I just felt like sharing this today. =^.^=

Always,
~Catboy

Usually I prefer to let people explore the Brain Food links unguided and draw their own conclusions, but I think Don Peck’s How a New Jobless Era Will Transform America over at The Atlantic is worth a particular mention. One in eight Californians is presently unemployed, nearly one in ten Americans, and things don’t seem to be in much rush to get better. I’m not sure if the long-term effects will be as bad as Peck projects, but the possibilities are definitely sobering.

It makes me a little bit grateful to say that I have a job to complain about. I have a few responsibilities there that will no doubt distract me over this long weekend, but I’ve finished dinner now and a few other chores, so I’m going to settle in for a weekend of writing now. The alarm clock is set for 7:30 AM tomorrow morning. At some point I will have to leave the apartment to do laundry and get some sunshine, but aside from that, after I finish this post I plan to reboot my laptop, open up First and Last and Always, and start writing.

Before I go, I found for you an upload of P!nk’s very awesome Grammy performance, and you can click through to a preview of the upcoming story. Those of you who know how to get in touch with me outside of this site are welcome to poke at me once in a while and make sure I’m not wasting time.

First and Last and Always
By Adrian Mailenna
For Hannah, because she made a difference.

Even with his heart pounding in time to the DJ’s command, a hundred and twenty-six beats per minute, Jamie could feel the one it skipped. Someone was watching him; he’d felt it, uncoiling a tight, nervous desire from the base of his spine, sliding it up his back until it made the hairs on his neck stand on end and his knees go weak, made him excited and just a little scared.

For months he’d walked past the door here, stolen glances past the curtain at the slender, pretty boys dancing together here, taking each other home, but he’d never dared step in before. Now he wasn’t sure whether he should have come. Someone would notice him; someone would tell; people would know; they would be polite of course, nothing overt. It was the twenty-first century after all, but he would hear their whispers, notice their sideways glances in his direction, and he would move again, unable to cope, unwilling to be that token friend, unwilling to be treated so differently. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born this way.

But there was that look. It promised so much.

Staggering off the dance floor, he scanned the crowd as he made his way, panting, to the bar. Through the back of his mind he remembered a glimpse of perfect golden skin and kinetic black hair beneath the DJ’s lights, but most of all the flash of bright green eyes, inviting and seductive, even from across the room. Somehow he knew he needed to find them.

He hopped up onto a stool. He needed a drink, too. It was hot out there.

“You! You’re the boy from the other night, at Hopper’s!” He walked over, taking out an earbud, letting it hang on his shoulder.

I laughed. “First time there. A friend of mine recommended it. I like it. It’s a good thinking-place.”

“Oh, where do you normally hang out? I used to go a lot back when it was called Phillies, but not so much lately. They started using this Brazilian coffee in the mix, and it’s nice and strong, but a little too harsh for me.” He bit gently at the corner of his lip, sucking on it. “Anyhow, I saw you playing pinball when you came in first. It’s really neat, because you don’t play with just your hands. You play with your hips, too.”

“It’s the only way to bump. You have to shove the frame around, but gently, so the machine won’t catch on and say Tilt.”

“I bet you’re pretty good at it.”

“I have the high score on the machine over at Pilades.”

“Really? How do I look?”

“You look… good.”

His smile widened as he ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth. “I’ve been to Pilades once or twice. I suppose it’s very nice. I like the people there, except that they all take things so… so seriously.”

We stood there in silence for a few minutes, and he seemed to slip back into his own little world again, working slowly back to his beat and his slow, happy blend of music and motion. He wasn’t very good, but he didn’t seem to care.

I took the earbud he offered me, watching him move as I listened. Clean, jazzy slacker-rock washed over the dull roar of the train, polishing its simple chords and panther snarls against themselves, again and again, breaking into pieces and coming together again until it melted into a polished little jewel of sound, wordless and almost unnaturally smooth in its careful, casual elegance. Rio mimed the snarls at me, trying to get me to play along.

The train gave me just enough time to fall under its spell, just in time to let go and snarl back, once, before Rio had to leave.

“That’s my stop. G’bye now,” he laughed, plucking the headphone from my ear. “I’ll see you around!”

And then again, he was gone.