#Knoll Associates

[chicinsilk]

US Vogue June 1958

Opera pumps in caramel yellow alligator, apricot bottoms by Schiaparelli. Delman shoes, in Fleming-Joffe alligator.Frost Bros. Jewelry Verdura. Turquoise straw hat by Lilly Daché. Sofa by Eero Saarinen, for Knoll Associates. With the colors of June: Watteau Rose lipstick and glossy nails, by Juliette Marglen. Escarpins d'opéra en alligator jaune caramel, bas abricot de Schiaparelli. Chaussures Delman, en alligator Fleming-Joffe. Bijoux Frost Bros. Verdura. Chapeau en paille turquoise par Lilly Daché. Canapé par Eero Saarinen, pour Knoll Associates. Avec les couleurs de juin : rouge à lèvres et ongles glacés Watteau Rose, de Juliette Marglen. Photo John Rawlings vogue archive

[lisamarie-vee]

[girlactionfigure]

OTD  2006, a 23-year-old French-Moroccan Jew by the name of Ilan Halimi was brutally murdered for simply being Jewish. 

ה׳ יקום דמו 🕯️

His killers, a gang that went by the name of Les Barbares or “the Barbarians”, kidnapped Halimi, held him hostage for 24 days before burning him alive and dumping his body near a train station in the Paris suburb of Saint-Genevieve-de-Bois. Halimi was found alive by a local, still fighting for his life, with 80 percent of his body deformed and disfigured by acid burns, an ear and toe cut off and his genitals mutilated. He died on his way to the hospital. 

During the investigation, key members of the group confessed that they believed that all Jews are rich, which motivated them to target Halimi, although he came from the same lower-class, Parisian suburb as the abductors did. The abductors also threatened the Halimi family to send money from the “Jewish community” and “rabbis” if they could not afford the 450,000 euro ransom. 

This instance of the re-emergence of old antisemitic canards associating Jews with money and power demonstrates the lethality of bigotry towards Jews. 

The aftermath of the Ilan Halimi case unfortunately only gained French national attention. Reactions from the global community were scarce, with only the United States Helsinki Commission holding a briefing recognizing the omnipresence of antisemitism in the modern world. 

While all those directly implicated in the abduction of Halimi were sentenced to heavy dues for their crimes, a Halimi relative quotes, “The important thing for me is not handing out heavier jail terms, honestly. The important thing is to open this to the press and public and make it a learning experience”. Unfortunately, when the world sits silently as Jews are murdered overtly, clearly the world holdsno intention for a lesson to be learned.

The cases of the murder of Mireille Knoll, Sarah Halimi (no relation) and others that followed Ilan Halimi’s serve to prove that lethal antisemitism is very much alive in France today. 

May his memory be a blessing

[wrestlersownmyheart]

In Dreams Chapter 1 (Hook X Older Female Reader)

Title: In Dreams Pairing: Hook X Older Female Reader Summary: Hook meets the woman of his dreams. Literally. The only problem? She is married in actuality. And her marriage is not the happy one she tries to portray in reality. Not to mention Y/N has a secret she failed to reveal in their shared dreams.  Can Hook persuade her to leave her husband and seek the safety of his love instead?

Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with AEW. I own only the original

characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Domestic Abuse against a woman

In Dreams

You opened your eyes and took a look at your surroundings, absolutely in awe. A beautiful wooded area stood before you. It was the most breathtaking, ethereal forest you’d ever seen. It was vivid green with trees everywhere, and flowers all over the place. You walked a ways and found yourself on a grassy knoll. Reaching down, you plucked a yellow wildflower from the grass and brought it to your nose. The smell was the sweetest smell you’d ever experienced. 

“I’m in a dream,” you realized aloud. “But it’s the most beautiful dream ever!”

Briefly, you wondered if you’d passed away in your sleep–that you were in heaven.

“But if that’s the case, where is Jesus? Where is everyone else? My family that’s died before me, my pets?”

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

You spun around and discovered you were being watched. By a man. 

A very handsome man. He was leaning against a huge tree, his legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed in front of him. His dark eyes trailed over you, head to foot and back up to your face. His bushy, dirty blonde curls brushed over his eyebrow and you fought the urge to go up to him, move his hair out of his face so you could get a better look at him. 

He wore a white tank top and gray sweat pants that hung low on his slim, sculpted hips.

“I…I…” You stammered softly. “I thought I was alone in my dream. Who are you?”

“What are you talking about,” came his reply, his handsome face growing confused. “This is my dream. Who are you?”

You shook your head, “I’m Y/N. Y/N Last/N. But… I’m dreaming too. I’m real. You’re the one who’s in my dream. Unless….” You continued to yourself, “Maybe we’re sharing a dream.”

“We can���t be sharing a dream,” the man said. “That’s not possible.”

“What if it is,” you said, astonished. “If you swear you’re real, and I swear I’m real….”

“People don’t share dreams.”

“Well, what do you think is happening?”

He shrugged, and smirked. “I think you’re in my dream and I’m about to take advantage of that fact.”

“What are you talking about? And what’s your name?”

He moved closer to you. “Tyler Senerchia. But most people call me Hook.”

“It’s… nice to meet you, Hook.” You held out your hand for him to shake, and he did take your hand in his. But to your surprise, he turned it slightly and brought it to his lips, brushing them softly over the back of your hand.

“Wh-what was that for,” you asked, gently tugging your hand back. He was being somewhat forward. And while you weren’t happily married, you were married nonetheless.

Not to mention… you had a daughter.

“I told you. I’m taking advantage of this dream. I don’t dream about beautiful angels… well, ever…. So I’m going to kiss you. And enjoy it–immensely.”

You felt your face flush as you looked down. An instant later, Hook’s fingers were tilting your chin back so you were looking him in the eye. “Don’t get shy on me,” he chuckled.

“I-I…” you floundered for your words. “I find you to be very handsome, Hook. But… we can’t… I-I…”

His face moved closer to yours and his eyes dimmed to an even darker shade. “I always get what I want.  And right now, I really want to kiss a beautiful woman.  So you’d better have an exceptionally good reason why I can’t or shouldn’t.”

“I’m married,” you said immediately, taking a step back. 

Which did no good. He only stepped up to you again, and pulled you into his arms–squeezing a sharp exhale from you.

His eyes scanned your face, slid down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. “Not near good enough, sweetheart.”

With that, his head lowered to yours…

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

You were jarred awake by a sudden pain to your stomach. 

You came to just as your body fell from the bed to the floor.

“Quit talking in your sleep, or go sleep on the sofa!”

Dazed, you shook your head lightly, and instantly realized your husband had literally kicked you out of the bed. You held your midsection where his kick had landed, and you massaged at your ribs to see if any were broken.

Luckily, not this time.

Gingerly, you lifted yourself to your feet and grabbed your pillow. Seeing as you couldn’t promise not to talk in your sleep again, you were indeed sleeping on the sofa. Uncomfortable as it was going to be. You’d be exhausted the next day.

Heading for the stairs, you took that moment to peek in at your three-month-old daughter Sienna, to make sure the commotion had not woke her. You breathed a sigh of relief when you found her to be sound asleep.

“Thank goodness,” you whispered softly. You were terrified of what would happen when your daughter grew older and she saw the abuse you took from her father. You had no idea what to do.

You were forced to keep the abuse quiet. The first time Derek hit you, you went to a lawyer to file for divorce. But that ended quickly when he gave you another beating for that “stunt”, as he called it. He made it clear he’d kill you if you tried it again. 

And you believed him.

You headed down the stairs to the living room and laid down the best you could on the loveseat that you called a sofa. You needed to upgrade to an actual sofa but you couldn’t afford to at the moment. 

You scoffed at the thought. “When will we ever be able to afford one?”

Derek was a lowlife. You knew that now. He lived off meager unemployment simply because he could, and kept the money for himself, to boot. While you worked two jobs trying to make ends meet for him and your daughter. You stayed exhausted and usually, in the fall and winter months, sick along with it thanks to the drafty old house you lived in.

It didn’t used to be this way. Derek had seemed like a good man at one time. He didn’t have a lot of money but that honestly didn’t matter to you. You fell in love with him whole-heartedly at one time. 

At one time.

The first time he hit you was while you were pregnant. In fact, it was right after you told him about the baby. He was trying to cause you to miscarry, you knew that now. But by the grace of God, your baby had survived and lived to see delivery. 

How long would it be before Derek started hitting Sienna?

It wasn’t the first time the little voice in your mind had asked that question.

“What’ll I do?” You wondered aloud quietly. “I can’t let him hurt her. I’ll have to find a way to leave before it gets to that point.” 

But still… The idea terrified you. You could make it on your own, you knew you could. You’d been doing it after all. But… you had no doubt that Derek absolutely had the nerve to kill you if you tried to leave again.

And then where would Sienna be?

You tried to fight off the beginnings of a panic attack, but failed.

You laid huddled up on the loveseat, crying. Crying in fear. In anger. In frustration.

If only…

If only Hook from your dream had been real. He seemed like the type of man that wouldn’t put up with that kind of treatment toward the opposite sex. 

You rolled your eyes then. Like some dream man was coming to your rescue.

Angry at yourself, you scrunched into the fetal position and cried yourself to sleep till you awoke only a couple hours later to the sound of Sienna’s cries. 

She was hungry. You were sure of it.

Sleepily, you stood to your feet and headed to the kitchen, where you started a bottle for her. 

WIthin minutes, you had the bottle heated and were walking up the stairs to the nursery. The closer you got to the nursery the louder SIenna’s cries seemed.

“Hi, little baby,” you said softly in greeting, gently lifting up your baby girl and putting the bottle to her lips.  She immediately took it in and began drinking. A soft coo passed her lips as she drank the formula.

“That’s my girl,” you whispered, stroking your thumb along her side. Tears burned your eyes again as you looked down at your baby. “I will never let him hurt you. I promise.”

Sniffling, you put the sleepy baby back into her crip once she’d finished her bottle. Then you were heading back downstairs to get ready for your day, while loud snores came from your bedroom.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Hook scanned the bewildered look on Y/N’s pretty face and let his gaze fall back to her mouth.

“Not near good enough, sweetheart.”

He leaned forward and prepared to kiss her, closing his eyes. But after a moment of no human contact, he opened his eyes and found that he was in his hotel room, laying in the bed on his back.

“Ah, man,” he groaned, flopping onto his side. “What kind of dream was that,” he wondered aloud. “I never have dreams like that.”

That’s what he said out loud, but not what he really thought. What he thought was that he’d just met an angel and was already head over heels in love with her.

While he inwardly tried to brush off the dream, it was sticking with him. THe woman had been absolutely stunning. Not typically the type of woman he was attracted to, but for some reason this one was haunting him.

Stretching, he decided to get up and hit the gym.

“Nothing like a good workout to make me forget about it.”

He stood to his feet and pulled on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers and his white tank top along with them. Then he had his sneakers on in record time and was headed to the elevator.

Once he entered the gym, he headed straight for the punching bag to release some of the pent up frustration he was feeling from his dream. He unleashed some punches and worked on his foot-work at the same time. For the next fifteen minutes he worked the punching bag over. Big time.  Then he was headed for the weight bench, and began bench pressing. From there he did pull ups. He was a man possessed. The dream had really gotten to him. And no matter what he did–or how much he did–it wasn’t enough to erase the woman’s face from his mind. 

Huffing and puffing he sat down on a bench and fought to catch his breath. 

“All that work and I still can’t get her out of my mind,” he scoffed to himself. He shook his head and indulged himself in another thought about her.

Her eyes… They were haunted, but beautiful. 

“There’s beauty in sadness.” La bellezza nella tristezza, he thought. The saying fit the woman to a T. He wondered if he’d dream of her again. He hoped so.

Then he felt silly.  She was just some figment of his imagination. What did it matter if he dreamed of her again or not?

He sighed and got back to his exercise.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

“Please, stop Derek! You’re scaring the baby!”

“All you have to do when you get off work is fix a freaking meal! How in the world did you screw up frozen dinners?!” Derek’s green eyes flashed menacingly as he berated you.

“I just microwaved it a bit too long, that’s all,” you insisted gently, jostling the baby in your arms to settle her. “Just calm down. Sienna is crying already.”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT LITTLE BRAT!”

SMACK!

You felt the blooming fire coast up your face as you fell to the floor. You immediately shifted your weight so you were the one to take the hard impact to the linoleum. Your ears rang but you could still hear Sienna’s frantic scream-cries.

“Don’t you ever talk back to me!” 

Sienna was taken from your arms and you groaned softly, managing to climb to your feet as quickly as you were able.  “No! Put her down!”

Oh my God this is it, you thought, nausea roiling in your stomach. He’s not even going to wait for her to be toddling around before he hurts her!

“If you weren’t so concerned with her you’d be able to put a proper meal on the table!”

Distraught ,you shook your head. “No, Derek! Give her to me!”

You frantically followed him into the living room where he plunked Sienna down into her downstairs crib. The baby cried and screamed with fresh vigor.

You flew at him and pounded his back with your fists. “Don’t touch her!” 

You were backhanded for your troubles. You fell to the floor again and had no time to recover as Derek wrapped his hands around your neck and squeezed. Hard. “Don’t you ever…. EVER… HIT ME AGAIN!!”

You tried to gasp in some air but Derek’s hold was too tight. You clawed at his hands, trying to free yourself but he was simply too strong for you. Lack of air was becoming an issue. You felt your grip slipping from his hands. Everything was blurring before your eyes. You grew so sleepy. Your eyes closed as you heard Derek growl, “Night night.”

You opened your eyes and you were in the beautiful forest once again, lying in the plush grass. But the need to breathe was still there. You knew, you just knew that Derek was still choking you in the real world. 

“H-help…” you whispered in desperation, clutching at your throat. 

“Y/N?” 

Tears streamed down your cheeks and you had no idea if it was because of the relief at hearing Hook’s voice, or from the pressure building in your head and eyes.

“Y/N!!”

You heard him shout your name this time, and then the thundering of feet hitting the ground. He was at a full on run, coming to your aid.

“What is it??” He demanded, dropping to his knees by your side. “Y/N, what’s wrong??”

“C-can’t…. Breathe……” You choked out.

“Why not??” He gently but quickly pulled your torso onto his lap and smoothed your hair back from off your face. “What’s happening to you, Y/N?”

You saw Hook fade before your eyes and briefly you saw Derek in his place, his hands still wrapped around your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head and suddenly you were back with Hook.

“Y/N!! What can I do??”

Another tear spilled from your eye as you gasped and choked on seemingly nothing.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Derek must have released you because air invaded your lungs. You turned onto your side and coughed hard, gasping in as much air as you could manage.

“Y/N, please tell me what just happened!”

“I…” You took another deep breath and turned in Hook’s lap so you could face him. “I…” You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t tell him about your husband hurting you. That was too humiliating. “I was…choking. On… on some gum.” You felt so stupid but you couldn’t let him know what really happened.

“Are you okay now?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah.”

“You can breathe now?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re still here…” You glanced up at him and could see his gears turning in his mind. “So…” His eyes lit up. “You’re unconscious. I have to get to you. Where are you outside this dream?”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You couldn’t let him see the way you live. You couldn’t bear seeing the pity on his face. Or the disgust.

“I’m fine, Hook. I’m breathing now. I’m fine.”

Before you could say anything else, you were awakened by cold, wetness all over your face and chest.

You gasped and rolled onto your side. You could still hear Sienna crying from the crib.

“That’ll teach you to pass out when I’m teaching you a lesson!” Derek shouted, a pot in his hands. He’d evidently doused you with cold water. You’d be lucky if you didn’t get yet another cold.

Shakily, you lifted yourself to your knees.

In the next instant, Derek had hold of your face, gripping it hard in his hand. “Remember that time you tried to divorce me–to leave me?”

Tears of pure fear burned your eyes and one trickled down your cheek. You nodded in his hand. 

“Remember what I told you? You do it again… I’ll kill you. And the little brat. I know what to do with a body. No one would ever find you. EVER.”

He released you and you crumpled to the floor again as he left the room, sobbing in horror.

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[verdemoth]

i’ve been seeing flondon x animal crossing stuff around and i really liked the idea. and then the insp grabbed me by the throat and dragged me out of the mires of art block and exhaustion so here we are !

i wasn’t immediately sure what to do with Mel since i don’t really associate Mel with any particular animals ( i mean Mel has a raven but i don’t think species is Symbolic for Mel). But a wolf fit well enough and then from there this design was soooo easy to put together. very pleased with how Mel’s colour palette translated over

Knoll on the other hand was very easy to pick an animal for (obviously a bat. its their fursona.) but much harder to design? Maybe because there aren’t any animal crossing bat characters so i struggled to figure out the style, especially for their facial features. i’m content enough with this but it took me a while

[vignellicenter]

Vignelli Associates designed this huge neon “G” and the cantilevered stainless-steel benches for this for this 1974 branch of Greenwich Savings Bank lobby at Grand Central Station in New York City.

Architects Kahn and Jacobs / HOK designed the interiors of this two-story branch with a narrow entrance lobby and a 2nd floor where the all the banking happened. A huge two-story mirrored wall made the space feel larger but also created a reflection which doubled everything in the space. It made the cantilevered seating look twice as long and made the “G” turn into a circle.

This branch made the cover of Lighting Design & Application in October 1975 and Interiors in January 1976.

In the Interiors article author BR suggests this contemporary bank has a youthful energy which is full of the glitter and ambiguity of a discotheque. “The cantilevered red and green logo, its neon tubes heat-fused into glass, becomes a full circle through reflection, appearing to hang in space and having an almost revolving effect when viewed from the escalator.”

The rest of the spaces have tons of Italian granite, more stainless steel, custom lighting, and to balance all those hard and reflective surfaces, the “G” shows up on wall tapestries.

Cantilevered lobby seating: Concept by Vignelli Associates; fabricated by Scope Furniture Inc.; upholstery: Knoll Inc.

Neon “G” logo: Concept by Vignelli Associates; fabricated by Country Neon (Plainview, N.Y.)

We recently found this drawing and small pasteups for the big neon “G” in the archives. As always, if you know more about this project, we would love to hear from you!

[bsaka7]

One of Knoll's [secretary-general of the International Federation of Sports Physicians] letters ended up in the hands of Carl Diem, the German official who, in addition to his work on the Organizing Committee of the Berlin Olympics, was now a prominent member of the IAAF [International Amateur Athletic Federation] "Two bogus cases of hermaphrodites have been in the press lately," Knoll wrote to Diem, citing Koubek and Weston by name, "proving that women's elite sports contain elements that do not belong there and must be eliminated at all costs." If the Organizing Committee wasn't proactive about the threat of "abnormal" athletes playing in women's sports, Knoll warned, then the Nazis risked enduring accusations of cheating at the forthcoming games. Knoll concluded: "I request that all female participants in the Olympic Games should have their gender checked beforehand by a specially-commissioned doctor." He suggested that these checks be done at the women's dormitories shortly before the start of the Berlin Olympics. Since all the women were going to live together in the same dorm, called the Friesenhaus, implementing a sex test should require "no technical difficulties." Knoll made no mention of testing athletes in men's competitions. In his framing, trans and intersex women, whom he called "hermaphrodites," a common term at the time that in Knoll's writing retained a derisive edge, were the only group worthy of concern. The fact that one of the inspirations for his letter, Koubek, was no preparing to play in men's sports and therefore would not have even been examined under this framework, did not seem to cross his mind. Knoll signed off, "Heil Hitler!" Knoll still had not developed a clear explanation of ow he wanted sports officials to "check" the female athletes or what they should even be looking for: What defined an "abnormal" athlete in the first place? Though he occasionally nodded to the misconception that certain "abnormal" women possessed athletic advantages, he didn't make clear what those advantages were. Would have have considered a woman with too much muscle or body hair to be "abnormal," and at an advantage, and therefore worth disqualifying on the grounds of cheating? What about tall women? Didn't they have an advantage in some sports, too? Or was he simply concerned with genitalia -- and if he was, what genitalia would he have considered disqualifying? Reading between the lines of these letters underscores the truth: there was no coherent ideology or intellectual idea behind Knoll's push for sex testing. For as adamant as he was that the Olympics needed to regulate athletes on the basis of their bodies, he seemed to spend shockingly little time considering what those regulations would look like. He simply hadn't thought it through. Instead, Knoll's push for sex testing could be seen as a reactionary measure, colored almost entirely by his own anxieties about masculinity and femininity -- and, perhaps not incidentally, by his commitment to eugenics. Knoll's campaign for medical exams sounded a lot like his prior statements urging that Nazi leaders purge "unsuitable elements," a group that he included to mean Jewish and non-white people, from sports. To Knoll, regulating women's bodies was probably an extension of that fear of difference. A woman who didn't mean his standards of femininity, whatever those standards were, represented a challenge to the eugenic state. The Nazis associated masculine women with sterility and lesbianism; they were seen as unable to reproduce and, therefore, should be swept to the margins of society.

Michael Waters, The Other Olympians: Fascism, Queerness, and the Making of Modern Sports (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2024), 173-175.

[unhonest-iago]

Incorrect History; Crystals

Everything that you’ve ever known about crystals is wrong. The simple yet elegant rocks that ties us mere mortals to the world’s fertile soil. You’ve probably searched up many times which stone correlates to when you were born. Aries’ pressurized diamonds to Pisces’ aquamarine.  One used for stress relief, the other stimulating creativity. Looking at them, you wouldn’t think about the many wars and political conflicts they’ve played a role in. Thus I believe it’s time we stepped back and got an even clearer reflection of crystals. That is if you pray to not lose your coveted gems. 

The intro reel plays, the text on screen reading ‘Factually True and Real History with Ted Nivison.’ A few images cascade behind the text, one being of the painting Girl with a Pearl Earring, while it gradually scales in size. Now you see Ted standing in front of a grassy knoll, you can assume it’s a green screen as it looks akin to Microsoft’s home screen.

Most would believe that the first big boom for crystals was New Age mysticism that arose in the 1980s but in actuality, they’ve been around since Ancient Egyptian. A ‘mini me’ form of Ted standing in the original’s hand. This revelation came with the discovery of clay tablets with magic formulas inscribed in hieroglyphics. Because this might come as a surprise to most of you, they did not have Staples.  A picture of Staples green-screened, the smaller Ted becoming aware of larger Ted. That kinda blew my mind when I found out. What the fuck? The mini Ted disappeared now. The Parthenos now set behind them.

Most of what we know regarding crystals comes from the Ancient Greeks. The word crystal derives from the word cryo. Before battle, Greek soldiers would rub hematite on themselves. Oxidation gives the crystal it’s pristine rusted color, closely associating it with Ares, their god of war. One such battle being the Trojan war, historians claim it was over the prized Helen of Troy but this is incorrect. Paris of Troy stealing her from her husband, Sparta’s king. A clip of the film 300’s protagonist yelling Sparta appears on screen. Rather it was what Helen possessed, a coveted amethyst necklace. The war itself almost destroyed the economy, allowing for the Romans to easily take over the omega filled population destitute of alphas. And the amethyst necklace unfortunately lost to time. 

Now let’s talk about the Victorians. A flash of puffy powdered wigs appearing on screen, different pieces of clothing; petticoats, feathered hats, waistcoat pockets holding watches. In 1829, Sir Boris Peel established London’s Metropolitan police force. They quickly garnered a corrupt reputation, referred to as spokes, cracking down on jewelry related robberies. Opals, rubies, & pearls most sought after. Women took to sewing them into their clothes, secret pockets when women’s clothing still had them. Further incorporating them into spring bonnets men on the hands of their watches. As tradition, peer pressure from the deceased goes, this is where aristocratic families willing beloved heirlooms to their descendants originated. As they later traveled to the adventurous new-beginnings of the Colonies, so did these possessions.

The east coast having settled, needing more room to stretch their legs, these ambitious settlers journeyed out west finding specks of gold in the Rocky mountains. They kept part of their finds separate, off the record. Only setting up shop after the glorious centers of attention turned to dust, haunted by their lustrous ghosts. Developing the tricks of the trade, mentoring others under their careful thumb. Hitting the 1980s, with the New Age movement, those jewels repurposed into anchors of healing as we entered the Age of Aquarius. Ted looks to the hourglass sitting on their mantle, the sand at the top now all at the bottom. Ah, it looks like we’re out of time. Thank you so much for joining me on this episode of Factually True History. I’m your host, Ted Nivison. Thanks for watching…or reading. It cuts to them waving, as the camera pans outward, the same intro playing, repeating as the outro. 

[jonathantaylorthomas]

Hollywood heritage...

latimes.com/sports/nfl/la-sp-chiefs-andy-reid-20181113-story.html

Andy Reid draws from California roots, and now brings his masterpiece of a Chiefs offense to face the Rams in L.A.

Kansas City Chiefs head coach Andy Reid grew up in Los Angeles and has frozen Tommy’s burgers flown to Kansas City. They’re “good for your joints — the grease. Keeps you lubed up, man,” he says.

(David Richard / Associated Press)

BY SAM FARMER

STAFF WRITER

NOV. 13, 2018 4:40 PM PT

Reporting from kansas city —  

Every so often, the artist comes out in Andy Reid.

It has nothing to do with coaching, instead those times when he puts pen to paper and allows his mind to wander.

“One time when we were talking on the phone, and he was telling me how much he remembered about when we were growing up,” said his brother, Reg, nine years older than Andy. “While we were talking, he sketched a picture of me, then emailed it. It’s just a sketch of my head, but it’s pretty realistic.”

Fans of the Kansas City Chiefs have a deep appreciation for Reid’s creativity. He draws up the offense for one the NFL’s hottest teams; finds new ways to harness the spectacular talent of quarterback Patrick Mahomes. Even now, in his 20th season as an NFL head coach, Reid remains a pigskin Picasso.

That figures. His dad, Walter, did jaw-dropping work as a scenic artist in Hollywood, creating backgrounds and props for film, television and stage production.

“My dad worked on all the Broadway plays that would come to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion,” said Reid, 60, sitting behind his desk at Chiefs headquarters. “They had these huge backdrops they’d lower from the second floor, whether it was ‘Annie Get Your Gun,’ or ‘The Wiz’ back in the day. My dad went down and worked on ‘Hair.’ It was unbelievable. You’d stand up there and look over the edge, and if you took a wrong step, you’d go down like a mile.”

The Chiefs too have reached toe-tingling heights. They’re 9-1 heading into Monday night’s game against the 9-1 Rams at the Coliseum, moved there by the NFL on Tuesday when field conditions in Mexico City became unsatisfactory. On paper, at least, it would have been the most compelling international game the league has staged. Now it will be the Rams’ first Monday night home game at the Coliseum since Nov. 19, 1979, when 54,097 watched a 20-14 victory over Atlanta.

Reid has been in plenty of huge games throughout the course of his career, including coaching Green Bay’s offensive line when the Packers won the Super Bowl in the 1996 season. Reid coached Philadelphia from 1999-2012, led the Eagles to five NFC title games and a Super Bowl, then took over in Kansas City in 2013.

There’s still a lot of Los Angeles in Reid, who grew up on Holly Knoll Drive, just around the corner from John Marshall High, his alma mater, and Walt Disney’s first California home. Reid still eats Tommy’s burgers, and not just when he’s at his offseason home in Capistrano Beach. He has frozen ones delivered by mail.

“I love those things,” he said. “It’s good for your joints — the grease. Keeps you lubed up, man.”

Comically gruff and unrevealing with the media, Reid is beloved by his players, who refer to him as “Big Red,” his hair color at an earlier age.

“He’s actually more funny than you would think,” running back Spencer Ware said. “Most people think of him as just serious. I can kind of relate to him because I always kind of have a serious look on my face and people think that I might be mean mugging. Maybe I’m joking around. So I can kind of relate to Big Red in that area.”

Reid might show his lighter side to his players, but he also gets to the point. They appreciate that.

“The biggest thing is he treats us well, treats us with respect,” tackle Mitchell Schwartz said. “I know he’s got a hard training camp and practices are long and all that. But we don’t have 20-minute meetings every day with rah-rah speeches. It’s just, ‘These are the goals, these are the expectations. Now, it’s on you to go do them.’ So he doesn’t have to be up there every day trying to get us to work hard.”

Reid, a onetime offensive tackle at Glendale College and Brigham Young University, developed his work ethic at an early age. His mother, Elizabeth, was a radiologist, and his father got him occasional work in the entertainment industry. Once, young Andy got a job serving food in the green room of a popular TV talk show, and his rule-following ways clashed with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars.

“I’m not sure whether it was the Merv Griffin or the Johnny Carson show,” he said. “But they put me in charge of dishing out the sweet-and-sour meatballs — they were unbelievable — and I was told I could only give three of them out to people.

“You name it, all of Hollywood would come through those shows. I knew all the athletes, so if it was Wilt Chamberlain or one of those guys, they’d get as many meatballs as they wanted.”

But when John Wayne asked for more than three, the kid had to break the bad news.

“I found out later he was a great athlete,” Reid lamented. “Maybe I should have given him a few more meatballs.”

Reid was enormous for his age. There’s a hilarious video clip of him in a Punt, Pass and Kick competition in the early 1970s. He’s a 12-year-old man-child in a Rams uniform, with a line of kids behind him no taller than his beltline.

“The kid behind me was 8,” Reid is quick to note. “I was like 12 or 13.”

Whatever. The YouTube video leaves his players doubled over.

“Damn, that boy was huge,” Chiefs receiver Tyreek Hill said. “He’s the size of Justin Houston.”

Well, maybe Reid wasn’t the size of that 6-foot-3, 258-pound Kansas City outside linebacker, but he was big enough that when he was a waterboy at Marshall, some of the varsity players asked him why he didn’t join the team.

“Mike Haynes was between my brother and me,” recalled Reid, referring to the future Hall of Fame defensive back. “He and his buddies were riding me, ‘How come you’re so big and don’t play?’ I said, ‘Listen, I’m in sixth grade.’

“They go, ‘No way!’ It’s like, I’ve been doing this waterboy thing longer than you guys have been around. I’m like the professional waterboy.”

Haynes recalls that, and more.

“I remember that when our kicker would kick the ball through the uprights, our field was so small that the ball would leave the school property and go across the street,” he said. “Andy would go get the ball and bring it back. He’d wear his youth football outfit.”

Nowadays, Reid wears shorts to practice, even when the temperature drops below freezing. He’s spent most of his adult life in cold-weather cities and is hardy like that, an artist whose medium is now Xs and O’s, a Southern Californian in spirit only.

sam.farmer@latimes.com

.

[aglaean]

“it seems… all but one of your conversational partners enjoyed your company, princess l’arachel,” knoll says as he approaches. no preamble, no greeting. a slight smile pulls at the corners of his lips.

“of course, i will not say which one that was. still, i’m impressed with your performance. your… energy carries you in these sorts of interactions, it seems. i’ve made quite a few notes. which is good, because everyone you spoke to simply gave a yes or no.”

he shrugs, then almost turns to go before stopping and turning back to her. “ah, wait. my associate made these for you all.”

and he hands her a small metal pin, with the words ‘ likable individual ’ neatly emblazoned on it.

Knoll continues to excell at his uncanny habit of simply appearing. It suits his mysterious airs, though L'Arachel can't help but wonder what marvel of mechanics allows him to eschew arriving somewhere for seeming to have been there the whole time. 'All but one? Fie, surely this is the consequence of administrative error! Or perchance, a curse?' She cries, utterly aghast.

An incoming homily on the woe-beridden follies of mankind's feeble perceptions is halted as her assessor, her ally, continues. The praise itself is familiar, though from a slightly more unexpected source; she beams. 'Impressed you say? But of course! There are not many who can resist my charms.' Yes, in fact, most find themselves swiftly felled by them! And those who weren't, well... she thinks she knows the sort of fools who make so grave a misjudgement.

At his lack of encomiums, she sighs. A pout, one of many at her disposal, surfaces. 'Just a yes or no?' It was utterly nonsensical! One so full of virtue as she could not be summarised in a plodding monosyllable! To capture even a sliver of her radiance was to write canto after canto!

She wishes to inform Knoll of this, but once again is parried by his returning and handing her some marvellously wrought creation. Immediately, any and all objections fall away. It's... it's...! 'But this is perfect!'

At last, the world could know, that she L'Arachel, was beloved by all. Finally, some quantifiable measure of her brilliance had been bestowed upon her! And, though she knew the Gods encircled her with titles, now she had some mortal matter to serve as a vessel.

Carefully, she pins it underneath her (just as sublimely rendered) handmade co-educator badge. 'It seems that I am to be showered in glories with each passing day!' She says, with a lot less modesty than she imagines in her head. 'Well, what do you think? It befits one so amicable as I, no?'

[lisamarie-vee]

[the-trinket-witch]

Grace (I hope this is the right link, if not let me know) would drag Riddle to fly kites at the Airborne Afternoon! She would dress in Steampunk attire and give her Kerby a little gear as well. I leave it up to you if you want to draw or write, it's your choice!

DRABBLE: 333 Words total

“I still maintain that riding gear was not an appropriate choice to wear to such an event,” Riddle sighed. “Were you expecting to hop on a mechanical horse while we were out here?”

“And what if I did? Is it better not to prepare? Albert said there were all manner of transportation vehicles, and if we’re going uphill the boots make for decent impromptu hiking gear,” Grace retorted.

Indeed, a buzz of different machines crowded the streets and skies of Altus. Brass thoroughbreds clacked down the street alongside cars, and above whirred vehicles with wings, fins and boilers. The main street gave a fantastic view of the hillside where all the kite competitions and showcases were being held. What should have otherwise been a vivid green knoll, was now dappled in a cacophony of color.

“There!” Grace called. Before having a chance to see what she was directing towards, Riddle had been yanked towards a stall of rentals. A fish-shaped scooter seemed to oddly catch the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader’s attention.

“Who’s driving?” the associate asked. Riddle made it very clear that his magic would be what would navigate the finned cycle.

(FOR REFERENCE: THE VEHICLE IN QUESTION IS ALLUDED TO AS SIMILAR TO THIS:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once touched back down, both Grace and her companion had to readjust their hair from it being whipped to and fro. Riddle made a mental note to ask Deuce if that was what Magcycle riding was like. He was quickly pulled from his thoughts as he was drawn to Grace gasping in awe.

“That...That dirigible is massive!”

Along it’s side flapped banners proclaiming it as the ‘Altus City Museum’. Grace met her companion’s eyes with starry excitement. Whether or not Riddle wanted, they were going to visit. He couldn’t say no to someone so eager to learn. The tour helped at least to give context to a local colloquialism: the behemoth of a ship had been branded the N.A.S Admiral. Coupled with the enormous cannons at its front, it was no longer any wonder citizens had nicknamed it ‘Old Admiral Boom’.

[lenaylias]

3, 10, 16 for the fire emblem asks !!

Thank you so much for the ask! 💜

For 3: My favourite is Sacred Stones, I love it very dearly, but there certainly are a fair few things I would change. I think the most prevalent thing that comes to mind is maybe trying to make the different tones and emotions work together a little better. A lot of the core themes, and characters like Knoll are darker and more melancholy, and I adore them a lot. And other parts like L'arachel and some of the support conversations are so bright and silly, and I love them a lot to! But I do sometimes wish they blended together a little better.

I also wish things were a little trickier. And also that some of the units, especially the trainees were easier to have ready to use before things are nearly over. I thought they were such a fun idea! Also, Ismaire totally deserved better! So many of my favourite characters are only in the creature campaign, and I wish we got to spend more time with them!

For 10: It's tomes for sure! Specifically dark magic, I always found the interpretations of it across the series to be so intriguing. Especially like in Elibe and Magvel, where it can be used to do good things or by kind people like Canas, but still has a ruinous cost associated with it. The idea of it being dark not in that it's evil, but that it demands an awful sacrifice from it's user was one I always loved, Bramimond was always one of my favourite characters!

I like staves and light magic a lot to! Status staves can be really fun to use, and I think mechanically they're some of the most interesting options.

For 16: My favourite thing is the way that themes, archetypes and narratives are consistent throughout the series, but reinterpreted so differently. I think that's just fascinating! The games are so different from one another, and the tones of the stories vary so widely. But they all still feel like Fire Emblem, and I think a lot of that is these core elements of the stories and worlds that persist through them. And I think it's so intriguing to see the way they emerge in successive iterations, and how the different tones and settings change similar motifs, and guide them in a different direction.

[killed-by-choice]

“Tori Roe” 38 (Taiwan 2003)

In 2005, an article was published in a medical journal documenting the death of an abortion client in 2003. The death occurred in Taiwan, where overly permissive abortion laws have led to deaths from “safe and legal” abortion since 1985. The pseudonym “Tori Roe” was later given by a researcher.

Tori was 38 years old and 5 weeks pregnant. She had a history of occasional hypertension, but her medical history noted that her blood pressure was usually normal while she was pregnant. She didn’t have regular treatment for the hypertension and for the most part it did not seem to interfere with her daily life.

To assess the risks of anesthesia in an elective procedure, the hospital had Tori see a cardiologist. Her blood pressure was 160/100 but her EKG was normal.

4 days after the trip to the cardiologist, Tori underwent a D&C abortion at 5 weeks pregnant. To control her blood pressure, she was given verapamil (Isoptin SR, 240 mg/day; Knoll) and valsartan (Diovan, 80 mg/day; Novartis). The abortionist apparently didn’t check her medical history and ordered an intravenous injection of 0.2 mg methylergonovine and 10 IU intramuscular oxytocin. This negligence would cost Tori her life.

The abortion took about 10 minutes. 5 minutes after it was over, Tori was awake but suffering from chest pain. Then she became completely unresponsive and went into cardiac arrest. After 70 minutes of vigorous resuscitation attempts, Tori was declared dead. An autopsy revealed myocardial infarction. Thanks to the negligence of an abortionist, she was now also the first recorded death associated with the use of methylergonovine.

The study noted, “This case demonstrates the need for a judicious use of ergot alkaloids, especially in women at risk of coronary artery disease. Physicians should be alert to this rare but potentially life-threatening complication.”

https://obgyn.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.0001-6349.2005.0058d.x#b6

[vignellicenter]

Open Houses are back this week! Theme: Photography

Wed 3/22/2023-Thu 3/23/2023 10am-4pm each day. Free and open to all!

Want to see original artifacts from the archives but don’t know where to start? Now you can have a look! No appointment required.

Theme: Photography

The Vignellis’ archives is full of examples of photography. They partnered with photographers again and again in their designs for the artwork in posters, catalogs, and numerous monographs on nature, culture, and even photography itself. Vignelli Associates created graphic identities for photographers and photography exhibitions. We’ll display marketing photographs alongside their actual design artifacts and see for yourself how their thoughtful use of images showcased their designs. The archives contain numerous examples of photo formats from vintage Polaroids to digital images. In some cases, photography is all that survives as record of a design. Join us in highlighting the importance of photography and the Vignellis.

We will have a vintage slide projector straight from the Vignelli Associates office up and running! Stop by and see original slideshows assembled by the Vignellis’ themselves!

As always, our galleries are open to the public and feature the greatest hits of the design work of Massimo and Lella Vignelli. But for the Open Houses, our archivist will be digging deep into the archives to show you one-of-a-kind original sketches and other artifacts of the Vignelli design process. You can see the designs that you know and love, but expect many surprises even if you are a Vignelli “superfan!” Please drop in and stay for a few minutes or stay for hours.

More details about Open Houses can be found on the events page on our website: https://www.rit.edu/events/vignelli-center-open-house-1

 Image descriptions:

Irvin Blitz graphic identity (invitation on transparent plexiglass), c. 1986, Vignelli Associates (designer: Michael Bierut executed by: Tamar Cohen)

 Ndebele: Photographs by Margaret Courtney-Clarke book cover, 1986, book design by Massimo Vignelli

Portrait of Lella and Massimo Vignelli (35mm transparency), c. 1980s, Photographer: Luca Vignelli

NYC Subway Map Debate (b&w 35mm negative), 1978, Photographer: Stan Ries

Kroin graphic identity examples (35mm transparency), c. 1980s, Photographer: unknown

Hauserman Los Angeles showroom (35mm transparency), 1982, Photographer: Toshi Yoshimi

Knoll shopping bags being carried during Designer’s Saturday (35mm transparency), 1973, Photographer: Alessandro De Gregori

Knoll Bertoia poster, 1979, Photographer: Don Kennedy

Sasaki Colorstone dishware (4” x 5” color transparency), 1985, Photographer: Luca Vignelli

Compact stacking dishware (35mm transparency), 1964, Photographer: Norman McGrath

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

ANSWERS ABOUT THE PAST PROMPT NEW QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PRESENT IN THE SEASON ONE FINALE OF ‘THE WAY HOME,’ PREMIERING MARCH 26, ON HALLMARK CHANNEL

Episode Travels to Earlier Time of 8 p.m. ET/PT

STUDIO CITY, CA – March 20, 2023 – In “Not All Who Wander Are Lost,” some questions are answered while others are raised in the powerful season one finale of “The Way Home,” traveling to an earlier time of 8 p.m. ET/PT on Sunday, March 26, on Hallmark Channel. Andie MacDowell (“Maid,” “Debbie Macomber’s Cedar Cove”), Chyler Leigh (“Supergirl,” “Grey’s Anatomy”), Evan Williams (Blonde, “Versailles”), Sadie Laflamme-Snow (“The Apprentice”), Alex Hook (“I Am Frankie”), Al Mukadam (“Pretty Hard Cases,” “The Detail”), Jefferson Brown (Masters of Romance, “Slasher”) and David Webster (Luckiest Girl Alive, “In the Dark”) star in the highly-rated and critically acclaimed series.

Kat (Leigh) and Alice (Laflamme-Snow) travel back to 2000 together to attend Colton’s (Brown) funeral. Elliot (Williams) tells Kat she should share with Alice the truth about her visits to the past. Meanwhile, Del (MacDowell) goes to the grief group and makes peace with her memory of Colton. Kat has an epiphany that sheds new light on Jacob’s disappearance.

“The Way Home” is a Neshama Entertainment production in association with MarVista Entertainment. Heather Conkie, Alexandra Clarke, Fernando Szew, Hannah Pillemer, Larry Grimaldi, Ani Kevork, Arnie Zipursky, Marly Reed, Suzanne Berger, Lauren MacKinlay, MacDowell and Leigh are executive producers. Kyle Hart is supervising producer. Jessica Runck is consulting producer. Tally Yong Knoll is story editor. The series is produced by John Calvert. Norma Bailey directed from a script by Conkie.