#Politics & Lifestyle

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Hello, I've been enjoying your fics, you write so charmingly! A request, if you have the time: reader plays lead guitar in Megadeth - Dave hired her during a post-rehab, clean living phase because she's a kick-ass metal guitarist, but she doesn't drink much, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do hookups. And they tour with Metallica, where hard-drinking, hard-partying, grupies-in-showers James Hetfield falls for her, and of course he has to work to convince her to take him seriously and date him. <3

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like them. I hope you like it❤

Behind the rockstar

Joining Megadeth had always been about the music. I was there to play, not to fall into the notorious lifestyle of rock. I’d seen the wild afterparties, the booze,  the drugs, the endless stream of groupies, and I wanted no part of it. I’d disappear after every show, slipping out as Metallica’s backstage turned into a chaotic free-for-all of laughter, drinks, and fans ready to do anything to be close to their idols. It didn’t faze me — I was there to play, and to avoid the chaos that came with it.

But someone had started to notice my vanishing act: James Hetfield. The first time he stopped me, he leaned against an amp, flashing that arrogant smile, and casually asked, “So, are you ever gonna stick around?”

I could tell by his tone he expected some banter or an easy laugh, but I didn’t give him one. I shrugged, zipping up my guitar case. “Not my thing, Hetfield. Enjoy the party.” 

The polite brush-off was supposed to be enough. But James was persistent, like a moth drawn to a flame, unwilling to give up so easily. The next night, he caught up with me again, this time with a smirk and a drink in hand. “You know, you’re missing out,” he said, holding out the glass. “One drink won’t kill you.”

I gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’ll survive,” I said, walking away without a second glance.

But that didn’t stop him. Instead, it seemed to challenge him, and over the next few nights, his cocky attempts turned into something else. The joking lines softened, the smooth charm replaced by a genuine curiosity. He started sitting out of the parties more often, just to catch me as I packed up. He’d bring coffee, ask me about the night’s show, or share stories about his own journey in music. I tried to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder each time.

Then, one evening, he found me playing alone after a show, experimenting with a tricky solo. He quietly sat down, watching in silence. When I glanced over, he looked different — more thoughtful, less of the rock star I’d first met.

“You really don’t drink, huh?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

I shrugged. “I just want to keep a clear head. This is too important to mess up.”

He nodded, looking down. “Yeah… I know what that’s like.” There was a shadow in his eyes, and I remembered the stories I’d heard about his battles with addiction. It hit me that the man behind the arrogant persona was struggling too, working to keep himself from slipping. 

After that, he changed. Every night, he’d find some reason to join me, away from the wild parties. Sometimes he’d bring new riffs he’d been working on or sit with me in the empty rehearsal room, teaching me solos with an unexpected patience. He’d focus so intently on the music, his usual swagger replaced with an openness that caught me off guard. His arrogance was just armor, I realized, hiding something more complex, someone who’d been through the same struggles and wanted something more.

One night, after a long set, I was surprised to find him still waiting around, his usual crowd nowhere in sight. He handed me a cup of coffee and asked, “Mind if I walk with you?”

It was just a walk back to the hotel, but it turned into a real conversation. We strolled through the quiet streets, and he told me things I hadn’t expected — stories about his family, his childhood, his demons. He spoke of the toll fame had taken, how the partying had turned into a crutch, how he was trying to change. By the time we reached the hotel, I saw him differently. I could see the way he was fighting against the image he’d built, trying to find himself underneath all the fame and excess.

From then on, he kept showing up in small, thoughtful ways. I’d find new guitar strings left on my amp when I ran low, or he’d save a quiet spot for us at a diner after the shows, away from the noise and distractions. He’d even picked up on little things — the kind of coffee I liked, the music I’d listen to as I tuned my guitar. And he gave up the booze and the afterparties, telling me quietly one night, “I want to be around for this. Around for…you.”

But the moment that sealed it was one night when we had a rough show — technical issues, tensions running high. Afterward, I found him alone in the rehearsal room, strumming his guitar softly. He looked up as I entered, his usual confident mask completely gone.

Without a word, he started playing something I’d never heard before. It was a slow, haunting melody, so unlike his usual riffs, layered with the kind of depth and rawness that only came from true vulnerability. I realized he’d written it for me, a piece full of emotion and sincerity that words alone couldn’t capture.

When he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes open, honest. “Y/N, I know I’m not exactly a safe bet. My life’s messy, I’m still figuring things out. But you make me want to try, to be better. I don’t want to let you down.”

I could see the sincerity, feel the weight of his words. I reached out, touching his hand, and he held it like it was something fragile and precious. “James, if we’re doing this, I need to know it’s real. No games, no halfway.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I don’t want games. I just want you.”

From that night on, we were a team. He’d still catch me before I left each night, sometimes just to talk, sometimes to play, and we’d share quiet moments on the road — stolen cups of coffee, hushed conversations in the early mornings, little gestures that spoke louder than words. He became a different person, one who listened, who showed up, who put his all into proving that he could be the man he wanted to be. The man I was beginning to care about.

And so, in the midst of the chaos, we found something real. It wasn’t perfect, and neither of us were, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d found something worth staying for. And with him beside me, I didn’t want to walk away.

[cyarskaren52]

Apparently the majority of White women in Amerikkka are fine with a “HandMaids” lifestyle. That’s why they keep voting for these Men in vast majority!!

A ���HandMaids” tale lifestyle that majority of white women in the country want as well. That’s why they vote in majority for these Men!

If you’re outraged by these men why do you vote for them? Are you secretly wanting them to hurt you

[moochilatv]

John Sierra presents: Maybe We're All

 The song explores the lives of two very different people, divided by opposite lifestyles, but who share the same internal, core longings.

John Sierra it's a singer-songwriter influenced by Josh Garrels, Mumford & Sons, and C.S. Lewis. It's also a Husband, Father, and a Believer.

About the song Maybe We're All:

"On a sunny afternoon, while driving through Raleigh, North Carolina, I passed a man asking for help. With a sense of awkward discomfort and being torn with "do I help? but what if he uses it for X?", I simply drove on, actively choosing to look the other way.

As I drove on, a voice said to me, "John, what must it take for that man to stand on the corner, 8, 10, 12 hours, being consistently ignored and overlooked?" In a moment, I knew my own version of feeling like an outcast, of being overlooked and "unseen" - every time in my life that I've experienced this (which was most of my childhood), it's hurt. Deeply. In fact, it created in me a sense of shame I still have to fight.

I wasn't that different from that man - I had and have the same longings, to be known, to have hope, to know that I'm loved...and that should unite us, come whatever other differences might exist.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by John Sierra (@johnsierramusic)

The title, Maybe We're All, came on the heels of this interaction. As fast as the title came, I saw a movie in my head of a man asking for help on the corner, huddled in rags, with kind eyes, but down on his luck. And a woman crossing the street in front of him, dressed to the nines, stylish sunglasses, beautiful complexion and figure - the physical antithesis of the man; and for a moment, their lives (and longings) intersect.

My hope for this song is to stir a sense of empathy amongst humanity. That in the midst of apparent differences, rather than the hatred we're experiencing, a sense of compassion and love would be stirred - out of a realization that our differences are not so deep as might assume; be them political, racial, religious, and more".

BIO:

John Sierra invites listeners on an introspective journey in his latest single, Maybe We’re All. With its blend of folk-inspired melodies and ballad-like structure, the song explores the universal struggle of reconciling our differences and finding connection through empathy. The hauntingly honest lyrics reflect themes of unity, the longing for home, and the search for common ground.

As a young boy, John was drawn to the jaunty rhythms and soul-searching lyrics of Billy Joel’s “River of Dreams”. He reflects, “I can still remember winding through a grove of pines as an eight-year old, mesmerized by the voice pouring through the car speakers. I didn’t know then that it was Joel’s lyrics I connected with. Even as a boy, I intimately understood the feelings and experiences he was describing.” That moment became a catalyst towards music and songwriting - with a sense of longing that drew him towards poetry, music, and ultimately, songwriting.

His early twenties were categorized by smoky clubs and raging amps, performing as an integral part of the alternative rock band, Attalus, signed to Facedown Records. This foray into the music scene set a solid foundation for his music career. But, this season also marks a recovery of heart for John. After shipwrecking almost everything meaningful in his life, he careened into the realization he had lost himself somewhere along the years. Even the band had become a false identity. Through therapy, community, and spiritual awakening, he began to find the life he had always longed for…

John’s music is a testament to the power of vulnerability and the beauty found in the process of healing. Maybe We’re All reflects this process, honoring the ache for home, for love, that binds all of humanity, despite our differences.

[maggotaur]

Just Call Me Lonesome from Expansions on Vimeo.

Expansions News Podcast 6th May 2023

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News

wndu.com/2023/05/04/german-company-convert-south-bends-ethanol-plant-into-biorefinery/?outputType=amp michiganbusiness.org/press-releases/2023/05/nel-hydrogen/#:~:text=LANSING%2C%20Mich.,electrolyzer%20manufacturing%20facility%20in%20Michigan. 9and10news.com/2023/04/22/politicians-speak-out-against-proposed-ev-battery-plant-at-local-rally/ dailymail.co.uk/news/article-12039863/U-S-Navy-turning-drag-performer-Harpy-Daniels-digital-ambassador.html

foxnews.com/media/top-medical-programs-exposed-providing-gender-affirming-care-toddlers verywellmind.com/what-does-it-mean-to-be-transfemme-7368672 foxnews.com/politics/woman-says-knew-biological-daughter-meant-trans-food-choices-odd foxnews.com/lifestyle/transgendered-transabled-people-choosing-identify-handicapped newsweek.com/russia-christianity-bible-biblical-law-americans-move-1797616?amp=1 dailymail.co.uk/news/article-12033801/Houston-holds-week-long-NUCLEAR-training-exercise-led-FBI.html dailymail.co.uk/news/article-12043055/Russias-ex-leader-calls-Zelensky-KILLED-revenge-drone-strikes-Kremlin.html newsweek.com/medvedev-putin-russia-poland-rats-warsaw-school-1797493#:~:text=Russia's%20Medvedev%20Attacks%20Polish%20'Rats'%20After%20School%20Seized%20in%20Warsaw,-By%20Brendan%20Cole&text=Former%20Russian%20President%20Dmitry%20Medvedev,an%20embassy%20school%20in%20Warsaw.

Links

endoftheamericandream.com/should-we-be-concerned-that-so-many-ufo-sightings-are-happening-all-over-the-world/ dailymail.co.uk/news/article-12034025/MCCAIN-Hunter-wants-slash-payments-child-president-wont-acknowledge-shes-alive.html israelnationalnews.com/news/370770

[freenewstoday]

New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2021/04/16/is-kokumi-the-next-taste-sensation/

Is Kokumi the Next Taste Sensation?

In 1907, while enjoying a bowl of soup made with dashi broth and kombu seaweed, the Japanese chemist Kikunae Ikeda had an insight that would change the culinary world. He noticed a taste that wasn’t sweet, salty, sour or bitter. Ikeda gave this hard-to-describe savory taste a name—umami—and went on to identify the specific amino acid that triggered it.

Scientists in Europe and the U.S. remained skeptical about whether umami really was a taste until a receptor for it was discovered on the tongue almost a century later, in 2000. Today, it is taken for granted by most scientists and chefs, but interest is now growing in another taste first detected in Japan.

The newer taste, kokumi, is even harder to describe than umami, but it is potentially just as important for understanding how and why we enjoy food. In Japanese, the term koku describes foods that have the kind of mouthful “thickness” often imparted by fats—what English speakers might describe as rich. “It feels like a physical sensation,” says the culinary scientist Joshua Evans. It works “by coating the mouth and becoming more intense and being extended in time.” When asked what foods have koku, Japanese food experts list wild boar, adult wasps, duck eggs and aged sake, as well as long-simmered and fermented dishes.

Koku reflects a sensory experience most closely allied with touch, influenced by aromas and textures. Adding the Japanese suffix -mi, meaning taste, highlights the specific taste detected by the tongue. The precise nature of kokumi remains the subject of great debate among sensory scientists and chefs, in part because it can’t be detected on the palate on its own; rather, it modifies other tastes and flavors.

The earliest kokumi research focused on the contribution of garlic to foods. In 1990, Japanese scientist Yoichi Ueda discovered that if he added diluted garlic to two types of soups, people eating them would describe having more sensations associated with kokumi. Subsequent research isolated amino acids in the garlic that seemed to cause the effect, including glutathione.

Source

[hashtagindiasocial]

Opinion | Where’s Biden on Opening Schools?

Opinion | Where’s Biden on Opening Schools?

Mayor Lori Lightfoot provides an update on Chicago’s response to COVID-19 at City Hall in Chicago, Oct. 19, 2020. Photo: Jose M. Osorio / Chicago Tribune/Zuma Press Perhaps you’ve heard, a few thousand times, that the Biden Administration will listen to the science. Well, the science says schools can safely reopen, but the White House is still listening, make that bowing, to the non-scientists…

[raftaar24]

Boris Johnson's Dad Applies For French Citizenship After Son’s Brexit Deal

Boris Johnson’s Dad Applies For French Citizenship After Son’s Brexit Deal

Boris Johnson’s Dad Applies For French Citizenship After Son’s Brexit Deal PARIS, 31 December (Reuters) The father of British Prime Minister Boris Johnson said on Thursday that he was in the process of applying for a French passport to maintain his relations with the European Union after Brexit. Stanley Johnson, a former member of the European Parliament who voted for Ramon in Britain’s 2016…

[journalonline24]

What To Do When Your First Job Isn't a Good Fit Libby Otto had a plan. Graduate from Bryn Mawr College. Move to Washington. The sociology major hoped to find a job in policy work in the nation’s capital.

[muselin]

See You Later - Part 1

Who: Beomgyu

Group: TXT

What: Beomgyu/f!reader, collegeAU, slow burn, eventual smut, college student!Gyu, model!Gyu

Word count: 2,238

A/N: this is for @bluekais ❤ Hope you enjoy! Sorry that it's taken so long! There will be a Part 2 coming but I got myself elbows-deep into Kinktober so might take a while as well 🎃

____________________________________

"Tch."

The dissatisfied noise leaving your lips had become habit by now. Just his presence annoyed you, but the fact that he had the nerve to show up late to class almost every time, carrying that stupid skateboard, made your blood boil a little bit. He never studied, never did the assignments, always showed up late and he was still somehow passing this class. This class that you had worked so hard to get into and had to keep working so hard to stay in. It didn't come naturally to you but it did to him and it made you green with envy.

"Ah, Beomgyu-ssi, how kind of you to join us," your professor quipped sarcastically as Beomgyu beamed a smile that was frustratingly charming and headed for the only empty space in the auditorium which, to your displeasure, happened to be next to you.

You didn't acknowledge each other as you continued scribbling furiously into your notebook while Beomgyu sat with his chin leaned on his hand. You noticed that he hadn't taken out anything to write with.

"Now I will hand out your assignments for the next lecture. Remember we have study week, so you will have one week to complete these. Please remain in your seats as you are now."

Your professor proceeded to hand out stacks of papers and you couldn't help noticing that he was handing only one stack for every two students. He was making his way down your row and dropped off an assignment right between you and Beomgyu.

"I can hold it for us," Beomgyu smiled pleasantly as he looked over to you, seemingly unaffected by your sour expression. As the two of you read the instructions for the music production assignment, Beomgyu would stop and mutter to himself every once in a while: "Hmm, I already have a bass guitar for this," "This would be very easy to add a snare to," "I just need vocals and someone to match the drum line to this".

"Alright, everyone ready?" The auditorium hummed with mumbled "yes"es.

"Good," your professor continued, "you will be doing the assignment in pairs, in the order that I've handed the assignments out to you".

You groaned inwardly, noticing yours and Beomgyu's names at the bottom right corner of the cover page.

"Class dismissed!"

You were unsure what to do. You'd have to spend quite a lot of time with Beomgyu to finish this but you didn't have his number and you didn't even know which dorm he was in. Before you could open your mouth to ask Beomgyu when you should meet up, he was getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"See you later, Y/N," his voice laced with his regional dialect reached you as an afterthought.

"Tch. Fuck you too, Choi," you muttered.

___________________

It had been four days since you last saw Beomgyu and you were getting nervous. You had started the assignment early and done as much as you could do. You hated to admit it but you really did need him for this. You had worked out a base melody but it was too bare and uninteresting and you knew from hearing him talk to himself that he knew a lot of elements which could add flare and points to the assignment. You hunched over your laptop, browsing the music library. Begrudgingly, at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday, you decided to email him through the university central email list.

### 22:01 ###  Hi Beomgyu, it's Y/N, your partner for the music production assignment. I've thrown some things together but we need to meet to do the rest. I realised I didn't have your number or your dorm address, let me know when we can meet up. ###

You waited for a while after pressing send, just in case he was on his emails right now. At midnight you gave up and went to sleep.

### 03:44 ### Hi! Sorry about that! Can you bring what you have over to mine at about noon tomorrow? Here's the postcode ###

You woke up to the reply from Beomgyu and nearly panicked that you would be late. He didn't live close by at all, the post code seemed to be for a swanky area of newly built apartments downtown, miles away from your suburban campus.

You showered and dressed as quickly as possible. You weren't dressing up for anyone. Jeans, sneakers and a flannel shirt was all Beomgyu was getting from you. You grabbed your laptop and equipment and headed out the door.

________________

At 11:55, you knocked on Beomgyu's door. He lived on the 13th floor and on the elevator up to his apartment you hoped to whoever would listen that this wouldn't turn out to be as unlucky as the out-of-order sign on the second elevator.

The front door clicked and opened to reveal a somewhat sleepy Beomgyu, dressed in a tshirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Oh, Y/N, you're early," he said, then looked at his watch. You found this ironic, considering he never showed up to class on time.

"Well, not by much. Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, opening the front door widely for you to walk in past him. "I'll make coffee," he yawned.

As you walked past him you couldn't help but note in your head that he smelled really good. You weren't sure if it was his cologne or laundry but it was the kind that settled pleasantly in your chest and made you want to breathe in deeper. You stopped that train of thought harshly as soon as you felt your mind drift that way. You were perfectly happy with feeling generally mildly annoyed with Beomgyu. It was your comfort zone, even if having to work with him was pushing it.

"So how come you don't live on camp-- Wow..."

Your jaw dropped as you walked into the apartment. It was nothing like the cramped dorm rooms you and your friends shared on campus. It was bright, spacious and well-decorated, with huge windows and a view that rivaled the best hotels in the business district.

"How the fuck are you affording this," the words tumbled out of you with little grace before you could stop them.

"Well, since you ask, I work a lot of side jobs," Beomgyu said nonchalantly as he poured water into the kettle in the open-plan kitchen.

"Really? What do you do?"

"Uhm...," he scratched his neck sheepishly, "at the moment I model."

"You? You model?"

"Yeah, why," he tilted his head at you, looking at you quizzically.

Those big brown eyes, the soft curves of his lips, his chiseled jawline... And his hair looked really soft too. Suddenly from thinking nothing of him you were imagining him as a model. You wondered what he modeled for. Could it be fashion brands? Lifestyle? Prints? Maybe even swimsuits? He always wore those baggy jeans and t-shirts, but maybe...

"Y/N?"

"Oh," you snapped back to him, realising you hadn't answered him. "Yeah I just... didn't know, that's all."

"Uhm, cool. Why don't you drop your stuff off in the room down the hall, the one on the left?"

You nodded and picked up your laptop bag and equipment, your feet sinking into the plush carpet as you padded down the hall. You nudged open the door to the room he'd pointed you to, jaw dropping again for the second time today as you walked in.

The room was a small makeshift studio, with mics, a sound control board and several guitars. Several notepads were strewn about along with a few used coffee mugs and muffin wrappers. It seemed to be the most lived-in space of Beomgyu's house so far and you were suddenly starting to understand why he never seemed to pay much attention to the classes. You dropped your bags off in the corner and sat down at his computer, looking at the various pieces of equipment connected to it.

"How do you like your coffee?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Beomgyu's pleasant voice reverberate in the room. You hadn't heard him come in after you. Covering up your startled reaction, you mumbled your preference and he returned shortly with two steaming mugs, setting them down on his desk.

"Um, so... For this assignment I've tried layering the melodies but it's very bare. I thought we could use it as a starting point and build on it," you said, trying to sound more businesslike.

"That's good, thanks. I actually don't have a lot of time so a head start would be good. I have an hour now but then I need to head out."

Your brow furrowed. An hour? It had taken you three days to put together what you had so far.

"Let's see what you've got," Beomgyu reached for the USB stick in your hands and plugged it into his computer. He downloaded the files and ran them.

An unobtrusive melody filled the small studio. He listened politely, head tilted to one side until it faded out.

"Um... Yeah, I don't play guitar so I wasn't sure what would sound good with that," you started, hands playing with the edges of your shirt nervously. You hated feeling incompetent, especially in front of Beomgyu.

"Yeah, no offence, but it does need a lot more than that," he said. "Let's see what I can do with that."

You sat in your chair and watched him plug one of his guitars into the amp behind you. He tuned it according to the scales in your melody and started to play along.

"Nana naaa," he hummed along quietly. "I don't know about that bar, what do you think," he asked you.

"It's not bad but I think it can go for longer," you replied. Beomgyu nodded, stopping the recording and starting again.

You watched him get lost in his own world as the notes coming from his guitar breathed life into your melody. You watched his fingers strum and pluck, watched his lips open and close in concentration, occasionally the lower one being worried by his teeth. You watched his long hair fall into his face. You simply watched Beomgyu in his zone, not noticing when he stopped playing.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes focused and met his deep brown ones, your lips tensing as you tried to seem attentive.

"Yeah? Yeah, that was good, let's add that in," you spoke quickly.

"Cool," Beomgyu then stood up and reached behind you to switch off the amp. You couldn't stop yourself from breathing in again when his chest and neck nearly brushed across your face. His warm hand dropped to your shoulder, giving you a casual pat.

"Why don't you sit at the computer and keep replaying the recoding while I write down the chords," he suggested.

"Okay, sure," you stood up in the cramped space and there was barely room for you two to switch places. Beomgyu's hands instinctively came up to your waist to steady you as he brushed past you. Your breath hitched but you said nothing as you sat down at his desk and started the recording.

Your combined melody filled the small room and you found yourself nodding along. You hated to admit it but you liked it much more with Beomgyu's additions. You played it several times while he wrote down the chords.

"Right, awesome," he drawled in his dialect after he was finished. "I have to get dressed and head out now, but if you want we can meet up again later today. I won't be done until quite late but I sleep late anyway."

"How late are we talking," you asked suspiciously.

"I would be done about 11, we could meet back here," Beomgyu offered.

You hesitated for a second. It was a lot later than what you considered acceptable but at the same time you didn't trust Beomgyu. You weren't sure you would get any more time out of him than this.

"Okay, deal. Message me when you're done and I'll head over."

"Cool, here's my number," Beomgyu grabbed your phone to type his own number in and called himself. "You okay to let yourself out?"

He left the studio and went into the room across, which you guessed was probably his bedroom. You copied the new files onto your USB before you packed up your things and left the studio as well. On the way you saw that Beomgyu's bedroom door was ajar. You saw him standing with his back to the door as he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. Your lips tensed into a line as you tried to not to make any noise and not even to breathe.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"See you later, Y/N."

You stood frozen in place as your eyes traced the lines of his back muscles to his pretty shoulders, not missing his toned arms flexing as he reached up to push the t-shirt over his head. Your gaze trailed back down his body to his hips where his bottoms were slung low, exposing the two cute dimples at his lower back. He didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath.

Beomgyu dropped his shirt to the floor and you suddenly darted down the corridor, panicked that he would turn around and see you. His bottoms dropped down just as he heard his front door open and shut.

[freenewstoday]

New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2021/03/09/hoodies-jordans-macklemore-golf-enters-its-streetwear-moment/

Hoodies, Jordans, Macklemore: Golf Enters Its Streetwear Moment

WITH A 30 handicap, George Halawa of Los Angeles will concede he’s not the world’s best golfer. Still, he loves the game—so much that last year he launched the Double Bogey Club, a golf-inspired clothing label. So far, he’s released logo bucket hats and caps. In the months to come, he’ll offer clothes like nylon anoraks that are, as he put it, “geared toward a streetwear vibe.” Mr. Halawa’s own golf style reflects a modern, come-as-you-are approach—he often hits the links in a polo shirt and sweatpants.

SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS

What is your favorite attire for hitting the links? Join the conversation below.

Like a number of zesty brands, the Double Bogey Club is twisting golf fashion away from its clichéd tackiness. These labels, including Arizona’s Devereux, Whim Golf in Chicago, Metalwood Studio out of California and Seattle-based Bogey Boys, offer both of-the-moment streetwear and natty throwback gear. Conspicuously color-blocked outerwear and logo hoodies mix comfortably with retro cardigans and pressed slacks that echo the style of midcentury champs like Gary Player, Arnold Palmer and Chi-Chi Rodríguez.

Arnold Palmer playing a 1971 championship in roomy slacks.

Photo: Getty Images

At the forefront of this refresh was Malbon Golf, a Los Angeles-based outfit that emerged in 2017, co-founded by Erica and Stephen Malbon. Mr. Malbon, who founded the independent media company Frank151, and his wife noticed that peers such as retired skateboarders and on-the-pulse media types were discovering golf. At the time, Ms. Malbon said, “There really wasn’t any kind of brand speaking to people who were interested in golf, but also loved sneakers or loved fashion or music.” Malbon Golf’s bestselling logo sweatshirt, Champion mesh shorts and rugby-esque pullovers catered to this crowd.

In the years leading up to Malbon’s founding, golf garments had evolved into something slick and athletic. As late as the early ’90s, hefty players in flaccid khakis like John Daly were winning tours. But as link kingpin Tiger Woods and his competitors began bulking up to better their game, the look changed. Mr. Woods began taking the trophies in bicep-hugging mock-neck Nike T-shirts. And by the early 2000s, country club pro shops were stocking moisture-wicking polos and sweat-resistant slacks. For the weekend golfer, the newfound emphasis on athleticism was overkill. “You don’t want to look exactly like a PGA Tour pro when you don’t play like a PGA Tour pro,” said Drew Westphal, 33, a social media consultant and longtime golfer in Milwaukee, Wis.

A retro polo by Malbon, a streetwear-inspired label out of Los Angeles.

Photo: Malbon

Mr. Westphal is one of a number of youngish golfers smitten by the modish style of 1960s “old guard” players like Mr. Palmer and Mr. Player. “They would wear a nice cardigan, a long-sleeved button-down shirt and pleated trousers,” said Mr. Westphal. Today, he hits the course in taut Uniqlo polos and dressy trousers. He often complements his get-up with a logo hat from cheeky-upstart golf label Public Drip or a tie-dye T-shirt from Online Ceramics, adopting a thoroughly modern style mishmash.

Tiger Woods celebrating his 2005 Masters victory in a taut T-shirt.

Photo: Getty Images

Even so, many upstart brands fully embody a traddy look. Whim Golf, a Chicago-based brand, sells tapered single-pleated trousers and zip-neck polo shirts in pastel tones. Founders Will Gisel and Colin Heaberg—friends and hobbyist golfers—took inspiration in part from ’60s golfers who shot 18 in “stuff they could wear to a dinner party,” said Mr. Gisel. Whim, with its golf-inspired but not performance-driven clothes, has broken through to the broader fashion industry. It is carried at boutiques like C.H.C.M. in New York and Notre Shop in Chicago. The founders speculate that half their customers don’t golf at all.

The brand that’s perhaps best positioned to transcend the insular golf world and garner mainstream sales is Bogey Boys, founded by the Grammy-winning rapper Macklemore. Born Benjamin Haggerty, he caught the golf bug in 2018 and now golfs as many as four days a week. His course style is madcap enough to give Bill Murray’s “Caddyshack” character a run for his money. He played the 2021 AT&T Every Shot Counts Charity Challenge at Pebble Beach in a tartan jacket-and-trouser combo worn over a leopard sweater vest. In an interview, Macklemore said that his “fashion sense is a little bit more extreme than the average golfer,” and that he dials down the look of his own wardrobe a few notches to create Bogey Boys’ clothing.

A sweatshirt-based look by Arizona brand Devereux.

Photo: Devreaux

To research ideas for the line, Macklemore purchased vintage Golf Digest magazines from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. The result: retro-tinged pieces like a pinstriped baby-blue cardigan, emerald-green trousers and a V-necked windbreaker with zip-off sleeves.

The liberal, even fun approach to golf style that brands like Bogey Boys and Whim have taken appeals to golfers like Jacob Suarez, 27, a PGA-certified instructor in Phoenix. Growing up, Mr. Suarez abhorred the khaki-and-polo dress code imposed by many golf clubs. He would rather have teed up in his skate shoes and jeans. He believed conformist dress codes kept players like him—young men who aren’t white—off the course. Today, many courses have relaxed their codes just as nascent brands are expanding into golf fashion. At many clubs, a hoodie is now as course-appropriate as a pressed polo. Mr. Suarez regularly plays in Patagonia fleeces, Dickies trousers and Jordan sneakers. Said Mr. Suarez, “Golf attire is just whatever you wear when you play golf. There shouldn’t be a specific code for it.”

The Wall Street Journal is not compensated by retailers listed in its articles as outlets for products. Listed retailers frequently are not the sole retail outlets.

Copyright ©2020 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 87990cbe856818d5eddac44c7b1cdeb8

Source

[holaafrica]

New Post has been published on https://holaafrica.org/what-are-you-getting-off-too-a-look-at-feminist-porn/

What are you getting off too?: A look at feminist porn

Folx are fapping, stroking, pinching and rubbing themselves and sometimes when it happens they need good content to do it. The messed up thing is porn has been made by men for men for so long that the rest of us have been left out and that is not the one. And that is where feminist porn comes into things. So to kick it off we gotta figure out what it is, ‘cause  wow not all porn is feminist.

According to Wikipedia: 

Feminist pornography refers to a genre of film developed by and/or for those dedicated to gender equality. It was created for the purposes of encouraging women and their self-beliefs of freedom through sexuality, equality and pleasure.

The thing is about feminist porn (like most other things that are gorgeously inclusive) is not super widespread and queer/female-centric content is generally produced more by indie studios who tend to operate on their own sites rather than the major ones like Porn Hu. Even though you can find some on there it can be tricky to locate and you may need to know specific producers/ studios and search for those or really define your search.

There are however platforms out there. 

Alice Vaughn, a sexpert  says that ‘OnlyFans was one such content platform — up until an announcement made on Aug. 19. In a surprising turn of events, the site stated it’s now banned porn (or “sexually explicit conduct,” as they put it in a statement). The platform later begun to rethink the proposal.  And this is surprising because, well, this sexually explicit content is the very reason OnlyFans became so popular.  The ban officially begins Oct. 1, 2021.’

‘Unlike mainstream videos, which typically focus on what guys want to see — long blowjobs, certain sex positions, etc. — Vaughn says feminist porn focuses on female pleasure. With feminist and ethical porn, there’s more talk about consent on set, safe sex is often a focus, and the actors more diverse to represent a wide array of interests.’

SO the big money question: What makes porn feminist? According to The JuiceBox:

1) Real Pleasure. One of the key features to feminist porn is genuine pleasure. This

means the performers use plenty of lube, choose the positions that work for them, and they aren’t faking all those orgasms, they are genuinely enjoying themselves. Some companies are committed to only real orgasms, every time. So what you see is the realest of real deals

2) The best porn for women/Gender Non-Conforming folx focuses on an ethical workplace. This means the cast and crew are paid fairly for their labour, no one is required to do anything (or anyone) they don’t want to do. And no one checks their bodily autonomy at the door and body shaming is not a real thing on set. 

3) Challenging stereotypes, instead of reinforcing them. In feminist porn, performers aren’t tokenized based on their race, body type, or gender.

Instead, the performers are given the option to have sex in a way that is organic to them as people, and engage in the kinds of sexual play that feel good to them. 

In a HOLAA article the writer says: ‘Porn that shows men and women as sexual collaborators rather than men as conquerors could do a great deal to change people’s perceptions about themselves and their sex lives. As one connoisseur of the coitus arts.’ This is part of the work that feminist porn tries to do, pushing back on the power imbalances between the genders. 

In their article Russell O’Connor, says, it would have the ability to promote “positive, healthy attitudes about sexuality and, indeed, about gender itself”. Porn legend Nina Hartley echoed this when she said that this kind of porn could “change men’s and women’s attitudes at their deepest neurobiological level”. Folx are working hard to make proper flicks in these streets so respect sex workers who are making great content and pay for your porn.

Pay. For. Your. Porn. (respect their hustle) for example check out this CrashPad Episode.

Happy fappin’.

Links to check out:

7 places to watch Feminist Porn  from Bustle

The 11 Best Feminist Friendly Websites – Juiceboxit

Porn for Women: 21 Feminist Porn Sites You’ll Really, Really Enjoy

– Glamour

Why Tumblr’s Ban On Adult Content Is A Huge Step Back For Sex Positivity – Feminist In India

Feminist porn: Giving the world a little something different when it comes to online sex –  HOLAAfrica 

Tumblr’s ‘porn ban’ will leave its marginalised users with no safe haven – The Guardian

Sexual Rights – APC

***

Check out the Basically…Life Podcast (on all platforms) and our YouTube series We Are F**kin Here for other vibes that show how queers are living, lovin’ and f*ckin.

For more info about all things gender and sexuality download our Touch Manual which has a bunch of info about dating, sexuality, gender, sex and much more! Also visit our Instagram page and Twitter account for even more great content!

[hppynews6]

Luxury Homeowners Put a Ring on Jewel-Box Homes

Luxury Homeowners Put a Ring on Jewel-Box Homes

[ad_1]

A miniature dachshund named Huey played a big part in Hunter Frick’s decision to buy a 1,300-square-foot, 1970s ranch house in East Hampton, N.Y., instead of one of the many large newer homes he looked at. So did a fear of too many weekend guests.

“Huey can’t do stairs,” said Mr. Frick, 37, a senior vice president of development marketing for Halstead real estate who splits his time…

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2686 Warnings: none unless you count awkward/cringeworthy moments

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is a slow burn people so sit tight! A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 2 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

You paced in your apartment for a few minutes, debating what you should do. The gift card was a lovely gesture but you can’t accept it, Bucky is a stranger even if he’s your neighbor, and even though he inconvenienced you it would be wrong to take this.

But then again, maybe he really meant no harm at all and it would be rude not to accept this. It certainly would be put to good use.

All of these thoughts raced through your mind as you walked the length of your apartment. The walls truly were thin and you knew Bucky was home, meaning if he heard you come home then he knew you had the gift card. Was he expecting you to thank him?

Fuck it, you’re going over there. You went to the bathroom to make sure you looked alright. You aren’t sure why you cared so much but you quickly brushed your teeth and dabbed a bit of perfume on your pulse points. With a final look at yourself in the mirror you put your phone in your back pocket, grabbed your keys and the gift card and shut your door.

Your teeth were clenched as you made a fist and knocked at Bucky’s door, holding your breath as you heard him shuffle towards the door to answer it.

“Y/N, hey!” Bucky seemed surprised to see you.

His hair was loose, falling on his shoulders. The blue of his t-shirt brought out his eyes, even in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“Hey Bucky,” you replied easily, as if the words fell naturally from your lips. Holding up the gift card you smiled and Bucky mirrored the gesture.

“I see you got it.”

“Yes, thank you. This was really sweet but honestly you didn’t have to do this.”

Bucky lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, exposing part of his waist as his shirt ran up. Your eyes couldn’t help but catch the deep V line sculpted on his body, making you unconsciously lick your lips. As Bucky spoke you lifted your eyes to meet his again.

“I felt really bad. I didn’t mean to be a shitty neighbor. I’m not really used to this.”

“Having neighbors?” you asked with a giggle.

Bucky smiled. “Not ones so close.”

“That’s the city for ya,” you said awkwardly, looking everywhere else except Bucky.

“So listen,” Bucky began, clearing his throat. “You just got back from class right? If you wanted, how about I make you a cup of coffee? I definitely owe you a lot, even more than the gift card.”

The thought of having coffee with the embodiment of sex on legs made your knees wobble. You politely said you couldn’t impose.

“You wouldn’t be. I was about to make a pot myself, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

There probably should have been more insisting on your end, saying that you couldn’t come in because you also have a lot of work to do but somehow your mouth had a mind of its own as you agreed to coffee.

You wanted to keep things light, and so as you followed him inside you joked, “How do you get any work done with all that music?” but the moment you stepped into his apartment you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Bucky’s apartment was a mirror of yours with his bed and couch placed in the same spot against the wall, though it felt smaller with the dark taupe covering the walls, but what really made things feel cramped were the instruments scattered all over the apartment.

Several guitars were hung along the brick wall with a variety of amps on the floor. A large keyboard was laid out on the trunk that served as his coffee table in front of a black leather couch. An electronic drum kit sat beside a large desk, with wires attaching to a device beside his computer.

“Music is my work.”

You were stunned into silence, feeling completely stupid for asking him to not play music when you were home. You wanted to turn around and go back to your apartment where you could shake away the cringey feeling that rooted itself into your bones.

“Ohh,” you managed to squeak out.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, baring his teeth for an awkward smile at your revelation. “But don’t worry about the sound, I went out earlier and got headphones.”

Bucky turned to hold up a bag from the floor and you recognized the name of the professional audio shop.

“I never needed them before. My old landlord had lost most of her hearing so my music never bothered her.”

Bucky turned to the small kitchen counter to start preparing the coffee. He hadn’t offered you to sit, not that you saw a chair, so you stood watching his shirt cling to his muscles as he reached up to open the cabinets. They were different from yours, their honeyed tone showing a little age but not old by any means.

He pulled down a small coffee maker that was clearly made for a single person. You’ve already had more cups of coffee today than that tiny thing can produce in a sitting. Bucky was an obvious bachelor, even if you didn’t know about the revolving door of women you could see it in the way he kept his place.

He had been here just over a month but the apartment looked as if he had been settled in for years. Beside the bag he previously held up were others filled with things that hadn’t been put away. His bed wasn’t made, but the dark blue comforter was mostly strewn over the mattress with just the corner pulled a little too low.

His TV was opposite the bed on a dresser whose bottoms drawers hung open, with a bunched up shirt preventing the middle one from fully closing. Things weren’t dirty, it just needed a good tidying. Behind you was a large bookcase, with each shelf overstuffed with books and graphic novels, loose music sheets spilling out from the top, a few Funko Pops and some other knick-knacks.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, turning around as one hand gripped the handle of the refrigerator.

You nodded with a smile as you continued to observe his apartment. Above the couch was a large framed poster of the movie Psycho and briefly recalling the conversation you heard this morning you really hoped he was actually talking to his mother.

“Shit.”

You turned around to find Bucky watching you stare at the poster, though his eyes moved to the couch.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked you to sit down,” he said, apologizing for his manners as he moved the keyboard off the trunk and on to his desk. “I don’t usually have people over.”

You both know his statement was a lie; he has people, women specifically, over every night but what he meant was he doesn’t usually entertain.

The couch scrunched under his weight as he sat beside you, handing over a mug of steaming coffee. He warned you it was hot and so you held it as the ceramic heated your skin before placing it on the trunk. Bucky had done the same and so you felt comfortable enough to do so as well, even though asking about a coaster would have been just as simple.

“So you mentioned you’re in school. What are you studying?”

You were aware of how close his knee was to yours as he turned to face you. Nerves made you grab the cup of coffee first, sipping on the still too hot liquid before answering.

“I’m going for my MSW. I’m nearly finished too, I just have this last class before I somehow have to fit a ton of hours for an internship into my schedule which is a little difficult to figure out.”

“You work full time too, right? It must be hard doing both.”

Bucky’s blue eyes were focused on you, deeply staring into your own. All you could do was nod your head in response. He was enchanting, clearly a great listener; it’s no wonder he can charm the world into his bed.

You fell into a conversation about Stark Industries and how you came to work there, going to school part time as you worked to pay the rent.

“It feels like I’ve wasted so much time because of the road I had to take. I keep picturing myself at the end, finally graduating, knowing all the stress and sleepless nights were worth it.”

Bucky watched as the passion you had for social work poured off your lips. There was something deeper than wanting to be handed a diploma, he could see the fire burning in your eyes that you had for this field, something you left unsaid.

“I’m sorry, again, if my music kept you up and distracted you.”

“No, I’m sorry Bucky. I was rushing to class this morning and I probably could have said things in a better way.”

You shared a quick smile with him, bringing the mug up to your lips to mask the way your cheeks wanted to stay pulled tight to cement the smile on your face. Staring at Bucky made you feel giddy and warm all over.

You suddenly realized how long it’s been since you’ve hung out with a man that isn’t Steve. With all your school work keeping you busy you hardly had any time to notice what was missing in your life, not until now where you felt butterflies fluttering away in your stomach. Wow, you definitely needed to get out again.

“So you said music is your work, what do you do?”

Bucky tipped the mug back to finish the last drop of coffee, before smoothing his fingers over his lips.

“I’m a composer actually.”

Well that was unexpected. You definitely judged Bucky too quickly, with the loud music and louder women. Without seeing him you figured he was some punk in a band, who stayed up all night and didn’t give a shit about his neighbors because he wanted to live out the party lifestyle of a wannabe rock star. But as Bucky explained you found out he was so much more than that.

From a young age he was musically gifted, picking up melody and sounding it out by ear as he sat in front of the piano. His mother Winifred had also played and taught him what she could until Bucky’s enthusiasm for playing outgrew the time and knowledge she had to teach him. She and his father George hired a piano tutor who noted how talented Bucky was, especially for a young child.

Bucky’s ambitions grew as he wanted to learn more instruments, guitar, violin, percussion.

“I can’t do horns,” he joked, not having the patience to practice proper breathing for the brass instruments.

Bucky has been composing music since the days you were pining over boy bands, selling his first work to a commercial for an international airline.

“Wow, I feel like the biggest asshole for telling you to stop.”

Bucky chucked at your admission, “It’s okay Y/N, really. I should have realized I’m not in Long Island anymore. I promise to use the headphones for every instrument that I can.”

“Thanks Bucky,” you smiled, sighing a breath of relief although you still felt embarrassed. While trying to lift the weight of guilt you somehow made it worse. “I’m sure our other neighbors would appreciate that too.”

Bucky’s face twisted with concern. “Shit. Have they complained too?”

Your palms covered your face as you shook off your stupidity. Why was this man making you say all the wrong things?

“No, not in a bad way,” you tried to convince him. “Have you met Clint? A bit shorter than you, dirty blond hair.” Bucky shook his head back and forth. “You must have seen his fiancée then, beautiful redhead, Natasha?”

Again, Bucky shook his head. “Well they live above you.”

Bucky cringed at the thought. If you heard all the noise they certainly have as well.

“So it’s actually kinda funny…” you began, telling Bucky that Clint takes his hearing aids out when he was playing. “They’re both really nice, you should say hello if you see them. Plus now I can tell Clint I won our unofficial bet.”

Bucky’s head quirked with curiosity. “Well, he called you the Guitar Hero,” you admitted, watching a smile form on Bucky’s face.

“I don’t just play guitar,” he said proudly.

You smirked, “I know. That’s why I was calling you the Music Man.”

Bucky’s hair blanketed his face as he tipped his head forward to laugh at your nickname. When he sat up again you noticed the crinkles around his sparkling eyes, and the way he smiled from ear to ear showed off perfect teeth, beautifully bright against the beginnings of dark stubble that started to fill in along his jaw.

Butterflies swirled around your stomach like a tornado as your heart rattled against your chest. This sensation was bubbling up the longer you stared at Bucky. Why were you feeling this way? You couldn’t distract yourself, not with a man, especially not this one.

“I get it now, the walls are thin,” he stated, still shining that beaming smile.

Your brain jolts to life again, as common sense starts to combat the small army forming to defend your developing crush. Your brain wins this round however, as you remind yourself the noise wasn’t just about the music.

“Oh yes they are. Our beds are on the same spot on the wall,” you said, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes to infer what you were talking about.

Bucky’s cheeks blush a deep shade of pink with embarrassment. “Oh… I’m….” He’s too nervous to apologize for what you both know you’re referring to.

“I wear headphones to sleep to drown out the noise.” Great, just keep making it worse Y/N. “But on the bright side, the banshees all sound like they’re enjoying themselves.” Nope, that didn’t help at all.

Fear of saying something even worse had you quickly fumble up an excuse to leave, telling Bucky you had a paper to work on so you thanked him for the coffee and practically ran back to your apartment, dreading every future interaction you would have with him.

Later that night Bucky opened the door for a woman who swayed inside with determination. He offered her a beer and with lust in her eyes Dot licked the neck of the bottle before bringing the top to her lips. Bucky turned away, shuddering with embarrassment at how hard this girl was trying.

He knows what she wants, what they all want but Bucky hasn’t believed in relationships for a very long time. It’s something that works for other people whereas he enjoys the physical connection; release your needs and move on.

Bucky wished he cancelled tonight. He felt… awkward after you left. It made him shift his bed forward a few inches away from the wall. He didn’t realize just how much his entire presence has affected you.  

With his arms caged beside Dot’s head he moved above her, thrusting his hips and checking to see that the bed didn’t touch the wall as his motions rocked it. Her nails dug crescents into his back as she began to cry out in pleasure. Bucky forced his lips against hers, an action she felt in her heart but Bucky just wanted to shut her up, hoping you hadn’t heard her.

Shutting the door behind Dot who begged to stay Bucky went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his heated skin. His reflection stares back at him but he doesn’t want to look, wondering why his mind has been wandering to places he doesn’t want it going. He dries his face, letting the towel hang over the sink as he shuffles back to bed, staring at the wall for a few lingering moments before he turns over and hopes sleep will come quickly.

PART 4

[journalonline24]

How to Plan Before Leaving Town to Work Remotely Your boss has given you the green light to work indefinitely from wherever you want. Now what?

[kyprioth-rising-against]

@riseagainstmemes and I transcribed Tim's speech from the looping video Rise Against posted. Here's the full thing!

----------------------

"This last year was incredibly transformative for Rise Against, as we've generally spent the last 20 years traveling from show to show.

Overnight, our tours ended.

No more meeting fans,

no more one night hotel stays,

no more thrusting my fist to thousands packed into stadiums.

Sweat drenched t-shirts and amped up audiences were traded for family dinners and quiet time while writing and recording our ninth album.

Albums need a central theme that encapsulate an artist's worldview, and 2020 offered a myriad of topics to choose from. As I puttered around, I noticed my daughters spending time with their friends, ordering food from their phones, their excitement as hot fudge sundaes were delivered straight to the house magically. There was a stark difference to the interactions that I had with my friends decades ago. As I searched for that theme, something beyond the pandemic and politics kept gnawing at me, and finally it hit me - generations. Over the years, I sat on the sidelines for one too many jokes about the younger generations and their lack of responsibility, their self importance, and inability to thrive. This narrative seemed too reductive to describe the people I was interacting with, at our concerts around the world. Young people alive today were born shortly after a period of relative economic and political stability. There was an expectation that the next generation would be better off than the one that had come before. Instead, their era has been defined by mass instability

while they're looking for something, somewhere,

and ending up nowhere, fast.

The Nowhere Generation.

For as long as I can remember, the motto sold to the masses has been to put their nose to the grind and burn the candle at both ends, like previous generations did. But for the Nowhere Generation, they keep finding the light snuffed out at the end of the tunnel. The world economy demands that they acquire expensive, advanced degrees for dwindling jobs with fewer benefits. They are asked to keep up with impossible lifestyles promoted on social media, endless self-care remedies, and no real solution to the roots of their depression or anxiety. All of this to make them more efficient cogs in the machined world not designed for their lives.

We are the kids that no one wants.

This machine, this shareholder primacy continues to outsource jobs to the lowest bidder, reaping the benefits of human-rights abuses to subsidize the low cost of consumer products. Meanwhile the Nowhere Generation has been told to monetize their hobby into a second job, that has been given a glamorous title - the side hustle. As the idea of an equitable system is replaced by one designed to benefit the few, the Nowhere Generation will either drift away from civil society or demand that these algorithms of discontent are disrupted by any means necessary. Across the world, we have seen uprisings beginning to demand the change necessary to make that equitable system a reality.

We are a credible threat to the rules you set,

a cause to be alarmed.

The questions I asked on our ninth album have to do with how we are seeding the future,

how much our success or failure have to do with one’s agency,

and how much have to do with the structure of the institutions we’re all corralled into every day.

Our world will only be as successful as our efforts to make it a more equitable place

with as many possible outcomes for success.

If we want the nowhere generation to invest in the institutions that make a functioning society, then they need to be a part of the future we plan to build. As I watched my daughters this past year, I realized it is not my job to dictate the terms of their futures, rather to provide them with the tools to thrive on their own. That thought process comes with an understanding that the challenges I faced were not the same as the ones they will face, that the solutions to my problems will not solve theirs.

We are the nowhere generation

We are the kids that no one wants

We are a credible threat to the rules you set

A cause to be alarmed

We are not the names that we’ve been given

We speak a language you don’t know

We are at a crossroads where generational divide and technological advancement and class warfare are pulling society apart at the seams. And while all hope can easily be lost, I have been lucky enough to have a front row seat to the front row seats, to see the incredible, vibrant people that make up the Nowhere Generation. Their energy and enthusiasm are undeniable. They are smart, nimble, and ready to right the wrongs with an eye on the future. They’ve inspired me in my most cynical moments, and convinced me that there is a reason to hope. They are the light at the end of the tunnel, burning gently, and instead of trying to douse them out, we should be feeding their flames."

[freenewstoday]

New Post has been published on https://freenews.today/2020/12/19/this-ford-is-straight-out-of-the-70s-8-track-included/

This Ford Is Straight Out of the ’70s, 8-Track Included

Josh Fear,

20, a classic-car repairman from Howell, Mich., on his 1970 Ford F-100, as told to A.J. Baime.

A lot of people think it’s funny that a person my age would spend so much time working on cars that were made years before I was born. I spend a lot of time with people a lot older than me. I like it that way.

Growing up in Michigan, it seemed like everyone I knew—every family—was somehow connected to the auto industry. My dad was into classic cars. Most of my uncles were into classic cars. In the summer of 2013, when I was 13, I spent a lot of time helping my grandpa. He had this 1949 Chevrolet Styleline sitting behind his house that I had always loved. So in exchange for the work, he gave me that car. It hadn‘t run since the early sixties. I still have it. The body is off, and I am taking my time with it.

Photos: Wanna Feel Old?

This 1970 Ford F-100 is one of three old cars Josh Fear owns. He is also working on his 1949 Chevrolet Styleline and a 1953 Oldsmobile Super 88.

Erin Kirkland for the Wall Street Journal

1 of 12

•••••

1 of 12

Show Caption

This 1970 Ford F-100 is one of three old cars Josh Fear owns. He is also working on his 1949 Chevrolet Styleline and a 1953 Oldsmobile Super 88.

Erin Kirkland for the Wall Street Journal

That same year, I was on Craigslist looking at old trucks when an ad for this 1970 Ford came up, for $700. I was instantly attracted to the body. Those trucks did not always hold up so well in Michigan because of rust, so you do not see them often here. To me it looked unique, and green has always been one of my favorite colors on cars. We called the guy who owned it; he was in New Mexico. I had half the money and I sold a minibike for the other half. We got the truck in December of 2013.

I spent a lot of time with my dad working on it. It had the wrong engine in it, so we found a 302 cubic inch V-8 like the one that it should have had. I spent a lot of time rebuilding that engine. The interior of the truck was in good shape, but the seats needed reupholstering. By the end of the summer in 2014, I had that truck moving and stopping. I could drive around our yard. I was still a long way away from getting my driver’s license.

I am really into NOS stuff, which means new old stock. That means things that would have been purchased for a vehicle when it was new or a few years old, that were never used. For example, for my Ford, I bought a Radio Shack CB radio from 1977, and an 8-track cassette player from 1975. I have a couple carrying cases of 8-tracks. I found a bumper sticker from 1976 celebrating the country’s bicentennial.

Later, I bought a 1953 Oldsmobile Super 88 and I joined the vintage Motor City Rockets Oldsmobile club. While I was working on that car, I would drive my Ford truck to Oldsmobile events and the guys would laugh and say I was their token Ford guy. I am still working on that Oldsmobile. The Ford truck is the one vehicle that I have put enough time into that I can really drive and enjoy. I drive it regularly in the summertime.

One day an Oldsmobile club member asked me if I would help him fix the power windows on his convertible. I said sure. Then someone else said, “Hey can you fix this?” I said, “Yeah, I can.” I have been working so long on my 1949 Chevy, I applied and was accepted to be the technical advisor for 1949 and 1950 Chevrolets for the Vintage Chevrolet Club of America.

I never imagined that I could actually work on vintage cars for a job in the future, but now that seems realistic to me. I have also made a lot of great friends. In almost all the conversations I have about cars, I am the youngest person there. I guess that’s just the way it goes.

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