#and there were some people from church????

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[cheer-nympho]

The older kids all have wills.

Nancy, Robin, Steve and Jonathan, ages 18 to 21, all have wills tucked away in various boxes under beds and behind wardrobes.

Their similarities only extending to the fear felt when writing them, mixed with resigned acceptance. A common feeling of “Man, it sure is sad that my late teenage years are spent contemplating the very real possibility of gruesome early death, I should be at the club.”

But in every other aspect they are completely different.

Nancy’s was written on a cream notepad with dainty flowers surrounding the border. Written from a view of logic and forward planning, a need to protect her family. All of the demands straight to the point, no nonsense.

Warped only by the small tear stains across the bottom.

Robin’s was clearly written in a panic, barely legible handwriting on a ripped off lined sheet.

Written after she read an article about a man whose boyfriend was refused access to him after his death because there was no will.

She refused to leave anyone in the dark like that.

Jonathan’s was the most emotional, surprisingly. But most of that emotion was palpable anger, the word “nothing” pressed so hard into the yellow paper next to Lonnies name it had almost ripped the page.

Even if it was the last thing he did, Jon would keep Lonnie away from them.

Steves was written begrudgingly, more out of a need to prevent his parents from tossing it all. They weren’t around to know about Robin or the kids, wouldn’t know he’d promised Lucas the car or Max his records.

They weren’t evil people, they just didn’t know. This way they would.

They hadn’t spoken about it in advance, hadn’t co-ordinated it or hidden them together like a morbid friendship pact. They had all just at some point come to the realisation that, given their current lives, it may one day be necessary.

Eddie had not had that thought.

Eddie Munson had many thoughts.

He had thoughts on the disease of pop music sweeping the last worthwhile radio station, he had thoughts on the price increases in his favourite gaming store in Indy, he had thoughts on selling enough stock to buy a new trailer gas canister.

What he very rarely had thoughts on was death.

It took a lot for him to say that these days, considering where he’d been not too many years ago. But these days the only thoughts on death he had were more abstract and fleeting, nothing more than the average schmuck.

And even if the thought would have crossed his mind, he would have shrugged it off with a ‘Wayne knows what to do.’

He had no other family and, as far as Eddie was concerned, nothing particularly valuable to single out to anyone. He may need one of the guys to burn the shoebox hidden under his bed, but that could be a more verbal agreement between bros.

So Eddie didn’t have a will.

Didn’t have a plan, didn’t have the worry.

And it’s not until he’s lying on his back, being cradled by a child that frankly should not have to see the insides of Eddies stomach, that he remembers that.

It rushes to him in a panic, the thoughts feeling slow and syrupy but in reality only taking a split second.

He needed to write a will.

He needed Wayne to know that Eddie /wanted/ him to have everything, not just given it by family rights.

He needed to write Dustin in, and Corroded Coffin, maybe even some random shit for all the other nerds.

A donation to Hawkins Church to really confuse them, not that Eddie would be leaving any money behind. Maybe they could have his guitar.

When he got back he would write it up on the finest non-scrunched up paper he could find.

When he got back he would take care of it all.

But that was a job for later Eddie, right now he really needed to sleep.

He could see Dustin crying above him but that was okay, he’d take care of it when he woke up.

When he wakes up he’ll take care of it all.

When he wakes up he’ll write his will.

When he wakes up.

[sweetcardamom]

The primary kids (ages 3-11) singing a song in Sacrament meeting: the smallest bunched up in front of everyone, leaning on the railing (they can barely see over it), the awkwardly tall kid behind the others, the enthusiastic singers, the little ones that just stare at the congregation, the kid with no stage fright who waves at a family member (possibly with "hi!"), and that one kid that belts the song louder than all the others.

The newlyweds who are sitting together on the stand because she got asked to substitute as chorister.

The organist slipping and hitting a note that is either not in the music, or not expected because it's the prayer right now.

The toddler who is determined to get to the pulpit and several people on the aisle are trying to distract/dissuade/sidetrack him or her until the parent catches up.

The time a kid threw up on his mom and a clean towel came sailing over the pews and landed next to her. There's always someone willing to help with the kids.

Funeral potatoes. No, there is no funeral. We just need the potatoes. They are delicious.

A 14-month-old that doesn't talk much yet, but will happily point to a painting of the Savior and say, "Jesus!"

How excited all the women get when we have sister missionaries! Elders are great, but sisters!

Pinewood derbies, with restrictions removed. Just has to fit on the track, not cause damage, and be appropriate. The cars are ridiculous. We love them.

Ice cream after a group outing to the temple. (It's usually Dairy Queen, for some reason?)

Knowing you just gave a talk, so you're safe from speaking in public for about a year. Maybe.

Choir. It might not sound great in practice, but with prayer and diligence, it will when the time comes to sing.

A kid spouting a malaprop from the pulpit when sharing a testimony or giving a talk.

Service projects!

Traveling to a well-touristed place, but there's only one local congregation for Many Miles, so everybody shows up there, and the tiny ward somehow manages to hold church for hundreds and hundreds of people. You may be visiting, but you also might end up with a Sunday School class. Hope you read the scripture selection for this week! (Tahoe and Yellowstone, for instance.)

Seeing people be so surprised when they find out that we are allowed to dance and drink caffeine, and we do celebrate Christmas and Easter.

I really don't think our culture is the worst. It's just that all cultures have issues. Culture isn't doctrine, it's people interacting. People will get overzealous or self-righteous, and that's where problems come in. Or just plain make mistakes.

I don't miss the jello and jello salads that were ridiculously ubiquitous when I was a kid. There was waaayyyyy too much jello at any sort of pot luck.

[religious-extremist]

Westerners often accuse the Orthodox Church of losing the essence of Christianity, because the Orthodox lands were subjugated by Islamic powers: the Eastern Roman Empire fell to the Ottomans, the conquest of Constantinople, Jerusalem, Antioch, Alexandria.

The funny thing with Islam is that, when it conquers a foreign land, their leaders demand a tax, the jizya, from those who do not convert to Islam. The more Christians converted to Islam, the less jizya they were able to collect; so they didn’t want too many of the Christians to convert to Islam, because then they would have less money.

But then Westerners say, God must have despised the disobedience of the Eastern Romans, of the Christians who called themselves Orthodox! They say that’s why God punished the Greeks; He used the Turks to destroy the Greek people and oppress their religion and scatter them and their congregation.

St. Kosmas the Aetolian spoke well when he said that God indeed showed His mercy upon the Greek people when, instead of letting them fall into the hands of the Venetians, the Papists, God preserved the Greeks by allowing the Muslims to take Constantinople instead. The Fall of Constantinople, this great tragedy which was indeed caused by the apostasy of the Greek people’s hearts, was also a great blessing.

Had the Venetians taken over, subjugated the Orthodox under the Papist yoke, we would have lost the Orthodox faith, forced to conversion. The Muslims at least had some incentive to preserve Orthodox Christianity amongst the Eastern Romans: that is, to collect taxes from them.

So those who had no faith in Christ our God had apostatized and became Muslims, and the ones who remained became saints, of faithfulness stronger than diamonds and brilliance more resplendent than the sun. The purest of gold can only be tried by fire, after all. Even the Old Testament spoke of “the righteous remnant.” And so, until today, the Orthodox faith remains unadulterated, preserved by these souls, the bulwark of Orthodoxy.

[funnypages]

Lessons of Resistance from WWII: The Rosenstrasse Protest and Evacuation of the Danish Jews

So a long history rant I think people should know about and keep in mind for the future. I want to talk to people about a little talked about story in the history of WWII, the Rosenstrasse protest: the one time, during the height of the Holocaust, when the German public protested against the deportation of Jews; and they won.

1942-early 1943 was arguably the height of Nazi Germany; with most of the continent occupied, allied, or neutral to them. It was also 2 years into the Final Solution phase of the Holocaust, the planned mass killing of Jews. In February 1943, the government began the final round-up of the 20,000 remaining Jews in Berlin. This included a category of Jews that the government had previously avoided deporting: Jews married to gentile Germans. While the Nazis had cracked down on these relationships since they came to power, there were at this time 1,800 mixed couples remaining in Berlin; almost all Jewish men married to gentile women (After the consolidation of power under Hitler, more German men had divorced their Jewish partners than women).

When these Jewish men were arrested, hundreds of their non-Jewish spouses descended upon the building they were held in, bringing with them friends and families, screaming for their husbands to be released. The protests were so large, that the Nazis could not suppress news of it spreading through Germany and internationally; and they were also genuinely afraid that arresting or shooting these women could cause the situation to spiral even further into an outright uprising. As a result, the men were released, and most of them survived the war.

Now there are a lot of critiques and analyses that can be done of the protest, about privilege and gender, and noting that nothing was said about releasing the 18,000 other Berlin Jews set to be deported to camps. Still, the reaction that the public had to these deportations, combined with the shockingly hopeful story of Denmark in the Holocaust, gives some valuable lessons in how fascists can be thwarted.

Demark was invaded by Germany in 1939 and was given a degree of autonomy, being treated as the "model protectorate." While the Danish government did acquiesce to demands to ban Communist and Socialist political parties, they refused to enact racial laws targeting Danish Jews. While not to say anti-semitism didn't exist in Denmark, for reasons debated by historians and sociologists, Denmark did not have a strong history of "othering" its Jewish community, and it was largely seen as an accepted part of Danish society.

In September 1943, German plans to deport the Danish Jewish community to concentration camps leaked to the Danish government, which then alerted leaders of the Jewish community. Over 3 weeks churches, civil servants (notably mostly working independently of the government), political parties, the Danish resistance (mostly at this point made up of the before mentioned Communists and Socialists), and private individuals helped evacuate 7,220 Jews, plus 686 non-Jewish spouses, by sea to nearby neutral Sweden. For context, the Jewish population of Denmark before the invasion was around 7,800. Of the 580 Danish Jews who failed to escape to Sweden, 464 were arrested; however, work by Swedish and Danish groups saw 425 of them released. Further, when the war ended, it was discovered that 116 Danish Jews had been hidden by their neighbors. In all, a shocking 99% of Denmark's Jewish population survived the Holocaust; the most of any occupied nation in Europe.

I tell both of these stories because they show what fascists and authoritarians are aware of: the limits of their power. They are aware of the simple fact so much of their power comes from average people just accepting what they do with no pushback. These groups thrive on atomization, demonization, and otherization. Because when people refuse to let their neighbors be attacked, that's when issues pop up. There were other individuals and groups in Germany who spoke out against the Nazis (the White Rose and the Edelweiss Pirates to name a few), but they were small and disorganized, they could be arrested or exiled or killed without much effort. But large groups of resistance? How do you arrest or kill those without stopping their families and friends from protesting? And the foot soldiers enacting their agenda tend to get antsy if there is large-scale pushback to them. The big guys in charge might be safe, but them? They are vulnerable to being fired, sued, arrested, or ostracised if they are seen enacting unpopular policies. Such actions put authorities on the defensive, stall them, and make them reconsider their tactics; which in the long run, can save lives.

This is what people mean, whether they know it or not, over the last few days when they have been saying "Help those close to you, keep your friends close." They want you to think they are all-powerful. They want you to think they are unstoppable. They want you to think there is no hope in openly denying them. Because they know that if those few people openly defying them become large groups openly defying them, then things spiral out of control.

[sanddollarpoems]

The truth is, I started in a very different place than I am now. Perhaps I am the evidence of evolution, that a person can go from one side to the other in a matter of years. I have family and friends who still think the same way. They echo the same hurtful words. They babble the same disrespectful slogans.

Last week, while feeling scared, disappointed, and emotionally bruised, I had to explain why people like me felt like I did. I had to be the adult, take the slander, and share about why people like me who didn't agree, people who feared for their rights as a human, were angry and sad and upset.

To be fair, I grew up on the other side. I grew up listening to my dad rage against the "flaming liberals" and the "fema-nat-zees," listening to Rush Limbaugh, and conservative talk radio. And as I grew up, the information I was fed was consistent. I was surrounded by people of like minds, and it was very easy to agree. No one challenged me. No one asked me WHY I thought what I did. No one pointed out my racism, my hurtful words, or my prejudice.

I got married young to a man who enjoyed telling me how to think and what to believe. And perhaps that's when I started feeling the cracks in my belief system. I started having my own thoughts, secretly, of course. I started struggling with the things that didn't add up.

It's so easy to pick someone's motives if you don't know that person. It's so easy to "other" them if they don't fit into your tiny understanding of the world. But God has a sense of humor. He gave me a double dose of empathy and compassion. I started meeting people, and they didn't fit into my categories. I started meeting people who I couldn't make sense of. I started meeting people who I had been taught to hate. But I didn't hate them. They were just people who hoped, and loved, and lived just like me. In fact, I started seeing they were all just like me.

And then, I became the "other." With my divorce, 90% of the people I had called friends, left me. My church, who had been like a family to me, left me. I was the sinner. I was the outcast. And because I was a victim of abuse, I had been talked out of asking for child support, even though he made over three times what I did. Now, I was also the woman standing in line at the grocery store, using my EBT "food stamps." I was a "leech on society," as my dad would say.

Remember how I said God has a great sense of humor? Well, guess who were the ones to come around me and support me and love me and lift me up? That's right. It was the people who I used to "other." It was the single mom's, the LGBTQ, the "flaming liberals," the atheists, the women of color...

For the first time in my life, there was no judgment, just kindness. There were no impossible standards, no mistreatment for being different, no more expectations to conform. There was freedom.

I have since come to a place where all those things my dad used to insult people with are now true of me. And this past week, as my friend was talking about the "woke morons," I gently told her that I'm one of those.

The truth is, we're all just people. We all want safety and well-being for ourselves and our families. A lot of us want that for our communities, and some even want it for the world. Most of the people I've met on both sides are generally good-hearted people. We all have been taught to say hurtful things, to believe hurtful things, and sometimes to even do hurtful things to "others." But I believe that for most people, these are learned behaviors.

My dad used to quote the Bible and say, "believing that there's good in people is a lie. Everyone is evil if they're not a Christian." These days, I believe God made humans in his own image. And having kindness and love are the traits that everyone has inherited from him. These are the things I have seen in others. And so I continue to believe that everyone has the ability for great kindness, and if we all exercised that kindness more readily, this world will not be such a scary place for any of us. Even if we don't all agree on the politics.

[queenofwiltingroses]

I love "spirituality comes before religion" because yes. In a lot of ways, Christianity as a religion encourages a lot of dangerous mindsets. And that is very much not what God intended. My parents used to be more involved with a church in northern Maine where they were living at the time. My dad pastored there, and my mom told me stories about how being so involved with the church would often discourage her from Christianity. A lot of the things the people there would say and do made her so uncomfortable. At some point she just had to remind herself to "Look at God, not at them".

I like your art, Wolfy, because it doesn't celebrate Christianity. It celebrates Jesus and his story, whether he was the Messiah or not. And if it encourages people to want to learn more about him, great! But it's also good to warn them that not every aspect of the religion honors him the way I'd say your art does.

Haiii - just wanted to ask, how many people have told you you’ve altered their religious beliefs? I’m debating being Christian bc of you (and some other influences like the fallout new Vegas man lmao)

Um! A few! Which is very fascinating but I would like to put a little disclaimer that I don't do art to convert people 🙏 hahaha a lot of it genuinely stems from my interest in the bible. I'm very critical of the church and the religion as a whole while still being part of it! So if you genuinely do want to try being christian, then yeah definitely go explore it, but you have to understand that it is a Very tumultuous environment and I'd say spirituality comes before religion in a way. Make sure to do your research and find a good community to connect with

[talesfromawannabejournalist]

Corpse Groom

@kittenfangirl20

In a small town in the heart of Connecticut, called Winter River, there lived a man and a woman. Their names were Barbara Butterfield and Adam Maitland. They were a young couple deeply in love and after years of dating finally ready to tie the knot. They currently were in the town’s church at their final wedding rehearsal as the big day was tomorrow. Which was not good for Adam as he kept fumbling over his vows as nerves racked his mind. 

Adam: With you by my side I promise to wash over,

Priest: STOP! You did it again!

Adam: Uh…I did?

Priest: Yes, you said wash instead of watch

Adam: Oops sorry, so sorry

Priest: (sighs heavily) Once more from the top!

Loud collective groans filled the church that came from the wedding party. They had been there for almost three hours now and it was starting to affect everybody. Well almost everybody, even though Barbara was tired as well, and though she could use a break she still pressed on. She smiled and gently rubbed her thumb over Adam’s hand comfortingly. She knew this was stressing him out and it wasn’t like the priest was helping.

Priest: Mr. Maitland the vows go like so, ‘I promise to always watch over you, to guide your way through darkness and never stray from your side.’ How exactly is that in any way hard to remember?

Adam: Maybe it’s not so much hard to remember as it is…just not what I want my vows to be

The priest glares down at him

Priest: Explain.

Adam: (gulps) I don’t it’s just these vows aren’t really…me I guess. Don’t get me wrong! Of course I promise to never cheat or hurt Barbara in any way, it’s just watch over you…I’m her husband not her guardian hehe

Adam tried laughing it off but it only made the priest harden his gaze

Priest: These vows, are tradition! To reject them is to basically reject this marriage!

The priest was interrupted with a loud toll of the bell signaling the end of this rehearsal. Though many were happy to finally go they were also a bit worried since they hadn’t mastered the ceremony as they wished. 

Priest: We conclude today’s rehearsal as we return tomorrow for the actual ceremony. With that I leave with one final word of advice

The priest glares down at the slightly trembling groom and leans close to him.

Priest: Young man, Learn. Your. Vows

Later as the company leaves to rest before the rehearsal dinner Barbara turns to her fiance 

Barb: Honey, please don’t let that old man get to you. I think it’s actually sweet that you want to take into consideration of how the traditional vows make me feel.

Adam: I, I’m sorry Barb but it’s just…my parents expect me to say those stupid vows.

Of course it all came back to Adam’s parents, Barbara sighed. Though they weren’t the best people like Barbara’s they expected tradition. They were basically the human definition of ‘first comes love, then comes marriage, and then there comes a baby carriage’. They always expected that of both of them, especially the last part from their marriage. They weren’t even sure they wanted children in the future. Still it was heavily expected of them. Just like these vows.

Adam: I just don’t want to disapoint them, I NEED to perfect these vows before the wedding.

Barbara bit her lip in thought unsure of how to help her fiance, a glance towards the woods helped her acquire an idea. 

Barbara: Why don’t you take a walk in the woods? Some fresh air might help as you rehearse your vows. 

Adam: You don’t mind? 

Barb: I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t. 

Adam glanced at the woods behind him before going back to his future wife. He stared in her beautiful green eyes, they matched the foresty green that surrounded them. It also wasnt just his parents he simply wanted tomorrow to go absolutely perfect for her. 

Adam: Alright, (kisses her forehead) I’ll see you before dinner I love you Barbara

Barb: I love you too Adam

With a swift turn on his heels he headed into the woods, unaware of what awaited him.

(What do you think so far)

[therewillbenoromance]

i just had the weirdest fucking dream

that was fucking spooky

[canisalbus]

For how much Machete is described by others as off-putting, he really is a beautiful dog. Does Vasco ever tell him so? That his eyes make him look earnest, his fur the most comforting shade of white like cream, the way his ears catch light like stained glass? If someone doesn't tell him so, he'd forever think he was ugliest duckling

I think Vasco definitely tries, sincerely and often, but Machete is very reluctant to accept compliments and positive feedback. Especially if it's about something as personal and innate as his looks.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

not me typing a whole rant about some catholics being insufferably smug about their "better looking churches" while ignoring the history behind the barebone austerity of protestant churches and then deleting it all because my seething anger isn't christ-like either

*gnaws on wood* God help me love your children even when they are absolute prigs

[icy-book]

Happy Easter, the other day I saw a video of someone passionately ranting that people are water down the message of Jesus and making Him into their own version, then literally said, and I kid you not, that "Jesus is not all-loving and all forgiving". Genuinely

Like, I could quote parts of the Bible to refute that, but it would be basically the entire New Testament. Bro's never heard of "Love thy neighbour"

[datasoong47]

There were actually multiple regional pronunciations of Latin historically. The ecclesiastical pronunciation which is still used in the Catholic church is only one of those. Many Latin loan-words in English reflect the older English pronunciation tradition, for example, and there are historical references to people from different European countries having difficulty understanding each other's spoken Latin due to differences in pronunciation

Attempts to reconstruct an original pronunciation actually far predate the 20th century. In 1528, for example, the writer Erasmus published a reconstruction of the original pronunciation of Latin and Ancient Greek, although I'm not sure just how close he got to the modern reconstruction

The quality distinctions in the vowels can be pretty solidly reconstructed for at least some varieties of Vulgar Latin at least, based on how the various Romance languages developed the vowels. In the Western Romance languages, for example, the long and short forms of e and o developed into different vowels, while the short i and u merged with, respectively, long e and long o, a merger which wouldn't make sense for a purely length-based distinction. The question then becomes whether that difference in quality extended back to Classical Latin or was a later development. It's probable that there was a stage where it was a purely length-based distinction, but when that change happened is the question. Sardinian shows a development where long and short merged consistently, however, which suggests that the distinctions of quality may have never developed in Sardinia. Roman writers reference the same kind of development as a noted characteristic of African Latin, that African speakers of Latin did not distinguish vowel length at all

How do we know/guess how Latin was pronounced?

I can't find the post where I talked about this before, but basically there are two ways.

1) Because Latin transitioned from a living language (in the Roman Empire) to the language of scholars and clerics (in the Middle Ages) without a gap, the pronunciation was passed down from teacher to student. It almost definitely shifted a bit over time though, due to human error and the lack of recording devices. This handed-down version is called Ecclesiastical Pronunciation.

2) In the early 20th century (iirc) scholars attempted to compensate for shifting pronunciation by reconstructing how Latin might have been pronounced in Ancient Rome. The version they came up with is called Classical Pronunciation.

There are valid reasons for choosing either pronunciation, and you'll meet latinists hotly in favour of each. 😜

[lettersiarrange]

Has time always moved this fast? I'm genuinely asking. In 200 years we went from Bridgerton to AI. The everyday lives of people in each of these eras feel like universes apart. I'm no historian, but it seems like the everyday lives of people between 1500 and 1700 weren't that different.

Have humans throughout time immemorial reflected on life 30 years ago, 100 years ago and commented on how vastly different it was? It feels like we're running at a breakneck pace in the modern era. The It Gets Better project was founded in 2010 because gay people were so universally ostracized that lgbt teen suicide rates were off the charts. And while we're still pretty far from full LGBT equality, openly having a problem with gay people existing is a pretty fringe opinion now that's fairly universally frowned upon, even in the southern US.

I'm pretty sure the first time a woman wore pants in congress was in the 90s.

Culturally, technologically, resource-wise, it feels like every 5 years we leap 5 decades forward. Is it just our own preoccupation with the era we live in that makes this moment feel so significant? Or are we actually moving as quickly as it feels?

I know people have always laughed at the grandpa's who complain "when I was your age...", but has the gap ever been this wide? Or is there truly something special about now.

[ailichi]

it’s hard to put your finger on without sounding like you’re pretending your background was rougher or more dissolute than it was, but really the idea that the boys in Oasis were princes of darkness is ridiculous. I’m talking about the popular press of the 90s by the way, not anything that’s being said on tumblr. I know they took substances for England *at a certain point* (also doesn’t make you a bad person) but a lot of the fun they got up to was drinking dancing romancing and just because it was done very publically and with a northern accent, people (or at least tabloid journalists) acted like this was depraved hedonism. idk honestly they were pretty normal. mostly innocent fun imo

[overcaffeinated-aro]

I got an email from my grandpa today and all the draft responses I’ve been working on in my head sound like an 18th century letter that’s going to have to travel for months to reach him.

pandemic year 5 really has me feeling like me and a very small handful of people I know are living on an entirely different plane of existence than everyone else