#america east conference

[racingtoaredlight]

GO CATAMOUNTS!!!

FUCK UMASS-LOWELL!

[bongaboi]

Vermont: 2023-24 America East Men's Basketball Champions

The University of Vermont men's basketball team found out in the third game the resolve it possessed — however incalculable it might be to truly measure such a trait.

The Catamounts' roaring comeback vs. Charleston on Nov. 16 at the Myrtle Beach Invitational was the first of five victories this season after trailing by 10 or more points.

"We just knew the kind of guys we had in the locker room, it didn’t matter how far down we were," Vermont junior forward Ileri Ayo-Faleye said. "We had the type of dudes who were going to fight back and never give up."

No deficit too big to overcome. No foe too imposing to handle. Nothing, it seemed, could rattle this year's Catamounts.

And for the third straight March, Vermont's opponent in the America East championship game couldn't break that will. The Catamounts host this day, and own it, annually.

Behind Ayo-Faleye and Shamir Bogues' 94 feet of influence, the top-seeded Catamounts outlasted No. 2 UMass Lowell despite a halftime deficit for a 66-61 victory in the league's title game at sold-out Patrick Gym on Saturday, sealing a championship three-peat and booking yet another berth to the NCAA Tournament.

On a 10-game winning streak, the Catamounts (28-6) join the 2004-05 Vermont squad with three consecutive league tournament titles. The Catamounts, with 11 conference titles to extend their league record, have won five of the last six America East championships.

They'll learn their seed, site and opponent during Selection Sunday on CBS (6 p.m. eastern).

"This group is just so resilient and so tough and these two guys up here epitomize that as much as anybody in our program," 13-year UVM coach John Becker said of Ayo-Faleye and Bogues. "Really, they were the pillars of our program this year. The relentlessness, the athleticism, the instincts with which they play with is breathtaking. They brought so much joy to Catamount Country."

Bogues, a junior transfer guard from Tarleton State, was named the tournament's most outstanding player after collecting 15 points, nine rebounds, three assists, four steals and no turnovers in 32 minutes in Saturday's final. Ayo-Faleye, a second-year transfer from Rhode Island, posted nine points, five boards, four assists, two steals, a trio of blocks and no turnovers in 36 minutes.

"We were down at half and still found a way to win," said Ayo-Faleye, who earned a spot on the all-championship team. "We stayed the course, listened to the coaches, listened to the messaging and just applied it. This time of year it’s all about execution."

Said Bogues: "Our message coming in was to stay together. And that’s what we did today."

TJ Long, also on the all-championship squad, sank four 3-pointers and totaled 14 points and three assists. Fifth-year senior Aaron Deloney added a dozen points thanks to a 7-for-8 effort at the foul line and one game-sealing layup, and Nick Fiorillo added 11 points for the Catamounts.

Cam Morris (17 points, 10 rebounds), Brayden O'Connor (14 points) and Ayinde Hikim (11 points) each reached double figures for Lowell.

Saturday's championship encapsulated much of Vermont's gutsy season. The Catamounts struggled to score around the paint, had stretches of shooting dry spells from their outside threats, and had to work from behind. But like they've done all winter, the Catamounts drummed up answers with elite-level defense and a plenty of timely and much-needed Long 3-pointers.

"Knowing that there is going to be adversity throughout the game, just weathering the storm and being able to come out with the win is the most important thing," Ayo-Faleye said. "Never getting too high or too low, just staying even and knowing that we are going to pull it out."

Vermont's early, 19-11 advantage was wiped out by inefficiency on offense — seven straight missed field goals — and the River Hawks (22-10) not only climbed back into contention but took a 32-29 margin into halftime. A year ago, Lowell also had a slight edge at the break before Vermont pulled away.

"UMass Lowell — give them the credit they deserve. They’ve been a team that’s been nipping at our heels for the last bunch of years," Becker said. "They are tough, they are experienced. They battled and we knew it was going to be a tough game. I have a lot of respect for (coach Pat Duquette) and his program."

In a game that featured 11 lead changes and five ties, Vermont created breathing room with a 13-4 spurt highlighted by a pair of Fiorillo triples and an Ayo-Faleye hook shot for a 60-50 lead with 4:01 left in regulation.

To start the separating run, Fiorillo poured in a 3-pointer following Ayo-Faleye's drive into the paint and kick to the wing. Ayo-Faleye also got a crafty and nimble reserve layup to drop through and Bogues steered in a baseline runner on back-to-back possessions.

Ayo-Faleye's hook shot, though, was the type of offense Vermont had been lacking throughout the year without a true post-up presence. The Catamounts won without that position last year with Robin Duncan and Dylan Penn, and have pulled off a similar scheme with Bogues' skillset.

"I thought he made the biggest play of the game," Becker said of Ayo-Faleye's hook.

The Riverhawks made one last push, uncorking a quick 5-0 spurt to trail 60-55 with 3:29 to go. After Fiorillo's two foul shots and Connor's basket made it a five-point game again, Morris missed both of his free-throw attempts and Deloney, the team leader, soared for the final dagger to secure the Catamounts' three-peat.

Instead of letting the clock tick down, Deloney saw an opening to the basket, and the speedy guard bolted to the hoop for a finish off the glass and 64-57 lead with 43 seconds left.

Counting the championship awarded following the cancellation of the 2020 final due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Deloney is now a four-time America East tournament champion, joining former teammates Ben Shungu and Robin Duncan.

"You just get to see kids grow up. AD is a man now. He was a little kid when he got here," Becker said.

Vermont also pulled off three in a row with three remarkably different squads. The Catamounts reloaded this winter after the graduation of four starters, just like they had to do following the 2021-22 campaign. Their program mission remains in sight: Advance to the second weekend at the NCAA Tournament.

"These guys want to go to the tournament and we want to win. We are trying to get this program to Sweet 16s," Becker said. "We are a national brand, we are nationally relevant. I’m not going to let anyone in this program be comfortable with what we did or done. We want to do the next thing until I run out of goals and then I’ll retire if there’s nothing left to shoot for.

"I’m going to continue to try and dream big here."

[offsidenewsco]

Have you ever wondered about NCAA Hockey? What's the Frozen Four? How do the rankings work? What players have played through the system?

We've got you covered in our primer here

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

As a train derailment and fire forced evacuations in Minnesota on Thursday, a trio of Democratic U.S. Senators introduced another piece of legislation inspired by the ongoing public health and environmental disaster in and around East Palestine, Ohio.

The Railway Accountability Act—led by Sens. John Fetterman (D-Pa.), Bob Casey (D-Pa.), and Sherrod Brown (D-Ohio)—would build on the bipartisan Railway Safety Act introduced at the beginning of March by Brown and Sen. J.D. Vance (R-Ohio) after a Norfolk Southern train carrying hazardous materials including vinyl chloride derailed in the small Ohio community on February 3.

While welcoming "greater federal oversight and a crackdown on railroads that seem all too willing to trade safety for higher profits," Eddie Hall, national president of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers and Trainmen (BLET), also warned just after the earlier bill was unveiled that "you can run a freight train through the loopholes."

The new bill is backed by unions including the Transport Workers of America (TWU), the National Conference of Firemen & Oilers (NCFO), and the International Association of Sheet Metal, Air, Rail, and Transportation Workers-Mechanical Division (SMART-MD).

"It is an honor and a privilege to introduce my first piece of legislation, the Railway Accountability Act, following the derailment affecting East Palestine, Ohio, and Darlington Township, Pennsylvania," Fetterman said in a statement. "This bill will implement commonsense safety reforms, hold the big railway companies accountable, protect the workers who make these trains run, and help prevent future catastrophes that endanger communities near railway infrastructure."

Fetterman, who is expected to return to the Senate in mid-April after checking himself into Walter Reed National Military Medical Center last month to be treated for clinical depression, asserted that "working Pennsylvanians have more than enough to think about already—they should never have been put in this horrible situation."

"Communities like Darlington Township and East Palestine are too often forgotten and overlooked by leaders in Washington and executives at big companies like Norfolk Southern who only care about making their millions," he added. "That's why I'm proud to be working with my colleagues to stand up for these communities and make clear that we're doing everything we can to prevent a disaster like this from happening again."

As Fetterman's office summarized, the Railway Accountability Act would:

• Direct the Federal Railroad Administration (FRA) to examine the causes of and potential mitigation strategies for wheel-related derailments and mechanical defects, and publish potential regulations that would improve avoidance of these defects;

• Ensure that employees can safely inspect trains by prohibiting trains from being moved during brake inspections;

• Require that the mechanic that actually inspects a locomotive or rail car attests to its safety;

• Direct the FRA to review regulations relating to the operation of trains in switchyards, and direct railroads to update their plans submitted under the FRA's existing Risk Reduction Program (RRP) to incorporate considerations regarding switchyard practices;

• Require the FRA to make Class 1 railroad safety waivers public in one online location;

• Require railroads to ensure that communication checks between the front and end of a train do not fail, and that emergency brake signals reach the end of a train;

• Ensure Class 1 railroad participation in the confidential Close Call Reporting System by requiring all railroads that have paid the maximum civil penalty for a safety violation to join; and

• Ensure that railroads provide warning equipment (such as white disks, red flags, or whistles) to railroad watchmen and lookouts.

A preliminary report released in late February by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) suggests an overheated wheel bearing may have caused the disastrous derailment in Ohio. The initial findings added fuel to demands that federal lawmakers enact new rules for the rail industry.

"Rail lobbyists have fought for years to protect their profits at the expense of communities like East Palestine," Brown noted Thursday.

Casey stressed that "along with the Railway Safety Act, this bill will make freight rail safer and protect communities from preventable tragedies."

In addition to pushing those two bills, Brown, Casey, and Fetterman have responded to the East Palestine disaster by introducing the Assistance for Local Heroes During Train Crises Act and—along with other colleagues—writing to Norfolk Southern president and CEO Alan Shaw, NTSB Chair Jennifer Homendy, and U.S. Environmental Protection Administrator Michael Regan with various concerns and demands.

[thenewdemocratus]

CBS Sports: NFL 1989-Preseason Opener: Dallas Cowboys @ San Diego Chargers: Intro

I am not so much interested in Troy Aikman’s first NFL pass, since it was in a preseason game and technically didn’t count. What I am interested in is Pat Summerall’s intro to this game, because he was the master of that, with his great voice, knowledge of the game, and pure intelligence. He not only could have written his own intros, but he also had a great sense of humor. Then combine him with…

[fuzzytimes1]

The Kansas City Chiefs will face the Philadelphia Eagles in Super Bowl LVII

CNN — The Kansas City Chiefs advance to Super Bowl LVII after a 23-20 win over the Cincinnati Bengals in Sunday’s AFC Championship game at Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City, Missouri. After suffering a serious sprained ankle in the Chiefs’ Divisional Round win against the Jacksonville Jaguars last week, Patrick Mahomes led the team to victory in a back-and-forth game. Kansas City went 6-0 after…

[steveyockey]

Measuring purely by confirmed kills, the worst mass murderer ever executed by the United States was the white supremacist terrorist Timothy McVeigh. On April 19, 1995, McVeigh detonated a massive bomb at the Murrah federal building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people, including 19 children. The government killed McVeigh by lethal injection in June 2001. Whatever hesitation a state execution provokes, even over a man such as McVeigh — necessary questions about the legitimacy of killing even an unrepentant soldier of white supremacy — his death provided a measure of closure to the mother of one of his victims. “It’s a period at the end of a sentence,” said Kathleen Treanor, whose 4-year old McVeigh killed.

McVeigh, who in his own psychotic way thought he was saving America, never remotely killed on the scale of Kissinger, the most revered American grand strategist of the second half of the 20th century.

The Yale University historian Greg Grandin, author of the biography Kissinger’s Shadow, estimates that Kissinger’s actions from 1969 through 1976, a period of eight brief years when Kissinger made Richard Nixon’s and then Gerald Ford’s foreign policy as national security adviser and secretary of state, meant the end of between three and four million people. That includes “crimes of commission,” he explained, as in Cambodia and Chile, and omission, like greenlighting Indonesia’s bloodshed in East Timor; Pakistan’s bloodshed in Bangladesh; and the inauguration of an American tradition of using and then abandoning the Kurds.

No infamy will find Kissinger on a day like today. Instead, in a demonstration of why he was able to kill so many people and get away with it, the day of his passage will be a solemn one in Congress and — shamefully, since Kissinger had reporters like CBS’ Marvin Kalb and The New York Times’ Hendrick Smith wiretapped — newsrooms. Kissinger, a refugee from the Nazis who became a pedigreed member of the “Eastern Establishment” Nixon hated, was a practitioner of American greatness, and so the press lionized him as the cold-blooded genius who restored America’s prestige from the agony of Vietnam.

Not once in the half-century that followed Kissinger’s departure from power did the millions the United States killed matter for his reputation, except to confirm a ruthlessness that pundits occasionally find thrilling. America, like every empire, champions its state murderers. The only time I was ever in the same room as Henry Kissinger was at a 2015 national-security conference at West Point. He was surrounded by fawning Army officers and ex-officials basking in the presence of a statesman.

[stevenssacrab]

In Secret

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: For six months, you and Steve have hidden your relationship from everyone, but what happens when you come face to face with death?

Rating: 17+

Warnings: Sneaking around, hostage situation, kissing, reader has a near death experience

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: love a good ol’ Steve fic, never misses, I hope everyone enjoys this one, have a happy new year!!

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Being Captain America’s significant other comes with an absurd amount of pressure; you have to be flawless, never make a single mistake, be a good role model for kids, and be just as if not more heroic, which is precisely why you’ve chosen to hide your relationship from everyone, fellow Avengers included. It wasn’t an easy decision, but you and Steve both decided that it would be for the best; you were new to the Avenger team and didn't want the added pressure of being with Steve; you and Steve somehow managed to have kept it hidden for six months, it didn’t come without its hardships though, Steve needed to keep up the appearance of a fearless leader, so he couldn’t be sweet on you when it came to training and performance evaluations; and you couldn't defend Steve when others complained about his methods, less they suspect anything between you two, much to your dismay Steve seemed to always have women after him, leading to a few disagreements about how Steve should handle the situation, you wanted Steve to be harsher when he turned them down, but Steve has a reputation to uphold, and being rude and dismissive was not a part of it.

"Okay, you leave first, and I'll join 5 minutes later," Steve said reassuringly, rubbing your arm gently and giving your hand a light squeeze.

"Okay, see you out there, Cap," you say playfully with a wink; you walk out of your room and down the hall into the conference room filled with fellow Avengers; your eyes scan for an empty seat.

"Y/N! Over here!" Wanda calls, waving her hand and patting the open spot between her and Natasha; you smile and briskly walk over.

"Did we start yet?" you asked, knowing the meeting can't start without Steve.

"No, just waiting for Steve," Natasha says matter of factly, doodling absentmindedly on a piece of paper.

"So, Natasha and I want to see that new movie that just came out. Do you wanna come?" Wanda asked, but you've already seen that movie with Steve earlier this week.

"I've already seen it," you said disheartened.

"HOW!? It's been out for two days?!" Wanda astonished. "It's honestly impressive how fast you watch these movies as they come out; who are you even seeing them with?" Wanda asked, peering at you suspiciously.

"Uh, my mom?" you voice with a rising inflection.

"Okay, this week's mission!" Steve calls out loudly, walking into the room before Wanda can question you further, "Our sources tell us Hydra is working on a new super soldier serum for a division of soldiers. Our mission is to stop them in their tracks." Steve says firmly, eyes landing on yours fleetingly.

"We'll go in groups of 3: Wanda, Clint, and Y/N in group one, group two is Me, Peter, and Scott, and the third and final group is Bucky, Sam, and Natasha.”

"We gotta hightail it; this is of great significance, so we move tonight, meet at the quin in an hour, we’ll discuss our plans of attack on the way," he says with a nod, marching out the room.

“Everyone’s here?” Steve asks, scanning the quin, ensuring everyone is accounted for, “Okay, as we fly over, group one will land on the south side of the building, my group will land east, group three lands west, and the quin will land in the north, the goal is to push toward the center where intel tells us the serums are located and try to catch anyone who may be running off with the serum, once secured everyone evacuate immediately and meet at the jet. Everyone clear?” He asks strictly, looking toward the teams, and they nod affirmatively.

“Okay, move out!” he shouts, rushing for his shield and jumping out of the plane; you land quietly outside the building, shed the parachute off, and get into position.

“Okay, on my mark, go!” Clint whispers harshly; the three of you move as a unit, sweeping every corner, taking quiet steps, instincts on high alert; as you move through the building, you can’t help this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach; something doesn’t feel right, you’re halfway through the building, and not a single enemy has been spotted.

“Guys, I don’t like this,” you say lowly over comms, hairs on the back of your neck standing straight.

“Let’s just keep moving so we can get out of here,” Clint says, readjusting his grip on his pistol while Wanda grows increasingly worried, palms becoming sweaty, the tension hanging in the air.

“Cap, you guys got anything on your end?” Clint asked over comms, his eyes scanning the suspiciously empty room.

“Nothing over here; keep your eyes peeled; everything about this feels wrong,” Captain uttered, uneasy hanging off every word; you signal you are going to have a look around at the team and break right; you creep into a dark room littered with papers, it looks like everyone just got up at left, you spot a computer playing footage on a loop, you walk up and watch, it’s your team landing outside.

“It's a trap! They know we're here!” You screamed over comms; you reached for your gun but felt something hard press against your back.

“Don't even think about it,” a deep voice said coldly as they pulled you against them roughly; you kept your hands in the air, your heart beating out of your chest; they ran their hands over your body, removing any possible weapon.

“What’s the plan now?” You ask coyly, looking over your shoulder slightly.

“Turn around!” He boomed, patience wearing thin; he pushed the gun against your head, “Walk,” he said, shoving you with the weapon, and you walked carefully toward the exit.

“Y/N, where are you?” Steve asks, trying not to sound as concerned as he is; you trudge toward the exit and swing it open

“Hiya, Captain,” you call, looking at him with pleading eyes. Steve’s face breaks your heart; it’s as if you told him the worst news of his life. The assailant grips you by your neck and pulls you close, holding the gun to your temple.

“What’s wrong, Captain? Cat got your tongue?” He said smugly. Steve said nothing, his eyes remaining planted on you as panic started to work its way across your chest, your hands clawing at the arm tightening around your neck, the assailant laughing at the way you struggle to breathe.

“I'll keep it brief and tell you what I want: a trade, the soldier for your newest recruit," he said arrogantly, walking you both closer to Steve

"Don't do it!" you say anxiously, looking at the team with all their weapons drawn and pointed in your direction; you shift your weight uncomfortably, trying to think of any possibility that doesn't end with you injured or dead, Steve looks back at the rest of the team and then back at you, time moves slow, your skin stings with the bite of the cold winter air, and you hear your blood rushing through your ears like crashing waves, when the assailant jerks suddenly, he fires a shot in the air.

"It's now or never, Captain!" He yells, shoving the gun aggressively into your temple; you close your eyes, accepting your demise, and you open your mouth to say something, but the sound of a gunshot cuts you off; your body tenses, and you wait for the pain, but it never comes, you finally open your eyes when you feel Steve's arms wrap around you, Steve's face is filled with concern, you see his mouth moving, but you don't hear anything, Steve grabs your arms and shakes you lightly, your hearing fades in.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh my god," he blubbers, tears welling in his eyes; he pulls you in for a fiery kiss, holding you as you'd slip through his fingers; he pulls back slowly and looks deeply into your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asks, panic having left his body; he glides his hands down your arms and holds your hands, interlacing your fingers.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just shaken up," you say reassuringly, pulling him into a hug. You close your eyes, inhaling his scent, losing yourself in the comforting aura that is Steve, and then you hear someone clear their throat; your eyes shoot open, landing on the whole team just staring at you and Steve; you jump back and hit Steve playfully on the chest.

"Steve, they saw us!" You whisper harshly and turn him around, hiding behind his big frame; he clears his throat and speaks

"Uh..." he mutters; he suddenly reaches behind himself and grabs your hand, pulling you next to him and wrapping his arm around your waist.

"We are dating." He said confidently, chin high; there was a long pause as the team looked around at each other, and then you heard a squeal; it was Wanda squealing with happiness, running towards you with a broad smile and open arms, she practically tackled you to the ground, squeezing the life out of you.

"Oh, Wanda, I can't breathe," you choke out, gently smacking her arms.

"Since when?" Sam asks, walking up to Steve and patting him proudly on the back.

"6 months ago," Steve says brightly with a smile, pulling you against him.

"I've known for four months," Natasha says cooly

"How?!" You and Steve say in unison, looking at each other. Natasha smirked and walked closer to you both, placing one hand on each of your shoulders.

"You guys should probably not fall asleep in each other's arms if you don't want anyone to find out." She says matter-of-factly, walking away and leaving you both stunned. "Congrats," she shouted back as she walked into the quinjet.

"Let's move out, team!" He shouts, grabbing your hand gently and walking you both onto the quinjet.

[lancerslover]

The Private Conference

(this lovely moodboard was created by @vintagedebutante ♥︎)

Pairing: President John F. Kennedy/Petite!Reader

Summary: As Cold War tensions rise, President John F. Kennedy calls one of his secretaries into the Oval Office to help him relax.

Word Count: 2.8k

Further Info: 18+, includes swearing and smut, specifically oral sex

A/N: happy Fourth of July, everyone!! i simply cannot think of a more patriotic way to celebrate than posting a fic about America’s hottest president. in this one, i tried to combine a few different requests, including one asking for the setting to be in the Oval Office, one asking for an angry/angsty Jack, and one asking for the reader to be on the petite side. i hope this fic at least somewhat does justice to those amazing ideas, and i hope you all have a wonderful, safe holiday! ♥︎

You froze for just a moment, almost like your shoe had caught on the carpet, when you stepped into the Oval Office and saw the President on the phone. This wasn’t uncommon—in fact, you’d estimate that at least half of all the “private conferences” you’d had with him since becoming his secretary had been interrupted, at some point, by a call. Typically, it didn’t put a damper on things (though you liked to groan and pout up at him whenever the phone rang, but that was only because you liked the way he would give your nose a playful, reprimanding pinch and tell you to “hush now, baby”). In all honesty, it made you feel oddly powerful, like a glamorous concubine of old, to sit with this big history book figure and listen while he discussed Castro and Khrushchev and all the other monumental responsibilities he carried on his wide, ex-Harvard-football-player shoulders.

On this particular afternoon, however, you immediately picked up on the fact that his call was putting him in a very bad mood. You knew tensions had been heating up with Cuba (you weren’t let in on any of the specifics, but you figured whatever threats Castro was making must’ve been pretty severe because, recently, you’d noticed your coworkers in the West Wing laughing less and pointlessly bustling around more), and you figured that was what the President’s call was about because you’d never seen him glower quite like he was now. His eyes were solid stone as he tracked you across the royal blue carpet; it was almost like he couldn’t truly see you through the dark film shadowing his gaze—he didn’t even offer you so much as a wink or a little throwaway smile.

As you came closer, you decided to test the waters and cast your usual finger-twiddling wave his way, but the only response you saw, and the only confirmation you got that he’d even registered your hello, was his eyebrows suddenly furrowing—drooping, almost—down his brow, as if your wave had actually stolen energy from him somehow. You quickly dropped your hand back to your side. The President was in serious need of some de-stressing today.

“Here’s the problem I have,” he was telling whoever was on the phone as you came up beside his looming Resolute Desk. “You can’t give me a definitive answer as to how long that’s gonna take.”

As he listened to the little voice (voices?) that jabbered away in response, he slowly swiveled in his chair to face you—and you supressed a delighted shiver. Since he was so tall (or maybe because you were so pitifully short), the two of you were exactly at eye-level whenever he sat down, and at this proximity, you swore you could feel the hot, agitated energy emanating off of him in thick, nerve-frying waves.

“Well, there’s no sense in you making any kind of official statement,” the President snapped abruptly, cutting the other man off (and making you flinch instinctively, which you normally would’ve been deeply embarrassed about after the fact, but the President hadn’t seemed to notice; at this point he was still looking more through you than at you), “until I can get up there and restore order.” You noticed then that his trademark East Coast accent sounded especially thick today, almost British. He pronounced “restore order” like ree-sto-ah oh–ah-dah, and he spit cigar smoke with every syllable.

Though the thought of turning around and leaving made your ribs clench around your heart with a yearning, almost schoolgirlish disappointment, you knew his needs ultimately came before yours. So, you started to mouth Should I come back later? as animatedly as your lips could manage, hoping you’d finally grab his attention enough to at least get a goodbye, when suddenly, his hand swung out to grab the skirt of your pencil dress and he pulled you, half-stumbling, between his large, knobby knees. Your hand flew to the edge of the desk so you wouldn’t trip over right into his chest (admittedly, if he was in a better mood, you probably wouldn’t have been so quick to catch yourself), and as you regained your bearings, you found yourself sucking in your cheeks to stave off a full-on beaming smile. You should’ve known better than to think John F. Kennedy was ever not in the mood, phone call be damned.

You were close enough to him now that, when you finished smoothing your rumpled skirt and looked up at him, you could smell the confused mix of cigar and minty toothpaste on his breath, and you could see the secret swirls of gray and green surging through the stormy blue of his eyes. He was definitely the most handsome man you’d ever been with—the combination of his boyishly-freckled, chronically-sunburnt cheeks with the square-shaped, no-nonsense masculinity of the rest of his face was undeniably endearing. During the quick half-second you two hung there staring at each other and his pupils (at last!) zeroed in on you and you alone, you felt a sudden sear of jealousy for the First Lady. It must be wonderful, you sighed inwardly, to be loved by a man so attractive. Sure, you were called in almost daily to the President’s office or the White House pool to help him “blow off some steam,” but you weren’t dumb enough to think that was love. You’d seen how he and his wife giggled like teenagers while they whispered in each others’ ears and how, whenever she spoke, he gazed down at her with eyes so soft and tender it made your heart hurt. The two of them simply sparkled. And though you liked to think you’d achieved a certain level of friendship with the President, he’d always made it clear, without ever having to say a word, that no one—not you or any other pretty young secretary, no matter how good you all got at giving blowjobs—could ever hope to reach the height of the First Lady’s pedestal in his mind.

As if to illustrate that very point, the President moved the receiver a few inches from his mouth and tore you from your thoughts with the very first words he’d spoken to you all afternoon, which were: “Don’t waste any time now, alright?” with a pointed glance down between his legs for emphasis. Then he added, “I’m having one hell of a day” and reached around to plant a firm pat on your butt.

And so, you began the familiar routine of stripping off your clothes and laying them neatly to the side—to ensure they’d stay wrinkle-free—until you were wearing nothing but your skin-colored stockings and the cross around your neck (for some depraved reason, the President liked it when you wore that necklace while you sucked him off).

You barely had time to kneel before he was clasping his hand around the side of your head and hooking his giant, hairy-knuckled thumb in your mouth to practically drag your face closer. Your throat tightened around a sharp intake of breath. Lord, he was impatient.

While you were in the middle of unzipping his slacks and pulling his penis out from the big bramble of hair beneath his belly, you suddenly jumped, startled once again as his voice sliced through the room, deeper this time and undercut with a predatory rumbling you could feel in your chest. “That fucker,” he snarled into the phone, which was now balanced between his shoulder and ear. “You oughta tell him he can stick that silly little ultimatum, if that’s what it is, right up his ass.”

Electricity sizzled up through your stomach. The President was going to be rough with you today, you could tell. You almost wanted to thank Castro personally for riling him up so much (you might’ve felt guilty for thinking something like that, but you were so confident the President would never let anything happen to his country that you truly didn’t see why Castro’s threats should be any cause for concern). Why the idea of the President taking his anger out on you was such a thrill, you weren’t sure. You were simply desperate for human touch as fast and hard as you could get it, you supposed—and in that way, if in no other, you thought you and the President were sort of kindred spirits.

You were practically leaning into his palm like a purring cat when he pulled his hand out of your mouth and ran it up over your cheek and back across your scalp to gather all of your hair into a makeshift ponytail. He was muttering into the receiver all the while (“Uh-huh. God, I know. Shit.”), his voice wet with saliva from the two or three painkillers he’d popped absentmindedly into his mouth.

Once your hair was all out of your face, you spit into your hand just like he’d once taught you to and gave the length of his gradually-stiffening cock a few long, indulgent strokes. But to your dismay, he gave absolutely no reaction. You watched, puffing your cheeks out with frustrated air, as he slowly set his cigar down in the ashtray and, like you weren’t even there, began tapping his pointer finger against his teeth like he always did when he was lost in thought—thought that clearly had nothing to do with you.

You didn’t waste any more time before bending over and wrapping your lips around him, eyes fixed frenetically on his face, and you swore your heart itself squealed with joy when, finally, his eyes flicked down to you, and he tilted the receiver away again to let out an appreciative, whistling breath.

You felt your hair tangle around his fingers as he moved his hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, and then, barely giving you enough time to adequately relax your throat, he pushed your head down with appalling strength, his tip jamming up into you with enough force to rub the insides of your cheeks raw. Your hands latched onto his knees.

“There we go,” the President said in a soft half-whisper-half-groan that made your inner thighs flush hot. “Atta girl.” Always the one to set the pace, he began moving you hastily up and down.

After working through the first eye-watering, throat-burning few seconds, you thought you were adjusting pretty well—until his hips made a sudden, violent twitch while he was buried to the hilt in your mouth (which was accompanied by a heaving grunt that could’ve been either from pain or pleasure, you weren’t sure), and you hacked a loud, wet cough that made the guy talking in his ear falter and go silent for a moment.

Your eyes fluttered wide. Had the President’s men heard you?

The President certainly seemed to think so, because he suddenly jerked you still halfway up his cock, which only served to send you into a fresh fit of choking, your whole body wracking with every cough. In an attempt to drown you out, the President leaned back in his chair and spoke louder into the phone. “Well, that bastard’s incompetent,” he said, patting his fingers against your cheek as if that would somehow shut you up. “I wouldn’t have him running, uh, a cathouse.” His wedding band burned cruelly against your skin.

Eventually, he oh-so-benevolently relented and lifted his hand from your neck, and you instantly whipped your head up—not so much to catch your breath (you were pretty sure you would’ve gotten ahold of your coughing fit without having to interrupt your “de-stressing” session if he’d have given you just a few more seconds) as to gauge whether or not you’d only made him angrier with all your noise. But to your relief, he was actually smirking now as he looked down at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh, completely unfazed by the men now clearing their throats and timidly resuming the conversation in his ear. That figures, you thought. The President probably wanted those men to hear you, deep-down. You knew him well enough by now to understand that he occasionally got off on the fact that his bodyguards and cabinet members were plainly aware of how many doe-eyed, obedient women—not just secretaries and interns but Hollywood starlets, too—he had giggling and dropping to their knees at the snap of his fingers.

At least you’d gotten him to smile, though—if not exactly in the way you’d hoped.

After a long pause, during which you were trying in vain to wipe away all the spit and pre-cum that had dribbled down your chin, the President said with an air of finality, “Alright, there really isn’t anything more to say here.” Say hee-ah. You froze mid-wipe and let out an excited gasp.

He responded by scooping a strong forearm under your armpit and hoisting you up onto his lap like you were nothing but a tiny doll, forcing you to clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle a squeak of surprise.

Leaning against his warm chest was like reclining into a giant sofa back as you settled onto his muscled leg. His penis, now only half-erect again, stirred plaintively against the inside of your thigh, seemingly sulky after having been abandoned.

“I’ve got my hands full over here.” The President was grinning widely at his own pun as he took to rubbing his free hand down your body, the width of his fingers splaying across the entirety of your stomach as he inched toward your clit with agonizing slowness. In retaliation, you reached back over his shoulder to grab a fistful of thick auburn hair.

“Call me back this evening with some good news, would you?” was the the last thing the President said before, in a blur, the receiver was slammed into its cradle and his hand was around your neck, his fingers were in your mouth, his hips were twitching up into your backside with an eager mind of their own. Suddenly, you could feel his heart thunking between your shoulder blades and your ear growing moist with heavy, animal-like breaths.

“God,” he groaned as he finally let his hand fall to your clit. “God-fucking-dammit. You drive me crazy, you know that? You dirty little girl.”

He started nibbling on your neck (he’d never actually kissed you—this hungry, barely-restrained biting, like a wolf chomping at its muzzle, was the closest he ever came) and cupping your breasts and tugging at your nipples with the same fiery-eyed ferocity you’d seen when he was on the phone. You and the other secretaries teasingly referred to this do-or-die passion of his as the famous red-blooded Kennedy “vigor” the press always talked about. Though what the press didn’t know, you and the girls always joked, was that this eager, youthful energy—this incessant, almost pathological need to dominate and conquer—extended far beyond just bull-headed political policies.

“They heard you,” the President was murmuring between his little bites. “God, they all heard you. That excites you, doesn’t it?”

Unwilling to admit how right he was, you instead smothered your face in his hot, pulsing neck to cover up a whimpering moan, and then you were twisting around to loosen his tie, unable to stop yourself—when a loud knock banged against the Oval Office doors.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the President griped dramatically against your ear, making you laugh.

“I can come back later,” you said, more pleading with him than anything, whispering right into his mouth. You watched his eyes flick ravenously around your face as you wrapped your hand around his cock and added, with a small chuckle, “To finish you off.”

“That you will,” he said, “if you know what’s good for you.” Then he gave you that long-awaited wink and grin before wrapping his hands around your waist to stand you back up, and you were pleased to hear him groan softly at the loss of contact.

When you bent down with wobbly legs to pick up your clothes, he offered you his hand to hold and steady yourself on, and you felt yourself blushing at this perversely chivalrous gesture, even though he’d done similar things countless times before and was always unabashedly ogling your body as he did so.

“That knock means I’m going to have to head down to the Sit Room,” he told you then, wearily running his fingers through his perfectly-mussed hair while you tugged your blouse over your head, one hand still cradled in his. “But in about an hour, when I come back,” he continued, “I want you in here, naked and lying on that sofa over there.” He flung a finger towards the parlor area across the room.

You breathed a smiling sigh and shook your head, knowing you’d soon be in your office counting down the seconds. “Whatever you say, Mr. President.”

[f1ghtsoftly]

All The Women’s News You Missed Last Week

10/21/24-10/28/24

A female journalist of color breaks the story that the former CEO of Abercrombie was running an international prostitution business alongside his work at the teen retailer. The global spotlight again shines a light on fresh atrocities in Sudan, which led to the deaths of 120 women. With Election Day only a few weeks away, reproductive rights remain a defining issue in the presidential race. 

Have a Happy Halloween everyone, and keep it safe(ish). 

Want this in your inbox instead? Subscribe here

US Presidental Election: 

What’s really behind America’s men v women election

Michelle Obama makes fiery abortion pitch as Trump courts Muslim vote

Abortion is on the ballot in 10 states this year

In a rare political speech, Beyoncé endorses Kamala Harris at a Houston rally

Inflation changed these women’s lives. Now, they will vote.

An elections worker wanted to serve her country. A stew of conspiracy theories and vitriol awaited

Male Violence: 

Taliban minister declares women’s voices among women forbidden

Former Abercrombie & Fitch CEO pleads not guilty to sixteen counts of sex trafficking and international prostitution

How my investigation led to sex trafficking charges against ex-Abercrombie boss

Chinese child trafficker with 17 victims sentenced to death

Gisèle Pelicot takes stand in French mass rape trial

More than 120 killed in paramilitary rampage in east-central Sudan, UN and a doctors group say 

Women in the News:

Missing woman found with snake bite after six days in mountains

Florida woman found guilty of murder for leaving her boyfriend to die in a suitcase

A melodic greeting between women in Burundi is at risk of being lost

Ilona Maher's Female Safety PSA Shows the Power Of Women Helping Women

Miscellaneous:

Backlash over photos of Somali men at UN women’s conference

Papal summit ends with call for leadership roles for women

Culture: 

Disease: Why Lady Gaga's comeback hits the spot

GloRilla conquers self-doubt on her path to becoming one of hip-hop’s most promising voices

Movie Review: ‘Memoir of a Snail,’ a stop-motion charmer, examines the shells we build around us

Music Review: In illness, Halsey tells deep truths on ambitious, reflective ‘The Great Impersonator’

Music Review: Muna frontwoman Katie Gavin makes her solo debut with folky, evocative ‘What A Relief’

‘Rivals’ star Nafessa Williams on favorite ‘80s fashion and music 

As always, this is global and domestic news from a US perspective covering feminist issues and women in the news more generally. As of right now, I do not cover Women’s Sports. Published each Monday afternoon.

[animalsalvationassociation]

Passing the Torch . . .

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

“Wonderful news tonight as the organization known only as the Animal Salvation Association, a group of individuals set to bring peace to the world through their environmental and political efforts, finally passes on the torch to a new generation of Ocean Explorers.”

“It has been several years since the accident occurred taking the life of Professor and Captain, Samara Jade Kelp, the leader of the infamous Octonauts crew. A team known as the ‘Saviors of the Ocean’. Today we see history as Captain Samara’s legacy is finally laid to rest and a new captain takes the helm of this mighty crew.”

“Her husband, Professor Marin Kelp and head of the A.S.A. says this . . .”

“Mara would’ve wanted this I’m sure, she always had a heart of gold! A good reason why I married her – ahem. In any case, I congratulate Captain Barnacles on his new role, I think she would’ve felt honored that he was carrying on her memory! He’s a strong one he is and the men and women he’s called to his crew will no doubt be just the same. That being said, we at the A.S.A. made sure to bring in someone we trust! After all most of planet is covered in water, might as well have someone taking care of it!”

“In other news, new waves of gang violence have been picking up along the east coast. As with many others gathering around the lower parts of Africa and South America, just around the center of the Amazonian River. Officials say that they’ve never seen activity quite like this before. Many key witnesses around each of the affected areas have claimed the existence and affects of poachers. But if there’s anything to go off of there seems to always be some valiant soul ready and willing to stop them.”

“Speaking of, Friday night a press conference is set to be held with world leaders over this issue, and the very organization we just covered is invited to join in. That’s right, the A.S.A. has finally caught their attention and at the end of the week there are rumors of an alliance being made between the UN and the A.S.A. So be sure to tune in Friday, Eastern Time, to see it live. Now back to the weather . . . ”

Illustration Time: 10hrs 12min

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

(GUYS I GOT A JOB!!! ALSO I JUST GOT HERE AND THE BOOP-MAGEDDON IS ALREADY OVER???? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! WHY CRUEL WORLD!!!!)

Ya’ll BTW are you guys kidding me??? 60+ followers???? That’s INSANE ty all sm!!! You have no idea how happy that makes me!!!

[bongaboi]

Vermont: 2022-23 America East Men's Basketball Champions

A second-half comeback led top-seeded Vermont (23-10, 14-2 AE) to its league-best 10th America East title, defeating No. 2 UMass Lowell (26-8, 11-5 AE) 72-59 in the 2023 Jersey Mike's America East Championship Game on Saturday at Patrick Gym.

HOW IT HAPPENED

The Catamounts and River Hawks combined for only one miss from the floor in the first 2:36 of the game, with UML taking a 7-6 lead. Abdoul Karim Coulibaly scored all of UMass Lowell's points in the opening minutes. Dylan Penn had four points for Vermont. Penn put Vermont in front when his layup was goaltended by UML's Max Brooks, giving the Cats an 8-7 lead. Finn Sullivan cashed in his first three-pointer of the game on the following possession to extend the lead to 11-7 with 14:38 left in the first half. The Catamounts held the River Hawks scoreless for 4:30 after an Allin Blunt layup with 13:43 remaining. Vermont's lead would grow to 16-9 during that stretch, until a layup by Cam Morris III with 9:12 left in the half. Morris' basket sparked a 20-5 run for UMass Lowell as the River Hawks made eight of their next 11 field goals to take a 29-21 lead with 1:21 remaining in the opening frame. The sophomore had six points to lead the UML run. Finn Sullivan knocked down a free throw in the final minute, and Aaron Deloney sank a deep three-pointer on Vermont's final possession to cut the deficit to 29-25 before the break. Penn scored the first four points of the second half to tie the game at 29-29 with 18:27 left on the clock. The fifth-year senior posted up a UMass Lowell defender and cashed in the hook shot. Penn knocked down a pair of free throws shortly after to draw even with the River Hawks. Finn Sullivan briefly put Vermont ahead with a free throw that made the score 30-29, but Allin Blunt knocked down a trio of free throws on the following possession to give UMass Lowell a 32-30 lead with 17:42 left. Matt Veretto's first three-pointer of the day was timely, sinking a corner three on a skip pass from Robin Duncan to put the Catamounts back in front, up 33-32. Deloney made an acrobatic jumper minutes later to give Vermont a 35-32 lead with 15:13 remaining. A layup from Morris and a three-pointer from Everette Hammond put UMass Lowell ahead 37-35 with 13:09 left on the clock. Deloney countered with a triple from the wing at the end of the shot clock to put Vermont back in front, up 38-37 with 12:16 remaining. The senior's three-pointer sparked a 9-2 run for the Catamounts that included a trey from Penn and trio of free throws from Gibson. Veretto scored nine points in a span of 1:52 to extend the UVM lead to 53-46 with 7:53 to play. The graduate student sank a trio of free throws to begin his run, followed up by back-to-back three-pointers. Veretto also forced a turnover on the defensive end during that stretch. Penn gave the Catamounts their first double-digit lead of the afternoon, when he sank a hook shot coming out of the post to go up 57-46 with 6:13 left. Sullivan sank the dagger with 2:10 remaining when he drilled a three-pointer from the right wing while drawing a foul. The 2023 America East Player of the Year knocked down his free throw to put Vermont up 63-50. The Catamounts maintained their double-digit cushion over the River Hawks for the remainder of the game. ­­ INSIDE THE BOX SCORE

The Catamounts secure their 10th America East title in the last 20 seasons, and their sixth in 12 seasons under Becker. Vermont's come-from-behind victory marked the first time that the Catamounts have won a game while trailing at the half this season. UVM entered the game 0-8 when behind at the break. Penn was named the Reggie Lewis Most Outstanding Player, pouring a game-high 21 points on 8-for-12 shooting. The guard averaged 23.3 points and a 67.4% field goal percentage in Vermont's three playoff victories. Veretto and Deloney were named to the America East All-Championship Team. Veretto tallied 15 points on 4-for-9 shooting, which included a 3-for-6 clip from long range. Deloney had 10 points on 4-for-9 shooting, with a pair of triples. Sullivan also reached double figures, scoring 15 points. The fifth-year senior had a team-high seven rebounds, and recorded four steals. Nick Fiorillo received the America East Elite 18 Award for demonstrating excellence on the court and the classroom. With the win, Vermont Mutual Insurance Group will donate $100 to King Street Center as part of the Cats Win, Community Wins initiative. Since its inauguration in 2017, Vermont Mutual Insurance Group has donated over $80,000 to local non-profits through the Cats Win, Community Wins initiative. UP NEXT The Catamounts have punched their ticket to the 2023 NCAA Tournament. Vermont will learn its opponent and location on Selection Sunday, which will air live on CBS at 6 p.m. ET.

[mogai-sunflowers]

I hate it when I can't use a term that fits me very well because my brain (which processes everything with images) has an image of that term that doesn't look like me.

Like when I think of "transmasc" and all that pops into my head are skinny, white, American boys with very basic styles (which isn't a bad thing, it's just "too basic" for me personally), and of course, who look like cis boys and hate their bodies or prefer other body.

Meanwhile, I'm a POC, fat, Latine person, with questionable style (/joke), who CERTAINLY doesn't look like a cis boy and who really loves their body.

How could I use a term when my brain tells me that term doesn't fit people like me? I hate that. It's just me?

hey anon. i so wish I could reach through this screen and tell you that who you are is perfect and that you have every right to terminology that feels right, but as a fat trans person myself I know it takes more than kind words to deal with a pain like this, and one that’s even more intersectional than mine with your race and culture in the picture.

but that image you have in your head of what transmasc means, that is not the reality. that is what a small part of the community, of the world, WANTS you to think because they would rather throw other members of their community under the bus to gain faux acceptance for themselves, which is NOT your fault, but it’s also not everyone, there are so many people in this community who look like you or who truly stand with you. Transmasculine history is and never has been white or thin or any of that.

I’m going to link a few things you may want to look into if you’re wanting to start accepting your identity a little more, or just to see that you really ARENT alone. trans men/transmascs of color have been part of our history since the beginning. some of these things im sharing may be somewhat nsfw and have the word 'tranny' in them, just as a warning if that stuff bothers you.

newspaper clipping showing three trans men of color at a festival for a film they were part of, the first ever sexual/porn film by and for trans men of color

some pictures showing some fat trans men and trans men of color at marches are here

Bobby Cheung, the Asian and Pacific Islander trans man who won the Mr. Transgender San Francisco Pageant in 2004

trans men of color discuss intersectionality in a film they directed called "Trappings Of Transhood"

a photo showing the attendees of an FTM conference- you can see many non-white people in attendance

a photo of a group of Latino trans men who attended Tranny Fest in 1999

basic info on victor j mukasa, a Black transmasc lesbian active in East African LGBTQ rights scene

an older fat trans gentleman's photo and experience

a post on pauli murray (please look them up. his experience is much more nuanced than this post gives them credit for, and she was a wonderful intersectional activist)

various trans men (many fat and of color) who have contributed to our history

a conference of Indian trans men

the story of a trans man named Ben

one of my personal favorite transmasc historical figures, Amelio Robles Ávila

Zander Keig, the fat Latino trans man who won social worker of the year in 2020

a wonderful read on the intersectionality of transmasculinity and race

a digital archive of trans and queer Latino history

the Instagram page of a popular Black drag king

an article with interviews with various drag kings, including several of color

Florence Hines, the Black drag king once called the most excellent male impersonator in America

more drag kings many of color!

Drag Kings: An Archaeology of Spectacular Masculinities in Latino America

anon, it is so easy to feel like you are alone when your own history has been unfairly erased from you. but when I say “you are not alone”, I am not offering empty words of comfort- YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Transmasc and similar identity has truly NEVER actually been just for white people or thin people. You are WONDERFUL, and you are ABSOLUTELY a part of trans masculinity and transmasculine history is YOUR history and community as much as it is mine and others. You belong.

[eretzyisrael]

by Douglas Murray

By early 1948, when Israel was on the cusp of becoming a state, she was known for being a powerful orator—someone who could articulate clearly and plainly why Jewish self-determination was so important. But she was not well-known in America.

In January of that year, Meir, who was then the head of the Jewish Agency, traveled to the United States to raise money in preparation for Israel’s war of independence. (The Jews knew the UN might give them the green light, but the Arabs would not.)

She had not planned to go to Chicago, but while in New York City, her sister Clara persuaded her to go—to speak to the annual conference of the Council of Jewish Federations and Welfare Funds.

Meir arrived in Chicago in the middle of a freezing cold winter “without a dime in her pocketbook even to take a taxi.” Wealthy and influential Jews in Chicago were not especially keen on meeting with her. As Henry Montor, the executive vice president of the United Jewish Appeal, a Zionist organization, recalled, Meir was, to his mind, “an impecunious, unimportant representative, a schnorrer—Yiddish for beggar or layabout.

Meir, for her part, was terrified. On the one hand, she knew that war in the Middle East was imminent, and she had no choice but to bring home money for much-needed weapons—or there wouldn’t be any Israel. On the other hand, she understood all too well that there was, among some upper-crust American Jews, a wariness of the idea of a Jewish state—a desire, often unstated, not to appear too Jewish.

In any event, Montor managed to carve out a little time for Meir to speak at the Council’s luncheon on January 25, 1948, at the Sheraton.

She later recalled: “I was terribly afraid of going to these people who didn’t know me from Adam. I admit I was shaking. I had no idea what was going to happen.”

But providence, or something like it, called her that day. And the effect was historic. The audience was on its feet immediately after she finished. Her goal had been to raise $25 million in America. She came away with $50 million—aid that would prove critical in the months ahead.

According to those present, Meir went to the stage with her hair severely parted, absolutely no makeup, and with no notes to speak from—her preferred habit. The pauses in her speech seem to have been as important as the words themselves. She seemed to be feeling the words, weighing up the words, and judging, by the second, their effect on her audience.

She spoke for some 35 minutes. 

Friends was the term she chose to address her audience. 

“The mufti and his people have declared war upon us,” she said. “We have no alternative but. . . to fight for our lives.” 

She told the audience about the thirty-five Jews who “fought to the very end” on the road to Kfar Etzion and of the last one killed. He had run out of ammunition but died with a stone in his hand, prepared to continue fighting.

And she paraphrased the famous words of Winston Churchill: “We will fight in the Negev and will fight in Galilee and will fight on the outskirts of Jerusalem until the very end.”

She added: “I want you to believe me when I say that I came on this special mission to the United States today not to save 700,000 Jews. During the last few years the Jewish people lost six million Jews, and it would be audacity on our part to worry the Jewish people throughout the world because a few hundred thousand more Jews were in danger. That is not the issue.”

The issue, she explained, “is that if these 700,000 Jews in Palestine can remain alive, then the Jewish people, as such, is alive and Jewish independence is assured. If these 700,000 people are killed off, then for many centuries, we are through with this dream of a Jewish people and a Jewish homeland.”

This was the spirit—the moral vision—that compelled Golda Meir, like so many Israelis after her, to do what other people thought could not be done. 

[thenewdemocratus]

Duke Wilson: Ed Too Tall Jones Highlights

Source:Duke Wilson with a look at the great Dallas Cowboys DE Ed Too Tall Jones. Source:The New Democrat “One of the biggest players in NFL history. Standing at 6’9″, Jones was a versatile defender who could run the passer and stuff the run. He retired early in 1979, but returned after a year of boxing where he entered his prime. He was 1x First Team All Pro, 2x Second Team All Pro, and had 106…

[memoriae-lectoris]

Covered in asphalt or gravel, the area behind the house was “a utilitarian space where trash was burned, clothes were washed and hung up to dry, and unneeded household items were left to rust.” It was in front of the house that children played, in the yard or in the street, in view of the neighbors. The border between private and public space was the porous alcove of the front porch, a place for supervising those kids, flirting with a classmate in the respectability of the public view, snooping on neighbors doing the same, or adroitly greeting relatives or salesmen who weren’t quite welcome inside the domestic sanctum. […]

In the 1920s, the backyard began to supersede the front porch as the primary domestic outdoor social space. This switch would be accelerated by the arrival of indoor enjoyments like television and air-conditioning, as well as appliances like washers and dryers, which freed the backyard from its workaday purpose, but it began with the automobile. Prior to widespread car ownership, streets were multifunctional public places suitable for hawkers and markets, stickball games and snowball fights, the storage of construction materials, and waste disposal. The roaring car traffic associated with Henry Ford’s Model T cemented the street’s sole purpose as a thoroughfare. […] The suburban cul-de-sac was the fruit of newly widespread car ownership—and a refuge from it. In 1922, House Beautiful noted strains of front porch fatigue: “the increase in motor-traffic, the dust and proximity of other houses tend to make the front porch less desirable each year . . . One prefers [porches] turned away from the trivial drama of the street with its hucksters and milk wagons and gossip.”

At the Tenth National Conference on Housing in 1929, one speaker declared that the dirty old backyard, of all places, could be repurposed to offer “charm and sanctuary from a too noisy world”—away from “front porch promiscuity.” But it was less the question of how cars moved than of where to keep them that changed the shape of the American house. This shift from front porch to backyard coincided with the forward march of the garage, out of the backyard and into the house itself, as the car (later, cars) assumed its prime place in family life. Wright led the way. With his Usonian houses, a series of middle-class dwellings he designed beginning in the 1930s, America’s foremost architect invented a new word, carport, to describe an attached, sheltered overhang for car storage. […] He preferred the carport to the attached garage for the same reason he disliked basements: closed garages were likely to become just another place to gather household clutter.

Nevertheless, the implements of the closed, attached garage were all in place and awaiting the postwar housing boom. Overhead garage doors were commonplace by the 1910s, electric garage door openers by the 1930s. Early subdivisions may not have had interior spaces for cars—at the most famous of them, Levittown, east of New York City, the entire house was barely the size of a modern three-car garage—but the attached garage became de rigueur in the 1950s as mass-transit ridership plummeted and the car reinforced its dominance.