the second edition: dated 09.08.25

The Weekly Blabbette

This is what we have been waiting a lifetime for. The conclusion…I could pack it up here, only release two instalments, a strange sort of serial that ends before it has even begun. When I started brainstorming for what was at that point untitled, I realised The Weekly Blabbette had a semi-expiry-date. Progress would not be made while I was traipsing around Europe attempting to avoid getting pickpocketed and living what could quite frankly be considered the most exciting part of my existence forever and always. Maybe I could collate ideas in a notebook, jot down what I am doing with my time overseas, but I would be away from my computer for a time and the two people who bother to read this weekly newsletter-of-sorts would be hungering for more.

So, I announce the temporary hiatus following the second edition. ‘Why bother?’ you ask, and I point you towards a piece of poetry I wrote entitled why bother? which is potentially completely irrelevant, but I never pass up the opportunity to promote something else I have written. Will I miss writing in the four weeks I am gone? Most likely, but I will always have some opportunity on me. My phone and the humble notes app, a little notebook, a scrap of paper from wherever I scooped it up from. I have purposefully avoided starting another piece of fiction before the flight from the international airport, to avoid the FOMO of an idea waiting, clawing, to be written. The ideas are always there. The ideas are always chomping, chomping. Jumpin’, jumpin’, to quote Destiny’s Child.

This week in The Weekly Blabbette, I talk about such topics as the ethics of cannibalism and Grindr, I unpack the dynamics of a final tribal on Survivor, and the songs I would love to have seen performed on Glee in an alternate universe where time does not exist. Plus, hear more about the thrilling upcoming vacation to Europe and I review an album suggested to me from a friend.

You know how to scroll down.

Keeley Talks About The Types of Things He Has No Business Talking About

or Keeley Talks, for short

wherein I respond to something haunting my thoughts during the week, without doing a drop of research, and pretend anyone cares about what I have to say about it.

Monday 4th of August: Everyone's striking.

Everyone is striking. Teachers, nurses, firefighters now too. Train drivers. Logistically, it seems like the easiest solution is staring us in the face—raise salaries in the face of a worsening economy. But as someone who doesn’t know money, nor how the economy truly works, I understand there are nuances to everything—but I don’t really care about these ones. Employees deserve what they deserve, and striking is the natural process when fair is not coming out fair. Teachers, nurses, firefighters, train drivers…these are essential to the functioning of our society and as such they deserve a liveable wage, comfortable work environments, benefits, etc etc. Life is miserable. Life is becoming more miserable, too.

It is depressing, certainly, to think enough people made complaints as to warrant a strike. But the momentum of a strike means hopefully, after a time, there will be results. People coming to the table. I remember the misery of the writers’ and actors’ strikes—knowing these talented artists deserve better, deserve to be paid more, even if the highest billed actors might not deserve their billions and trillions for their handful of scenes. People deserve to be able to work and not kill themselves to be able to afford a life, but the headline is this: people must beg. People must go to the streets, shouting, screaming, trying to get their cries to be noticed instead of ignored. In a country that is inundated by forest fires in the summer months, firefighters deserve to be taken seriously in their demand for change.

Wouldn’t it be so funny if their demands were unserious and it made me look like a complete fool? But I doubt it. I know which side I would rather take.

Tuesday 5th of August: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's career.

I saw a story this morning about how Disney had previously planned to use AI to supplant The Rock’s face onto another actor’s for the live action Moana, and it made me consider how marred in insanity Johnson’s career is. Using AI in the stead of a human doing the work is a discussion on its own, and I fiercely oppose it, especially because the Rock is surely able to stand there and deliver lines like a stone wall himself. But time and time again there’s the discussion of who is successful at transitioning from wrestling to acting the best, and The Rock makes so many poor, foolish decisions he can truly never be in the running. His characters are sloppy translations of his own personality onto a certain scenario—jungle, jungle boat, superhero, escaped gorilla. He does not disappear into the performance. Hell, he developed a television series about his story of growing up and becoming a wrester and cast himself in it AS THE PRESIDENT. Not a historical one, mind you, but The Rock as President. He was overindulgent in how he marketed Black Adam, birthing the meme that “changed the hierarchy of power in the DC universe.” The announcement of the live-action Moana seemed like yet another cash-grab, and with him in the role once more as Maui but in person, his inability to escape the desire to just make money rears its head. Now the idea of simply employing a machine to graft his face onto another’s is floated and never have I questioned his career more. What are you doing, Dwayne? His inability to look good with a wig on also ruins his chances of blending into a role. He is stuck with a specific image, and his desperate desire to be a movie str means we were at one time stuck with three hundred Rock pictures a year wherein he played the same role and fought x, y, or z. I control nothing about the industry, but if the Rock isn’t able to even be present while shooting for the live action Moana, maybe he ought to go back to wrestling. We all know it’s fake anyway.

Wednesday 6th of August: The endless repetition of war.

More footage of war-torn Gaza and flattened buildings. The numbness of seeing this repeated daily, with no change, no drastic improvement from this norm that apparently deems Palestine as worthy of destruction. It is miserable, and the comments that aren’t in support of freeing Palestine from this annihilation are not tolerated by me. It will always be free Palestine, regardless of whether a terrorist organisation operates from the country or not. The people of Palestine are being eroded from the land and the powers that be still cannot come to a semblance of a conclusion on how to stop innocent lives from dying. Me admitting to having no love for Israel is not an admittance of holding hatred for Jews—I am furious with a country that has no justification for how the carnage they are causing to their neighbouring Palestine. I am intolerant of genocide. I can’t believe there is discussion around whether or not support for Palestine is appropriate—a country is being stripped down to the very bare bones, the layer beneath flesh, and people in the world see no issue with that because they choose to only see one black and white. One idea: that Israel stands for good, and Palestine is Hamas. It exhausts me to see someone labelled as anti-Jew for supporting Palestine. We should exist in a world that fights against genocide, fights against using force and weaponry and death to silence and defeat another. The unresolving lines drawn between Israel and Palestine are responsible for many deaths and much chaos, but to know the world around is becoming less and less united because of it is exhausting too. People are labelled for their stances, and it is as simple as not supporting Palestine and instead posting a message in support of Israel that will get you blacklisted by a community of people who are always watching.

It is miserable to think there is no end in sight for the injustice of what is happening in the Middle East. Why is human cruelty so horrific? I know there will never quite be something like world peace, but all I can hope for is a free Palestine.

Thursday 7th of August: MrBeast misunderstanding The Hunger Games.

MrBeast, insane YouTuber with a punchable face, has announced he has plans to make a “real life” Hunger Games from the popular franchise about how turning murder into entertainment sparks civil uprising and years of fucking trauma. The insanity to consider the success of the franchise as potential for real people to compete in shows a complete misunderstanding of The Hunger Games. Children and teenagers are subjected to an arena that is physically tormenting, where they must murder one another in order to escape with their own lives—but yes, let’s adapt that into something palatable for a streaming service, in which fans, or more likely recruits, will compete in non-deadly ways because in no way would MrBeast be able to justifiably escape a lawsuit if a single person dies while competing. Without the death, a competition themed around The Hunger Games loses its purpose, and becomes entirely just a cash-grab to entice the young children who would, in universe, be its unwilling victims. Cool, he can build an arena and they will come, but in misunderstanding the entire premise and point of why Suzanne Collins wrote those novels, all MrBeast is doing is showing how little he cares for the humanity of his contestants. He does not care whether a person is bruised or bloodied, whether someone goes home with a stomach ache, a black eye, or a broken arm. The Capitol upheld the Games as a means to quell uprising and revolution among the people of Panem. They were unforgiving, merciless, and applauded the death of the innocent. If MrBeast wants to ignore the messaging of The Hunger Games in order to fulfil the fantasy of anyone who has imagined what it would be like to actually compete, or actually be a figure in the audience, then all he’s doing is applauding his wealth, his stature. He sits as figurehead on the throne, watching the poor struggle, flail, and fake-die. Make a reality show inspired by the arena, the challenges, the threats, but remove your capitalisation on the success of something that quite literally tells you why this is a bad idea. The Hunger Games does not want you to treat this like Simon Says.

Friday 8th of August: Whether's Jimmy's eviction was homophobic.

I apologise if you’re so obsessed with Big Brother you desperately don’t want anything to be spoiled, but you also can’t watch the episode until sometime after this is posted…but who am I kidding, no one reads this thing. Jimmy, the only openly queer male contestant this season of Big Brother was evicted 9-2 this week and there has been discussion online around whether his nomination and subsequent targeting over Kelley and Rylie was born out of a homophobic nature. Mickey, current HOH—head of household for the uninitiated, a title of power that this week she stole through a power she has had since early in the competition—made a comment around this decision to nominate Jimmy as “faith-based”. Religion is always prominent enough in Big Brother—the host, Julie Chen, has oftentimes mentioned her faith and once called a contestant a “child of God” upon her eviction from the house. Past contestants have used their religious beliefs as justification for the decisions they made, and have bonded with others over shared beliefs. None of this is inherently new to a television game show centred around being a social experiment for bringing together different walks of life across America. But Mickey’s decision to nominate Jimmy seems out of form—until recently, the two were allies and friends, and her inability, from my perspective, to properly explain why she nominated him comes across as reactionary, odd, and potentially, even just slightly, based on some form of hostility towards him. Whether it is homophobic in nature or not I can’t say, as someone who is not in the house, who doesn’t know Mickey, and who is hardly even watching the show. But it makes instead an interesting argument about how people are perceived. Mickey’s argument seems to stem from a belief that Jimmy is playing both sides, that he’s too friendly with everyone, and something like that is dangerous in a game like Big Brother. But is his need to connect with the house strategy, or a desire to be seen as personable based on queer experience? This all become convoluted, and impossible to understand from the outside. Whether Mickey was reacting in this way or that is beyond the scope of the viewer. Mickey made the move she believed would best suit her game, and while everyone on the outside thinks she’s absolutely dumb for it, there is still much more game to be played.

Saturday 9th of August: Sex fantasies with people you dislike.

I truly have no business talking about this because I definitively do not have sex, I avoid it wherever I can, which is rather easy when you assume every man interested in you will eventually be disappointed when you tell them you only want affection. But because my sexuality is complicated, and I exist on a spectrum somewhere closer towards the very horny end of things, I can have the tendency to imagine someone I don’t like that much sexually. Mind you, because of my aegosexuality, that other man is having sex not with me, but with an alternate version of me who acts differently and actually enjoys the sex, but the mere thought of something sexual with a person I don’t like that much is something of a turn-on. No one quite wants to hear about what turns me on, but you are here now and trapped in my thoughts and without the fine details, here we are.

Perhaps the painful thing of work is being surrounded by people you either like or dislike, but the idea of a fantasy involving not only someone you dislike, but someone you work with, is enough to remind me I can do just fine without leaving the house. The exhilarating thought of sex with them is enough to potentially convince someone my sexuality doesn’t make sense, but I reassure you I don’t actually want to have hate-sex, I just like imagining it.

Maybe we really are attracted to the people who drive us insane. There are definitely exceptions—no one is attracted to Donald Trump, unless you actually like him—but there’s something insane about the human trigger between not wanting to talk to a person and wanting to derive pleasure from them. There would certainly be studies around hate-fucking, and being attracted to people who treat you like shit—we used to teach our children if a boy was bullying you he secretly liked you. But these thoughts of mine only come ever so often. Embedded within me, I suppose, is the idea of a challenge: if I don’t like him, then he likely doesn’t like me, and finding a way to make him like me enough is intrinsically a competition to be won. I watch a lot of reality television, but particularly reality television with a competitive goal. And I might not physically want the prize, but the way my brain is wired suggests it would at least make for riveting television.

Do I have business talking? It's all subjective. See you next time for more unfiltered opinions on the world around me.

Letters from Friends

wherein I respond to the topics submitted to me by the people of the neighbourhood. [the people mentioned in these letters are entirely fictional]

Um, hi, I have a bit of a pertinent question. You see my name is Lloyd and I have been recently reading a lot of dystopian fiction and pondering on the dreary path our society is headed. This is my conundrum: if we were able to genetically engineer meat, i.e. grow it in a lab, etc., would that make cannibalism ethical?

Getting ahead of ourselves, are we, Lloyd? We are probably the only species that condemns eating each other, although of course eating each out is a different story. Animals in the animal kingdom cannibalise one another, certain species even devour their young, for fun or food supply or the worry the runt won’t survive the winter anyway. Do I think human beings should devour their children if they can’t afford groceries, no. But this isn’t about being able to afford. Scientists are in their laboratories experimenting on genetically-engineered meat, which could do wonders for a population that refuses to slow down. This meat requires no slaughter of the cow, the pig, the sheep, the horse, the grasshopper. But does it make cannibalism ethical? Fucked if I know.

Cannibalism is sort of semi-ethical already, right? In a playful sense. People bite each other, people gnaw on someone’s ear, and according to some experts swallowing cum is a form of future-cannibalism. No government is likely to celebrate and honour cannibalism, but Hannibal Lector is a queer icon so times are changing, Lloyd.

All I know is this one thing: fucked if I know.

My name is Erwin, although my name isn’t really Erwin, it’s just a placeholder so I can speak freely to you right now. I have been using an app lately I feel ashamed about. The way some men are treating me leaves me feeling sick to my stomach, like I no longer want to leave the house. Or certainly like I no longer want to be attracted to men. Is it just me, or is Grindr a cesspool of depravity for everyone?

Grindr is modern-day cruising and if there’s one word to describe cruising, it would never be kosher. Cruising began at some point in history, likely when the cavemen realised their wives didn’t have penises under the loincloth. Sex is horny, lusty, and overtly without the restraint of politeness—that isn’t to say you can’t have polite sex, but unlike sitting at a banquet dinner table with the royals, there isn’t the certainty that you must be courteous and precise. Sex can be sloppy, and therefore, the men in search of it think they are entitled to be too. Grindr acts as the simplest way to find someone’s who is looking for sex—and so therefore men think they can forgo being polite because the end result is not marriage, is not being presentable in front of the parents, it’s orgasming and cumming. Men go on Grindr without a filter, which in turn means they come out behaving like depraved lunatics who hide behind a screen until it is too late. I haven’t been on Grindr myself in quite a while, considering I have no use for it whatsoever, but it was the same back then as I am sure it is now. Messages of “you hung?” and “you host?” “you travel?” “you want me to fuck that ass” are more common than a person ever asking you how your day has been. They simply do not care. With cruising, there isn’t the element of finding a connection, building a relationship, whatever, it’s quite literally just about finding a body to suck, fuck, and reciprocate. If meaningless sex gives you meaning, Grindr is a pool of potentially-unclean candidates waiting to validate your parking. They’re ticket-checkers, nothing more. Someone will attempt to tell you a nice story about how they met someone sweet on Grindr, but only because everyone as rite of passage flocks to the demon-hole app when they turn eighteen—or let’s be real, younger—because you want to believe it holds more potential than it does. You have yet to uncover how malevolent Grindr is. Now it is meme-heaven, flooded with ads and poor-quality men and adulterers and it will swindle the innocence in your soul. I have no kind words for Grindr. As someone who would rather be alone than have meaningless sex from a stranger on the internet, there is no place for me there. But men want sex they do not necessarily have to earn. Sex that comes without forging a connection, or asking nicely. Sex that has no price tag. If you have sex with someone you met on Grindr and get attached, that is your problem—and that’s the slogan of such a place.

Cruising is a significant part of gay culture and history, as it was a primary way for gay men to have sex when their sexuality was largely kept in the shadows by society. But where in the past you said little to nothing to one another, hooked up in the park behind a bush, and went about your day, there is something so sinister about Grindr. You are required to talk to each other, even for a moment, and men are disgusting, cruel, and bitter. They get turned down and call it all-out war. You piss off a man for not liking the way his gross dick looks.

I’m grateful Grindr is lost to me at the bottom of the ocean.

Good evening! A presumption on my behalf for what time you will be reading my letter, so my apologies! Although should I apologise so much, probably not. Hi. My name is Leighton and I am returning to university after suspending study to go travelling. Fish out of water moments impending. Do you read amateur short stories?

First you would first have to define what makes a short story “amateur”. Is it an unpublished author, or someone early in their career, someone you encounter in university? Or is it simply someone who suffers and struggles to write a good short story? When I saw your letter, I thought about going out into the world and reading some “amateur” short stories to assess the common problems I found in them, and maybe eventually that could become a segment within The Weekly Blabbette, but I’m no harsh critic on the amateur short story. When I was first starting to write, everything would have amateurish—now, despite largely publishing my work alone on my website, I would shudder to think what I work on is amateur. Sure, I haven’t got much published, but after an entire degree in creative writing, I believe my work is of good standard. At least good.

I think what I tend to see in amateur short stories a lot is too much reliance on what they imagine it should look like. The beats to hit, the beginning, middle, end. Structure is important for any piece of writing, but finding your own footing within the structure is equally important too. Try to avoid falling into the trap of starting a short story at the expected starting line—I have been working lately on finding new, interesting points to ease the reader into the story, rather than dumping exposition immediately or trying your best to introduce the character with the key points off the jump.

Everyone has to start somewhere, right? I always think the short story is the perfect place for that. Not so demanding as the novel, but a little more freeing in scope than something like poetry. Focus on creating a character, illuminating your plot, and write. Give yourself a chance to get out the obvious ideas first, then grow as an artist.

Anyway, to answer your question, do I read amateur short stories? Largely, no, because I can be a little bit of a snob with prose and I have residual scar tissue from some of the short stories I read in university. Some people needed more than just a university degree. But what was our definition of amateur anyway?

A Cute Scenery Album Recommendation

wherein I listen to an album recommended to me by someone I know, give my thoughts on it, whether any certain songs in particular became instant favourites, and refuse to give a star rating because no one is putting a gun to my head forcing me to.

This week: Handful of Earth – Dick Gaughan

This album is far from what I normally listen to—I wouldn’t even know the technical genre it sits within, although Spotify would likely label it as something like “Scottish folk on a sunny afternoon while someone plays one of those instruments they play in folk music.” In truth, in short, I was in unfamiliar territory, but willing to give it my time out of a suggestion from a friend.

Handful of Earth truly exposes my inability to describe or discuss music. I love music, but I simply just enjoy listening to it and the feelings it can bring me. The vibe of this album reminds me of a country fair, likely because I am uneducated on folk music. I see myself wandering through stalls, listening to the music play through the air. It makes me feel like I ought to wear more flannel. I can recognise the strength of a performer like Dick Gaughan, who threads 2006 into folk history. Never has the middle of the 00s sounded so medieval until six years later with Pixar’s Brave. That makes zero sense but as soon as it came to mind I thought it ought to be committed to the page.

My favourite upon the first listen: “The Snows They Melt the Soonest”. It has a quality to it that I liked a lot, there’s a softness, almost an undertone of disappointment. I too would be disappointed watching the snow melt. I get the sense you could place this song at the end of something, be it an episode or a movie, to signal the disparaging loss of a change of season, literal or not. Gaughan’s voice sounds lovely on this song too.

This segment of The Weekly Blabbette feels most insane to me because I have no experience reviewing music and I have no idea what I’m talking about, but isn’t that quite literally the point? We watch Keeley struggle, we watch him contemplate. “Song for Ireland” would be so nice in front of a campfire. I love the way Gaughan pronounces Ireland. I think this is the sort of music most suited to the wilderness. I picture myself on a trail, with a harmonica in breast pocket which I do not intend to use. I would want a small copse of people ahead and behind me. A covey.

I never would have listened to Handful of Earth without the recommendation, but I am grateful I have. It’s important to experience different art, different styles and genres and vibes. I felt transported.

On the Television

wherein I unpack what I have been witnessing on the television

On Survivor in the episode “Anything Could Happen”, it was the finale of arguably the best season of Survivor, or at least my personal favourite, Heroes vs Villains, and I finally finished a rewatch after temporarily losing access to the season. This finale aired fifteen years ago, but avoid the next part if you want to avoid spoilers regardless. I wanted to unpack my thoughts and assessments on how the final tribal council would have unfolded with different trios sitting there in front of the jury. The truth: Sandra, Parvati, and Russell, three unruly villains, ended the season in the final three, pleading their case for the million and the title of Sole Survivor. This jury was tight-knit and recognised one another, with the exception of everyone and Russell, from seasons past—the bee stings were going to ache. Parvati had little allies on the jury; Russell had zilch. Sandra, despite apparently “doing nothing” all season, had strong connections, played the game of Survivor to her strengths, and burned Russell’s hat in the fire. I spent this time during the deliberations between the jury and the finalists wishing Sandra had said a handful of extra things, but overall she merely had to sit back and watch as Russell continued to piss everyone off and Parvati struggle to escape her allegiance to him. This jury wanted Sandra to win and I cannot fault them on that—she’s not a competition beast, but she’s anyone-but-me and she managed her threat level by standing in Russell’s, Parvati’s, Jerri’s, etc’s shadow.

Now, onto the various combinations:

The proposed: Russell, Jerri, Sandra. Believably, I think Jerri stands a strong chance of taking the title. Sandra still likely has Courtney’s and Rupert’s vote, but Jerri immediately has Coach and Colby. Two-two. Russell is still not getting anything. But with Jerri, a fierce competitor who reincarnated her image, a non-winner, I think she likely could have swung the votes.

Russell, Jerri, Parvati. Jerri is in a similar position to Sandra in the true version of events. Everyone hates Russell, Parv by association, and they recognise Jerri played an incredible game without siding directly with the devil.

Now, imagine Russell Hantz stubs his toe and Jerri snatches the immunity necklace and the women vote out the demon spawn. What we’re looking at is an iconic trio of women who could all be considered the winner of Heroes vs Villains. Parvati earns praise for lobbing the head off the dragon. Sandra earns praise for playing to her strengths and warming to both sides of the battlefield. But does Jerri steal the title of Sole Survivor because she’s the only non-winner in the finale? Is this a jury that recognises both her strategy and the fact that Heroes and Villains can be looked back at as one of the only seasons where the final tribal technically involves three winners?

I adore Sandra, and as our only two-time female winner she is legendary without question. But imagining a world in which Jerri Manthey has a crown and sceptre is too priceless to deny. But the bitterness of Jerri being absent from the Season 50 cast is indeed creeping in…

On Grey’s Anatomy in the episode “Unaccompanied Minor”, Owen is being an absolute asshole to Sandra Oh’s Cristina Yang when she reveals that she is not only pregnant, but doesn’t want to keep the baby. Owen, played by Kevin McKidd, launches into many arguments that he would be an excellent father, that he wants to raise a child with Yang, and that he thinks she can change her mind on not wanting to be a mother. She, understandably, is persistently frustrated with his attempts to deny her wishes and mould her into the type of wife he wants her to be. Cristina books an appointment for an abortion while his excited ass looks forward to the next however months of her being pregnant, and he bitterly tells her to get out when she confides in him. Throughout this entire episode, I was firmly on Yang’s side. She does not want to be a mother, and despite his belief he’ll just take care of everything, it’s Yang who goes through the pregnancy, the labour, and everything it entails to be a mother. She cannot be forced into a major life decision because her husband wants her to be. I see the cracks in their relationship and won’t be surprised when Cristina and Owen separate, because ultimately he will hold this against her for the rest of their relationship. Sometimes you realise your priorities are too different to sustain the love.

[On a side note, my viewing history with Grey’s Anatomy is very strange and bizarre. I have seen the first season and part of the second, and then skipped to the seventh for the musical episode, which I discussed in the You Gotta Get a Gimmick portion of More People Once Thought I Had Potential. I was so gripped by whatever the fuck was going on in the episode “Song Beneath the Song” that I merely continued on from there, so I am missing a whole lot of context and cannot quite determine what is going on with the characters sometimes. It’s truly fascinating.]

On The Pitt, I am obsessed with the continuous gag of Whitaker having to change his scrubs after getting sprayed/bloodied/in general covered in something at some point each episode. It’s a slight moment of humour in an otherwise serious drama about a fifteen-hour shift in a hospital in Pittsburgh. I can’t imagine actor Gerran Howell enjoyed getting splashed with something basically every time he turned up to film, but at least it isn’t real blood, real piss, or real whatever-else they are bound to squirt on him in the coming episodes. Please, god, don’t let it be shit.

This Would Be On Glee If The Forecast Was Right

wherein I imagine the songs of a playlist of mine entitled “Weather Forecast”, which features approximately one hundred of my favourite songs of the minute, as they could have appeared on the cultural phenomenon of the 2010s.

“When” by dodie – this is a classic Rachel Berry song of the first season, situated sometime around “Mattress” when she realises Finn doesn’t take the leading male role of the Glee Club seriously, and in turn doesn’t take her that seriously either.
“Slim Pickens” by Sabrina Carpenter – we were robbed of more than one Faberry duet—Quinn and Rachel for those uninitiated—and this song would have come in Season 4 around the time Rachel is blindsided by Brody being an escort. Heartbroken, pissed at men, unaware Finn made some remark about how he’s destined to marry Rachel in the future, she’d collapse into Quinn’s arms after this duet was done.
“Shadow of a Man” by Lady Gaga – something from Mayhem would be destined to be featured on Glee, and it would likely be “Disease”, but this song gives me the vibes of something like “Scream” or “Vogue” in how it would be utilised on Glee. A big production musical number, filmed as such, likely in the show’s fifth season to feature Adam Lambert’s Elliott. I was trying to figure a duet partner, but Adam Lambert could carry the number entirely himself, if the show gave Elliott much beyond his storylines with Kurt and the core characters in New York.
“Something to Shout About” from Boop! The Musical – to see Glee reference the Betty Boop musical would be mind-blowing alone, but I think this is the perfect surprise Mercedes song. Softer for her, stealing a song that seems built for Rachel Berry, but built so much into Mercedes’ character is the notion that she is overlooked but still celebrated by those closest to her. She would perform this in the auditorium to a grandiose standing ovation. Season 3, at the time of rejecting the role-share of Maria.
“The Stuff” from Reefer Madness – the show would never feasibly get away with performing this song, a musical number about smoking marijuana and its dangers, but if the show ever had a “watch out kids, drugs are bad!” weekly lesson assigned by a man who once planted drugs in a student’s locker, April Rhodes would return to sing “The Stuff”. Kristin Chenoweth’s voice would obliterate the high notes and she would probably be asked to act like April smoked a blunt before stepping into the choir room. Cinematic gold.
“Just for Fun” by Beyonce – am I crazed to think Santana should be involved? Naya Rivera’s voice would sound something special on this song, but I would need this to be a duet on two bar stools in a dingy little bar in New York mere days after Santana moves to the big city on a complete whim. Alternatively, we wait until the middle of Season 5 and she sings this with Sam in a dingy little bar in New York. Who cares if it’s not legal!
“Stop (Think Again)” by Bee Gees – this would be a trio, almost certainly, and fingers crossed hopefully in period-appropriate attire. The 70s costuming, the shirts unbuttoned. Artie really becoming a sex symbol for a second there. It would be Artie, Sam, and Blaine during Season 4, but it would feel more akin to the musical numbers of Season Three. If that makes sense.
“Adelaide’s Lament” from Guys and Dolls – if Emma had the vocal range for it, it would be absolutely a stand-in for “Wedding Bell Blues” from the show’s third season, likely with some references to Emma’s many trips down the aisle in the past which she would conveniently handwave to justify the present song. BUT! I would do anything to hear Amber Riley perform “Adelaide’s Lament”, although when Mercedes would ever have the context to sing this song is beyond me. Do we know if Romy Rosemont can sing? Imagine Carol singing this in Season One when she first begins seeing Burt Hummel.
“White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane – coming back around to that fabled drugs are bad episode…this would be a sort of passed-around group number in Rachel’s basement akin to the “Blame It On the Alcohol” episode. Naturally, Rachel wants to try getting high for the first time and needs everyone to bear witness to it, aka make sure she doesn’t kill herself, and as everyone begins to get high they hallucinate while singing “White Rabbit”. Alice in Wonderland references aplenty throughout the episode too. Glee needed more drug usage. They were doing everything sober. That is some insanity. [Be safe when you use drugs.]
“Come to Your Senses” from tick, tick…boom! – a handful of suggestions came to mind immediately…Rachel could perform this to Finn, sometime around her attempts to get him back in Season Two, or Santana and Brittany could duet it…but ultimately a better idea sprung to mind: Tina and Quinn. An underrated duo, Tina taking the lead on “Come to Your Senses” alongside Quinn’s vocals would be the definitive use of this song. Now for context, I am left baffled, but you cannot deny the power of what could be. Tina and Quinn would eat this song for breakfast and produce something magical.

Unfinished Writings of the Absent-Minded

This segment is dedicated to the writers who have a million and one unfinished works sitting in storage, waiting to be picked up again. A true sucker for the untitled and incomplete, I thought I would share snippets of what I once would have thought could have been something. Perhaps this could even be a writing exercise for you.
I present:

Dear lord, I beg of you to hear me.

I’ve checked both doors to this room first, before I knelt at my makeshift shrine. Not a shrine, no, but it looks that way, with the candles and the dead flowers and the pictures I have left, the ones I couldn’t leave behind. I’d scooped them up in a hurry, clutched them tightly to my chest, because I had to leave the house. I am not alone here, lord, but I may as well be. I hear something rustle. It is probably just Joseph, going through the supplies. I pray for Joseph, my lord, for his health and for some semblance of hope for him. He lost his wife, he lost his home, too. Give upon Joseph an escape, but an escape unlike mine.

Something To Look Forward To

wherein I gush about something I am looking forward to, or in the case of right now: we talk about the fact I'm headed to Europe in hardly any time at all.

First Week:

I cannot possibly spend all of my time in London—day trips are essential, and I will be spending a lovely Sunday disappearing into the town of Bath, named for the Roman baths which remain there and can be visited for a fee. This is a place of history and culture, once the inspiration for Jane Austen novels and the location of many a film set, including Javert’s suicide in the Les Miserables film?? I will go to that bridge and point and say, “Omg he killed himself over there” because I am a child in an adult’s body. I will also give myself over to how quaint Bath appears. I will not be taking a bath. I can’t imagine the locals would appreciate that in their river.

Second Week:

If you aren’t as obsessed with musical theatre as I am, you might not know that a musical adaptation of The Devil Wears Prada is currently on the West End in London—and I’ve got a ticket to see it. Starring Vanessa Williams in the iconic role of Miranda Priestly, I expect the same passion for fashion, some witty one-liners, a shitty boyfriend, and hopefully some absolute bangers from the score. I know the source material, but now it is time for me to witness the musical spectacle and all the way over in London too. That’s all.

Third Week:

Amsterdam is home to the Van Gogh Museum, which I without hesitation knew I had to visit. Vincent Van Gogh was an incredible Dutch artist, one who did not get the credit for his artistry he deserved while he was alive. He was only 37 when he died, leaving behind approximately 2,100 artworks, which are now appreciated, observed, adored, and many are housed within the Van Gogh Museum, such as “Sunflowers”, which I cannot wait to admire in person. Works like “Irises” and “The Bedroom” and his self-portraits, all which capture a sense of who Van Gogh was. A man rich in understanding of art and artistry. I think I will be so grateful to see these paintings of his in his homeland in the Netherlands.

Fourth Week:

Mini Europe is exactly what it sounds like: a miniature version of the very continent I will be standing upon. Located in Belgium, near Brussels, Mini Europe features 350 (!) monuments from around Europe in minute form, dwarfed astronomically by Atomium, the gargantuan atom left behind from the World’s Fair. Mini Europe is a theme park in the miniscule, where instead of visiting replicas of landmarks, you can pretend to be Godzilla on a quest to flatten and annihilate them—except no touching! These miniatures are just for show.

Go Forth...

I love to recommend things. As someone who consumes a lot of media, lots of art, I am always brimming with something to recommend, something for someone else to ingest...even if their opinion on the thing, the art, the media differs from mine. It is always important to remember that tastes vary, and one person's snide disapproval of something you adore does not diminish the fact you love something. So, go forth and ingest something from me to you. Sounds like I'm regurgitating into your mouth.

Films: Clue, Memoir of a Snail, Prisoners, and Shiva Baby (forever and always)

Books: Piranesi by Susanna Clarke and Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo

Music: "The Subway" by Chappell Roan and "Pink Pony Club" by Hildegard von Blingin'

Television: Drawn Together (if you like your humour incredibly offensive and politically-incorrect) and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (if you like your humour through musical numbers).