#harvard stadium

[timmurleyart]

Night energy at Boston calling. ✨🎵🎡

[quotesfrommyreading]

In the late 19th century, intellectuals believed that the sporting arena simulated an impending age of Darwinian struggle. Because the United States did not hold a global empire like England’s, leaders warned of national softness once railroads conquered the last continental frontier. As though heeding this warning, ingenious students turned variations on rugby into a toughening agent. Today a plaque in New Brunswick, New Jersey, commemorates the first college game, on November 6, 1869, when Rutgers beat Princeton 6–4.

Walter Camp graduated from Yale in 1880 so intoxicated by the sport that he devoted his life to it without pay, becoming “the father of American football.” He persuaded other schools to reduce the chaos on the field by trimming each side from 15 players to 11, and it was his idea to paint measuring lines on the field. He conceived functional designations for players, coining terms such as quarterback. His game remained violent by design. Crawlers could push the ball forward beneath piles of flying elbows without pause until they cried “Down!” in submission.

In an 1892 game against its archrival, Yale, the Harvard football team was the first to deploy a “flying wedge,” based on Napoleon’s surprise concentrations of military force. In an editorial calling for the abolition of the play, The New York Times described it as “half a ton of bone and muscle coming into collision with a man weighing 160 or 170 pounds,” noting that surgeons often had to be called onto the field. Three years later, the continuing mayhem prompted the Harvard faculty to take the first of two votes to abolish football. Charles Eliot, the university’s president, brought up other concerns. “Deaths and injuries are not the strongest argument against football,” declared Eliot. “That cheating and brutality are profitable is the main evil.” Still, Harvard football persisted. In 1903, fervent alumni built Harvard Stadium with zero college funds. The team’s first paid head coach, Bill Reid, started in 1905 at nearly twice the average salary for a full professor.

  —  The Scandal of NCAA College Sports

[teddypng]

Joan Baez at Harvard Stadium, 1969. Photo by Spencer Grant.

[pucktoxicity]

If u know it could u summarize the whole Jack and Pia (girl who pretended to be his girlfriend for like a year or smth) story? I can’t watch all of the Tik Toks I need to read it. And pics does anyone have pics of her?

OH YES. i got this one, because i know the deep stuff of it, but i will definitely summarize it for you!!!

pia was in/around nyc, hoboken and jersey city where most of the younger and single devils players live

she claimed that she was hooking up with john marino (rip i miss you john come back to new jersey), and later claimed she was hooking up with someone else she called "sex eyes" who went to harvard and played for the devils... so... also john?

she started telling people around spring of 2023 that she was dating jack, and that he flew her out to carolina for the canes series (the truth: she bought herself the tickets for the series and flew out on her own)

she claimed that trevor was interested in one of her friends and that she'd set them up, and this girl starts talking to "trevor" (truth: it was her on a fake instagram she claimed was his "private account" for just friends, family, etc.)

when she set up this girl with "trevor," the girl ended up moving away, and then suddenly stopped speaking to their friend group entirely, and wouldn't say why (truth: the girl knew something was up with “trevor” after a while and moved away anyway, but never said she had a feeling it was not trevor ahead was talking to/it was actually pia until everything exploded at the stadium series)

she was telling her friends "oh, jack got us these tickets at madison square garden for their game against the rangers" but they'd never actually see or talk to jack (truth: again, she was buying these premier seats on her own, claiming he bought them)

any time her friends were where she claimed to be with jack, they'd go to look for her and they suddenly "left" or went to a place at an event or restaurant or whatever that only VIPs could enter, so her friends wouldn't be able to see her (truth: because she was there alone and not with jack, luke etc., or because she was not even there at all and photoshopping things and pretending she was)

pia told her friends (and showed them) her wag jacket. NOW, YOU GUYS: if you remember last fall when the devils wag jacket painter posted the one w jack on the back, which we all thought was the wag jacket soft launch.... PIA BOUGHT THAT FOR HERSELF. SHE PAID FOR HER OWN WAG JACKET LIKE SHE WAS ONE. THAT WAS NOT FOR ANY OF OUR ACTUAL WAGS.

she also created "private accounts" for luke, quinn, and cole caufield, pretending to be them as well to "talk" to her friends they were "interested in"

her friends didn't really speculate that it was all faked because she was posting photos with the guys, and with the hughes' family (truth: she was finding their families' social medias and facebooks to find photos, and then photoshopping herself into said photos)

she was getting the same goodies and PR packages as new jersey devils wags (truth: she would screenshot was one of the wags posted and then manipulate and photoshop it to look like a different angle, and like she'd actually gotten one)

this went on for a long time, until the original girl who'd gotten set up with "trevor" finally said like, hey something's up. this isn't trevor, i think pia's lying, and they started to get suspicious of her but kept it to themselves

SO, when jack brought sammy to the stadium series, and the pictures came out all over the internet, pia started panicking, telling her friends that jack was "cheating" to cover her tracks, and this and that, and luke "tried to warn her" (truth: he didn't know her psychotic ass existed at all, and he can't cheat on a girlfriend who's been pretending to be with him)

they finally got pia to open up and admit everything was faked. she was the one talking to them on these "private" accounts. she wasn't getting pr and clothes and things at all. she wasn't dating jack, or luke, or anything at all, she was just LYING, and when the girl she'd set up with "trevor" called her out, she wanted to leak their messages and conversations and embarrass said girl in front of their friends to avoid her telling them pia was a liar

all in all, she's insane, and there's way more to this than the very summarized version i just gave. i hope jack, luke, quinn, trevor and cole have some sort of restriction against her so she can't get near them, and same with jesper bratt's fiance, who she claimed was her best friend, and who she talked about a lot to her friends and said she's been to her house, etc., etc.

[dandthegods]

Limitless

The Gods are everywhere, you just have to look. They’re not trapped stagnant in the myths and stories, nor in the stale histories of cultures long past. Omnipresent in their own ways, the Gods can connect with anyone at any time. 

Athena can be found walking the aisles of a Harvard library, in the study room with a first generation college student, or in between the cardboard pages of a child’s first board book. Knowledge isn’t limited to the elite or the privileged, and neither is Athena. 

Apollo can be found in the galleries of prestigious art museums, in the bedroom of an aspiring anime artist, or in the imagination of a child scribbling with crayons. He is on the stage of a sold out stadium as well as in the back row of the cheapest seats. Art and creativity isn’t limited to those with influence or connections, and neither is Apollo. 

Hephaestus can be found in the offices of any corporate building, under the machinery of a blue collar factory, or in the joy of a teenager as they receive their first paycheck. He is found in the Paralympics, boosting the athletes onward, and he is also sitting with the hospital and rehab rooms of those recently disabled. Hard work is not limited to anyone’s status or abilities, and neither is Hephaestus. 

Aphrodite can be found on the covers of fashion magazines, in the dreams of an hopeful makeup artist, and in the playfulness of a child playing with their mother’s lipstick. Aphrodite can be in the appeal of sexy fishnets or the allure of a well tailored suit. Beauty and love are not limited to one’s gender or skills, and neither is Aphrodite. 

Hermes can be found flying alongside the highest reaching airplanes, the fastest driving cars, and on a seat on public transit in rush hour. He is the luck that saves the lives of a vehicular accident, and the thrill in that first payment on a used car. Luck and speed are not limited to how far or how fancy your transportation can go, and neither is Hermes. 

Zeus can be found behind the bench of a supreme court case, in the office of an overworked pubic defender, and in the thunderous laughter of a new father. He is in the welcoming smile of a stranger to those in need, and in the homeless being invited in. Justice and hospitality are not limited to one’s power or status, and neither is Zeus. 

Hera can be found in a fabulous wedding with hundreds of guests, in the celebration of a long lasting marriage, or officiating the ceremony in a courthouse. She is in the “I love you”’s before bed, the hands held in the car after a first date, and in the hospital room of an elderly couple saying goodbye for the last time. Love is not limited to the length of one’s relationship, and neither is Hera. 

Artemis can be found in the fields and forests of nature, in the calm breath of a hunter, or in the tears of grief for a lost pet. She is the courage in the voices fighting for respect and in the cheer of progress made. Equal treatment peace is not limited to those who hold the power, and neither is Artemis. 

Hestia can be found in the jingle of a first-time homeowners’ new keys, in the shared dinner of a multi-generational home, or in the exhausted smile of a single parent. She is the warmth of a household and the love shared within its walls. Family and support is not limited to those you share blood with or in the size of your dwelling, and neither is Hestia. 

Ares can be found in the measured steps of a solider over seas, in the joyous tears of a spouse when their loved one comes home, and in the flag wrapped around a coffin. He is in the voices of those calling for change, in the recovery rooms of the wounded, and in the minds of those struggling with trauma. Safety and wellness are not limited to one’s demographics and neither is Ares. 

Hades can be found in the grief left behind after a death, in the weight of responsibility of leaders, and in the darkness of winter. He is with those who cry and fear for their lives, and in the scars left behind the pain can be too much. Loss and recovery is not limited to those strong enough to withstand it and neither is Hades. 

Persephone can be found in the joy at the first warm day, in the love bridging distance between lovers, and in the will of those daring to strive for their dreams. She is the wonderment of a child at a honeybee, and the beauty found in the darkness. Energy and strength is not limited to the times of light and color, and neither is Persephone. 

Demeter can be found in the engines of the machines in a field, in the bounty of a community garden harvest, and in the first sprouts of an amateur gardener. She is the change of the seasons and the rebirth of the new year. Change and plenty are not limited to those with capital or land, and neither is Demeter. 

Dionysus can be found on the floats of a pride parade, in the movements pushing for equality, and in the bedroom of a closeted teenager. He is both the euphoria and dysphoria felt by some in their bodies, and in the community embracing those who feel lost. Rights and identity are not limited to those who one loves or how one looks, and neither is Dionysus. 

Poseidon can be found on the decks of a ship in a storm, on the docks with a father teaching his son to fish, or in the serenity on a sandy beach. He is the joyful screams of children running from the waves and the persistence in one learning how to swim. Power and possibility is not limited to the oceans and or one’s skills, and neither is Poseidon. 

[hasgavlebockenburneddownyet]

With the birds eating the goat this year, do you think we could Harvard stadium pigeon prank the next goat?

What does this mean?

[buckychristwrites]

When the Rain Gathers | Prologue | j.t.

↳  Pairing: Jamie Tartt x f!reader

↳ Word Count: 2k

↳  Summary: Pain hits like a downpour, but when a heartbreak from your past is what greets you at your new job at Nelson Road Stadium, it's more like a catastrophic tsunami.

↳  Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Discussion of parental abuse, fluff and angst.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Main Blog

Early August, 2017

“Do you have to go?” 

“I do. Or else I’ve wasted a lot of money on a flat and new furniture.” 

It was pouring outside, but that didn’t stop you from standing in the drive of your boyfriend’s house. Your car was packed to the brim with belongings, not leaving any space to see out the rear windscreen. He was standing with you, his hair matted to his forehead from the rain. The air was a weird mix of cold and hot, or maybe it was just you. 

You reached out to brush the locks back into place. As your hand fell back to your side, he caught it in his.

“Why’d ya have to go all the way to fuckin’ Harvard for uni?” Jamie asked loudly so you could hear him over the rain pounding on the sidewalk. 

“Because they have the best Psychology program,” You explained, though you weren’t able to say it with your entire chest. Two years had been spent at the University of Manchester, and while you had dreamt of the opportunity to go to the United States to finish your degree at Harvard, you never allowed yourself to believe it would actually happen. And now it was, with a full scholarship at that. While you were beyond excited, there was a lot to consider, and lot you were leaving behind.

Jamie, using your hand that he was still holding, pulled you towards him.

“I’m gonna miss the fuck out of ya,” He said gently, pressing his forehead against yours. You tried to smile playfully.

“It’ll pass. You’ll be too busy being a football star soon enough,” You muttered, averting his eyes. That was what had ruined the plan. Jamie had every intention to move to the US with you, even signing the lease to the flat with you and starting the process of packing up his belongings. What brought that to a screeching halt was the call from Man City. 

They were putting him on the team. A starting striker, at that.

His days in the Ametuar League were finally behind him at the worst possible time. 

Despite the immense pride you felt for him, you also were devastated over the change of plans. It was going to feel impossible. Going from seeing him every day to only seeing him when the both of you had the money and free time to travel internationally, which wouldn’t be as often as either of you would like.

The last year flashed through your mind. A lifetime was how long you had known Jamie Tartt, having been neighbors for as long as you could remember. But it was only just over a year ago that the festering feelings the two of you had been building for each other finally came to a head. He knew every piece of you, the good and the bad, and you him. The amount of laughs spent, the amount of tears on each other's shoulders, the amount of pointless arguments that ended with flowers from his mum’s garden scattered on your doorstep, they felt countless in this moment. 

It still didn’t feel like enough time. You found yourself yearning for another hour. Even another minute. 

“Any parting words?” You asked him, giving his hand a squeeze. He cocked his head to the side. 

“You’re gonna kill it at uni,” He mumbled, taking another step closer so there were no steps left between you and him. “Don’t get in ya head too much. You’re better than all of ‘em.” 

Despite the rain, you felt the warm dampness streaming down your cheeks. You tried to wipe away the tears, but they just kept falling.

“Are you still gonna call me before every match?” You asked, voice choked up from the pain. He looked so calm. Something about it killed you.

“I’ll have to, since ya won’t be at them.” 

“What if you have a pa-“

“I’ll call ya over paint dryin’, if ya want.” You laughed, shaking your head. For a long moment, you stared at your car. The one that you were driving for the last time. It wasn’t all that long ago that Jamie went with you to pick it out. The memory was vivid in your mind.

“What am I going to do without you?” 

This is where he kissed you, pulling you in with his hands pressed to your cheeks. The intention for both of you was clear: This kiss had to count, because who knows when you’ll get to do it again?

“You’ll always have me,” He said against your lips, as if he wasn’t knew he needed to say something but wasn’t ready to end the kiss just yet. he needed to speak but couldn’t bear to end the kiss. When his lips finally left yours, he smiled softly, though his eyes were wet. “I just won’t be next door anymore.” 

Your teeth were chattering while staring at him, but you didn’t complain. The anxiety ate away at your chest. 

Though the redness in his eyes suggested it wasn’t the time, Jamie laughed as he opened the door to your car, giving you a sad smile as he rested his hand on the rim of the doorframe. 

“Can’t stand here all day, can we?” He said quietly. 

It was overwhelming how real it all became in that moment. You threw your arms around his neck, his arms instinctively wrapping around your torso. His clothes were soaked through, as were yours. There wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t unaffected by the rain, but you couldn’t seem to allow yourself to get in the car. 

Suddenly, Jamie was moving, forcing you to go with him. Your feet backed up as he moved himself forward so you wouldn’t fall. Your knees hit the side of the driver’s seat, and suddenly Jamie was lowering you down.

“You’re gonna miss ya flight.”

You shook your head before saying, “I’m gonna miss you.”

He closed his eyes as he said, “I’ll miss ya too.” 

The pain was searing through your chest and down your back as he shut the door. You were desperate for one last kiss, but you knew what his eyes were telling you. One more would just lead to two. And then three. And then you would never leave.

Finally, after lagging behind for too long, you turned the engine to the car on, your hands working in slow motion while you shifted into reverse. As you drove away, Jamie walked out into the street and waved. You wondered if he would run after the car, and found yourself disappointed when he didn’t. Instead, he continued to watch, hands in his pockets. Tears and rain water dripped onto the seat between your legs as you watched him through the rearview. 

Jamie got smaller and smaller as you drove away, until the road began to slope, and he disappeared from sight. 

~

Early August, 2020

You woke up alone.

The right side of your bed was empty. When you felt the sheets, they were cold, suggesting they had been bare for a while now.

With an arm holding the sheet to your chest, you sat up quickly. Your eyes were baggy and drooping, but you were alert.

“Jamie?”

Your feet hit the floor, which was no longer littered with his clothes, though yours still remained scattered. As you left the bedroom, you listened for any signs of life. Maybe he was simply having a shower, or making himself a bite to eat. But no such evidence could be heard. The only sound echoing through the flat was rain hitting the windows. Panic rose inside your chest. 

“Jamie…”

In an instant, you were down the hallway and entering the living room. 

Empty. 

His shoes by the front door had disappeared.

He’s out to pick up coffee, or breakfast, you told yourself. Or maybe he just went for a walk to explore. 

It wasn’t like him. To just disappear.

Although, the Jamie who had arrived on your doorstep the morning prior really wasn’t the Jamie you had known since you were in nappies. 

Despite your nonexistent free time since starting your masters degree in sports psychology, you did your best to continue to follow Jamie’s rising football career on the other side of the Atlantic ocean. He was now quite the commodity in England, though still relatively unknown in the United States. It was strange, getting a different reaction from your university friends’ to your boyfriend versus from people back home. 

As his stardom went up, however, your relationship with him seemed to do the opposite. It was now normal to go a week without hearing from him at all. A rare day in hell it was when he answered your phone calls, and usually they were brief. He didn’t keep his promise of calling before every match. In fact, he didn’t keep his promise of calling at all, because he simply didn’t. You tried to be understanding, but only so many excuses could be made for him, as you were also incredibly busy. 

When an opening appeared in his schedule that aligned with your own, it felt like an Olympic event to convince him to make the trip. Once he finally agreed, that was when you began to feel excited, yet also anxious about it. It was, in your mind, a last ditch effort to save the relationship. 

It wasn’t until this moment, as you came back from your thoughts, that you noticed his suitcase was also gone.

Sprinting back to your bedroom, almost tripping on the sheet multiple times as it covered your naked body, you ripped your phone from the wall. The tears had started leaking out long before you had the chance to hit his name to phone him.

Straight to voicemail.

Hanging up, you dialed again. Same result. When you tried to send a text, the text bubble immediately turned green.

Blocked. 

Anger swallowed you whole, your chest heaving. Without really thinking about it, you dialed him again. It went to voicemail for a third time, but you didn’t hang up. 

It’s Jamie. Don’t bother. I don’t care.

“So that’s it then?” You said to his voicemail box, knowing damn well he’d never receive it. “Twenty three years of friendship, just down the fucking drain? Never mind four years of that being in a fucking relationship. You piece of shit. You absolute fucking piece of shit.” 

You stared at the floor, feverishly shaking your head. 

“I guess the word from home about how much you changed is true. Never wanted to believe it but… I’ve been thoroughly enlightened, thank you.”

You swiped a hand against your cheeks.

“Are the cheating rumours true then too? Might as fucking well be, right? Fuck you, Jamie. I really thought we could salvage this. When I saw you at the airport, I…” You were properly crying now, unable to hide the sobs from your voice. “All of those feelings came rushing back to me. I felt like I was nineteen again, and we were back home. Just two kids who loved each other. It felt that simple. Like all it took was seeing each other again to make things okay. Wrong again.”

You had run into his arms in picturesque movie fashion, and he had held you for a long time. Did he know then? Did he get off the plane knowing he was going to destroy you?

You straightened your back out and cleared your throat.

“Don’t worry. I don’t fucking need you. And you’ll never hear from me again. Fuck you, Jamie Tartt. Absolutely fuck you. I deserve so much better than this.” 

Once the call ended, you threw your phone on the bed and allowed yourself to feel it all, the anger and melancholy washing over you like a wave crashing onto the coastline in a thunderstorm. Bum hitting the floor, you curled your knees to your chest and rested your forehead on them. Your entire body shook with tears, and it stayed that way for a solid hour before you stiffly stood and moved to your bed.

That was the last time you tried to get a hold of Jamie, though it was not the last time you thought of him. 

And as life moved on, you never ended up seeing him again.

Until now.

~

TAGS

@oncasette, @shiptheship, @ajkdjdnkekemfxj, @breepboopbap, @sssatorus, @jelleeyfish, @puckyou-forpuckssake, @ricciardhoe3, @buckybarnex, @loveslide, @hopefulromances, @sokkigarden

[dollwritess]

CHILDHOOD BESTIES

| Brock Purdy X Reader |

| Word Count: 406 |

| No warnings |

FEBRUARY 9TH 2024

BROCK AND Y/N had been inseparable since kindergarten until the day they were split. Brock was accepted into Iowa state (Ames, IA) while y/n went to Harvard (Cambridge, MA).

Y/N went to Harvard for four years to get her bachelor's degree in business. After coming home to her 4 bedroom house she decided to that she would go out and have fun tonight. She called one of her best friends Savannah (Samuel Womack III Wife/GF).

1 HOUR LATER

After spending almost an hour getting g ready Y/N was ready to get out and let loose. After talking to Savannah the whole ride there they finally made it and walked inside of the club. When Y/N walked in she felt a sudden feeling of relief. After making her way around the club for a few minutes she bumped into a familiar face. Nick (49ers #97 😍😍😘😻🥰😜😋😋) a few minutes after talking to Nick he invited her to come to LV to watch the 49ers play in the Super Bowl , she thought for a few minutes then finally said yes. The two went their separate ways and Y/N left the club with an exhausted Savannah.

FEBRUARY 11TH 2024 (Day of the Super Bowl)

Y/N woke up in her Las Vegas hotel room ecstatic. As soon as she woke up she decided to start getting ready for the day alongside one of her friends.

TIME SKIP (6:00) 30 Minutes before the SB starts.

Y/N met up with Savannah and a few other 49ers wives while walking towards the stadium. After getting seated she decided to watch a few of the players practice. While watching from her seat she noticed her old friend Brock on the field. A large smile appeared on her face. She admired Brock from the time the game started to the time it ended. An hour after the games was over she decided to wait outside of the stadium looking for her friend Nick while hoping to bump into Brock. As she was about to walk back to her car she was stopped by a tall figure. She turned slowly to be met with a 6"1 Brock Purdy. After standing in silence for at least 5 minutes she looked up, now face to face with the handsome quarterback. Without saying a word they embraced each other in a hug...

I hate this but it’s wtv ig😔😔😣

[loneberry]

September 11, 1973: On the 50th Anniversary of the Coup in Chile 

Today marks the 50th anniversary of the coup d’état in Chile, when a fascist junta led by dictator Augusto Pinochet overthrew the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende. For those of us who are on the left, the story should be familiar by now: Allende had charted a ‘Chilean way to socialism' ("La vía chilena al socialismo") quite distinct from the Soviet Union and communist China, a peaceful path to socialism that was fundamentally anti-authoritarian, combining worker power with respect for civil liberties, freedom of the press, and a principled commitment to democratic process. For leftists who had become disillusioned with the Soviet drift into authoritarianism, Chile was a bright spot on an otherwise gloomy Cold War map.

What happened in Chile was one of the darkest chapters in the history of US interventionism. In August 1970, Henry Kissinger, who was then Nixon’s national security adviser, commissioned a study on the consequences of a possible Allende victory in the upcoming Chilean presidential election. Kissinger, Nixon, and the CIA—all under the spell of Cold War derangement syndrome—determined the US should pursue a policy of blocking the ascent of Allende, lest a socialist Chile generate a “domino effect” in the region. 

When Allende won the presidency, the US did everything in their power to destroy his government: they meddled in Chilean elections, leveraged their control of the international financial system to destroy the economy of Chile (which they also did through an economic boycott), and sowed social chaos through sponsoring terrorism and a shutdown of the transportation sector, bringing the country to the brink of civil war. Particularly infuriating to the Americans was Allende’s nationalization of the copper mining industry, which was around 70% of Chile’s economy at the time and was controlled by US mining companies like Anaconda, Kennecott and the Cerro Corporation. When the CIA’s campaign of sabotage failed to destroy the socialist experiment in Chile, they resorted to assisting general Augusto Pinochet's plot to overthrow the democratically elected government. What followed was a gruesome campaign of repression against workers, leftists, poets, activists, students, and ordinary Chileans—stadiums were turned into concentration camps where supporters of Allende’s Popular Unity government were tortured and murdered. During Pinochet’s 17-year reign of terror, 3,200 people were executed and 40,000 people were detained, tortured, or disappeared, 1,469 of whom remain unaccounted for. Chile was then used as a laboratory for neoliberal economic policies, where the Chicago boys and their ilk tested out their terrible ideas on a population forced to live under a military dictatorship.

It shatters my heart, thinking about this history. I feel a personal attachment to Chile, not only because my partner is Chilean (his father left during the dictatorship), but because I’ve always considered Chile to be a world capital of poetry and anti-authoritarian leftism. The filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky asks, “In how many countries does a real poetic atmosphere exist? Without a doubt, ancient China was a land of poetry. But I think, in the 1950s in Chile, we lived poetically like in no other country in the world.” (Poetry left China long ago — oh how I wish I’d been around to witness the poetic flowering of the Tang era!) Chile has one of the greatest literary traditions of the twentieth century, producing such giants as Bolaño and Neruda, and more recently, Cecilia Vicuña and Raúl Zurita, among others. 

To commemorate the 50th anniversary of the coup, the Harvard Film Archive has been  screening Patricio Guzmán’s magisterial trilogy, The Battle of Chile, along with a program of Chilean cinema. I watched part I and II the last two nights and will watch part III tonight. It’s no secret that I am a huge fan of Guzmán’s work, and even quoted his beautiful film Nostalgia for the Light in the conclusion of my book Carceral Capitalism, when I wrote about the Chilean political prisoners who studied astronomy while incarcerated in the Atacama Desert. Bless Patricio Guzmán. This man has devoted his life and filmmaking career to the excavation of the Chilean soul. 

Parts I and II utterly destroyed me. I left the theater last night shaken to my core, my face covered in tears. 

The films are all the more remarkable when you consider it was made by a scrappy team of six people using film stock provided by the great documentarian Chris Marker. After the coup, four of the filmmakers were arrested. The footage was smuggled out of Chile and the exiled filmmakers completed the films in Cuba. Sadly, in 1974, the Pinochet regime disappeared cameraman Jorge Müller Silva, who is assumed dead. 

It’s one thing to know the macro-story of what happened in Chile and quite another to see the view from the ground: the footage of the upswell of support for radical transformation, the marches, the street battles, the internal debates on the left about how to stop the fascist creep, the descent into chaos, the face of the military officer as he aims his pistol at the Argentine cameraman Leonard Hendrickson during the failed putsch of June 1973 (an ominous prelude to the September coup), the audio recordings of Allende on the morning of September 11, the bombing of Palacio de La Moneda—the military is closing in. Allende is dead. The crumbling edifice of the presidential palace becomes the rubble of revolutionary dreams—the bombs, a dirge for what was never even given a chance to live.

[adamsvanrhijn]

blorbo question: blorbo and his boyfriend in a modern day american college situation. are they football fans or basketball fans? either? does John play one of those sports?

thank you for not making me sad!!!

reminder for people who don't live here that in this case the football looks like this

🏈🏈🏈

in one of the aus in my brain where they are in high school in the 50s ("this was not the question" shhh) john plays high school football, because it's the 50s. but the thing about established modern football is all the brain damage. which i don't like for him. i do not as yet have an au in my brain where he plays football in a modern au at any level college included. the only universe in my brain where john plays college football is at least a few of my many alternate canonical timelines... 1860s-1870s harvard football...!!

for whatever reason john is not screaming basketball at me. i feel like i don't associate john with jumping. actually that's a stupid thing to say because i have him as a baseball player plenty and that jumping works in my brain...

i do not think oscar enjoys Participating in either of these sports because he simply is at a physiological disadvantage.... the secret to not losing at sports is to only do sports you know you can win 😌💅 but in no universe i already have in my brain is oscar like an actual college athlete.

i DO however think teen young adult oscar thinks he can also win at football by being in a sexual relationship with a football player and i do think he could also apply this logic to basketball but basketball is like. less idealized. nobody* is writing songs and screenplays where you win by dating the basketball player you know?? the basketball player is not an aspirational trope. it is less impressive to turn a basketball player gay** than it is a football player.

* somebody almost certainly is.

** make him realize he actually has been so in love with you specifically all this time and was only making fun of you in front of his friends because he wants you soooo bad

i think john has had similar fantasies in his life but it's more like, the guy is already his friend and maybe he has realized through having a girlfriend that actually he does wish he still had time to spend with john, since he isn't doing that much anymore because now he has a girlfriend, and maybe even he actually prefers john to his girlfriend and just isn't ready to say it yet .............

ummmmm. in terms of like. being in College. and not in high school. and watching College sports. i don't think oscar has the patience for football for football's sake like there needs to be something else going on for this viewing experience to be fun... this is a Party thing... but he pays attention to who is winning and losing both during the game and during the season perhaps. whereas i think the act of Watching football is probably actually something cerebral enough for john to enjoy but he hates the vibes.... his ideal football watching experience is at home not being perceived maybe with like two other people he enjoys spending time with already and you don't have to deal with tailgate and/or stadium logistics.... and he is less concerned in terms of like a bigger picture state of American college football with who is winning or losing but gets invested in the individual game while he is watching it and wants his team to win. thinks about how team members must feel emotionally if they lose when the game really matters and feels sad for them. gets really upset about injuries. probably is worried about the brain damage which Oscar like. simply doesn't care about they're already playing football in the first place........ come on 🙄

i feel like John would try to support his college's women's basketball to be a good feminist ally. he could totally have a sister basketball player. Oscar unlikely to care about this / care about being perceived as caring about this but would maybe go in a group and in the right circumstances talk like he does. or he might not.

basketball is Not a big thing in my state to be honest so i am less familiar with the college politics but football i just cannot get away from so i am much more aware of what that is like.... very interested in basketball blorbo opinions if anyone has those for some reason.

[timmurleyart]

Boston calling throughout the years. 🟣💓❤️🎵🎶

[fishout-of-water]

I absolutely love how Mars University was designed in the show and was really excited to add onto it for the comic! Since I'm starting off the new chapter at the MU stadium, I of course needed to start designing it since I don't think we ever got to see that part of the campus.

I used Panatheniac stadium and Harvard's stadium as references for this pass.

I've hardly ever done concept art for settings before so this is a learning experience. If anyone wants to give suggestions, I'll gladly hear them.

[lboogie1906]

Norris Bumstead Herndon (July 15, 1897 - June 7, 1977) was the second president of the Atlanta Life Insurance Company, founded by his father, Alonzo Herndon. Alonzo Herndon took the seven-year-old to the founding meeting of the Niagara Movement, the precursor organization to the NAACP.

He was born in Atlanta. He was the son and only child of millionaire African American businessman Alonzo Franklin Herndon and Adrienne McNeil Herndon (born Elizabeth A. Stephens), a well-known actress and professor of dramatics and elocution at Atlanta University.

He graduated from Atlanta University and Harvard University’s Business School. He was one of the only two African Americans in his graduating class. He joined his father’s firm, first as a cashier, and then eventually as the company’s first VP.

After his father died in 1927, he was elected the second president of Atlanta Life Insurance Company. When he took the helm, company assets totaled just over $1 million, but through decades of cautious management and prudent investments including some significant acquisitions, Atlanta Life’s assets grew to $54 million. At the time of his retirement, Atlanta Life had grown to a company with assets of $84 million.

He gave generously to the UNCF, the local African American YMCA, Atlanta University, Morris Brown College, First Congregational Church, the NUL, the NAACP, as well as many other organizations. He donated the land on which Atlanta University’s Herndon Stadium sits, and the money to build the structure. He was a member of the Atlanta Chapter of the Grand Order of Odd Fellows and Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #alphaphialpha

[haggishlyhagging]

Radical feminism rejected both the politico position that socialist revolution would bring about women's liberation and the liberal feminist solution of integrating women into the public sphere. Radical feminists argued that women constituted a sex-class, that relations between women and men needed to be recast in political terms, and that gender rather than class was the primary contradiction. They criticized liberal feminists for pursuing "formal equality within a racist, class-stratified system," and for refusing to acknowledge that women's inequality in the public domain was related to their subordination in the family. Radical feminists articulated the earliest and most provocative critiques of the family, marriage, love, normative heterosexuality, and rape. They fought for safe, effective, accessible contraception; the repeal of all abortion laws; the creation of high-quality, community-controlled child-care centers; and an end to the media's objectification of women. They also developed consciousness-raising—the movement's most effective organizing tool. And in defying the cultural injunction against female self-assertion and subjectivity, radical feminists "dared to be bad." By 1970, there was such enormous interest in radical feminism that some have even argued it was on the verge of becoming a mass movement.

Radical feminists succeeded in pushing liberal feminists to the left and politicos toward feminism. By September 1969 Betty Friedan, founder of the liberal National Organization for Women (NOW), declared that "those people who think NOW is too activist may be less important in the future than the youth." While she criticized the younger women for failing to see that "the gut issues of this revolution involve employment and education and new social institutions and not sexual fantasy," she nonetheless urged NOW to "form a power bloc or alliance" with women's liberation groups "whose style, origins, structure and general ambience may be quite different from ours." NOW did move in this direction. On August 26, 1970, NOW joined with women's liberation groups to stage a national women's strike, the Women's Strike for Equality, and demanded twenty-four-hour child-care centers, abortion on demand, and equal employment and educational opportunities for women.

Similarly, many socialist-feminists, who in their earlier incarnation as "politicos" had repudiated radical feminism, began incorporating elements of radical feminism into their analysis. For instance, in May 1970, in the wake of the American invasion of Cambodia, a ten-woman delegation from Bread and Roses, a Boston-based "socialist women's liberation organization," delivered a speech at a National Student Strike rally at Harvard Stadium. Although the women from Bread and Roses did not entirely jettison the politico analysis, they did speak of male dominance as "the original and basic form of domination from which all others flow," and they did identify themselves as part of an "independent women's movement to destroy male supremacy."

But by the early '70s radical feminism began to flounder, and after 1975 it was eclipsed by cultural feminism—a tendency that grew out of radical feminism, but contravened much that was fundamental to it. With the rise of cultural feminism the movement turned its attention away from opposing male supremacy to creating a female counterculture—what Mary Daly termed "new space"—where "male" values would be exorcized and "female values nurtured." Although this woman-only space was envisioned as a kind of culture of active resistance, it often became instead, as Adrienne Rich has recently pointed out, "a place of emigration, an end in itself" where patriarchy was evaded rather than engaged. Concomitantly, the focus became one of personal rather than social transformation. Feminist activist and writer Meredith Tax recalls that as early as 1971 some feminists seemed to be defining their politics completely in terms of their lifestyle. Tax remembers women boasting, "we worked on our car all weekend," as though it were an act of great political significance. She “worried about what else was going to happen. This wasn't going to be the whole thing, was it?” But as the '70s wore on this was, if not the whole thing, then a large part of it. And by 1975 radical feminism virtually ceased to exist as a movement. Once radical feminism was superseded by cultural feminism, activism became largely the province of liberal feminists. According to Washington, D.C. women's liberationist Frances Chapman, radical feminism was "like a generator that got things going, cut out and left it to the larger reform engine which made a lot of mistakes."

-Alice Echols, Daring to Be Bad: Radical Feminism in America: 1967-75

[dertaglichedan]

Sen. John Fetterman dramatically whips off Harvard hood at Yeshiva University commencement: ‘Profoundly disappointed’

Sen. John Fetterman told Yeshiva University graduates Wednesday that he was “profoundly disappointed” in Harvard University’s inability to address antisemitism on campus before removing the ceremonial crimson academic hood representing his alma mater.

The Pennsylvania Democrat expressed his disapproval with the Ivy League school during his commencement address for the private Orthodox Jewish university, which bestowed him with its “Hero of Israel” award, the institution’s highest honor. 

“I have been profoundly disappointed [in] Harvard’s inability to stand up for the Jewish community after Oct. 7,” Fetterman, 54, told the new grads at Louis Armstrong Stadium in Queens. 

[dandthegods]

Working Class Gods

So I am fully aware that this will be so soaked through with bias and based on personal anecdotal “evidence” that it will start dripping down and staining the carpet. If you choose to engage with this, please remember that these are opinions, UPG, and completely pulled from my ass. 

This isn’t meant to be a “hot take”, merely an observation. I think the Gods (of any pagan belief but I’m talking about the Hellenic deities here) are more connected to and more present in the lives of working class and “middle class” people and have always been that way. Let me explain. 

This may just be my bias as someone who has only ever known a working class life, who doesn’t get caught up in the intensity of ritual and research, and has read American Gods about twenty times at this point, but I think the Gods as I know and see them are and always have been of the working classes of society. However you want to define that. I believe the Gods have a deeper and more organic relationship with pagans who identify and live lives at those sort of levels. I am not saying that those who would be considered “upper class” or those who could be categorized as “the 1%” in any given society can’t experience and connect with the Gods. I cant and won’t ever say that. Just the more it turns in my head and stews, the more I believe what I’ve said. 

The Gods are everywhere. They can be found literally anywhere if you look for them. They aren’t limited to the things humans create or the ways we’ve categorized ourselves and them. Aphrodite can just as easily be worshipped by a millionaire Instagram influencer as a teenager who works at Sephora as a job to help her parents pay the rent. Athena can be found walking the aisles of Harvard or Oxford just as much as being among the shelves of a small town bookmobile that is the closest that town has to a library for 100 miles. Dionysus can be found at the biggest and more glamorous galas and events just as well as being able to sit on the couch with a gay teen in Alabama who isn’t out to anyone but their best friend. Apollo can be on the stages of a sold out stadium show just as much as being in the furthest, cheapest back row seat. I could give examples for every Olympian and Titan with a name, but I’ll just leave it there. 

The stories we have are known to have originated as oral traditions. Oral stories told to people until someone wrote them down, and even then they still were told as bedtime stories or around a campfire. It was the populous, the working class, that told those stories most of the time. Sure, an emperor or a queen might tell their children stories sometimes, but a majority of what we have came from the continuous belief and propagation of stories by the farmers, smiths, fishermen and artists. And I think that’s the same as now. Anyone can become enthralled with the stories and mythologies retold, some across a book of retelling in any library. But I think it’s the kids who aren’t in the upper echelons of private school and trust funds are more prone to that discovery and for that to stick with them in a meaningful way. 

I’m lucky that my gods aren’t used by people in positions of power to control society. I’m lucky that my religion isn’t the dominant one and my gods names are being taken in vain to control others. I can’t speak for how the world was in the past when that WAS more likely the case, but for today I can say that I’m glad it isn’t. 

One thing that has always stuck with me about my favorite book, American Gods by Neil Gaiman is how the old gods are on the level of working class people. It has stuck with me into my own fiction writing as well as my beliefs. I do believe that if the Gods were to take physical form and function in today’s society (maybe they do, who knows. I’ve met people I could easily believe were Hephaestus or Hermes), they would take on a working class life and working blue collar jobs. I wouldn’t expect to see any of them taking high positions of power, being politicians or royalty. I would expect to run into them at the DMV, in line at the grocery store, or behind a cash register. I’d expect to see Apollo running a small Etsy shop, Hephaestus to work at a factory, Hermes to run a gas station or auto repair shop, Zeus to be a pilot, Poseidon to be a lifeguard or work at a community pool. 

I see the gods in the everyday. I see them in all the things of my life and connect with them in everything I do, not just when I’m at my altar. Seeing the spectacular in the mundane or the ordinary was how I was raised and how I still work today. The Gods are there in chipped nail polish, calm Sunday mornings, road trips in a cheap car, and in the lyrics of my favorite songs. I started thinking about this more as I was curating a small playlist on Spotify for what I call “My Hymns”. They are regular songs that I associate with the Gods. Some have some spiritual meaning intended for a different deity, and some are just match the ✨vibes✨of the Gods. I listen to that playlist as a devotional act, letting each song remind me of its own god or goddess, letting my singing along or quiet listening be like a hymn being belted out to the rafters of my own private temple. It just gets me thinking about my Gods and it makes me happy. 

I hope this all makes sense and I didn’t mince my words too much. 

Cheers

-D