#king of baggers

[ijustwant2ride]

9 Tips for Attending a Motorcycle Race

The motorcycle racing season is underway!  World Superbike, MotoGP, and here in the USA MotoAmerica and King of the Baggers.  If you have never been to a race this year might be the year you go to your first.

The motorcycle racing season is underway!  World Superbike, MotoGP, and here in the USA MotoAmerica and King of the Baggers.  If you have never been to a race this year might be the year you go to your first. Below are some commonsense tips to make sure you have a good time: Plan ahead: Check the race schedule and plan your trip accordingly. Make sure you have all the necessary tickets, passes,…

[theood]

Just saw a bad opinion on a job. You shouldn't NEED a """"""good"""""" job to fucking SURVIVE!!!!!! I don't care!!!! Any job someone can get, even if you think it's BASIC work that "doesn't deserve high pay" should be able to pay for that person to afford everything they need. Home, groceries, car and or transport, healthcare, insurances, etc. AND still offer a bit of money for fun or otherwise. Of course """"good"""" jobs should pay more, nobody wants to work a degree dependent job and earn $13.00 but the moment you start saying that "well maybe those minimum wage workers should take a look at reality" you're ignoring that SO many of those people CANNOT access higher education TO magically for sure definitely be offered a better job

[rowdybaggers]

Dragonfly

[gayboyrocklee]

I want. Crappy grocery store sushi so bad rn.

[saraw4ters]

[insanethrottlebikernews]

Vance & Hines will compete in the MotoAmerica's King of the Bagger series in 2023

Click the Banner and listen to Motorcycle Madhouse Morning Mayhem on Spotify Vance & Hines will compete in the MotoAmerica’s King of the Bagger series in 2023, returning with its experienced riders and a crew. Both team riders, James Rispoli and Hayden Gillim, have previously ridden for the Vance & Hines/Mission/Harley-Davidson Team. Rispoli returns to the team after a strong 2022 season aboard…

[maeofthenoldor]

As Tolkien often observed; “names often generate a story” and always nearly contributed or suggested something of the nature or personality of the character, thing or place that has been named. Yet the most intriguing name he has created in my opinion, is the main protagonist of “The Hobbit” Bilbo Baggins who is the hero of the classic tale, and despite being seen as such, his name holds interesting and contradicting connotations. For Baggins suggests harmless, humble and well- contented characters (though with criminal undertones!) Yet the name Bilbo suggests an individual who is sharp, intelligent and even dangerous….

The family name of Bilbo is  “Baggins” which derives from a double source-the English Somerset surname Bagg, which means “moneybag” or “wealthy.” The term “Baggins" itself means “afternoon tea or snack between meals” and at first is appropriate in describing our well off  hobbit. Initially he is presented as a mildly comic, home-loving, upper middle class “gentle hobbit” who seems harmless and composed enough, if given to some annoyance. He is mostly concerned with his mothers dishes, doilies, domestic comforts and food. However, once recruited by Thorin and his Company, we see the respectable gentle hobbit reveal his true colours- he is an excellent and highly skilled burglar.

Tolkien has maintained that his tales are often inspired by names and words from the real world, and indeed, in the jargon of the nineteenth-and early twentieth century criminal underworld there were a cluster of names around the term “bag” and forms of theft. “To bag” means to capture, to acquire, or to steal. “A baggage man” is an outlaw who carries off the loot and a “bagman” is the man who collects and distributes gold on the behalf of others by dishonest means or purposes.

His surname not only characterises himself, but also plots out the narrative for the story. For in the hobbit we discover Baggins is hired by Dwarves to bag the Arkenstone. He then becomes the baggage man who carries off the loot. When he realises Thorin has fallen under the gold sickness, he becomes the bagman and is dishonest to the newly crowned king, distributing the Arkenstone to Thrandruil and Bard. After the Battle Of The Five Armies he hands out the treasure to those who are rightfully in need of it, and thus ends him being the bagman.

Another aspect of Bilbo Baggins character can be revealed by the analysis of his first name. The word “Bilbo” entered the English language in the late sixteenth century as a name for a short and deadly piercing sword of the kind once made in the Spanish port city of Bilbao where the name derives from. This is an excellent description of Bilbo's elvish sword (often called a letter opener) named “Sting.” Found in the troll hoard, Bilbo's “bilbo” can pierce through any animal hide that would break any other sword. In The Hobbit however, it is the hero's sharp wit rather than his sword that gives Bilbo his sharpness. Bilbo's well-honed wits allow him to survive the journey and to trick monsters, a dragon  and to get himself out of bad situations. 

When we put these two names together as Bilbo Baggins, we fully understand the two aspects of his character, showing someone who is dangerously witty, but ultimately good and humble to a fault. If we want to dig deeper into how these names also affected the events of the Lord Of The Rings, one has to look no further than Frodo Baggins.

 Along with the Baggins family name, further “baggage” is passed on to Bilbo's nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins who in the context of the one ring is a link to another underworld occupation; the bagger or the bag thief. This bagger or bag thief has nothing to do with baggage, but is derived from the French word bauge, meaning “ring.” A bagger then, is a thief who specialises in stealing rings by seizing a victim's hand and stripping off its rings. It had common usage in Britain's criminal underworld between 1890 to 1940. The Baggins name holds the idea and plot for both The Hobbit and Lord Of The Rings. For Bilbo's skill as a burglar, one might say that in the perspective of outsiders, the Baggins baggers of Bag End, Bilbo and Frodo, are naturally born ring thieves.

[thousand-page-dreams]

Reflections

Written for @hatchetfield-bang!

Pairing(s): Grace / Max

Warnings: some brief descriptions of violence, some brief mentions of sexual content, descriptions of period and menstruation products, religious trauma, religious questioning, slut shaming, purity culture,death, grief

Posting this on mobile so I hope the formatting looks okay!

Summary: Grace reflects on her life and Max's death, and starts to question things.

An hour ago Jason slow danced with her to some song everyone knew except her. For all the time, she spent boycotting coed dances she didn't know what happened at them. The punch was watery. Magenta lighting failed to turn the gym into somewhere else. 

Wouldn't a non-coed dance be a gay dance? I have no problem with that, Ruth told her once in her nasally voice.

Grace didn't mind gym class. She was never the greatest athlete, but volleyball and badminton were fun. The swish of the ball and or the thwack of the racket made her competitive. She aggressively served the ball over the net, but it was in the Lord's name so it was okay. Nothing against her classmates, not at all. Though her pants and sweatshirts bogged her down in comparison to the other girls in their shorts. 

Other than some chapstick, Grace didn't bother with makeup since she didn't know how to use it. No one taught her. Girls still told her she looked pretty, finally seeing her as one of their kind.

A boy in line for the punch bowl looked a bit like Max - similar angular face and strong jaw. But his eyes were too kind, let a girl cut in front of him. Earlier, a boy who looked like Ritchie passed in front of her. The living took on the forms of ghosts.

"Everything okay?" Jason asked in her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

"Do you miss Max? Not that I knew him, or that I even liked him. Sheesh. Obviously not. But it's like there's a gaping hole," Grace said. 

Max's doppelganger faded into the crowd. Another sign he wasn't here - Max was the supernova they all orbited around. He'd be homecoming king if he was here, feared by all, though they never denied him anything.

 "Not really. Not that saying he deserved whatever happened to him, no one does - but life is better without him. I actually get time on the field. I miss Ritchie, though. Didn't really get a chance to get to know him until closer to the end. He was our mascot and we glossed over him most of the time. But after Max died, the team was cool with him. I told Ritchie to go to the locker room, and…I can't help blame himself for what happened. I replay that conversation in my head a lot," Jason said.

After Ruth's death, Grace said a brief prayer for her soul. She felt guilty that she didn't cry - she didn't know the girl. Ruth was too open about topics not to be acknowledged. 

Ritchie - a blank state to Grace. Despite being a fellow outcast, she never interacted with the other nerds much. 

"It's nor your fault, so don't blame yourself. I never got to see Max throw a touchdown - heard he was really good at that. Never went to a football game - too rowdy for me," Grace said.

She came up with the prank. The responsibility for Ruth, Ritchie and Max's deaths fell on her shoulders.  Wherever the two fallen nerds were, hopefully they forgave her. 

What was wrong with her that she only shed a tear for Max? 

They took pictures with Pete and Steph, her arm around Grace's waist. Stacy smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress. Grace danced the cupid shuffle, Brenda gently correcting her movements. Jason introduced her to his friends, they didn't call her two bagger once or even by her last name.

The photos printed instantly.

"Ruth should be here," Steph said. "At the end of the day, I think she just wanted to be seen. She begged telemarketers to stay on the phone with her. She said I was her best friend, and I just brushed her off. I guess I was nicer to her than most, but I didn't even tell her she was my friend. I could've offered to hang out with her, but I thought we'd have time after the murder investigation for all that. But…we didn't. In memorium.."

Steph drank from a silver flask. She passed it to Grace, who took a swig. The alcohol burned her throat, nothing like church wine, room temperature and watery.

"You're not so bad Chastity, oh I mean Grace," Brenda said, the next in line with her cheerleader friends. "Did you three want to join us?"

She was a part of the student body. Like in Corthinians, each part mattered, no football more important than a heart.

"I used to pick on you because I thought you were pretty," Jason said, his hand in hers on the walk home. Oak trees hugged the road. 

What the heck? Why couldn't he ask her out like a normal teenager? Not that she would have accepted, since her first love was Jesus Christ, but she liked easter lilies and Smarties, though she never ate the name brand ones only the no name kinds with bible verses on them. He could've tried to get to know her - though perhaps Max scared him off.

"I'd really like to make it up to you. Go out to dinner, or on a walk, whatever you'd like to do," Jason continued.

They kissed, a nice embrace though it didn't set her on fire like her first kiss did. Wait. This wasn't right. No, pleasure, attraction, that was only something for married couples. She didn't get to feel this way. 

Grace pulled the book out of the folds of her dress, maniacal laughter escaping her chest.

But Jason never pressured her, never questioned her former 

He wilted to the ground.. "Grace? Is everything alright? I know I wasn't the nicest to you…but I'm sorry, okay? If I did something…"

She laughed, a bitter sound escaping her. Like a fever, a strange energy filled her.

"I'm not human anymore. You can thank your good old buddy Max for that one!" Grace yelled. 

Jason looked at her like she was the devil.  

The book in her hand, all Grace had to do was read the passage.

The book was in an ancient text but she understood the language now. She read the first few lines and he ran. It didn't matter - she'd catch him, years of sports no match for her dark magic.

Only a few more words and his soul was hers. Only his body could run from her.

You asked him to kiss you.  It was gentle, he didn't ask for anything more. He's walking you home and hasn't asked to come inside. He's not a dirty dude.

Grace stopped a few lines from the bottom. Jason didn't deserve it. He wanted to be a better person, a positive role model on and off the field. Was she no better than Max, who at least targeted people responsible for his death?

Then why did he never come after me? I pretty much led the pack in hiding his body and covering up the crime. Perhaps his soul could have rested if he'd been properly buried, instead of left to rot in an abandoned house.  

Though if Grace hadn't taken charge, they'd all be behind bars.

She curled up among the roots of an oak tree. The moonlight seeped through the canopy.She wrapped her arms around her knees.  She killed three people already - Max directly, the other two indirectly.  She'd call Jason and apologize for her freakout. Another bout of religious fervor, most people thought she was a freak anyway.

Crickets sang a eulogy around her. Grace buried the book under a rock. 

But the magic thrumming her veins didn't subside. 

Grace didn't do the prank for them. She didn't do it because Max was a bully. In fact, he didn't pick on her, unlike everyone. Not that it bothered her much - Nazareth didn't accept Jesus either. To be divine was to be hated. Jason said he stood up for her once. 

Was she a God now? Though she certainly wasn't divine anymore. 

Her parents didn't hold hands until their wedding night. They rarely kissed in front of her. Sex was for procreation, not pleasure. Grace's peers didn't get that - with their coed dances, raunchy plays like Barbeque Monologues, and hallway make outs. 

One day junior year,  she was out on the quad protesting Seussical, the drama club's latest act of debauchery. Despite it being a warm autumn day, no one joined her. Max stopped to talk to her. He smiled, a rare gesture on his angular face,

Quarterback of the football team. She wasn't a sports person, but it wasn't a coed activity so that was nice. Nobody spoke kindly of him, even his teammates, but no one liked her either. They both repulsed people around them - though no one physically ran from her.

They chatted for a bit about why she was protesting.  The conversation drifted to religion. 

"I think this is my heaven. Nothing good is coming after high school. Fucking Clivesdale is going to beat us in the state championship, there goes my chance at going pro." Max said.

The sunlight made the oval leaves shimmer. They were gold, not dead yet, still safe in the tree branches.

Grace was sitting beside him in the grass, her sign crumbled. Should've used cardboard, far more durable. 

She didn't approve of his cussing, but she didn't bring it up. In time, he'd learn.

"Well, there is an actual Heaven after this life with our father. For the holy that is. If original sin hadn't happened, we'd all be there," Grace said.

It was hard to pay for the sin of two people, though Eve was more to blame. But if being holy was easy, it wouldn't be much of an accomplishment. 

"Hopefully he is a better father than mine."

Grace had seen his dad at church, a stern and gray haired man, a sallow woman next to him. 

Their legs were a few inches apart. A hole marked the knee of his knees, the flesh poking through as pale as a corpse. If she was weaker, she would've taken his hand.

Did Grace love her parents because they were good people, or because they were her family? In seventh grade, she thought she was possessed by a demon  due to the amount of blood pooling on her inner thighs.

It was Stephanie who explained to her what a period was and how to use a pad in the salmon girls restroom. They'd never been friends, but Steph was a kind instructor. But Grace didn't like the feeling of being out of the loop, uninformed to basic biology.

She demanded answers from her mom when she got home. 

"Well, Gracie, I figured this was coming. Let's not mention this to your dad. Men don't have this burden. It happens to  all women, as a side effect of Eve's sin. I'm sorry for not telling you, but I just always wanted you to stay my little girl. Is that so bad?"

"I'm still your little girl!"

Her mom ruffled her hair, but didn't answer. Stephanie said her mom talked to her about it ahead of time. Why did her mom leave her in the dark about her own body? Ignorance was a sin, too.

Max went out with Brenda, a popular cheerleader,  a few weeks later. One day, Grace passed his Jeep Rangler and saw him kissing her neck, like a vampire. He was not her disciple, or hers at all.

If she had sex with him, she wouldn't be the forbidden fruit. Her mom said premarital sex made girls crushed flowers, eventually all the petals fell off and no one married them. Like a shredded dollar bill - no value. If she had a brother, would he get the same lecture?

Not that Max could get married now. Though they'd done what married people did.

Before his first death, Grace hesitated and it wasn't only due to her faith. He wouldn't want her when he was done. He passed through girls too often, scattering a trail of broken hearts behind him. She'd be just like them, discarded. The whole school  would create more awful nicknames for her and ridicule her for not practicing what she preached.

He offered to carry her books. A sweet gesture, no physical contact, but she knew what it could lead to.  

But when they actually did the devil's tango, his touch and lips gently caressed her. She was never told that sex could feel good. It wasn't supposed to be about her.

He asked to cuddle afterwards  and she killed him a second time. It was for the good of the school and the universe. Which when you were in highschool, that was the same thing. A part of her wished she could've stayed a few minutes longer before the spell, to bask in his touch.

She didn't feel like a hero, despite Pete calling her that. No one else besides Steph knew.

But before he fell, he enjoyed the prank. It almost seemed like he wanted to befriend Ruth, Pete, and Richie. Perhaps they all could've gone out for coffee or burgers or bowling, whatever it is you do with friends. She'd never had any. Perhaps instead of a literal monster, zombie, star quarterback, or a bully he could've been a regular boy. A modern steel Pinocchio. 

Of course, he could have returned to his old ways once he came back to school the next day, his reputation on the line. He might have become worse, targeted her because she came up with the prank. Protect the remnants of his ego.

No one would ever know. He'd never grow up, never mature, like a beautiful statue.

I thought you all hated me, he said. It was a ludicrous statement - he made all their lives miserable. A part of Grace resented him in that moment; he was supposed to be like her, not needing to be close to anyone else.

Grace wished she could hate him; Steph didn't miss him and they used to be friends. He tormented Pete daily and that was before he was a zombie. Even his minions worshiped him out of fear. 

A few ago, she had left a bouquet of blue and yellow roses on his grave. White flowers were typically given to the dead,  but those were the colors of Clivesdale high. Best to give him his school colors.

I will pray for you when your body is gone.

No one else left flowers. Of course, he tormented most of the high school. But surely his parents would have come to leave a prayer at his grave? He couldn't have been born evil. Grace struggled with that part of original sin - that even babies were sinners.

Max said a passing comment about his dad, perhaps they weren't close.

Max Jägerman,  beloved son and football player, the text read on the simple headstone. He would have wanted something more flashy, dangerous.

If he was afraid of skeletons, how would he feel about a graveyard?

Without their star quarterback, the team won the state championship. She spent the day by his grave while the town was in Clivesdale. It felt like the world was empty.

Her powers didn't give her the power to raise the dead. She read the agreement thoroughly, her dad was a real estate agent and taught her to read contracts. They bonded over that. He read her the legalese at bedtime when she was little. She didn't like the uncertainty in Goodnight Moon (did the narrator wake up? Why was he saying goodnight to objects, was he alone? It felt kind of worshipful towards the moon, which was idolatry) and the three bears promoted stealing. Three Little Pigs led to discussions about shoddy construction from her father and declining property values.

The legalese put her to sleep. She used to ask her parents if her soul was safe. They would pray with her, but then she asked how many prayers would keep her safe. They didn't know the answer. When she was 10, they told her she could pray on her own. She waited a long time for God to speak back. She met demons before she ever met the Holy Father. 

Patience was a virtue for a reason. 

Was she human still? Did God still love her? If she was still mortal, at the end of her days, would she be turned away at the pearly gates?

Did the other kids always hate her? Steph said it was because her beliefs turned people away, but what if the rejection came first?

Jesus had enemies, but the disciples followed him until the end, when Peter denied him three times.  Who adored her? Steph and Pete put up with her because they had to, and her revenge plans were better. Ruth and Ritchie gone too soon to get to know them.

Max was the closest she had to a friend, and she killed him twice. Once by accident, the second on purpose. For a moment, after he fell through the boards, she was happy: her problem was resolved.

No more bats in her stomach (butterflies felt too weak to describe the sensation), no more dilemmas, no more yearning for his touch, no more vivid dreams.

The contract didn't allow for time travel either. 

Taking a detour, Grace passed the Waylon house on the way home. Cracks ruined the impressive Doric columns. Three of the front windows were broken. 

Yellow caution tape snaked around the porch. 

Until the floorboards crumbled, the day had been fun. Setting up the cameras, assigning tasks, giving everyone their cues, she was the director and the others were her subjects. 

The book waited on her bed, a dark square on the periwinkle sheets. Grace burned it with a match - the cover stayed pristine. She cut out the pages - they grew back. Ran it under hot water - the ink didn't bleed. (Do I bleed still?) The unholy book was indestructible. 

Go find Jason, finish the job. He'll turn on you anyway. Won't it be easy? Like spiking a volleyball, the pure release…

I'm not like Max! I don't want to hurt people. I just wanted to  save everyone's immortal souls - that's why I never shut up even though no one is listening. Though clearly no one is looking out for mine.  

Grace took off her homecoming dress - a thrift store find. The back reminded her of angel wings, now the lace sat deflated on the ground.

She researched the book - there was a cult a few hours and a stare away who worshiped a group of demons who sounded a lot like the ones they encountered. Grace could be their messiah, since she didn't belong in the church anymore. She met the demons, these people didn't. Perhaps one of them had - one of the paintings on the site looked similar to Wiggly, the other portraits pure fabrication. Some pictures looked like neon dolls.

All her life she'd followed rules. Perhaps she could make them - a quick demonstration of her powers, and they'd become instant disciples.

We see beyond, the website read. We welcome all with a passionate mind for the unknown and unexplained. 

Remnants of the Lords' powers were in her. Nibbly, whose human form dressed head to toe in pink. An innocent color for a demon who was eternally hungry. Wiggly, who drug Max to hell. Pokey, who had the ability to possess people - could she do that too? Tinky, the trickster Lord, the name of a secular kids toy she never owned. 

Grace flipped the pages, withered with age. She had read the entire Bible.  Her mom never wanted to answer her questions about Song of Solomon, or who all the names were in Chronicles. "Gracie, the Bible is the word of the Lord. But well..not all of it  is meant to be explained. His ways are higher than ours."

Perhaps neither of her parents had read the word of God in its entirety. 

Jason was at the coffee shop across town, the last business to close at night. A sensation in her veins located the hum of his soul. 

Come on, don't you want to see what it feels like? To be powerful, to be the one standing between life and death? No one can ever ignore you again. Not with the book. You can spread a new Gospel - you'll never have to deal with the dirty feelings Max gave you. Any dirty dude who looks at you will die. Wouldn't that be nice?

Those thoughts couldn't be hers. 

In the cloister of her canopy bed, Grace kneeled on the twin mattress.

I don't want to hurt Jason. God, if you're listening can you take the power away from me? Sure a group of demons put it in on me, and I agreed to it, but aren't you stronger tban all of them combined? I have spent my whole life spreading your word, even as the whole town scorned me. I'm sorry for everything I've done wrong - oh boy's that's  quiet the  tome these days! I want this power gone, or curse. I'll never have lustful thoughts about a boy that way again. Never be anything other than your loyal servant. So if you're listening, please help me. Please forgive me for what I might do. Take this burden off me.

And watch over Jason. Make sure he's safe in case…

Amen.

She made the sign of the cross and waited. Once again God didn't answer her. Though the laughter of the Lords in Black echoed from somewhere far away, or within her.

Grace rolled up clothes into her backpack. She packed a small bible in the front section. No need to pack the Unholy Book, it would find her.

She crept into the kitchen to grab some supplies for the trip.

"How was the dance, Gracie? I hope the music and dancing wasn't too provocative, but it's nice to see you doing out and about with friends," her mom said from the couch, not typically awake at this hour. She smiled up at Grace, strands of gray sneaking into her hair.

"Back when I was in kindergarten I used to pray to have friends, to be a part of the group. To get the joke. But then I decided I'm better than them. I have principles and morals. Not like it ever got me much. A night like tonight…it was a dream."

Dreams never lasted. 

"Perhaps your classmates are coming around. Senior year, a better sense of unity. You're practically grown up. It was never as hard for your father and I to fit in, of course the world was a different place, a lot more morals.

"Do you ever feel like God isn't listening to you?" Grace asked, slipping the bag of beef jerky into her pocket. Protein, nonperishable. 

"You can't say things like that Gracie. We'll go to Mass tomorrow. Maybe confession will do you some good, these aren't holy thoughts. Perhaps your peers are too much of an influence. That Steph girl wears ripped jeans, so much skin showing. I wouldn't let you out in something like that. Too many temptations these days, I suppose," Her mom said, turning back to her soap opera, the light from the screen casting over half of her face.

Grace pilfered the box of vanilla wafers. "Where's Dad? I wanted to say good night."

"Already went to bed, you were out later than we expected. Don't make a habit of it."

She wanted her dad to read to her contracts or housing advertisements, like when she was a kid, to feel her family's love one last time. Imagine herself in the world of other people's houses. Because her soul was not safe and never would be again.

On the shelf in the foyer, family pictures faced all visitors - usually her dad's clients or fellow church members. In a small frame, Grace's dad held her up to pick a Red Delicious apple, at the local orchard. 

I'll never let you fall.

Nothing could hurt her in her dad's arms, the whole world a few feet below.

Grace slipped the memento into her backpack.

Grace was leaving town, her hair straightened and an onyx color. She abandoned her pastels for an ambiguous gray hoodie and jeans. Her rosary was tucked behind the layers of clothing. She traced its outline through her pocket; it didn't burn her.

A burner flip phone was in her other  pocket.

"You can't go," Pete said before she boarded the bus. "Richie, Ruth…we only have each other. I can't handle losing someone else."

"You're an obnoxious pain in the ass, Chastity, but you're our holier than thou pain in the ass." Steph said.

Grace used to like her last name, the sound of it and the vow it meant. Now, it didn't fit. If she hadn't had to make a deal with a demon, would she have been happy?

If Steph or  Pete had her curse, how would they handle it? Steph's sacrifice was Pete, and likely vice versa, so they couldn't turn to each other. 

"Jason is going to tell everyone. A little crush wouldn't erase the fact I threatened to kill him. And intent is a big chunk of the law!" Grace said. 

"Look, we can help you. You're not Max, you're better than him," Pete said.

Steph's expression was unreadable, her mascara and eyelinerfaded.

Did she do anything besides for her eternal salvation? Was fear of damnation her only motivator? Too late now - already damned.

"Would you say I'm a nice person? Like someone you'd want to, I don't know, share a milkshake with. Or go ice skating."

"This isn't the fucking 1950s - and ice skating? Seriously? There's no rink here," Steph said.

"Fine, do an instagram dance together or take pictures with a Facebook filter. Whatever someone does with friends."

Grace wasn't allowed to use social media - only Zillow to look at houses to find comps for her father. It sounded like a good way to spread her ideas, but her parents were adamant. Perhaps it was the other way around - they didn't want her exposed to any other worldview but theirs. 

"Of course you're our friend, you're…smart. And persistent," Pete said.

He pressed his glasses up his nose, his nervous tick. 

"No, Pete, I love you but I can't do this. Grace you do realize you've protested like literally everything? And you fucking judge everyone, and you never stay quiet, you never know when to leave people alone. You made your personal beliefs everyone's business! God, when Ruth died? You said she was in hell! It's like you're the only person in the damn universe." Steph said, sparkly eyeshadow faint on her face.

A few hours ago, they posed like long time friends. They were bonded for life, but not because they liked her. How many times did Steph tell her to butt out?

"Who made the big sacrifice, huh? You couldn't do it. My last name is really fucking ironic now. It if wasn't for me, you two wouldn't even be together. Max would've scared Petey away, and you wouldn't have looked twice at him. I never get a single "gee thanks, Grace!" I saved all of you from your sorry lives," Grace snapped.

"I wouldn't have backed off…well okay probably. But Ritchie and Ruth would be alive. Surely we can get the curse off. There has to be a loophole, or a workaround," Pete said.

Was the curse running through her veins or was it her own desires? Where did the book end and Grace begin? Was there a difference?

"I'm going somewhere where I'll be worshiped."

Outside the bus it started to rain, the drops pounding against the metal exterior. A few rows ahead a silver haired lady snored, tranquil. 

Grace pressed the flip phone to her ear and dialed. 

This is the Chastities! Have a blessed day! Leave a message at the jingle. For real estate inquiries, contact 885-3455.

Her mom's voice, for the last time.

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to be your little girl forever. But I've sinned gravely. Pray for me okay? God won't listen to my prayers anymore.  Perhaps he never has because...nevermind. I love you. Just remember me as your little girl, please?"

Grace hung up and turned off the phone. She wedged it in the crook of her seat and rested her head on the window. 

Though her body was present, her soul was gone. 

[motocorsas]

in addition to this weekend's regular race events, COTA is also hosting two MotoAmerica King of the Baggers races, which will be available to watch live for free on the MotoGP youtube channel! here's the schedule and some information about the series.

KotB is a very popular class in the MotoAmerica system, mostly due to the pure novelty of watching "bagger" bikes modified for racing.

the Baggers class debuted in 2020 and currently runs two manufacturers: Harley Davidson, which equips one factory team and leases to three independent teams for a total of eight riders; and Indian Motorcycles, which equips one factory team and three independents for a total of five riders. the full thirteen-man grid will compete at COTA this weekend in a championship event, separate from usual MotoAmerica weekends. the event structure is slightly different compared to other classes: there are two full races and one "challenge" event that immediately follows qualifying. during the challenge, the six fastest riders from quali advance for a 3-lap sprint with a $5,000 prize.

though it's a quaint concept for a series, it's beloved by MotoAmerica fans and legitimately entertaining! the bikes hit top speeds of 185 mph and feature close and tense racing -- it is insane to watch a full 635lb harley pitch over in a corner and pass someone. i'd definitely recommend tuning in!

[ijustwant2ride]

Motorcycle News: GoPro and Daytona Motorcycle Racing

68 Riders trying to qualify for the Daytona 200 10 different motorcycle types running in the Super Hooligans Harley and Indians on the high bank GoPro is buying a Helmet brand.

What you need to know… This year’s Daytona 200 looks like it will be spectacular!            The MotoAmerica Mission Daytona 200 has 68 riders representing 5 manufacturers attempting to qualify for the big race. They are riding:                      Yamaha, Kawasaki, Suzuki, Ducati and Triumph            The Roland Sands Mission Super Hooligans have 35 riders on 10 different…

[abandoned-mars]

humanstuck names + more ! :]

john - ivan greenfield; korean/english; comic book store employee + shifty mom & pop restaurant waiter/support staff

rose - lavender buchanan; vietnamese/dominican?; sells custom clothes on depop + nsfw tumblr writer/artist

dave - dominic santiago; puerto rican/dominican; audio tech store employee + local club dj + aspiring rapper

jade - dahlia flores; pacific islander; unemployed, works for family farm

aradia - gabriella diamanté; japanese/mexican; texas road house type restaurant kitchen expo/dishwasher

tavros - antonio ‘tony’ noquez; spanish; works at dad’s animal shelter

sollux - niko park; korean; probably unemployed or sells nfts or some shit

karkat - donnie santos; black/colombian; mexican restaurant busboy + movie theatre employee

nepeta - june bernard; french/irish (white); dairy queen employee lol + volunteers @ pet shelter

kanaya - harper norris; african; sells custom clothes

terezi - quinn nephus; greek/italian (white); unemployed

vriska - viktoria ‘vikki’ huffman; russian (white); rue 21 cashier (is about to be fired)

equius - sterling rudd; black/native american?; training to be a mechanic at dad’s auto shop

gamzee - jordan scott; black/mixed; little caesar’s cook

eridan - cory reynolds; russian/scottish (white); unemployed

feferi - josephine galette; black/indian?; diner waitress + volunteers @ pet shelter

jane - janet greenfield; korean/english; pastry shop employee

roxy - macy buchanan; vietnamese/black; shitty dive bar bartender

dirk - diego santiago; puerto rican/dominican; burger king window worker/cook

jake - fletcher flores; pacific islander; texas roadhouse waiter + works on family farm

hal - alex santiago; puerto rican/dominican; thrift store cashier + furry tumblr artist

damara - anastasia ‘ana’ hoshi; japanese/mexican/filipino; hotel maid + fancy-ish restaurant waitress

rufioh - richard ‘richie’ noquez jr.; spanish; works at dad’s pet shelter + grocery store bagger

mituna - tatum ‘tate’ park; korean/welsh?; pizza delivery boy + aspiring twitch streamer

kankri - marcus santos; colombian/egyptian; diner waiter

meulin - lauren ‘laurie’ bernard; french/irish (white); coffee shop barista + tumblr writer/artist

porrim - elle norris; african; high end fashion store employee

latula - presley nephus; greek/italian (white); bowling alley attendant + dive bar bar back

aranea - leah huffman; white; restaurant hostess + interning at mom’s job

horuss - kade rudd; black/native american; dad’s auto shop mechanic + welder

kurloz - jesse scott; mixed; mexican restaurant dishwasher/cook + drug dealer

cronus - trent reynolds; white; works at dad’s company

meenah - natasha galette; black; new wave fashion store + aspiring hair braider

handmaid - hanna hoshi; japanese; house cleaner

summoner - richard ‘rich’ noquez sr.; spanish; owns the local pet shelter + personal trainer

psiioniic - jonathon park; korean; data entry manager + fixes computers for extra money

signless - derrick santos; colombian; preacher/missionary?

disciple - lizette bernard; irish; elementary school teacher

dolorosa - rosa norris; african; interior decorator?

redglare - monroe nephus; greek; lawyer

mindfang - marina huffman; russian; runs her own business (it’s a cover up for some illegal shit)

darkleer - darius rudd; native american, owns an auto shop + army weapons coordinator

ghb - grant scott; black; club bouncer

dualscar - dylan reynolds; russian; chief of surgery at hospital?

hic - cora galette; black; ceo of large cooperation (somewhat in cohorts with marina + dylan)

dad - david greenfield; white; 9-5 sales businessman

mom - lorelei buchanan; vietnamese; retired (used to be a scientist but found the cure to something and retired at like 35)

bro - drew santiago; dominican; club bouncer/dj/bartender + drug dealer + probably has an only fans

grandpa - jake flores; pacific islander; retired air force

calliope - caroline ‘callie’ umbridge; mixed; librarian assistant + stage manager at local theatre

caliborn - caleb umbridge; mixed; unemployed (reddit sub moderator)

i might go back and edit some of these bcus im not in love w all of them but i also don’t give a fuck abt most of them

[larsisfrommars]

Wild Wild Reviews

The Night of The Inferno

Overall Score:

Story: 3/5

Dame: 4/5

Villain: 2/5

Gadgets: 5/5

Disguises: 2.5/5

Bonus Points: Gay Subtext: 1/5

The Yikes Dated Factor: -3/-5

Score: 14.5/25 (58%)

Tier: D

Next Review

FULL REVIEW UNDER CUT

The Story

It’s a pretty straight forward plot that introduces most of the core elements of the show fairly well. We’ve got our inflable and courageous James West, our over the top villains, our femme fatale and our gadgets but it feels as though the story is missing a limb. That limb of course is Artemus Gordon. Yes Ross Martin is there playing counterpart to Robert Conrad but he doesn’t really seem like the Artie we know and love yet. He’s less intelligent marvels at inventions that given the later context of the show he could’ve (and probably did) build himself, and lets Jim do the detective work. His disguises aren’t a big focus, and he’s noticeably more of a coward than he is later on. Luckily they fix all this almost immediately but between this and the casual early 60s racism this episode suffers a bit.

The Dame

Our woman of the week is Suzanne Pleshette!

Most of us young’uns know her as the witch Yubaba from Spirited Away and/or Zira from Lion King 2. However she was a very accomplished TV actress before that! I think she does a fantastic job as Lydia Monteran!

She and Jim have history which is always a fun gimmick, and certainly way more fleshed out than the parade of other women in this series. She’s got her own illegal business and lots of personality, a classic femme fatale. She just doesn’t have a lot in the way of complex/personal motivations and doesn’t really affect the plot with her direct actions, which is why she isn’t a perfect score.

The Villain

Our villains of the week are Nehemiah Persoff and Victor Buono!

Now I don’t know Persoff from anything other than Papa from American Tail. His character bordered on caricature/hammy but I am honestly shocked to say that he was WAY more entertaining to watch than Victor Buono of all people?! He was very animated and had a lot of fun lines. Meanwhile Buono (who I know as the unhinged King Tut from Batman) was both chronically underutilized and the crux of the more dated and problematic aspects of this installation of the series. Generally though these villains lacked the camp and ridiculous plans/motivations that I love the series for. So I’d say they’re a little subpar overall

The Gadgets

The gadgets were PHENOMENAL in this episode. If it has a real saving grace it’s the gizmos, a cornerstone of what makes this show work. We get an introduction to The Wanderer, West’s notorious toolbox boot heels, and a really fun Chekhov’s Gun scenario with the self-defense measures built into the billiards table! Excellent visuals and gimmicks that will carry on throughout the series.

The Disguises

The disguises were… eh. Which makes sense for the pilot but also it’s a shame, considering just how much it becomes an integral part of Ross Martin’s multi-faceted performance as Artemus Gordon. We get him as some sorta grave robber/carpet bagger that seems to exclusively exist to be silly at Jim’s expense, and a brief appearance as a Mexican beggar. Only one really makes sense for the story and we see it for all of two seconds.

The Gay Subtext

(Don’t ship it? Skip it!)

So long as Artemus and Jim are in an episode together the Gay score will never be 0. That being said they haven’t established a rapport, or even Artemus as a solid character yet. So is absolutely bottom rung for subtext in a given episode to me. Artemus frets over Jim a little and musters up his courage in spooky environs but that’s about it.

The Yikes Dated Factor

I’m giving this a solid -3 because yes there are more sexist/racist episodes than this but there are also LESS racist/sexist episodes of this show than this one. The only reason this doesn’t get a worse score for the yellow face is because it was part of the villain’s ploy, so they technically didn’t have a white man playing a Chinese guy. It was a white guy pretending to be Mexican pretending to be Chinese, which is almost funny, almost. But then, we got a couple white guys playing Mexicans which (there are plenty of people in the Latine diaspora who are white.) still runs into caricature and colorism issues. The baddies are all foreigners sometimes pretending to be different foreigners with some casual orientalism. But hey! At least the Spanish wasn’t gibberish!

[quadcamscumbag]

It was about 10 years ago we built the Street Bully for the Harley Custom Kings contest(we took third olace nationally). I saw a picture of it in the shop this morning, and it got me thinking. Motorcycles are as diverse as the people that ride them. Men, women, gay, straight, all colors, it doesn't matter. You can see people's life influences in the machines they customize. Cholo'ed softails, race-spec sport bikes, stretched drag racers, performance baggers, touring rigs, small displacement cruisers, you name it....so many that speak volumes about the owner. It's a facet of society that is exclusive to motorcycling. The different disciplines also reflect some aspects of a person, motocross, street, cross-country, trials, drag, race, touring....all tell tales. It's just one of the things that keeps the passion there. You'll never see it "all" and if you think you have, you're dead wrong, haha.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield (1998)

At Thermopylae, a rocky mountain pass in northern Greece, the feared and admired Spartan soldiers stood three hundred strong. Theirs was a suicide mission, to hold the pass against the invading millions of the mighty Persian army.

Day after bloody day they withstood the terrible onslaught, buying time for the Greeks to rally their forces. Born into a cult of spiritual courage, physical endurance, and unmatched battle skill, the Spartans would be remembered for the greatest military stand in history–one that would not end until the rocks were awash with blood, leaving only one gravely injured Spartan squire to tell the tale….

- Steven Pressfield, Gates of Fire (1998)

This is one of my favourite books on war I’ve ever read. I took my dog-eared copy with me last year when I went with ex-military veterans friends to climb Olympus and hike around Greece. One of the places we stopped was Thermopylae - where you can still bathe in the hot springs as the ancient Spartans and Athenians did before their monumental battle with the Persians. The very recent death of the last king of Greece, King Constantine II of the Hellenes, made me think of my trip to Greece last year and of one of the books I read on that trip. I thought I might share some of my rambling thoughts I had written down at the time, and also since then, about the retelling of one historical turning point in our western civilisation that has now entered into myth.

In 1998 was the year Frank Miller’s iconic comic graphic novel 300 about the the Battle of Thermopylae – where a tiny Greek force led by 300 Spartans held out for three days against an immense Persian invasion in 480BC - was published to great critical acclaim. Zack Snyder highly stylised slick film version of Miller’s 300 defied audience and studio expectations when it stormed the box office with Spartan-like ferocity back in 2007. Its mix of ancient history, comic-book iconography and sound-bite dialogue immediately found its way into the verbal and visual lexicon of contemporary pop culture; but things could have been very different. In 1998 Miller’s publication overshadowed the publication of Steven Pressfield’s more conventional historical novel, Gates of Fire, took its name from the eponymous battlefield, Thermopylae (referred to in 300 as ‘the hot gates’).

Pressfield, an ex-Marine soldier, had worked as a screenwriter creating disposable action-movie scripts for the likes of Steven Seagal and Dolph Lundgren in the late 1980s and early 1990s before writing his first novel, The Legend of Bagger Vance, which was adapted into the Will Smith film of the same name. It too won critical acclaim and was a huge best seller. George Clooney’s film production company bought the rights and David Self (screenwriter of 13 Days and Road to Perdition) was brought in to adapt it. Bruce Willis was dying to be in it and iconic director Michael Mann signed on the direct it. Instead the film went into development hell before Snyder’s film stole a march on Mann’s version to come out first in 2007.

As a Classicist and ex-veteran I found Both Miller’s comic graphic novel and Snyder’s film a severe guilty pleasure. But I have to say I found reading Steven Pressfield’s brilliant novel deeply satisfying on many more levels.

The book I remember well as an American special forces chap I knew out in Afghanistan gave it to me to read because I was complaining I was fast running out of things to read between missions. I loved it.

Like a good officer I passed the book along to others in my corps - rank and file - and within a month or two it had been passed around a fair bit. It led to endless arguments about the Greeks and the Western way of war in and out of the cockpit with my brother/sister aviators and crew as well other officers and the men.

For the soldiers on the ground the book felt more visceral. As a fellow brother British infantry officer said the depictions of phalanx warfare raised his blood pressure at how well he and his men could relate. I never felt more Spartan than I did I sitting on my arse baking in the sun of Afghan red dust mornings. We all related to this story one way or another - the sand, sweat, blood, feelings of combat, and thoughts of mortality.

Most book reviewers loved the book. “Does for (Thermopylae) what Charles Frazier did for the Civil War in Cold Mountain’, enthused author Pat Conroy. The New York Times praised the book’s ‘feel of authenticity from beginning to end.’ Author Nelson DeMille  admired the ‘mastery, authority and psychological insight.’ Sarah Broadhurst, in The Bookseller, particularly wanted to recommend the book to women: “ Although it has a male feel to it, it will appeal to both sexes, as my two readers and I can testify. In fact, it is a great example of the rebirth of the historical novel, which I am sure is on its way.” Where people quibbled, it was usually about the violence of some of the descriptions, or on small errors of fact. The Times called it ‘a story of blood, biffing and bonking, thigh deep in blood, terror-piss and entrails’ but acknowledged that ‘their heroism still makes the hairs at the back of the neck bristle’. The Times Literary Supplement sniped at Pressfield for confusing two different Greek cities called Argos, and for what it called ‘phallocentric discourse’, but also called the book ‘a monument to the important twentieth-century art of pace.’

The novel stands out in the way it makes everything come alive from the soldiers' training, the scenes of actual battle, and most particularly the scenes after or between battles. The discussions of fear, and of how officers and soldiers should behave are particularly poignant and also felt very real to those of us who have experienced war first hand. What I found pleasantly surprising was how well written it was with its very strong portrayals of women as secondary characters. With nearly all military books women are often relegated to the background but here I found some of the strongest depictions of women in this genre. The women don't fight in the battles, yet are courageous and compassionate, intelligent and influential.

Many readers will be familiar with the broad strokes of the story of the battle. But it’s worth recapping here for those that don’t. In 480 BC, King Xerxes lead a Persian army of between one and two million into Greece. The Spartan King Leonidas lead 300 Knights and some 700 Thespaian allies to the narrow pass at Thermopylae, in order to hold the Persians back as long as possible. They proceeded to hold the pass for 7 days. These 300 Spartans died to a man defending the pass against a force of over a million and the epitaph provided to them by the poet Simonides, "Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here obedient to their laws we lie", is perhaps the most famous in history. Their example rallied and inspired all of Greece and eventually the Persians were defeated in the naval battle at Salamis and on land at Plataea.

The story is told from the point of view of its narrator Xeones of Astakos, a helot, a slave of the Spartans, and has his own conflicted feelings about Spartan society. He is taken, wounded, before Xerxes, and asked to explain “who were these foemen, who had taken with them to the house of the dead ten or, as some reports said, as many as twenty for every one of their own fallen?” In Xeones’ own words, therefore, we get the story of his life; from when his own city is destroyed, to when he comes to Sparta as a slave, to the time when he finally comes to stand beside the Spartiate in the fateful battle. As the sole survivor among the Spartans, Xerxes wishes Xeones to tell his story to the Persian court historian Gobartes. Xeones starts with the tale of how he came to Sparta. As a youth, his village of Astakos is destroyed and his family slaughtered, but he and the cousin he loves, Diomache, escape. As they wander the countryside, Diomache is raped by soldiers and Xeones is crucified after stealing a chicken, although Diomache saves him from death. Thrown into despair, because his hands are so damaged that he can never wield a sword, Xeones heads off by himself to die. But he experiences a visitation from the Archer god Apollo Far Striker and realizes he can still wield a bow. When Diomache, who is also distraught after being violated by the soldiers, takes off, Xeones heads to Sparta where he hopes to join the army.

The middle section of the book, which is at a much slower pace, deals with his life in Sparta and the training techniques used by the Spartans to create what was one of the most formidable fighting forces the world has ever seen. Eventually he becomes the squire of one of the 300 knights who are chosen for Thermopylae.

The final section, on the battle itself, depicts wholesale slaughter accompanied by acts of ineffable courage. It also relates two of the great lines of all time. When Xerxes offers to spare the Spartans lives if they will surrender their arms, Leonidas is reputed to have snarled, "come and get them." And upon being told that the Persians have so many bowmen that the cloud of arrows would blot out the sun, one of the Spartans says, "good, then we'll have our battle in the shade."

Pressfield being an ex-Marine grunt himself gives a very convincing grunt’s-eye-view of the battle and of Spartan society to create a fantastically blood pumping engaging tale. Pressfield sets himself the task of explaining Spartan culture to us in all its glory, humour, brutality and philosophy. To do so, he draws on his personal experience as a US infantryman, as well being strongly versed in Classics. The result is a fascinating tale, on one level a war story written with great pace and excitement, on another a ruminative tale of man’s capacity for honour, heroism, and self-sacrifice.

As a Classicist (since confirmed by Pressfield in many interviews) he makes excellent use of the ancient historical sources (such as they are). The most useful sources seem to be Herodotus first, his pages about the battle.  Plutarch’s Lives of various Spartans — Lycurgus, Agesilaus, Lysander, etc - can be discerned strongly as the section of his Moralia called Sayings of the Spartans and Sayings of the Spartan Women.  Xenophon of course was the best contemporaneous eyewitness to real Spartan society. Constitution of the Lacedaemonians, the Cyropaedia and even the Anabasis greatly help Pressfield pepper history with authentic detail.  Diodorus’ version of the battle added the thought of the night raid (which The 300 Spartans also had) and Pressfield takes that from him.  Pressfield has said that he didn’t consult recent archaeology, other than going to Sparta myself and checking out the ruins of Artemis, Orthia and so forth.

But still huge gaps remained. This is where Pressfield the ex-Marine and the well educated novelist come together. There was much detail that he needed to consciously to make up and make it sound plausible and even true. For instance, the concept of phobologia, the Science of Fear. That’s completely invented, yet Pressfield, as a Marine veteran, absolutely felt certain the Spartans, like every other warrior race, must have had something like that, a religious-philosophical doctrine of warfare understanding the principles of their culture, probably a sort of cult-like initiatory situation.  

Pressfield in one interview admitted that the speech that Alexandros recites holding his shield —  “This is my shield, I bear it before me into battle, etc.” — was a fictional invention based upon his own experience in the US Marine Corps, where Marines recite, “This is my rifle. There are many other like it, but this one is mine, etc.” Another huge fictional detail that he made central to the story was the prominence of the squire in hoplite battle.  Again he based this on pure instinct and common sense.  He thought the relationship must be much like that of a professional golfer to his caddie.  Pressfield firms believes that the bonds formed between man and batman in the course of bloody warfare must have been intimate on a level second only to husband and wife, and maybe more intimate.  The ancient sources make nothing of this, because they just passed it over as obvious, but I fully agree with Pressman. It’s an inspired insight. The fact that squires and armour bearers voluntarily stayed to die at Thermopylae says volumes.  (Also a squire was the perfect fly-on-the-wall narrator, like Midshipman Byam in Mutiny on the Bounty.)  Further I could not imagine that squires would stand idly by, watching their men fight.  They must have served as auxiliaries, not only dashing in and out of the field evacuating the wounded, but getting in their blows as light infantrymen whenever they could.  I suspect that, as prominent as Pressfield made their roles in Gates, if we could beam ourselves back and witness actual ancient battle, the part of the squire/auxiliary was even bigger than one might imagine.

The book then is not merely about the immortal stand at Thermopylae but delves into the Spartan lifestyle, how they achieved such military cohesion, how they viewed themselves and the world, what made them willing to march off to a suicide mission — it’s one thing to find oneself in such a situation, it’s quite another to jockey to be chosen for it, to know days ahead of time that this is it, you’re heading to your death and to do it unflinchingly. It’s about what binds men together in a group — what makes them willing to die for others. I think Dienekes’ thoughtful analysis of fear and how the opposite of fear isn’t bravery but love, tells it all. Love of a messmate, a family, a city.

Indeed as Pressfield shows the spartans would carry their shields on the left side of their body which allowed them to cover the blind spot of the warrior fighting next to them. Commanders would arrange it so that family members and friends were placed next to each other within the formation. The belief was that warriors would be less likely to abandon their comrades if they were fighting next to someone they deeply cared about. Love conquers fear.

Now the story isn’t perfect, there are some pacing issues when the plot seems to go extra slow, and there are time jumps that can feel a bit awkward. Some periods of our main protagonist’s life, that would be interesting, are just skipped.

In my opinion, the book balances fiction and facts quite nicely, not making the Spartans some over the top super heroes, like the movie “300” did.

The thing that I liked the most is the whole theme of the book: honour, the duty to your city and people, and the strength of the mind. The Spartans didn’t see war as a fun way of killing people, it was an inevitable fact of life. They didn’t kill fear, they learned to embrace it, keep it locked until the very last moment.

Now it’s a bit harder to judge characters in a book like this because some of them are based on real people and some of them are fictional. But what I will say is that these people feel real, grounded to the situation they are in.

I was very taken by the portrayal of Leonidas, the Spartan king who commanded at Thermopylae. One of the most stirring speeches in the book is addressed to Xerxes, the King of Persia, and contrasts Xerxes with Leonidas: "I will tell His Majesty what a king is. A king does not abide within his tent while his men bleed and die upon the field. A king does not dine while his men go hungry, nor sleep when they stand at watch upon the wall. A king does not command his men's loyalty through fear nor purchase it with gold; he earns their love by the sweat of his back and the pains he endures for their sake….”

I also appreciated the inclusion of the women of Sparta — no shirkers themselves. They would be the first ones out shaming the men into doing their duty for their city (and that’s what it was all about for these people — the survival of the city first) if that was what was needed. I have to say I shed a tear when Leonidas confessed his criteria for selection of the 300. So much is said about Spartan men but the women kicked ass in a time and place where women were almost never seen and certainly never heard from. The first female Olympic champion was a Spartan princess called Kynisca, in 392 BC. She was also the first woman to become a champion horse trainer when her horses and chariot competed and won in the Ancient Olympic Games. Twice.

Arete is in some ways the most powerful character in the book. She is very well written.  She just popped forth, full-grown from the brow of Zeus.  I liked her a lot.  Whether or not Sparta was a “good” place for women I can’t say.  Certainly it would be fascinating as hell to beam back there and see, for real, how they lived and what they were like.  It seems likely Pressfield drew inspiration of Arete from Plutarch’s Sayings of the Spartan Women. These, if you’ve ever read them, are unbelievably hard-core.  For example, here’s one: A messenger returns from a battle to inform a Spartan mother (Plutarch gives her name but I’ve forgotten it) that all five of her sons have just perished honourably fighting the enemy.  She asks this only: “Were we victorious?” The courier replies yes.  “Then I am happy,” says the mother and turns for home. Here’s another: A messenger returns from another battle to tell another mother that one of her sons has been killed, facing the enemy.  “He is my son,” she says.  Her other son, the messenger continues, is still alive but ran from the enemy. “He is not my son,” she replies. Pressfield doesn’t see Arete quite that hard-core but certainly someone tough as nails who imbibed the Spartan mythos even more than the men and lived it.  Pressfield admits in one of his interviews that this was all instinct, he could be wrong, but itt just was what felt right to him.

Before I had gone through Sandhurst after university I didn’t really condone crude language or lewd humour but it’s one of the ways that my stint in the army and especially out on a battlefield deployment changed me a little. I confess that I loved the sometimes crude humour - they’re soldiers in a time of war and you do or say whatever will get you through. Battle (especially foxhole) humour has a dark gallows feel and it’s entirely acceptable and authentic - just ask any veteran of any war. The battle descriptions are graphic - very graphic but not much worse than what’s in the Iliad. And we are talking about a battle in which thousands died by sword, spear, arrow and other various messy methods.

I also enjoyed how the book has a pleasing prose aesthetic that imitates the style of Homer. For the non-Classicist it may take a little bit of getting used to and slow down their reading but it sounds melodious to the ear.

Overall Pressman gives us a pulsating story in which the characters are not either super evil villains that cartoonishly want to “take over the world” or superheroes that can’t make mistakes. The author doesn’t take a side in this story, war is war, and people are people. They make mistakes, get angry or jealous, they do bad things in the name of good and vice versa. The book is not about good and evil, it’s about how different people and cultures understand the order, stability, good and even our minds and dreams. The enemies here aren’t some sort of Oriental magic freaks from far away lands, they are just men made in flesh and blood. Sure wanting to control more land or have more people serving them, but that’s everyone I know in the history of rise and fall of civilisations.

Was the Spartan defence of the Hot Gates worth it?  

Clearly, yes. Cultures, if not civilisations, are nearly always rubbing up against each other and even clashing where they can’t bridge differences. I think Pressfield has it right when he said, “What the defence meant to me was this: its significance was metaphorical rather than literal.  We are all in a battle that will end with our deaths and, like the Spartans at Thermopylae, we know it.  The question is how do we deal with it.  They answered by being true to their calling, to their brothers and sisters, and to their ideals.  Early in the book there’s a passage where the Persian historian is narrating; he’s speaking of King Xerxes and his interest in the fallen Spartans.  Xerxes says of them: “He knew they feared death, as all men.  By what philosophy did their minds embrace it?”

In two of my favourite passages, Pressfield has his protagonist explain why sacrifice is so beautiful to the Greeks (or to anyone who has honour), "In one way only have the gods permitted mortals to surpass them. Man may give that which the gods cannot, all he possesses, his life”. This is a very profoundly moving insight.

Pressfield goes further and tries to answer a much deeper question as to why men fight and perhaps this is where it’s the ex-Marine and not the novelist in Pressfield who is talking, "Forget country. Forget king. Forget wife and children and freedom. Forget every concept, however noble, that you imagine you fight for here today. Act for this alone: for the man who stands at your shoulder."

Amen to that.

At the end of the book, I would have probably stranded there fighting side by side with them against the Persians. Because at that point, they were my friends, comrades, and heroes. It was when I put the book down that I realised that I already had the humble privilege of serving with my fellow brother and sister officers and soldiers of whom all were comrades, many were friends, and a few were unspoken heroes.

Does the battle of Thermopylae provide any lessons to us?

That is harder to discern because it depends on what values we already hold dear. Sparta was a small, compact, basically tribal society where every citizen (forgetting about the helots for the time being) was vitally needed and where warfare was hand-to-hand and absolutely communal, with your own brothers, uncles, father and friends fighting beside you, so if you acted the coward, there was no hiding it.  The modern world of anonymity, mass culture, commercialism, shamelessness, indulgence of sensual desires, worship of money couldn’t be farther.  The Spartan society is like a culture from the moon.

On an individual and interior basis, I think, can we take lessons that might help us.  Self-discipline, loyalty, grit, hard work, perseverance, honour, humility, respect, and compassion.  

On a societal level Spartans were not selfish and didn’t worship the cult of individualism as we do today. It was all about the group. In our age when civil strife, economic hardship, and effects of a unrelenting pandemic erode our trust in our political and civil institutions and set neighbour against neighbour because of the political or religious beliefs they might hold, the only thing we have left to fall back on is just our individual selves. It’s every man for himself. The Spartans would balk at such selfish individualism. The strength (and ultimately the effectiveness) of the Spartan phalanx was encapsulated in the “next man up” approach. If a warrior was injured or killed on the outer edge of the formation, the next man behind them would step up and take their place. The integrity of the group’s formation was protected at all costs, because without the strength of the phalanx to protect them, each man on had little chance of surviving the battle on his own. In a real sense, they had each other’s backs. They had the cohesion of a collective spirit. They were in it for each other together.

It’s not a bad thing in this day and age to be a little bit “spartan,” don’t you think?

[beardedmrbean]

Well at least everyone from different races are shitting on the society of magical negroes trailer. Also it was white people who caused the most damage to black people. Yeah it was white people who abused the living shit out of Tyler Perry as a child and also molested and raped him several times growing up.

Wait his main abuser was his father, he was raped by a friend mom, sucked by a male family friend, etc.

All of whom seem to be black, hence why most of his early career is him becoming coping with his trauma.

You don’t put subplots of domestic violence, CSA, and SA in your films constantly unless you been through it or seen it. You just fucking don’t

Sorry for the heavy subject, I just want to use a prolific black creator on who causing the most trouble to black people.

Also if they can do magic, why no use healing magic to heal crackheads, oh a lot of kids who got shot thanks to gun violence would love that. Oh what about resurrecting LB Johnson and Regan for the damage they did to our community too? The Kennedys can beat up Johnson after black people are done.

Ugh it feel like modern black Hollywood is made by people who didn’t picked up the middle fingers boondocks were giving them

Also when was the last time we had a magical negro? Some say Morgan Freeman roles…but he old as hell so he prefer less active roles.

I mean I seen the rise of magical black bitch boys like what nick fury became after captain marvel join the MCU.

>Also it was white people who caused the most damage to black people.

like I said I don't want to bring statistics into things too much here, if we were to look up the #1 killer of black Americans, non natural death edition, it ain't gonna be white people.

Haven't seen a lot of movies recently so I couldn't toss out someone who would qualify for that title in the last decade or so off the top of my head, Will Smith in "The Legend of Bagger Vance" is quoted as one a lot, someone tried to convince me that Morgan Freeman was one in "Shawshank Redemption" problem with that one book has the character of Red listed as a white Irishman, my theory Freeman got the role because there's not many others out there folks would like to hear narrating it.

Also don't know about any of that Tyler Perry stuff, but I'll take your word for all of that.

I'm mostly glad to hear that there's people of all stripes calling this out, it's nice to know that's finally happeing.

Got the hat trick of the woman king, Cleopatra, and now this Hannibal thing all of which are serving up a good deal of schadenfreude for those of us who have been trying to point out the wild hypocrisy of ahistorical, faux history nonsense for years now.

The only real question is will it wind up making a difference.

[djpain619]

Wip Thursday

Nothing painted, yet

Heres my new lineup for Priming and Painting

First up is my Aquillacan Carabineers Rough Riders. Just the Riders for now. They're first up.

Then I got some kitbashed Dwarf Rangers for Boris Bagger to lead.

Last up we have Zerlina 'Gargantbreaker' Totenkopf and her body doubles. Her Husband is still in the box. Im waiting on getting the Wargames Atlantic Conquistadors so I can kitbash a Zweihander into his hand. Her main Model is equipped with Iron fists, the one with a sword is for when she's equipped with a simple Hand weapon. The one without Legs will eventually get mounted on a Stonehorn.

Last up I wanted to spotlight the Trophy rack I made for her. I'm actually really proud of it I used various bits I had on hand, and even ordered some Chaos Warrior heads off etsy. The frame is made from some empty sprue i had on hand.

I was thinking the bird head is a Tomb Kings Carrion, the Helmet w/Laurals is a Border Prince's Crown, the Elf head is a Dark Elf Dreadknight, the Dwarf head is a Chaos Dwarf. The Chaos Warriors are Aspiring Champions, the two non Chaos helmeted heads are actually Blood Bowl Ghouls, so I'm going to call them Crypt Ghasts, For the Ork heads, one is a Savage Orc Big Boss and the othe is a Black Orc Big Boss. The Book is a Necromancer's Necronomicon. And the Chaos Warriors Banner topper is from the same Warband as the aspiring champions.

I plan to get a magnetization kit eventually and magnetize it to her back.