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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Oct 27, 2013 5:35:13 GMT -8
Four days of not having his bike was beginning to breed a new level of distaste for public transit. A free ticket to the symphony from his roommate and vague directions how to get there, Donovan was relieved to step off the bus in Hollywood. For once he was dressed somewhat acceptably in a simple button-down and slacks, Altan refusing to allow him to show up to the Hollywood Bowl in anything he'd normally wear. He quickly stepped out of the way of the exiting crowd to find a less busy place on the sidewalk to look around, trying to orient himself to where he was supposed to be going. None of the road signs were particularly helpful, and he frowned at the piece of paper the scribbled directions were written on. He wasn't even certain this was the right stop, but his roommate's handwriting was nearly illegible.
Through the crowd of people, he heard a shrill gasp, which he dismissed as nothing having to do with him until a smiling and waving woman was suddenly trying to catch his attention. "Ben? Ben Whishaw?" she asked excitedly, far happier than he could ever recall anybody being to see him. He'd never heard of Ben Whishaw, and at first assumed maybe it was somebody mistaking him as an old friend of theirs. Donovan shook his head, about to correct her, when a second woman with a camera joined the first. "Can we get a picture with you? We're such big fans! Ohmygod, Becky will never believe us that we met Ben Whishaw!"
"I'm not…" Donovan began to protest, eyes widening a bit as the situation quickly escalated and a crowd began to draw around. Even though he did a radio show, Donovan was glad that his face was never associated with anything that would amount to any sort of fame to cause a public hassling. But apparently that wasn't enough to escape being mistaken for a celebrity. "That's not my… My name isn't…"
But it was no use, he was too polite to push anybody away as they stood next to him, beaming and posing for pictures. There didn't look to be any escape.
Tag: Neelanjan Date: May 23
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Oct 27, 2013 5:44:11 GMT -8
The poor sod in the middle was most certainly not Ben Wishaw.
A wicked grin spread across Neil's face as he jostled through the maddening crowd, poking his head through the walls of people. Hands waving in the air, girls screeching out loud that he was a walking dream. All of them were demanding his autograph, demanding he stand by them and smile. It was just a show, after all. The dark-haired male chuckled. After the success of the last James Bond movie, it was a wonder that one of his favourite actors hadn't become even more famous than he already was-- and that his fans weren't crazy enough to realize that the poor boy in the middle was certainly not Q.
The signs were small, but obvious to someone like Neil who had a sense of detail. He was too tired. Too not-shiny. Ben Wishaw wore those glasses to amplify his dorky charm, not because he needed to see. Most of all, Ben Wishaw would be used to the paparazzi, and wouldn't be walking anywhere without a bodyguard.
It was probably a blessing for once that Neil had such a strong conviction that he was right. Or in this case, the conviction that everyone else was wrong. He wasn't the kind of person who couldn't be corrected, but if people wouldn't correct him then, well, that was their problem. With that, the boy took one small step forward. He did have to feel sorry for the guy in the middle. It took a certain type to be accustomed to celebrity, after all. Neil wasn't cut out for it, and he didn't seem like it too.
He preferred being the one behind a program, behind the scenes. He liked darkness, he liked the indoors, he liked hammering away at a computer screen for hours on end.
Blue eyes danced with mischief as he pushed through two screeching girls, marching up to the group of people in the middle. Well, he was looking for an adventure, wasn't he? And now he had one.
"Excuse me," he boomed, or at least, tried to boom-- he wasn't used to speaking loudly, not at all. "I'm Ben Wishaw's manager, and all of you need to clear off. I didn't authorize this signing!"
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Oct 27, 2013 7:33:59 GMT -8
A few awkwardly scribbled autographs later in hopes of appeasing the crowd enough that they'd go away, Donovan kept trying to slowly escape when he thought nobody was watching. But he couldn't get far until somebody else was grabbing his arm, and Donovan was a bit surprised at how brash and disrespectful people could be just because they assumed he was somebody famous. He wasn't quite aware how much he valued his personal space until it was being violated, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to be polite. If he ever survived this, he'd have to write Ben Whishaw a letter of complaint. But judging by the crowd, it'd just get lost in a swarm of love letters instead.
He didn't think it could get any worse, until a man loudly announcing himself as his manager pushed through the crowd. Despite the demand to clear off, many fans weren't moving out of the way quite yet, cameras still flashing enough that Donovan was certain he'd have a headache after. He'd hope that a manager would at least be able to clear up this mix-up, be capable of recognizing the difference between him and who he supposedly looked like without drawing this out any further. But hopefully understanding enough to not just abandon him amongst the paparazzi once he realized the identity mistake. Seeing the other man as his only way out of this, Donovan rushed over to him, bumping slightly into a girl with an outstretched pen and paper without bothering to apologize. "Get me out of here," he pleaded quietly, not used to this feeling of near-desperation. Not used to needing to ask favours of others, but this was definitely far out of what he'd consider normal.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Oct 27, 2013 15:57:04 GMT -8
The poor, poor boy had no idea what was going on. Neil couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he watched the other scribble out a couple of autographs, even spelling 'Wishaw' the completely wrong way. Yeah, he was totally lost-- but the fangirl didn't seem to notice as she let out a loud scream of delight. She was making a scene, and Neil couldn't help but wonder whether this was exactly why girls in fandom got so much bad press from the media. A few bad apples were ruining the entire basket, and if he wasn't so good at hiding how he felt about things, he might even have cringed a little.
But he had to keep his cool. After all, he was now a celebrity manager. Smile for the press, please! So Neil nodded at the other male's plea, before clapping him on the shoulder.
"I think my client would like some privacy."
Was he loud enough? Was he imposing enough? Either way, some of the girls started to back off, and that was Neil's cue to call on the other male. "Come with me," he said, beckoning for the brunette to follow. With that, Neil pushed through a couple of girls, clearing a path behind him that the poor boy could take and follow. "Clear off, signing's over, only it never started," the brunette said as he continued moving through the crowd. "No touching, I can get a restraining order on this!"
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Oct 29, 2013 6:53:11 GMT -8
His ears continued to ring even as the shrill squealing had subsided, the vicious pack of fangirls dispersing in what Donovan could only guess as a hunt for another victim. Mercy to them. If Donovan had any preconceptions that being a highly-paid celebrity was a glamorous and desirable profession, they would have been all but shattered. But having his face on tv had always ranked at the top of his things to definitely never do lists. Who could even enjoy that much attention? He didn't even like people singing happy birthday to him, glad it happened on a day that rarely even existed. And who was obsessed with the faces in movies to devote so much energy to such public displays of insanity? Donovan was generally rather accepting of people doing whatever made them happy, even if he didn't personally understand it, but this left him baffled and more than a little shaken.
Donovan was not used to feeling so unsettled, which at least wasn't too unsettling in itself. After a few moments to enjoy having his own space back to breathe, he recovered to some level of fine.
But that still left the question of how to get out of his current situation, quietly trying to gauge whether the man he was closely following was yet aware of who he was. Or wasn't, more appropriately. He'd have said something, right? Donovan frowned a bit to consider his options- just start walking away with no further explanation (and hopefully not get himself into repeat performance) or explain what happened and hope that the manager was understanding enough not to get angry that he played along with the role. He didn't want to be accused of identity theft or whatever, going to jail was also on his not do list. He couldn't feel confident enough in knowing how those laws did and didn't work to chance it.
The manager did, however, help him. Which deserved some acknowledgement. "Ah," he began a bit awkwardly, "Thanks for that. Back there. But I'm not Ben Wishywashy, actually."
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Oct 29, 2013 14:25:27 GMT -8
It wasn't difficult to command a presence. Even if Neil was no natural leader, nor someone who particularly enjoyed the spotlight, he had been blessed with a charisma and a charm that many were unable to resist. It was why he could hold up so well during interviews, though working with people was a different story. There was only so far it could carry you: charm was only useful for first impressions.
Nevertheless, most of these fans weren't about to see him around for more than just a few moments. With that, Neil led the way out of the crowd, pushing through the gaggles of fans with his most confident smile. Some of them were still taking pictures, and he turned towards one of the culprits, frowning. "Excuse me, I'd request that you respected Ben Wishaw's privacy," he snapped. He wasn't really angry at the situation, or at any of the girls. The most that one could have said he felt was mild distaste, but he had to act.
Wasn't lying just all part of celebrity business?
It didn't take long for the two of them to push through to near the end of the crowd. The other male apologized, and Neil replied in a low voice, "I know." There were way too many signs that he wasn't Ben Wishaw. Heck, he didn't even know the actor's name, the poor soul. "But you could probably get a job as an impersonator. Now follow me," he said, beckoning for him to weave around with him, "Just stay calm. Just come along."
With that, Neil began to march off into the distance, heading towards a small side street where he was quite certain nobody would follow them.
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Oct 30, 2013 7:12:43 GMT -8
Presence wasn't something Donovan was too aware of having, carried himself with a casual ease of somebody not too shy nor overly concerned with gaining attention. Usually it was easy to hide in the shadows. Most of the time- the current exception a notable break from the comfortable trend. But it was enough to not come off as too pathetic as he followed with an estimated respectable distance behind the man he didn't know, not a scared animal scurrying away but a quiet retreat. Or his dignity hoped so.
The other man, however... it was too easy to just follow him even if nothing else was making sense, the admission that he knew the truth even less so. At least he seemed to have an idea of what was going on and how to handle it, or at least putting on a decent show of it. If either of them should be an actor between the two of them, it certainly wasn't himself. Donovan was a bit impressed at his ability to confidently command the fans, but then maybe it was the sort of thing he was used to in a different context. He didn't think he could be imposing if he wanted to be, never really saw the value in asserting his presence. Even to the spurned fangirls, he offered a bit of an apologetic shrug.
Once they were finally alone, hidden safely in the side street, he regarded the man with a bit of a suspicious frown. "You're not a manager then," he decided, but hardly accusatory. "So who are you?"
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 4, 2013 20:51:57 GMT -8
You always had to lie a little when you were in business meetings. Sit up straight, chin up, smile your brightest smile and speak with as much confidence as you could pretend to garner. Neil had that down to an art at this point-- his father had made sure of that, just in case he would want to take over the family business. He had been a precocious kid, after all, and his parents had spared him no waiting with the knowledge that some day, he might be the one to take over the ropes. Sure, he might not have enjoyed acting, but he was good at it when he had to be. Whether he liked it or not, it had seeped into his real life as well. With half-truths. Dismissive grins. A laugh that sounded genuine to the untrained ear.
He wasn't manipulative, but he was most certainly a trained liar. But it was all in the name of business. So when the two of them were a distance away, and the other male asked him the accusatory question, Neil couldn't help but laugh. "I'm whoever you want me to be," he smirked. Maybe it was a little sadistic to phrase things this way, but he supposed that it wouldn't hurt to tease him a little. The poor boy looked so sad and confused, though, that Neil simply shook his head, laughing once again.
"Just an actual Ben Wishaw fan who could tell that it wasn't actually him in a matter of seconds. He was in the latest James Bond, for the record," Neil added. "That's where he got most of his fans from. You do bear an uncanny resemblance to how he looked as Q, but that's definitely not how Ben looks most of the time." For one, Ben Wishaw was a lot more sparkly, just like celebrities were supposed to be. Then again, it was hardly polite to mention that.
"Hollywood might not be the best area for you to walk around without a disguise."
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 6, 2013 2:17:16 GMT -8
Donovan's expression only grew more weary as he considered, and after running through the possibilities of what such an offer could even entail, he came up blank. "There isn't anything I particularly care you to be," Donovan responded with some delay, not intending to sound insulting but the delivery more dismissive than gentle. "But thanks?"
What sense it would make for him to need anybody to be something other than themselves? Was there some implication that Donovan was missing? Or was it just one of those lighthearted things people said without any meaning behind it at all? After seeing him lie so effectively, it was difficult to judge whether to take anything he said seriously. He had very little to make an accurate impression of him at all.
"I… Don't know what a James Bond or a Q is," he self-consciously adjusted his glasses upon further comparison to the actor, not following much of what his happenstance rescuer was going on about. It was a bit unsettling that he looked more like a character than an actual person. "Is this a new thing? It's never happened before," he asked, eyes darting up and down the side street as if waiting to be swarmed again. He would doubt that anything could be so bad that he really needed a disguise, but how naive he had been that morning when he allowed his face to walk out the door without properly hiding it. If only he'd known.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 6, 2013 6:16:36 GMT -8
Oh, he was a grouchy one. Neil sincerely hoped that the real deal wouldn't be as difficult if he ever got to meet him. PR was not one of his favourite matters and he did like it when celebrities broke the perpetually smiley, sunshine-veiled layers of falseness that the media required they portrayed. However it would be nice to see Ben Wishaw as someone that he could genuinely get along with. Though it wasn't as though this poor guy had had it easy, either-- it was a long, difficult struggle, but they'd managed to get themselves out of the gaggle of girls and into the dark alleyway. But the other admitted that he was totally oblivious as to what Neil was going on about, and that was when it all clicked.
The poor, unfortunate soul had been mistaken for a celebrity who he'd never heard of.
"You have no idea?" Neil raised a brow. "Well, okay, that changes things a little." How had he not known what James Bond was? Then again, there was no reason to lie about it. Where had he been living, under a rock? Neil didn't consider himself a master of pop culture either, but he at least knew what was going on. Judging from the expression on the poor guy's face, he had absolutely no clue.
"Hold on," Neil said, pulling up a window on his smartphone's display. "I can show you what you're missing over here--"
He typed in "James Bond Q" in an image search, and several images of the real Ben Wishaw showed up. In a separate window, he Googled "James Bond", pulling up the Wikipedia link. "Here you go!" Neil exclaimed, waving the image of Q in front of the other male. "I present you your doppelganger."
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 7, 2013 1:48:34 GMT -8
Donovan was prepared to dismiss any resemblance as being not all that close, mostly out of wishful thinking and wanting to maintain some uniqueness of identity that had never been threatened before. After all, Neil had figured it out quickly enough before extracting him from the crowd, so perhaps the bright sunlight and excitement had blinded the fangirls from looking too closely. But Donovan grasped the other man's wrist to hold the waving phone still, squinting (he really needed a new prescription) at the various thumbnails.
"Well, damn," he sighed, because there really wasn't any denying it. He really did need a new pair of glasses or a haircut now, but that was lower in priority than getting a new bike... and eating and paying his rent. So he supposed he was stuck looking like this for the indefinite future. "At least he looks like he knows how to work a computer. I don't even know how to turn one on." And then all the confusion and annoyance gave way to a peal of laughter, barely trying to suppress it with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth.
Nobody else could hear about this.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 9, 2013 18:31:39 GMT -8
"Told you so." Neil's grin was as cheery as ever as he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You've got a face that could charm the pants off any lady, good sir. I wouldn't call it a bad thing." Unless he turned out to not like women, which would be a problem. By that, he meant for the women, and not for him. Neil hadn't liked anyone in years-- or well, hadn't liked anyone in years until perhaps recently. He had no idea where that was going and in what direction that was going to go, but he had a feeling that he was going to like it. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, nodding as the other man spoke willing to just go with the flow until he mentioned that he couldn't use a computer.
"Aww come on man, I'm sure you aren't that bad. Give yourself a little credit. As long as you can surf the Internet and use Microsoft Office, I'm pretty sure that you can get by in the real world." It didn't occur to him that the other wasn't exaggerating, or that there were people who actually didn't know how to work the basics of a computer at all, especially someone so young. The other male seemed slightly less irritated from before, which was probably a good sign, too. He was about to pipe up and say something else when the other burst out laughing.
Neil chuckled. He couldn't help it-- the other male was kind of funny, now that he was done being all grouchy. And then he laughed. And then he let out another laugh, which gave rise to one more. Soon, he was also doubled over in peals of laughter, clutching his stomach as he grinned at the other.
"That was fantastic," he said, sticking a hand out. "I'm Neil, by the way. And I'm assuming that you aren't named Ben Wishaw."
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 9, 2013 19:33:49 GMT -8
While he was used to amusing himself, Donovan was a bit surprised by the other man joining in with the laughing, which made it all the more difficult to stop. Usually his companions had been remarkably more serious, straight-faced and eyebrows raised and refusing to see what was apparently so hilarious. A bit flushed from lack of breath, Donovan regained his composure with only a couple more chuckles. The situation was absurd, it was difficult to ignore.
"No, really. The librarian always helps me with the computer," he openly admitted, refusing to be too ashamed about it. Moose had been even more clueless than himself, and he'd just defeated the unknown of driving for the first time the day before without managing to get himself killed. Things like computers were hardly a threat now.
"Donovan," he introduced, taking the other man's hand. His own handshake was probably too gentle, never really cared about the importance of showing his character with a firm grip. "Shepherd," he added as an afterthought, because some people liked referring to people by their last names in some sense of propriety. Donovan never really bothered with anything too polite, but he liked making the option available.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 9, 2013 21:08:52 GMT -8
Truth be told Neil was far from serious. In fact, he considered himself to be quite a lighthearted person. He wasn't very good at making jokes, but neither was he at taking things seriously. An odd mix, but he supposed that everyone was full of their own contradictions. People were strange, and never quite fit into little boxes. No, they were all odds and ends, things that didn't make sense. While he was never really good at getting to know them, he had to admit that humans as specimens were fun to dissect. This, however, was something that he'd never expected to hear.
"The librarian?" His initial thought was who doesn't own a computer, but he dismissed it. Being in Los Angeles had shown him that no, there were plenty of people without the luxury of a computer in their home, or food. Not everyone had a job or a roof over their heads, though from the way this man was dressed, he would never have guessed that he was too poor to afford one. "So. Wait a minute. How much do you know how to use?" It would make sense that he wouldn't know how to use one very well if he didn't have a computer at home. If he had any less sense of etiquette or decency, Neil would have leaned in right out of curiosity.
"I use computers quite a lot. You could say that I do it for a living." For the summer, at least. And hopefully for the rest of his life.
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 9, 2013 21:31:22 GMT -8
The elderly librarian was probably one of Donovan's favourite people for the amount that she put up with him. She probably didn't know all that much about computers to be considered an expert, certainly more than him, but she was always able to assist him whenever he was trying to figure out how to print things off or look something up. And all she really asked for in exchange was ruffling his hair and somebody to talk about her three cats with. His roommate had both a laptop and a beautifully large-screened iMac, but he was explicitly instructed never to even look at them too closely. To be fair, Donovan imagined he'd probably break a computer if he even breathed on it wrong. Through his inability to afford one of his own, and ability to have gotten by just fine so far without it, Donovan never really saw the purpose in learning how to use the machines. His e-mail worked just fine on his phone, and he barely even had use for that.
"I know how to click on things?" he offered as rough estimation of his knowledge, but usually the librarian was the one navigating the mouse. He didn't have a good idea of what he didn't know how to do, or what was even possible with computers, to give a better example of his complete lack of knowledge. "Ah," he nodded along, not even sure what somebody would do with computers for a living. Maybe he e-mailed people a lot, because he didn't imagine anybody getting paid for looking up pictures of funny cats wearing hats. "That sounds complicated." He could only guess that the other man was some sort of genius.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 9, 2013 21:55:17 GMT -8
If Neil knew that Donovan spent most of his time around a Mac, he would probably have tried to purify him in one of the fountains near Hollywood Boulevard, chanting some sort of Hindu ritual. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but Neil's loathing for Apple knew no bounds. Luckily for both Donovan and Neil, though, he was not aware of this fact, and the poor male would not be subject to Neil's endless ramblings about how Steve Jobs was a terrible designer.
"You know how to click on things." Neil repeated after the other, shaking his head from side to side slowly in utter disbelief. "Well, that's a start." Who around him only knew how to click on things? Well, his paternal grandfather, for one. Every time he visited him in Chicago, the older man had to ask Neil to teach him how to use a keyboard. "Damn. Do you..." He couldn't believe he was asking this. "Do you know how to use a keyboard?"
"And about my job, I guess you could say it is." Neil shrugged. If he didn't know how to use a computer he wouldn't quite know what Google was, and Neil wasn't going to bring it up randomly. Though he was certainly very excited about what he was doing. "What do you do, then?"
Somehow, the fact that they were casually chatting in a dark alleyway didn't seem to occur to Neil. He wasn't a particularly social person, but this man was certainly interesting to talk to rather than just as a specimen of humanity. More than he could say for a large part of the human population, alas!
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 10, 2013 5:22:37 GMT -8
For as opinionated as people were about macs vs. windows, Donovan wasn't really clear what the difference was and could only pick out an apple product by the obvious apple logo. And he wasn't sure why the rest of the windows computers all had different logos? He'd been in enough coffee shops surrounded by people on laptops to ponder it. Beyond that, they were both just computers. Brand loyalty escaped him almost as much as sports team obsession did. His own iphone was only at the insistence of his roommate, and it worked well for what little he actually did with it. At least it was convenient for gps whenever he managed to get lost, and more recently for figuring out the bus routes. Any rants about Steve Jobs would have been lost on him.
"Is it difficult? I thought you just pushed the letters," Donovan shrugged, glad that at least he knew something basic, missing the fact he didn't quite know how to type with any proficiency. He stuck by the two-finger method, jabbing at the letters at a speed that would make anyone cringe to watch. If he knew just how much went into computers, he'd probably be a lot more impressed with Neil than he already was.
"I used to be a florist," Donovan missed his old job, the company of the flowers certainly smelled better than his co-host and the customers far more pleasant than some of the drunken call-ins. At least Mi-Ho had been screening those lately, usually responding in angry-sounding Korean to drive the caller off. "But not enough people want flowers, I guess. I work for a radio station now," he didn't bother giving the name of the station, the other man didn't look like the sort of demographic that listened and he was annoyed enough at having to go to the company picnic the day before to want to provide any advertising for it. "It's easy, I just talk."
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 10, 2013 7:59:17 GMT -8
"Well, that's a start. If you can turn a computer on and off, and can type, then you're better than half the people out there. I'd say you were less computer illiterate than you think you actually are." Neil shrugged. Most people really only needed to know the basics. There were experts in every field for a reason. Such as how he could never hope to be a florist, or to work in a radio station.
They'd been standing in the middle of the alleyway for a while now, Neil couldn't help but note. It was probably a rather strange location to have a conversation. Most of the time, he would simply have parted ways with the other male, but he supposed that this was a nice exception. He'd managed to find someone interesting, for one, and the thought that he should perhaps give more people chances crossed his mind briefly.
This was Los Angeles, after all. There was so much to see and do here, if only he decided to open up his mind.
"What radio station do you work for?" he asked. "And hey, I think that's pretty cool myself. If you can handle DJ equipment, I'm pretty sure that you can handle a computer." Neil's taste in music ranged from classical to oldies to Daft Punk, so there was a pretty good chance that he would be able to at least understand what the other male played on his station.
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Post by DONOVAN SHEPHERD on Nov 11, 2013 5:04:47 GMT -8
"Ah, I didn't realize the bar was so low," he replied a bit doubtfully, not sure if the other man was trying to make him feel better, because he was fairly comfortable with his bottom-tier computer skills. But he wasn't about to argue how awful he actually was, because the stories of his mess-ups weren't even all that interesting. There were plenty of other things he considered himself passably decent at that were more relevant to his lifestyle. It was hard to imagine how using computers on a daily basis would improve his life any. He couldn't see himself ever needing a spreadsheet or a powerpoint for any reason.
He'd been in stranger places than alleyways to find it too unusual, but Donovan wasn't usually too talkative and rarely got himself into situations where he needed to exchange more than a short conversation with anyone. But he was entertained enough now that he wasn't searching for any reason to dismiss himself. If he'd been less distracted by Neil, he'd have realized that he was now running more than a bit late for the performance that he'd come all this way to see.
"The Sunshine Station," Donovan figured the other man had never heard of it, but there was always the possibility. He doubted they had too many listeners, though he never really checked a reported statistic of the audience... actually, it was probably somewhere in with all on the paperwork that he managed to shove into the trash every time somebody placed it on his desk before Mi-Ho was hired to organize everything. "It's bluegrass, but sometimes at night we mix it up a bit more," he admitted, because he and Louisa did get a bit bored, and they never seemed to get any complaints. They never strayed too far, at least. "The equipment is easy," Donovan assured, found the systems and controls easy to handle.
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Post by NEELANJAN MARTIN on Nov 11, 2013 6:25:05 GMT -8
Yeah, he had absolutely no idea what the Sunshine Station was. It had been worth a try, but when you listened to most of your music on Pandora or Spotify, it probably wouldn't have rung too much of a bell with him anyway. The brunette shook his head. "Nope. Should have known, though, because I don't even listen to the radio that much unless I do it online." The last time he had used a physical radio, it had been when he was in his parents' car.
It was interesting though, come to think of it. There was a slew of questions that he would have asked the other man if he could and it wasn't rude. How was the radio doing in the light of all these new technologies? Were they still getting listeners? Was the industry dying, or did he see Internet radio as a way for it to thrive? You had to wonder about these things. But like how the Kindle would never completely destroy books and how TV had never killed the movies, he supposed that it could never be a complete substitute.
He didn't know this man well enough, though, even though he had saved him.
"I suppose you are a celebrity then, in your own way. I should be honored to meet you in light of this sudden plot twist!" When in doubt, go for flattery without quite sucking up. "I've been listening to a lot of Bill Monroe lately. Do you know the song? I said blue moon of kentucky, keep on a-shinin'/Shine on the one that's gone and left me blue~"
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