the Toad got down on the step, and as the train slowed down to almost a walking pace he heard the driver call out, `Now, jump!'

Toad jumped, rolled down a short embankment, picked himself up unhurt, scrambled into the wood and hid.

Peeping out, he saw his train get up speed again and disappear at a great pace. Then out of the tunnel burst the pursuing engine, roaring and whistling, her motley crew waving their various weapons and shouting, `Stop! stop! stop!' When they were past, the Toad had a hearty laugh -- for the first time since he was thrown into prison.

But he soon stopped laughing when he came to consider that it was now very late and dark and cold, and he was in an unknown wood, with no money and no chance of supper, and still far from friends and home; and the dead silence of everything, after the roar and rattle of the train, was something of a shock. He dared not leave the shelter of the trees, so he struck into the wood, with the idea of leaving the railway as far as possible behind him.

After so many weeks within walls, he found the wood strange and unfriendly and inclined, he thought, to make fun of him. Night-jars, sounding their mechanical rattle, made him think that the wood was full of searching warders, closing in on him. An owl, swooping noiselessly towards him, brushed his shoulder with its wing, making him jump with the horrid certainty that it was a hand; then flitted off, moth-like, laughing its low ho! ho! ho; which Toad thought in very poor taste. Once he met a fox, who stopped, looked him up and down in a sarcastic sort of way, and said, `Hullo, washerwoman! Half a pair of socks and a pillow-case short this week! Mind it doesn't occur again!' and swaggered off, sniggering. Toad looked about for a stone to throw at him, but could not succeed in finding one, which vexed him more than anything. At last, cold, hungry, and tired out, he sought the shelter of a hollow tree, where with branches and dead leaves he made himself as comfortable a bed as he could, and slept soundly till the morning.