#455th

[quasi-normalcy]

We’re all hoping to avoid a repeat of last year when Mom asked when we’d be having some maple-pecan pie, only to remember that Suleiman the Magnificent had always been the one to bake them. Even in a best-case scenario, it’s all but inevitable that our four-year-old niece will ask “Where’s Suleiman the Magnificent?” at some point during the proceedings, meaning someone will have to gently explain to her that Suleiman the Magnificent’s body was transported back to Istanbul for burial at Süleymaniye Mosque while several of his internal organs were buried near Szigetvár at Turbék. And as awful as it sounds to say, we’re almost relieved that Grandma passed away this February—the thought of her dementia making her have to learn over and over that Suleiman the Magnificent’s 1566 death presaged an extended era of Ottoman decline is simply more than we could bear.

[captain-price-unofficially]

Consolidated B-24M Liberator, serial number 44-50468, 455th BG after a rough landing in San Giovanni, Italy. 11 April 1945.

[sgiandubh]

Waypoints, Take 1: POV Complete Outsider

A little something, before we begin. In the history of this fandom, S's book was a critical juncture point. To explain my speculations and findings, it felt appropriate and fun to split it in two parts: the first, written from the POV of a complete outsider who happens to stumble upon Waypoints. The second would be a shipper's view, simply because this is who I am. Under no circumstances should it be understood that I recently took a flight to Bangkok, as I will immediately tell you (I wish I had!). Last time I used this rhetorical trick it went in flames, and I had to explain myself at length: you have been warned. Here goes and I apologize already - this is going to be LONG:

Hi, I am Sgian-Dubh and I have just boarded the LHR-BKK twelve -hour flight, after four years of forced COVID abstinence. I am brimming with anticipation for five o'clock tea at the Mandarin Oriental's Author Lounge, the speedboat transfers on the Chao Phraya and the first real Thai mango sticky rice.

Lo and behold, somebody has forgotten a book in the pocket in front of my seat, undetected by the cleaning ladies. It is written by a certain Sam Heughan. I have no idea who that guy is, but I am quickly informed about its topic: My Scottish Journey.

Ok. A travel book. Favorite genre. This guy is no Pico Iyer. No Robert Byron. And certainly no Freya Stark. But I've got roughly ten hours to kill: where's the harm?

The cover intrigues me. Not my type, but a very good-looking gentleman, with a rather determined, almost stern attitude and a dram of whisky in his left hand. Is he a unicorn entrepreneur? An inventor? The next UK astronaut? Impossible to tell. But hey, never judge a book by its cover.

It quickly becomes apparent that Heughan is the male lead in that lengthy Outlander series of already cult-ish reputation, that my mother watches with gusto ("call me in half an hour, I am watching The Wedding": might I add, for the 455th time in documented history) and The Guardian TV critic calls raunchy.

Six hours later, roughly by the second round of refreshments, I have questions.

The beginning is peculiar. This guy has a busy-busy-busy life and lives in a large country house all by himself, with a hissing coffee machine he just bought. There is something havishamesque about this premise, clashing with the self-assured, conqueror pose on the cover:

But there is hope: a decision is made on the spur of the moment to skedaddle and walk the 96 mile West Highland Way, rather than brood in front of the telly with Chinese delivery food and more alcohol, Bridget Jones style. Fair enough. Adequate equipment is immediately acquired in a frenzy and outside it is nasty raining. The new tent is mounted and dismounted in the living-room (who does this? who eats scrambled eggs with ketchup?).

Pitter-patter. And more pitter-patter. Damp, but heartwarming overnight stops in cozy hotels along the way and short conversations in Halloween-themed bars, surrounded by Highland zombies and banshees. Parritch and grit. The harsh encounter with homelessness along the way prompts the Good Samaritan reflex:

More pitter-patter. Entwined with the self-reliant feat, we start to follow a parallel trail to the narrator's past, by far the most interesting part of the book. Challenging beginnings, in a single parent family surrounded by love and dignified penury. A real shyness due to truly heartbreaking, unfairly absurd, almost debilitating circumstances:

Details like the above quickly grab the reader's attention, and how could they not? There is a lot of sensibility in there, rather aptly balanced with a whiff of Dickensian morality (stay true to your self) and of course, with one of the favorite Victorian refrains: play up, play up and play the game. Obstacles are patiently conquered with uncommon resilience and a true stubbornness, but for a very long time, life is a haphazard succession of opportunities and rebukes.

For such a good-looking man, women are sparse and far between. Ae fond kiss and then we sever at 10. Stage partners. A stage production assistant. The one who didn't last more than one week once moved in together. No explanation is provided and we sense this is an uneasy topic. I wouldn't insist, as a casual reader, but my curiosity is piqued.

At this point in time, breakfast is served. I have long lost track of the zip-a-dee-doo-dah trekking part of the book, involving a sulking, but nice bearded guy and his wife, chance brief encounters and mushrooms. But the Underdog Tale surely got my attention, even if we spend an extravagant amount of time between the London neo-slums and the glitter of Tinseltown: skipping to the essential, it eventually paid off.

With instant fame comes exposure and the lottery winner syndrome. What to do. How to cope. Women multiply as by magic, but only one is singled out and discussed in a strange, contrived, almost lackadaisical manner:

If this made me, the assumed Complete Outsider, stop in my tracks and scratch my head, I can only imagine what would happen to these people's fans. Why address folklore and conflated nonsense, at all? Why give space to hearsay? Why "it", when it should logically be "them"? Why the ambiguity? Why the uneasiness, spinning like floating wood in a sea of positivity? Why worry about that, when you drum the march of success and explain your bachelorhood by an unsolved Oedipus complex, thwarting any potential pairing?

I sip the horrible airline drip coffee and I ask:

Who is Caitriona to you, Mister Heughan?

You wrote a +150 pages long book beating around this bush. There are no such things. You are either life-long friends and this is a non-existent topic, or you are lying to yourself, lying to your readers and hiding in plain sight.

Time to disembark. I am keeping the book. I am not buying the whisky (naïve product placement on top). But hell I am going to watch that series on Netflix!

[banks-lawson]

Banks Lawson of the 455th Air Expeditionary Wing of the U.S. Air Force. Stationed at Bagram Air Base. December 12, 2019.

“This one is good!” Banks called out as he smacked the side of the Black Hawk helicopter he just finished inspecting. “Number 3184 ready for liftoff whenever you’re ready, sir.” Turning, Banks saluted to his superior, Colonel Altman.

“Stand down, Lawson. I’ll take it from here.” The Colonel disappeared into an aircraft hangar to grab the group that would be taking 3184 to the nearby medical hospital.

The day before was hell on earth. The airbase was attacked by a suicide bomber that left 80 wounded and 1 killed. Black Hawk 3184 would be transporting the more critical patients to a safer place to recover.

Banks assisted wheeling gurneys onto the aircraft while doctors and nurses manned their medications and ventilators. It felt surreal. After being stationed there for years, this was the first time Banks witnessed true destruction. He’d been lucky until then; simply repairing and inspecting aircrafts on the day to day. Now, he was watching people with amputated limbs and bloody bandages load into a helicopter he inspected.

Banks and the rest of the airmen staying on the ground watched as the Black Hawk lifted into the clouds and disappeared, silently praying to themselves for safe travels and lives saved.

“Back to work!” Colonel Altman barked, making them all disperse to continue working on the endless amount of repairs that needed done from the previous day’s attacks.

An hour later, everyone’s radios started to pick up the same message. “Mayday, mayday!” Afraid of another bombing, Banks grabbed his radio and took cover beside the plane he’d been working on. “Is anyone there?” They asked. Banks heard a voice over the commotion answer the mayday. “Colonel Altman here. What are your coordinates? What’s happening?”

“It’s Black Hawk 3184.” The shaky voice spoke through the static. “All engines have failed. We’re going down.”

[apenitentialprayer]

Left: The Good Samaritan: He Had Compassion, by J. Kirk Richards, 2014. Right: Icon of Dirk Willems, by Jivko Donkov

[In] the parable of the Good Samaritan […] the people who fail to do good, who proved callous, were the priest and the Levite, who were more concerned with respecting their religious traditions than with coming to the aid of a suffering person. The one who demonstrates what it means to be a "neighbor" is instead a heretic, a Samaritan. He draws near, he feels compassion, he bends down and gently tends the wounds of his brother. He is concerned for him, regardless of his past and his failings, and he puts himself wholly at his service. Jesus can thus conclude that the right question is not: "Who is my neighbor?" But: "Do I act like a neighbor?" Only a love that becomes gratuitous service, only a love that Jesus taught and embodied, will bring separated Christians closer to one another. Only that love, which does not appeal to the past in order to remain aloof or to point a finger, only a love which in God's Name puts our brothers and sisters before the ironclad defense of our own religious structures; only that love will unite us.

Pope Francis, Homily on the Solemnity of the Conversion of Saint Paul, given January 25th, 2024.

(Today, May 16th, marks the 455th anniversary of the death of Dirk Willems, Anabaptist martyr who nearly escaped execution at the hands of officials of the Catholic Church, but who stopped to save the life of one of his pursuers even though it meant he would certainly be recaptured)

[halobirthdays]

Happy birthday to Arbiter Ripa 'Moramee!

Today is his -455th birthday!

'Moramee "the Savage" was a ruthless and bloodthirsty commander, known for both his effective stratagem and violent temper.

During his service to the Covenant he quelled numerous civil conflicts, including the Sixteenth Unggoy Disobedience and ending the reign of Kig-Yar pirate prince Krith. In his own home, he attempted a coup against his keep's kaidon. It failed, and he was sent to languish in prison. However, the Prophet of Regret, seeing 'Moramee's temperament as useful, urged the Hierarchs to appoint him as Arbiter. While there were rumblings of discontent about this choice due to 'Moramee's history and character, his appointment was approved.

After his appointment, he was sent to Harvest in the Covenant's renewed campaign to extract a Forerunner artifact. This would lead him and Regret to the Forerunner shieldworld Trove, where he attempted to use Ellen Anders to active the Forerunner dreadnought fleet contained within. The fleet, if kept in the Covenant's hands, would make short work of humanity.

His plan was interrupted by Sergeant Forge and Red Team. Forge and 'Moramee fought, and his arrogance would be his downfall, exposing his neck to taunt Forge, who took the opportunity to stab him fatally, first in his neck, then with his own energy sword.

Side note because this makes me laugh:

Sangheili designs vary, but the character models have always been consistent with the design of any particular game. So, every character will reflect that game's choice, even if they appeared differently in other games. The one exception is 'Moramee. In Halo Wars, the other Sangheili look like this--

--while my mans looks like that.

All of this is to say that 'Moramee may be the only Sangheili character to be confirmed butt ugly.

[usafphantom2]

B-24 Liberator (44-50468) of the 455th Bomb Group, 15th Air Force which crashed on take off from San Giovanni airfield in Italy, April 1945. Six of the crew were killed.

@WW2airfields via X

[victusinveritas]

German fighter pilot Alfred Michel overlooks his damaged BF-109G with members of the American 90th infantry division and members of the 455th anti aircraft battery who had shot him down by hitting his engine with two rounds of .50 Cal, while on his first mission. Germany, January 1945

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

FREE One-Day Only DEAL: Listen To Welcome To the Black Parade for the 455th Time, Get A BONUS Gift of Blurry Vision!

[ms-yuuki-daily-pokemon]

This is the 455th drawing for this project.

[2024log]

455th poop of 2024

[ringthedamnbell]

Wrestling With Sin: 455

Wrestling With Sin: 455 featuring Chris Kanyon, Paul Wight, Sherri Martel and more...

Brian Damage This is the 455th installment of the ‘Wrestling with Sin‘ series. A group of stories that delves into the darker, underbelly of pro wrestling. Many of the stories involve such subjects as sex, drugs, greed and in some cases even murder! As with every single story in the Sin series, I do not condone or condemn the alleged participants. We simply retell their stories by researching…

[captain-price-unofficially]

German fighter pilot Alfred Michel overlooks his damaged BF-109G with members of the American 90th Infantry Division and members of the 455th Anti Aircraft Battery, who shot him down by putting two .50 rounds into Michel's engine. Germany, January 1945

[halobirthdays]

Happy birthday to Supreme Commander Rho 'Barutamee!

Today is his -455th birthday!

'Barutamee was a Sangheili zealot and Supreme Commander attached to the Ministry of Fervent Intercession. He had the unique honor of housing a Forerunner Luminary--a rare device that can reveal the location of other Forerunner relics. During his career, he learned of Maethrillian, the Forerunner capital world. Locating Maethrillian became his single-minded objective, and he secretly amassed his own collection of artifacts to aide in his search.

He ordered his vessel, Long Night of Solace, to the Epsilon Eridani system, home to the UNSC stronghold of Reach. He was surprised to find a human presence there, and began preparing an assault, but did not set aside his goal of locating relics on Reach.

He sent out a crew of Devoted Sentries to continue the search. However, time began to run short when he learned that the Ministry of Resolution was sending its own fleet to Reach. Not wanting to grant another ministry his findings, and with his fleet facing heavy resistance from the UNSC, his vessel engaged UNSC forces on Reach's surface.

NOBLE team exposed the vessel's location by destroying Spire One. This offered the rare opportunity to destroy the supercarrier, a significant blow to the Covenant assault. NOBLE initiated operations LEFT JAB and UPPER CUT, distracting the Covenant fleet and using that opportunity to detonate a rigged Slipspace drive under the Long Night of Solace. The operation was a success, though Jorge-52 sacrificed himself in the process.

'Barutamee presumably died when the supercarrier was destroyed. His lieutenant would attempt to finish what he started, but by that time it was too late: the Ministry of Resolution arrived.

[meteorjam]

Kao's manager basically being MyBlue will never not be funny to me

[rabbitcruiser]

Pedro Menéndez de Avilés sighted land near St. Augustine, Florida and founded on August 28, 1565, the oldest continuously occupied European-established city in the continental United States.