So, I'm going to see Panic's free show tomorrow down at Copley Square. In the spirit of that, I just wanted to briefly express my respect for Spencer Smith as a human being. It's kind of no secret I've had this huge, raging, lady boner for that man ever since I really got a good look at him (you know what I mean) and he's only gotten hotter as he gets older. That being said, my respect for him obviously has absolutely nothing to do with his looks, but for his recent (and I do mean hot off the press) announcement of his struggle with prescription pills and alcohol.
Spencer openly admitting his struggle with drugs and drinking is really near and dear to me. It's sort of strange that the announcement happened when it did, yesterday I was looking at some picture I'd posted of him on tumblr and his eyes looked so... off. I don't know how to put it, and I personally don't want to link it because there's this little part of me that would feel awful if my suspicion was true of him being under many influences in the image. But his eyes looked, more than just that typical "red" of being stoned or drunk, but hazy. He's looking at the camera, but he's not looking into it. It's only made worse by the ever animate Brendon right beside him, smiling wide with his wide awake eyes. I'd never seen that picture of him before, I couldn't really tell who took it, it didn't seem like a typical "fan photo".
Any who, Spencer Smith is the man. It takes a very legit, very committed, and very good person to put themselves out in the open the way he did. I think that with their new album in the home stretch of it's release, and a very promising tour with Fall Out Boy on the horizon, he's handling his problems like an adult and not looking for sympathy but instead looking to help out fans. And also, with this album being inspired by the "virtues of vice" as Brendon said, Spencer coming fourth and laying out his life on the table right now seems like genuine good timing.
Hopefully I'll finally have some decent pictures to put on here, I hardly keep anyone updated on the shit I do.
Oh! Here, have a friendly teaser.
He sat on the fire escape in front of his studio apartment, having had crawled out there wearing just his loose sweatpants and nothing else. Alex lazily scratched across his abdomen, feeling the not-so prominent muscles underneath.
Despite the beauty of this moment, he couldn't ignore the hangover pounding on the door to his brain, the feeling of vomit rising seated in the back of his stomach. Every natural sway of his body brought another wave of nausea rushing front and center in his concious thought. The entire world was making him sick. A headache ran rampant, slooshing about his brain. Every muscle was sore, every limb aching.
He was getting much too old for these nights perched on his living room couch with a bottle of vodka and no one to drink with. Or talk to. Or hold. Or just enjoy the presence of. Loneliness was a serious bitch.
The fire escape was digging into his ass, a jolt of fresh pain reminding him that his cigarette was long dead, no cherry sparking the south end, and had even been discarded. He yawned, stretching out slightly, before sliding and stumbling back into his apartment. Cold linoleum met the flat of his feet, making goosebumps prick up his arms.
Then, he heard the faintest scrape of knuckles against the wood grain of his front door.