#The Boston Syndicate

[thereadingcafe]

[bandcampsnoop]

7/13/24.

Well, this was unexpected. Galaxie 500 is releasing a 2 LP behemoth - including many unreleased gems from between 1988-1990.

There's not a lot to add to this except that the two songs here rock more than I was expecting. I mean this is Dean, Damon and Naomi. This is pre-Luna Dean Wareham. And this clearly influenced by The Velvet Underground and The Dream Syndicate.

This release is housed in a mock TMOQ sleeve.

[nando161mando]

[Boston, USA]

October 19-20 it's the Boston Anarchist Bookfair at the Cambridge Community Center, 10am-6pm.

Also look at the stonking poster, absurdly lit.

[sandythereadingcafe]

REVIEW TOUR:

EOGHAN (The Boston Syndicate 3) by Kate Randall at The Reading Cafe:

' the plot is quick and easy to keep up with while engaging the reader with anticipation.'

[b3crew]

Shameless Tuesdays: Livre 106 | The Bellwether Syndicate | B3 - Boston Bastard Brigade

The Bellwether Syndicate's got fire in their breath and spite in their gaze. But that attitude is needed when crafting a sound that feels like a robot apocalypse is right around the corner! Their next album Vestige & Vigil may not be due until April 2023, but it's not stopping them from unleashing some warning shots. "Beacons", a love letter to their fans, is a whirlwind of a track, one that spins its listeners in a cyclone of dark love. "Dystopian Mirror", on the other hand, gets uncomfortably close with violent intent! If the rest of the album's anything like these two singles, then world domination may be in The Bellwether Syndicate's grasp! That's why we're stoked to have them drop a Shameless Tuesdays playlist amongst our heads!

Click here to listen!

[argyrocratie]

"How will people get healthcare?

(...)

During the Spanish Civil War, Barcelona’s Medical Syndicate, organized largely by anarchists, managed 18 hospitals (6 of which it had created), 17 sanatoria, 22 clinics, 6 psychiatric establishments, 3 nurseries, and one maternity hospital. Outpatient departments were set up in all the principal localities in Catalunya. Upon receiving a request, the Syndicate sent doctors to places in need. The doctor would have to give good reason for refusing the post, “for it was considered that medicine was at the service of the community, and not the other way round.”[40] Funds for outpatient clinics came from contributions from local municipalities. The anarchist Health Workers’ Union included 8,000 health workers, 1,020 of them doctors, and also 3,206 nurses, 133 dentists, 330 midwives, and 153 herbalists. The Union operated 36 health centers distributed throughout Catalunya to provide healthcare to everyone in the entire region. There was a central syndicate in each of nine zones, and in Barcelona a Control Committee composed of one delegate from each section met once a week to deal with common problems and implement a common plan. Every department was autonomous in its own sphere, but not isolated, as they supported one another. Beyond Catalunya, healthcare was provided for free in agrarian collectives throughout Aragon and the Levant.

Even in the nascent anarchist movement in the US today, anarchists are taking steps to learn about and provide healthcare. In some communities anarchists are learning alternative medicine and providing it for their communities. And at major protests, given the likelihood of police violence, anarchists organize networks of volunteer medics who set up first aid stations and organize roving medics to provide first aid for thousands of demonstrators. These medics, often self-trained, treat injuries from pepper spray, tear gas, clubs, tasers, rubber bullets, police horses, and more, as well as shock and trauma. The Boston Area Liberation Medic Squad (BALM Squad) is an example of a medic group that organizes on a permanent basis. Formed in 2001, they travel to major protests in other cities as well, and hold trainings for emergency first aid. They run a website, share information, and link to other initiatives, such as the Common Ground clinic described below. They are non-hierarchical and use consensus decision-making, as does the Bay Area Radical Health Collective, a similar group on the West Coast.

Between protests, a number of radical feminist groups throughout the US and Canada have formed Women’s Health Collectives, to address the needs of women. Some of these collectives teach female anatomy in empowering, positive ways, showing women how to give themselves gynecological exams, how to experience menstruation comfortably, and how to practice safe methods of birth control. The patriarchal Western medical establishment is generally ignorant of women’s health to the point of being degrading and harmful. An anti-establishment, do-it-yourself approach allows marginalized people to subvert a neglectful system by organizing to meet their own needs.

After Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, activist street medics joined a former Black Panther in setting up the Common Ground clinic in one of the neediest neighborhoods. They were soon assisted by hundreds of anarchists and other volunteers from across the country, mostly without experience. Funded by donations and run by volunteers, the Common Ground clinic provided treatment to tens of thousands of people.

The failure of the government’s “Emergency Management” experts during the crisis is widely recognized. But Common Ground was so well organized it also out-performed the Red Cross, despite the latter having a great deal more experience and resources.[41] In the process, they popularized the concept of mutual aid and made plain the failure of the government. At the time of this writing Common Ground has 40 full-time organizers and is pursuing health in a much broader sense, also making community gardens and fighting for housing rights so that those evicted by the storm will not be prevented from coming home by the gentrification plans of the government. They have helped gut and rebuild many houses in the poorest neighborhoods, which authorities wanted to bulldoze in order to win more living space for rich white people."

-Peter Gelderloos, "Anarchy Works" (2010)

[beefrobeefcal]

Catfish to BigFish feat. Dark!Frankie Morales

Summary: Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. But how did Frankie 'Catfish' Morales, the coke-addicted, lanky mess of a man become its leader? And where did the moniker 'BigFish' come from?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,283 | 3+/- years before OTWF begins

Content Warning: threats of violence, crime, violence, betrayal, Big Fish is a bad man in the making, character death, allusions to drug use, swearing, choking, punching, eating, comments on body, weight gain, friendship but at what cost?, Tom is a bag of smashed assholes

Author's Notes: this is a prequel showing us the how, what, why, and where roughly three years before Honey comes into the picture in Chapter One: Signed and Sealed. The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for brainstorming this with me and to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for their love and eyes. Pour one out for @xdaddysprincessxx - she will need all the hydration she can get.

On the Waterfront Masterlist

“If it were anyone else…”, Tom warned. 

“Yeah, we know. But it’s not. It’s Fish. He’s one of us.”

Pope sat back and watched Will do something none of them thought they’d have to do – convince Tom to give a shit.

“He’s a fuckin’ coke head! Snortin’ our own shit and lyin’ about it!”, Tom boomed, standing over Will. “You ran the fuckin’ numbers, you can see how much money we lost up his fuckin’ nose! And now you wanna spend more money tryin’ to get that fucker clean again?”

Will didn’t bend. He didn’t shrink and he didn’t back down. “It’s Frankie. Catfish. Our Catfish. And he needs help.”

Tom huffed harshly enough in Will’s face that his hair moved, then turned his ire to Pope. 

“You think Fish’s worth it? Already cost us a shit load of money and Will wants to blow more on that fuckhead.”

Pope slipped into his smooth and nonchalant voice and crossed his arms. He’d hoped this would give Tom the impression that he was just as unnerved and steadfast as Will.

“You know he’d do the same thing for any of us.”

“Fuckin’ altruistic bullshit!”, Tom barked, slamming his fist on the table. 

Pope felt his blood heating up and his jaw tightening. Will looked over at him quickly, his blue eyes ice cold and angry, and then back to Tom. 

“I disagree. He’s just as much my brother as Benny is. Or you, or Santi. He’s family and I’ll get’m help as many times as possible. And you know what you’re sayin’s bullshit-“

“Fuck you and your fuckin’ family values dog shit! You and I both know that he’s gonna get clean, last a week or two, then shit’s gonna start goin’ missing again and he’s gonna be right back to bein’ the fuckin’ crypt keeper he looks like now! He’s not gonna change. We need to cut him loose and let him kill himself. He made his choice, Will! Admit it - Fish ain’t worth it!”

Will stood up and moved close to Tom, almost nose to nose. Yeah, Tom was bigger, stronger even, but Will was precise and skilled in a way that seeing him square up like that scared Pope. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward. 

“Hey! Hold up! We’re not gonna do th-“

“You’re supposed to be our leader – our fuckin’ captain.”, Will seethed lowly. “I’m not gonna take orders from some mother fucker who decides to ‘cut loose’ one of our own. Fish needs our help and fuck you for turnin’ your back on’ im.”

Tom glared at Will. “Fine.”, he spat, then dug his index finger in Will’s chest. “But when he he fuckin’ OD’s, it’s on you!”

*****

It felt like more than 90 days when Pope rolled up in front of the rehab centre to pick up Frankie, and when he saw him standing outside, waiting for him, he frowned. Not because he wasn’t glad to see him looking better and fuller, but because this was the third time he had picked Frankie up from a stint in rehab. 

Frankie pulled open the passenger door and slid in, not daring to look up. 

“Fish…”, Pope broke the silence as he put the car in drive. “You look good - ”

“How mad is he this time?”, Frankie interjected.

Pope sighed, knowing exactly how mad Tom was that the Frontiersmen funded another one of Frankie’s stays in an expensive treatment centre. The fact that Tom could be mad at Frankie for this used to baffle him, but by this time - the third time – he could at least see where Tom was coming from. It didn’t sway his growing dislike of their leader though. 

“You keep clean, and he won’t have a reason to be pissed.”

“Fuck… Santi… I try, and – “

“Just shut the fuck up and keep clean, Frank.” Pope snapped, cutting Frankie off in turn. “Besides, I have something in mind to keep you motivated.”

All Frankie could do was nod, despite not knowing what Pope could offer as motivation. He never wanted to relapse, but the call was too sweet, too enticing, for him to stay away too long. He’d said this the day before while he was going through the exit procedure and the facilitator just shrugged and said, “Find something else to get high on then.” 

*****

Less than two months after Frankie came back to the compound, Tom was dead. 

Pope had walked down the hallway to the office where Will waited, and he pushed open the door. Will had looked up, expecting to see Tom, and when he saw Pope instead, blood on his hands and splattered on his body and face, and wide eyed, he stood up, confusion etched on his face.

“Santiago… what the fuck is goin’-“

“He’s dead.”

Will dropped the file folder he held precariously and moved quickly to Pope’s side as he sat heavily in one of the armchairs. He wiped his hand over his face, smudging the semi-dried blood, and he sighed.

“Who’s dea- “

“Tom… Tom’s dead. He’s fuckin’ dead, Will.”

“Santi.”, Will said in a low, controlled voice that just barely masked the panic writhing below. “What happened?”

“I… I was… I didn’t…”, Pope paused, trying to find a way to confess. Instead, his conscience was silenced by his ego, and he found himself lying without even really thinking. “He was… taken out by… by the Gutierrez gang… those fuckers… they ambushed him, Will.”

Pope looked up at Will, daring to see if what he said even sounded feasible. To Will, Pope’s wide, frightened eyes convinced him to ignore the itch at the back of his brain, needling him to probe further.

“I was… I was with him when he… I found him before he died. He was fuckin’ babbling some shit… who was supposed to take over…”

Will’s eyes narrowed subtly, but enough for Pope to register. He knew he couldn’t say he was the one Tom wanted; it would be too suspicious. And he couldn’t say Will because that would give him full control - something Pope truly believed would be his own downfall. 

“He wanted Fish…”

*****

Frankie was a half a year sober – actually, really, fully, no-word-of-a-lie sober – and had been the head of the Frontiersmen for just shy of four months. He’d spent the last six months trying to find a new vice that wouldn’t render him a liability and bankrupt the organization. He was just barely making an impact as the new leader; no one took him seriously. He was skinny and quiet. Only his inner circle knew how violent and dangerous he could be, but even then, they knew he really had to be provoked to get him to that point.

Pope decided he had to do something. His plan to put Frankie in the captain’s chair was failing miserably, and he knew if he couldn’t land this, he would be sussed out. 

“Fish… come on… we’re going out for dinner.”, he said, slapping Frankie’s back.

He looked up at Pope, tired and miserable. “Why?”

“Because you need to eat. You’re skin and bones and no one wants to be led by a corpse.”

Frankie’s expression turned from confused to hurt as his shoulders dropped, feeling the weight of everyone’s expectations gnaw at his sobriety. He carried this somber aura all the way to the restaurant. 

*****

The dingy little Italian restaurant had a name – Marcello’s - and it became Frankie’s haven. It was nowhere near as festive or amazing as Benny had indicated. The way he raved about the place, Pope thought he was taking Frankie to a pasta titty bar paradise, and instead he found them in a mid-century dive with carpet and wood paneling on the walls. 

It wasn’t until the hostess came out from the bar to greet them that Pope understood exactly why Benny loved this place, and he understood it even more when they had their food served.  It had started out as once a week, then turned into almost every night. The effects of pasta, heavy cream sauces, and garlic bread we’re beginning to show on Frankie. Gone were the feeling of his ribs when Pope patted him on his back and gone were his sunken cheeks. Frankie had filled out and he was glad to see his friend looking better. 

That was, until he noticed something. Yeah, Frankie was clean from coke, but he seemed to have turned that same veracity that he’d once carried for the narcotic on to food. It used to be that Frankie could barely finish a frozen TV dinner, being able to stretch one over two meals. As Pope sat across from him at Marcello’s one Tuesday evening, he watched his friend plow through two whole plates of pasta in one sitting. Pope noticed that while Frankie ate, he seemed almost tranquil, serene.

He’d found something else to get high on.

There was a notable change in Frankie as he gained weight. The soft spoken, always amenable Frankie was slowly being enveloped by a bigger, meaner, and more vicious version of him. 

When he was thinner, Frankie could get lucky with women if he tried, but he wasn’t the most confident and rarely put himself out there. But as he grew, so did his self-esteem. He no longer sat back and accepted things as they were said to him – he questioned and even demanded answers, using his newfound size to intimidate if need be. If he saw something he liked, be it clothing, electronics, cars, he took it and gave no one a chance to say otherwise.

The legacy Tom left behind began to fade within the Frontiersmen as Frankie’s violence took centre stage. His quick temper and fists built a reputation; he was still quiet, but the silence he offered was no longer one of contemplation, it was one of simmering rage, liable to explode into violence at any moment. But this was within their group alone. No one outside of their crew took him seriously enough to even warrant giving him a foot in the door.

All of that changed one evening and Pope got a front seat to watch his plan to hide behind Frankie finally bear fruit. Catfish’s temper finally exploded on the right person to get the message out. 

Chuck, the leader of another group called the Golden Kings, had sat across from Frankie at a roundtable, hosted by one of the other gangs to broker agreements and territories. Chuck had taken every opportunity to remind everyone that Frankie was a junkie who used to pilfer his group’s own product to get high. When he stopped getting the reaction he wanted, Chuck moved onto Frankie’s weight, which had pretty well doubled since Tom’s death. 

Will, seated on the other side of Frankie, quietly said, “Let it go, Catfish.”

“Catfish?”, Chuck laughed cruelly. “Fuckin’ Catfish? Really? Fatfish is more like it. What happened, Morales? You eat your feelings ‘cause you can’t get high no more?”

Pope caught a glance at Frankie’s face which only could be described as dark and malevolent as a thunderclap. It unnerved him to see Frankie looking so dangerous around other people. It was one thing for him to beat one of their own for being a dipshit, but this was someone who wasn't below Frankie – he was ranks above him. Frankie sat, glaring across the table at Chuck, his elbows on the armrests and his hands tensely tenting his fingers.

It seemed that the rest of the men at the table could sense the electric tension between Frankie and Chuck. Dan Connor, leader of the Dead Rabbits and host for the evening, motioned to Frankie with a head nod. 

“Get it out, Morales. Can’t move on with you having a bitchfit at some name callin’.”

Pope knew none of these men took his friend seriously and it was either going to be Frankie using his keen negotiation tactics or Frankie showing off his newfound rage. 

The latter won. Frankie sat in silence as Chuck beat his mouth off at him, trying to get Frankie to react, to no avail. He didn’t speak; he just watched, letting Chuck keep talking, letting him fuel his violent rage even more, until it reached a tipping point. 

“You may be a big fish now, you fuckin’ goof, but you’re still a rat-faced junkie.”

It happened quickly. Frankie stood up and grabbed Chuck from across the table by his suit jacket lapel and pulled him to his side as his fist began beating into the man’s face over and over.

Chuck’s men stood up, but Dan Connor’s hand came out, motioning for them to sit. His own men waited for their cue to remove Frankie from Chuck, but Dan just watched in reverence.

The punching stopped and Chuck gurgled in pain, and Frankie wrapped his huge hands around Chuck’s throat and squeezed. 

“I am Big Fish, you fuckin’ cunt.”, he growled in a calm and low tone, then he spat on Chuck’s face.

Will looked at Frankie horrified, and Pope couldn’t help the grin that forced its way to his face. Dan finally motioned for his men to intervene, and it took all four to pry Frankie’s hands off the bloody, gasping mess that was Chuck. 

Chuck’s men moved to get their boss away from Frankie as he sat back in his chair, and nodded at Dan, signaling for him to continue. The room remained silent, save for the pathetic whining of Chuck in the hallway. Dan looked at Frankie, eyes narrowed, then finally he started laughing – hard.

“Fuckin’ BigFish Morales! Welcome to the table, asshole.”

no more taglist! follow @beefnotes for fic updates!

[shitty-fallout-art]

my laziness knows no bounds

-Operating both within and outside of Diamond City, Don Valentine is founder and boss of the Valentine crime family that terrorizes the Commonwealth.

-Initially a private detective long before the bombs ever dropped, Valentine carried his practicality and strong sense of justice all the way from his hometown of Chicago to the streets of Boston, with the purpose of assisting the BPD with investigating and disbanding a local crime syndicate that had grown too powerful and elusive for them to handle.

-The result was, ultimately, beyond anything he could have prepared for, having finally met a criminal with the brains and the pull to consistently slip past between his fingers at every critical moment. Victories were small and irregular, and the consequences he faced for every inch he pulled as met with dire consequences that not even the BPD could protect him from. Of course, this was a factor that he had long since accepted, though he would later think himself foolish for ever believing that those closest too him would be spared from his involvement.

-It was not long after the murder of his fiance that Valentine was pulled from the case, as the agency could no longer justify his presence due to personal involvement with the case. He was ordered to return home and relinquish any files or evidence pertaining to Eddie Winter.

-Rather than obey directive, Valentine illegally pursued the case on his own, often clashing with the BPD in their own continued efforts to investigate. Accusations of hostility towards officers, illegal possession of evidence, breaking-and-entering, and kidnapping lead to his inevitable arrest and incarceration. Though he told officials that he would continue the case regardless of legal status, the news that the case had been dropped completely by the BPD broke some of his spirit in the end.

-On court orders, Valentine was taken away for psychological evaluation following his arrest, though the procedures were hardly in his benefit. As part of an under-the-covers collaboration between BADTFL and the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, Valentine was subjected to strange physiological treatments and tests that left him severely weakened and partially brain-dead. Afterwords, he would spend the rest of his short life cared for under prison medical staff.

-His story should have ended there, with his life taken by the bombs and everything of the old world buried away beneath a sea of nuclear hell-fire, and yet, almost a hundred years later, Valentine woke up again.

-One day, against all odds, Valentine found himself waking up in a garbage pile, in a place that was not Boston and a with a body that was not his own. Metal and plastic had replaced skin and flesh, the streets were decrepit and ruined, and everyone seemed so strange and hostile towards him.

-He...had adapted to life as best he could. He played fair and worked hard, he never pushed what generosity people would show him, and he kept mostly to himself. He used his talents and abilities when he could, for little gratitude or reward, and for a while, it seemed like people were at least becoming used to seeing this strange metallic man with memories of past in their lives.

-Until he had happened upon that dreaded caravan.

-He had no way of knowing at the time that they were slavers, he had only wanted to do what was right and help them find their "friend" that had run off. He had lead them straight to her, being rewarded with a thick sack of a caps and a promise for future work in the slaving industry should he want it.

-Without much further to go on, Nick did the only responsible thing he could think of to do, and make his way to Diamond City to tell the mayor, and the girl's father, what had happened. He had thought that he could find the opportunity to right the mistake he had made, though he was only dismantled and thrown out into the garbage like the scum he was.

-Nick was at least handy enough to put some of himself back together, and what he needed help with he got from making threats and empty promises to whoever he came across. Years living with head down and his ears to the ground made him a curious and unknown threat, dangerously intelligent and with the means to utilize his knowledge in a way that produced results.

-For months he tracked that caravan, pulling springs within settlements, using force and persuasion to gather information and assistance when needed, doing little favors for big rewards in order to further his goals.

-When he finally found that caravan, he brought the mayors daughter home with a box full of the slavers severed heads, and found himself suddenly feared and respected within the city.

-Though he had no intentions of becoming a detective, he couldn't refuse the luxuries that his work was suddenly providing. People were fearfully and generous, offering him many things in return for his services, and often his services required a heavy hand and an ugly attitude to reach the results they often desired. It was not a life he intended to lead, but one that he had suddenly found himself living, and he became content with juggling the complex morale of his character and his actions so long as it kept the Commonwealth functional and relatively peaceful.

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

-His character is a strange one, hardly something outright evil or carrying malicious intent, but far from good-nature in how he conducts his business. Results matter, and the means in which you get them can be forgiven so long as it helps somebody down the line. For people, there is often never a price too step for the sake of a loved one, and Valentine understands that all too well. A good person should be willing to get their hands dirty if need be, it just so happens that his hands are dirtier than he'd like to think.

-He is often referred too as the White Dove of the Commonwealth, a figure of wealth, refinery, and peace, able to go anywhere and to hear anything anyone says. What he knows and what he is capable of finding out is a source of great anxiety to his rivals and his allies.

-His gang is curious case as well, operating in favor of local communities with deep pockets and deeper consequences, but toeing that fine line of beneficial to most that ask of their services. They take and savor what they can, they procure funds though under-the-table jobs and extortion of businesses, but many are grateful for their protection.

-He is more uptight and refined compared to his original counterpart, just as snarky and playful, though keeping a short leash on his image and the respect it is supposed to carry with it. Much like General Garvey, his visage carries a purpose, and without it, he could not accomplish his goals as effectively.

-He has a family office within Diamond City, having close ties to the mayors office and the local newspaper, but his reach carries far outside of the city walls.

-Once he learned that Eddie Winter was still alive, his obsession and past feelings resurfaced brutally, causing him to be compulsive, short-fused, and Machiavellian in his hostility towards others. Though he want's to do more than simply kill Winter for what he did to his fiance. The past is dead and buried but those forced to live in the present have to carry on, and the resentment for what Nick had been forced to become had given him some ideas.fa

[ltwilliammowett]

Privateers

Privateers were legalised warships that were issued with a letter of marque by their principal, which authorised them to attack and plunder enemy ships in times of war. These ships were usually outfitted by a syndicate of merchants or other private financiers who invested capital in the hope of substantial profits. Although the government that placed such orders usually received a percentage of the profits, the actual benefits went beyond these monies. The privateers not only disrupted the flow of goods and supplies to enemy ports, but essentially provided the Crown with fighting ships that cost no more than a piece of parchment and a willing crew. This practice can be traced back to 1273, when Edward I of England used privateers against the French.

The celebrated English privateer squadron known as the 'Royal Family' engaging enemy ships during the War of the Austrian Succession. Commanded by Captain James Talbot, the squadron initially consisted of three armed ships, the 500-ton 30-gun flagship Prince Frederick, the 300-ton 20-gun Duke (Captain Morecock) and the much smaller Prince George, by Charles Brooking 1723-1759 (x)

Once a plunder was boarded, the general rules of plunder determined how the ship was to be plundered. Anything above the main deck was considered fair game for the ship's company and as such was unaccountable to those who had financed and equipped the expedition. Needless to say, this system could easily be abused, as sailors often secured items from the hold that they later found on the main deck. The booty itself was usually divided into ship plunder and cabin plunder, the former being fair game for the crew, while the latter was reserved for the captain of the privateer ship. He usually came out ahead, including the all-important nautical charts and navigational information about enemy waters. Many a captain accused of crossing the fine line between privateer and pirate saved his skin by presenting such documents to a grateful, indulgent monarch.

As soon as a ship was captured, it was seized and, depending on the circumstances, disposed of. The ship could be sailed to the privateer's home port and there placed in the hands of eager merchants - a good choice if it was particularly rich or captured near the end of the voyage - or it could be stripped of its cargo and all other valuables and sunk or set free, depending on the whim of the privateer. Another alternative was to prepare the ship so that it could serve as a privateer herself.

Two privateer vessels (Pride of Baltimore - left and Lynx -right), reenact a battle of the War of 1812 in Boston Harbor during Boston Navy Week 2012 (x)

In the remote colonies, goods were usually so scarce that the local merchants (even in hostile ports) would not think of buying the privateers' goods, even if they knew they had probably been stolen by their countrymen. The last resort was to call at the nearest friendly port and sell the ship. This was not appreciated, because the goods and the ship itself had to be presented to the prize court before they could be legally sold, but now and then they were written off as a loss.

However, it should also be borne in mind that privateers were often on the verge of legality, because as soon as the war situation changed, their status also became illegal. Therefore, it was often difficult to know exactly what was going on, and some of them quickly found themselves in the realm of piracy and could then be demoted from a celebrated privateer to an outlaw pirate and punished accordingly.

[celiaelise]

I'm 9 episodes into season 5 of Elementary!

The costuming definitely HAS gotten better, though I still occasionally find Joan's outfits questionable. Like, all the jaunty little ties? They don't necessarily look bad, but i find them attention-grabbing in a way that seems at odds with her character. The time she wore what was basically a sexy boy scout uniform, complete with short-shorts, at the police station, surrounded by her male colleagues wearing normal suits? 😬

Also, I'm not sure I like that Sherlock's wardrobe also improved? Though i suppose one could argue that it's Joan's influence. But i thought the t shirt-and-blazer thing fit his character well.

I really like that Joan's abilities as a detective are always highlighted alongside Sherlock's! I like that Sherlock is well-established to be very emotion-driven, with him only acknowledging it some of the time. I like that there are very much people he does and doesn't like, sometimes for very petty reasons!

I liked getting to see him have disdain for his father in s4. That's just fun for me, idk. (I admit to also enjoying his disdain for Mycroft.) The "shadowy international crime syndicate" stretched my suspension of disbelief a bit lol, but it did work well for the story. (But, like...what do they even do?? Their aim is just, what? To kill people? Be evil? Those are not believable character motivations!)

I DON'T like that Sherlock dumped his autistic girlfriend!!! 😠 Honestly I wasn't even a huge fan of Fiona, (i didn't have anything against her, I was just kinda like, "mmm where are they going with this?") but it seemed kind of bogus that he was like, "oh it's not True Love since I don't talk to her about work." I especially thought it was bogus that Joan encouraged that line of thought, with, "well, either you're in love with her, or you're not 🤷🏻‍♀️" She was so excited when he first showed interest in Fiona! And since when is either detective such a staunch believer in ~True Love~?? 🙄 If anything, it seems healthy and positive that Sherlock, as obsessed with his work as he is, was willingly building a relationship that had nothing to do with it! If anything it should be GOOD that their relationship felt nothing like what he had with Irene!

I like the addition of Joan's sister, though it was a little contrived, and I was confused at first bc I thought Joan's biological father was white?? (I think I thought this bc I was under the impression that Lucy Liu was half white, but I can't remember why I thought that, so maybe I'm just wrong.) But I'm generally in favor of expanding Joan's circle, and adding women.

Obviously I wish the show wasn't so egregiously military-/copaganda 🙄 (but such is the burden of the detective show-enjoying leftist 😔) Also the writers' attempts to include cutting-edge topics definitely hasn't aged particularly well, imo. Like, can't we just solve a murder? Why does Boston Dynamics have to be here?

But, anyway. I'm still having a lot of fun!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Erin Reed at Erin In The Morning:

Over the last week, conservative influencer accounts have ignited a firestorm over cisgender boxer Imane Khelif, alleging that she is actually a “man” and suggesting she might be transgender. This is despite officials confirming that Khelif was assigned female at birth and has competed as a woman her entire life. The controversy has led to statements from Donald Trump, J.D. Vance, and anti-transgender influencers, who are using the boxer’s participation to target transgender athletes. Now, the Boston Globe, a major American paper, has published and circulated into print the false claim that Khelif is transgender. The title reads, “Transgender Boxer Advances.” The headline was placed on an AP article written by sports journalist Greg Beachem, who asserts, “That's not my headline. That word isn't in my story. My stories are syndicated worldwide, and customers are allowed to write their own headlines.” The use of alternate headlines is a common practice for wire services. The word “transgender” does not appear once in the story, which was printed on August 2, 2024.

There is no evidence that Khelif is a transgender woman. Although transgender women are allowed to compete in the Olympics, there are no openly transgender women competing this year. Meanwhile, International Olympic Committee President Thomas Bach has confirmed that Khelif is a cisgender boxer, calling disinformation about her gender “totally unacceptable.” Khelif’s family shared pictures of her as a child, as well as identity documents showing her assigned sex at birth. Notably, gender transition is criminalized in Algeria, making it extremely unlikely that transgender people would be allowed to transition in the country.

The original claim about Khelif’s sex eligibility arose when the scandal-plagued International Boxing Association (IBA) ruled her out of competition, alleging she failed an unspecified gender test after defeating an undefeated Russian boxer. Notably, the IBA is presided over by Umar Kremlev of Russia, an associate of President Putin. In 2023, the International Olympic Committee voted to derecognize the IBA due to concerns about corruption, governance, and judging controversies.

[...] Update: The paper has issued a correction and apologized. “A significant error was made in a headline on a story in Friday’s print sports section about Algerian boxer Imane Khelif incorrectly describing her as transgender. She is not. Additionally, our initial correction of this error neglected to note that she was born female. We recognize the magnitude of this mistake and have corrected it in the epaper, the electronic version of the printed Globe. This editing lapse is regretful and unacceptable and we apologize to Khelif, to Associated Press writer Greg Beacham, and to you, our readers.”

The Boston Globe should be ashamed of themselves for inaccurately describing Imane Khelif as “transgender”. The paper did later, apologize for the insensitively bigoted headline but not the trans community as a whole.

[the-herdier]

Leon being from NYC honestly fits far better to me than him being from the Midwest. He just has that attitude. I also like to think that he's of Irish and Italian descent, which would fit perfectly because of the city's history as a "melting pot". Him being from a crime family background also suits my headcanon well, because until recent years organized crime had a lot of power and influence in the area (source: I live very close to there. Wasn't born during those years, but it was recent enough that some people can still tell you about it.), and there were Irish syndicates as well as Italian ones. There are even rumors about the Kennedy family (yes, those Kennedys, as in the former President's family) being involved in bootlegging in New York City's underworld during the Prohibition, although they were from Boston.

[lowdowndandy]

The guy who taught my teacher at MIT carried the plutonium for the fuckin nuclear testing on his lap in the back of a jeep to the testing site.

Oh yeah my math teacher also ended up in the back seat of a car with Grace Slick, better known as the singer from fuckin Jefferson Airplane one time and he didn't even talk to her because it was after a show and he was scared

the information locked in my stupid brain is absolutely wild to think about wish I could remember it

[callsignbaphomet]

So it's been a few days playing with Trevor on my Minutemen playthrough and reeeeaaaally dedicating to it. Playing also gives me the chance to develop characters for said AU which I have.

Like I said, Trevor and his little brother Tristan came across Garvey in Sanctuary which was not in the best condition. Apparently a vault dweller of some kind had helped them out but left to find a lost family member or some such and kind of forgot all about the group.

((To be fair, you're out looking for your kidnapped son and you don't have time for other shit.))

The Ravencroft brothers helped them out as best they could making the run down settlement look like an actual settlement. They saw how dedicated the people were to making it a livable place and even some newcomers were trying to teach themselves how to use guns to keep nasty shit away. Among the group was an ex-Gunner who tried her best to blend in but Trevor sniffed her out rather quickly. After a quiet sit down the ex-Gunner told him why she left and Trev appointed her as lead of security. Between Trev, the ex-Gunner and Preston they taught those that wanted to learn how to best defend themselves and their new home and as more people joined some were made into Minutemen.

Soon major settlements had training courses going and as they expanded so did the Minutemen. Preston had an eye for pointing out exceptionally talented Minutemen. Those were sent to Vault 42 for extensive training and soon an elite force was formed called Vault 42. Yeah, not very creative but whatever.

((Vault 42 was an old idea I scrapped, reworked, scrapped again and brought back for this. Basically was a small vault that was for government officials only. Government figured the enemy would think it obvious for government officials to hide in or around Langley or DC so they went elsewhere. Never happened. Vault was then taken over by some wastelanders about 50 years later but the group just vanished. 70 years later another group went in but they vanished as well. Minutemen found the place and took over. Most everything was intact. Lot of people stay away since they think it's cursed.))

Vault 42 is dispatched to take down those rougher and stronger raider and super mutant groups. They mostly work under cover of night and are silent. When shit's real bad Trevor likes to join to make sure things go smoothly.

It took years for the Minutemen to reform and even longer to become the formidable force they currently are.

Eventually The Syndicate (raider gang from Nuka World made up of descendants of MI6 and Interpol that went over to America from Europe) will join forces and integrate into the Minutemen but that's after the raider wars. Some stragglers from other gangs join them too. The Nuka World wars happen way after that.

Angelus actually plays a role in Trevor's group too! He's kind of a double agent since he's a former raider.

The Institute war was huge since the vault dweller had joined them and was then somehow given the keys to the Institute.

((The SoSu is an unknown and unnamed character since I don't have a SoSu. Hell, I don't have a Dragonborn, Lone Wanderer or Courier. I leave them as sorta mythic figures of unknown origin.))

Trevor and Tristan's pasts are also vague as fuck. Trevor came to Boston from who knows where, some people think he's an ex-Gunner, some think he's an ex-raider, some think he's a vault 75 descendant. Truth is no one knows and he and Tristan don't ever say. When asked they just make up some story every single time.

Still working out some kinks in the timelines but yeah, that's pretty much it. I don't want him being some sort of tyrant either. He gives people a chance and is willing to work with them and he puts in the work. He doesn't just sit in some bunker behind 10 walls of security while ordering others to go and do his bidding either. He wants to do the work himself. On top of that he wants to give people a chance to think things through before he pulls the trigger and that's something he wants other Minutemen to incorporate into their work ethic too.

[popculturelib]

Fanzine Friday #5: "The First 7-inch Was Better:" How I Became an Ex-Punk (2008) by Nia. From our website:

Activist Nia Diaspora [aka Nia King] writes about her disillusionment with the punk scene and her subsequent embrace of the queer community. She writes about issues of exclusion and competition, particularly in terms of her mixed race, pansexual identity. As a Boston local, she writes about the Boston University bioterrorism lab, red/black anarcho-syndicates and anarcho-punks, Food Not Bombs, and several East Coast punk bands including Witchhunt and Choking Victim. Describing crusty punk activities and fashion like dumpster diving, piercing, train hopping, dreadlocks, and not showering, King is critical of the movement and gives options to others mired in what she sees as a white, misogynist, homophobic culture.

In addition to the 18-page zine, our collection has a two-sided paper asking questions for activists to consider when making their "scene" inclusive and intersectional. A transcript of the included pages is below the read more.

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

Transcript:

I went to a punk show last night to pick up some zines from a friend. He asked if I intended to stay, and I replied jokingly, "Naw, I'm don't (sic) think I'm tough enough to roll with the punks anymore."

"Why?" his friend, standing with us, asked. "What to you think is going to happen?"

I was fifteen when punk first drew me in. Like many punks, I grew up in the suburbs, a middle-class, white, homophobic, predominantly Irish Catholic town outside Boston. I knew that I was different, but at the time I didn't attribute it to being queer or mixed race, I just knew that I didn't fit in.

After trying for years to be accepted and failing, I began asserting my difference by sewing patches on my clothing, dying my hair and expressing [next page] distain for those who conformed to the dominant culture, who thought they were better than me.

I probably wouldn't have stayed a punk if it was all about fashion or proving I was different, but I found community through the music scene. When I turned 16, I started making trips to Boston by myself, and made a lot of friends who were punks. I felt like I had more in common with them than the kids I went to school with. They were against the war, which meant a lot at the time. I'd put up fliers for anti-war rallies in my school only to have them ripped down. The "alternative" kids at school (read: wore a lot of black and smoked a lot of pot) I played hackey-sack with became openly racist when the war with Afghanistan became imminent. The [next page] school friends I had (who did not claim to be alternative) were people I had compatible personalities with, but we didn't share common values.

The kids from Boston spay on by the rules of conformity and I wanted to emulate them because of it. I went to the shows they went to even though I didn't like all of the bands. I spent nearly every weekend of my sophomore year watching them get drunk, snort pills and play with knives at the Fens even though I was straight-edge and put off by the nihilistic lifestyle. These were the kids I seemed to have the most in common with when I was 16.

Then I transferred to a progressive (queer-friendly, with a socially conscious student body) private high school. It was like this alternate [next page] universe where people were appreciated for their interests and quirks rather than ostracized for caring about issues. My closest friend there was an anarchist and he converted me quickly. "The abolition of hierarchy" in my mind translated to the abolition of racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, heterosexism, so I dove head first into the philosophy and organizing. We organizes an anarchist student group, which quickly became the biggest student group on campus. We organized teach-ins on the Free Trade of the Americas (FTAA), trips to anti-war protests, social justice discussions and joined other anarchist groups off campus. I believed so fully that punk and anarchism (closely links in these activist circles) were the [end of text].

[printed questions - all in lowercase]

check yrself! (sic)

these questions are intended to start conversation and help you identify ways your scene may be alienating and problematic. it is by no means comprehensive.

is the activism you partake in led by those most impacted by issues you are organizing around? are you organizing on someone else's behalf uninformed by their true needs and experience?

do you favor high risk tactics which leave less privileged folks vulnerable to arrest, deportation and police brutality? did they consciously choose this risk, or did you expose them to it? do you have a plan or a legal fund to help take care of them and their families or dependents if they are detained?

do you believe your organizing tactics are the "right" ones? do these tactics contribute to long term systemic change? are they effective, or do you do them because they allow you to feel like you are doing something / prove you care about the issues despite their ineffectiveness?

[next page]

do you see your lifestyle politics (veganism, dumpster diving) as revolutionary? as doing enough? do you think not eating meat or not driving a car makes you a better activist than those who do?

can you see how the amount of privilege you have may effect your ability to live in a way consistent with your politics?

can you see how adopting the kind of lifestyle politics that are prevalent in anarcho-punk scenes might alienate somebody from their culture of origin? can you understand why people of color, queers and transfolks may be less willing to give up these connections/communities?

do you ever introduce yourself to new people at shows and parties to try and make them feel welcome?

are people of color's, queers' and women's contributions to the scene/movement as values as other people's? do they mostly get stuck doing behind the scenes grunt work? do other people take credit for their work and ideas?

[kwebtv]

Character Actress

Sherry D. Jackson (born February 15, 1942) Retired actress and former child star.

Jackson may be best remembered for her five-season run as older daughter Terry Williams on The Danny Thomas Show (known as Make Room for Daddy during the first three seasons) from 1953 to 1958. During the course of her five years on the series, she established a strong bond with her on-screen mother, Jean Hagen, but Hagen left the series after the third season in 1956.

Over the next few years, Jackson broadened her range of acting roles by guest starring in dozens of television series, appearing as a hit woman on 77 Sunset Strip, a freed Apache captive who yearns to return to the reservation on The Tall Man, an alcoholic on Mr. Novak, a woman accused of murder on Perry Mason, and an unstable mother-to-be on Wagon Train. Sherry also appeared as a first season guest on The Rifleman episode “The Sister” playing the part of a horse riding sibling of two doting brothers. She played a gunslinger's promiscuous young bride in the Western series Maverick episode entitled "Red Dog" with Roger Moore, Lee Van Cleef and John Carradine. After a 1965 appearance on Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., she then made guest appearances on Lost in Space ("The Space Croppers", reuniting with her Danny Thomas co-star, Angela Cartwright), My Three Sons, Gunsmoke, Rawhide, The Wild Wild West ("The Night of the Vicious Valentine" and "The Night of the Gruesome Games", as two different characters), Batman, and the original Star Trek series. On the latter program, she made one of her more memorable portrayals as the android Andrea in the episode "What Are Little Girls Made Of?".

In 1966, Jackson was cast as Katherine "Kate" Turner, a young woman from Boston who takes over a wagon train after the death of the trailmaster, in the episode "Lady of the Plains" of the syndicated series Death Valley Days. DeForest Kelley plays a gambler, Elliott Webster, who falls in love with her though she is engaged to marry once the wagon train reaches Salt Lake City.

In the 1970s through early 1980s she made guest appearances on such TV shows as Love, American Style, The Rockford Files, Starsky & Hutch, The Blue Knight, Switch, The Streets of San Francisco, Barnaby Jones, The Incredible Hulk, Fantasy Island, Vega$, Alice, Charlie's Angels and CHiPs.  (Wikipedia)