#olympia beer

[mypastnow]

[hellyeahgeorgekennedy]

George Kennedy, Jeff Bridges, and Clint Eastwood on a lobby card for Thunderbolt And Lightfoot (1974)

[beeradvertisements]

Welcome Guests by Paul Malon Via Flickr: 1940's.

[jarretedeboire]

Olympia Beer, 1964.

[nemospecific]

It's the water!

[ourladyofomega]

Promotional poster for The Olympia Brewing Company's Olympia Beer.

[taxi-davis]

[temp-check]

Friday's temperature check (procès-verbaux of 4-12)

Who remembers former Secretary of Education, Betsy DeVos.  She famously said at her Senate confirmation hearing that guns are necessary in schools to protect against grizzly bears.  Well, what about mountain lions?  In the small town of Moses Lake, Washington, an ordinary day at Groff Elementary School took a surprising turn. The routine morning transformed into a scene of mild terror as reports of a mountain lion sighting near the school grounds emerged.  The sighting of a mountain lion, was taken seriously, given the setting in the Pacific Northwest, a region familiar with wildlife encounters. So, short on guns, but long on safety protocols, the school was promptly placed on lockdown. However, as the situation unfolded, the true nature of the ‘threat’ revealed itself. The mountain lion turned out to be a fat cat eating a rat.  Of course, you probably wouldn’t want mountain lions, rats, or even fat feral cats running around among kindergarteners, as tasty as they might be.  This is not the only case of Washingtonians and mistaken identity. Well, that goes without saying and we know the reason.  Washington’s famous Olympia Beer’s coined this slogan in 1902, "It's the Water".  Then last week, the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO) investigated a sighting of the eponymous cryptid near Ground Mound in Washington.  

The sighting, by a group of motorcyclists passing through South Thurston County, spotted a figure running on a ridge half a mile ahead of them.  According to the report given to the BFRO, “It was very large and human-shaped. It was one color, tan/brown, moving across very rugged terrain, making a beeline for the tree line.”  The group watched the figure run for 30 seconds before it left their vision.  “It moved so fluently with little arm movement, unlike a human running,” the motorcyclist said. “It easily was 10 feet tall for us to be able to see it from so far away.” 

And they were half right. It was a high school cross-country athlete using his running app which confirmed he was the Bigfoot in question, and he promised to stop going for runs in his gorilla suit and stilts.  While Washington State tops the nation in what the BFRO deems “credible” bigfoot sightings, with 708, the student-runner says he has never seen the mythical creature while running.  Hopefully, he didn’t hydrate with that kooky Washington water.  He could go for Hamm’s beer, it’s from the “land of sky-blue waters”.  However, drinking Hamm’s leads to mistaken sightings of another mythical creature, a victorious Chicago Bear.

Stay safe!

Tom

[naivesilver]

Pierrot for 57 maybe?

Baby Oscar Janeway 💗 beloved

Spotify wrapped game: send me a number from 1-100, optionally with a ship or character, for a moodboard based on the song it corresponds to!

57. LA DOLCE VITA - Fedez, Tananai, Mara Sattei

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price takes Nikolai to a gig and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: sexual content towards the end.

Price stood on the outskirts in the standing area of Liverpool's Olympia stadium tracing back the decisions that had led him to this moment. He clutched half a pint of the worst lager he had ever tasted in one hand, his fingers bending the plastic inwards under a tense grip, while the other hand remained deep in the pocket of his jeans, turning his flat keys over and over.

Nik had thrown the flyer down on his desk about a month ago, and those big brown eyes had been turned onto their pleading setting immediately. Laswell likened them to the eyes of her barrel-shaped black Labrador; big, loyal, soft, irresistible. Price had asked her whether her wife knew there would soon be a third in their marriage and she'd thumped his arm hard enough to leave a mark. "Liverpool, this is where you live," Nik had said, stating rather than asking. "Can you help me book this?"

Nikolai could fix you a handgun in Liverpool no problem, replete with silencer and enough hollow point ammunition to create a very bad night for the Merseyside police force, but booking and attending a gig was apparently too much. Price had snagged up the flyer, squinted at the band name as if he had a chance in hell of recognising it, and then agreed.

Because why the fuck not? Brass were pressuring him to book some leave so they could tick the 'monitoring mental health and well being' box on his performance management, so it was as good excuse as any. You can kip on my sofa, he'd said, I can cook a better sarnie than the Premier Inn.

Nik's entire face had lit up. "Good! And you can come with me," a single beat of breath, "or I might get lost." There has been no time to argue the point because Garrick had knocked and entered, only to be scooped into a hug with a boomed, "Gaz, my brother, good to see you!" and the Russian-shaped whirlwind had disappeared.

So Price had done just that. He'd booked two tickets at the same time as his annual leave - three days should get them off his back - and put it out of his mind.

Not that there would have been much time to mull it over; they shipped out on a week long recon mission the following day, and the fallout that followed had taken up the rest of the time. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the train with Nik opposite, watching the British countryside sprint by in a blur of green and grey, drinking a beer and playing cards.

Being around Nik was easy. It wasn't just that he didn't take up energy to entertain, or require a certain mask from Price, it was more than that. Like he slotted into a part of Price's psyche built precisely for him, and Price felt happier when he was there. Laswell said it was like Nik removed the stick from Price's arse as part of his exfil service and Price had told Laswell to fuck off.

They had spent the afternoon mooching around Price's gaff. Not much to see really, but Nik had been fascinated by the dusty family photos on Price's wall and asked after every face; mother, father, sister, two nieces, a nephew, grandparents. He'd wanted to know about them all.

Then, with an hour and a half to go before Olympia's doors opened, they'd got changed for the evening. Price had thrown on the only shirt he owned that didn't come from the bargain bin of a Mountain Warehouse or the Army Surplus catalogue - a Ralph Lauren his sister has bought him one Christmas instead of the much preferred fishing-themed memorabilia - and stepped out to be confronted by Nik in a Slayer cut off tank that showed off the sides of his torso in a way that made Price feel hot under his designer collar.

"You look," Nik had said, studying Price carefully, head tilting to the side with a wry little smirk, "ill-prepared."

"And you look like Ozzy Osbourne took some steroids so I reckon it evens out." Nik had laughed at that and thumped Price's chest, and in the next moment they were sitting in the back of a taxi, Nik talking through the set list with the same excited gusto he did when pawing over a new bird in the hanger. Price was just glad he had remembered his Loop earplugs and couldn't help but smile along at Nik's excitement.

After drinking together through the support band and watching Nik grow gradually more and more restless, Price had sent him into the pit. He stood watching Nik from afar - "your shirt is too nice, captain, you stay here and finish your beer, I'll be back," - a man ten years his senior, orchestrate what the lead singer was calling a Wall of Death. More, more, further. Don't be a pussy! And then they sprinted at each other to the crescendo of a shredding guitar. Jesus fucking christ. Price lifted his lager to drink and then hesitated; he was pretty sure he'd felt something wet slosh over his face and shoulders, into his drink, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't piss, so he put his inordinately expensive and shit lager down on the nearby bar.

The last gig he had been to was at fifteen, a year before he joined the service. 3rd November 2000 at Wembley in London; the Smashing Pumpkins. He remembered it so clearly because of the hiding his father had given him for not only hitchhiking his way to London, but stumbling home off his head on cheap vodka the morning after. There hadn't been any Walls of Death at the time.

Nik stumbled out of the melee that had followed the wall's demise just as the song ended, and a line formed down the centre of Price's brow. A knot twisted in his belly, and a little further down, at the lumbering mess of a man that approached. His tank clung to the curves of his chest, darkened with sweat, his usually neat hair ruffled and erratic, the sheen on his arms and collar bones reflecting the strobe lights and drawing Price's eye. A shiver of something that felt far too fucking much like longing ran down his spine.

"You're bleeding," Price said dumbly, his throat tight. His gaze settled on the split in Nik's lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone.

"Eh," Nik huffed, wiping a smear of blood on the back of his hand. "The other guy looks worse." There was that feral little grin. The same grin Nikolai wore in the field when shit had gone Pete Tong but they had still come up golden through sheer grit, dumb luck and the precise application of violent savagery. It set a fire in Price's chest, made something feral and untamed rouse from slumber, and suddenly there was an itch beneath his skin.

"Damn fuckin' right," Price replied, reflecting Nik's grin back at him. A breath passed between them, something unspoken and wild as their eyes met. And then there was a strong hand gripping his jaw, another on his hip, pushing him into the wall behind him. His back hit home, knocking the air from his lungs, and his fists bunched in the sweat-soaked material of Nik's shirt as Nik's lips pushed to his. The coppery taste of blood mixed with cheap beer and cigar smoke, and every sane thought fell out of Price's head, replaced instead by a maelstrom of chaos centered around the feel of Nik's tongue, the softness of his lips, the demand of his teeth and the rock hard bulge that ground into Price's hips.

Price was sure his moan would have been audible but for the thump and scream of the music. Nik kept that grip on his jaw as he damn near plundered Price's mouth for what he wanted, but the other hand left his hip to push against the wall, clenched in a fist near Price's head. When they pulled apart, Price sucked in a strangled gasp of air and Nik pushed his face into the scruff of Price's beard. "Ty prekrasen," Nik breathed, "ya tebya hochu."

Price had been practicing Russian. He still couldn't read it, but even if he hadn't understood the words or the low growl in Nik's voice, the hunger in Nik's kiss on his neck would have communicated his meaning just fine. "Bloody hell," Price arched against the hard line of Nik's body, fists shaking. "Yeah. Fuck. Wait..." He shoved Nik away, just a fraction, but held onto his shirt with the same desperation. Caught in the conflict between what he wanted and another part of him that had been wounded once before. "I'm not your three a.m. shag, Nik. We clear? I don't do that. If this is--if this is what this is, then no, look at me, you hear?"

Nik let out a burst of a chuckle, eyes soft as he met Price's gaze. "John, you are and always will be my everything." He was drunk enough to struggle around the 'J' in Price's name, defaulting the zsho- inflection, but his eyes were clear as he said it.

"Fuck," Price responded, eyes wide, and Nik kissed him again, slower this time. When he stopped, Price was shaking.

"And you?" Nik breathed into his lips.

"Not here, not... I can't hear myself fucking think."

"Then home." Nik pulled him from the wall and soon they were navigating the corridors crowded with drunks and staff into the night. The cool air bristled over Price's skin, but it did little to cool the heat in his body, barely able to keep his hands off of Nik when they fell into the back of the cab. Nik sat contentedly, the backs of his fingers stroking up and down Price's forearm as he watched the city speed by.

Price's hands shook as he shoved the key in the door of his flat, and he turned just in time to be crowded across the threshold by Nik's chest. The door slammed shut and they tumbled onto the beaten up old sofa padded out with a spare duvet and pillow. Nik tore into Price's clothes remorselessly, thirty-ish quids worth of buttons skittered under Price's coffee table as the shirt was k.i.a. It didn't matter, because the feeling of Nik devouring his chest, scrubbing his stubble into sweat, hair and cologne with a deep, guttural groan, was worth every shirt Price owned and then some.

They fumbled and wrestled out of their clothes in search of skin. Nik worked his way down Price's body, wrenching his jeans and boxers over his thighs to lick a long stripe up the hard line of his prick before swallowing it in one. A strangled noise broke from Price's chest as he buried a fist in Nik's hair; the responding moan that vibrated in Nik's throat sent pleasure licking up Price's spine like tongues of flame. Nik kept him teetering on the brink, pulling away with a soft pop to work his way back up Price's body and squirm out of the baggy cargo shorts far enough to free his own cock. He took them both in one big hand and rutted forward, grabbing at the arm of the sofa behind Price's head for purchase.

Slicked by their precum and Nik's saliva, Nik fucked them both into his palm with enough pace and force to make the old sofa creak. He leaned down to kiss the moans and whimpers from Price's mouth in between growled pants of want, slipping in and out of Russian, English and some of the other eight languages he knew, like his brain had short-circuited and was spinning out. Fuckin' hot, is what it was. One of Price's hands joined Nik's, if only to feel the silky iron of his prick against another part of him. He squeezed tighter as his pleasure crested, balls pulling tight, and spilled between them.

Nik practically fucking purred with delight, thrusting against Price's spent cock until he grunted in discomfort before pulling away. No fucking way Price was letting him keep the upper hand; he snagged Nik's shorts and used them to yank him up until Nik's cum-slick cock hung over his face. His palm gripping one plentiful arse cheek, he sucked Nik into the back of his mouth, encouraging him to thrust in with a firm squeeze and low growl.

If Price had thought Nik had been loud before, the act of fucking Price's face had unearthed a whole new vocal range. Nik moaned, growled and panted like an animal, fisting Price's hair as his balls settled against the bristles on Price's chin. Price's throat spasmed, his chest ached, his damn eyes watered, but fuck he wanted Nik buried in him forever. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his arse, his spent cock flicking with interest across his belly, as Nik staked his claim. It took only a handful of deep thrusts before Nik hit his peak, buried to the hilt and spilling down Price's throat with a euphoric shout.

His grip loosened in Price's hair and he withdrew slowly, cock still twitching as it drew over Price's tongue. He replaced his prick with his mouth, kissing the taste of himself on Price's swollen lips with a bone deep moan, before lapping at the tear tracks on Price's cheeks.

At some point, Nik must have moved them to the bed, because Price resurfaced from his haze with his face on a thick, furry chest and a strong arm around his shoulders, the bedsheets draped up to their waist. Nik traced vague circles on Price's bicep, half lidded eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. "I meant it," Nik said, clearly sensing Price's return from his post-fuck delirium. "Everything I said."

Price swallowed hard. How did you respond to that? Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for Nik's devotion. "I know," he murmured. "I... Me too. For a long time."

Nik shifted, rolling Price onto his back so he could look down into his eyes. "Then we make it work."

"Nik... Our lives, we... Shit could go upside down real bloody quick."

A finger pressed over his lips. "I specialise in upside down, captain."

"You just put your prick in my throat and you're still going with captain."

Nik shrugged, lopsided grin slipping back into place. "It is hot. Maybe I will fuck you in your uniform next time, hm?"

"Presumptuous, Nik..."

"Maybe over your desk." Nik sank down to kiss Price's neck.

"Cleaning lady would have somethin' to say about that."

"She is not invited. I do not share." A nip against his throat, and Price arched into Nik's chest.

"Fuck, okay... Mate, you're rabid."

"Hm, only for you."

Fuck. Only for you. Price closed his eyes as Nik's hand slid beneath the blanket. Yeah, fine, they could make this work. They could have this. They deserved it, this one thing, and fuck did Price want it bad.

[the1920sinpictures]

1914 c. An electric delivery truck filled with Olympia beer parked in front of the distribution center in Portland, Oregon. From Mikki’s 1900-1919 History Resource, FB.

[whencyclopedia]

Ten Women of the Protestant Reformation

Women played a vital role in the Protestant Reformation (1517-1648) not only by supporting the major reformers as wives but also through their own literary and political influence. Their contributions were largely marginalized in the past, but modern-day scholarship has highlighted women's roles and established their importance in spreading the reformed vision of Christianity.

Prior to the Reformation, the lives of women were ordered by the Catholic Church, the patriarchal nobility, and their husbands or sons. Women in the Middle Ages held jobs and some even assumed control of the family business after their husbands' death, but their opportunities were still limited, with rare exceptions, to becoming a wife and mother or a nun. After the Reformation began, women found new freedoms – as well as uncertain futures – as monasteries and nunneries were closed, eliminating the option of monastic life, while also allowing women who had been forced to become nuns to now choose their own path.

The Reformation affected women's lives throughout Europe and beyond and, as it was not a cohesive movement, different Protestant sects regarded women in different ways. The followers of Martin Luther (l. 1483-1546) believed that a woman's place was in the home, caring for the children, and those who supported the views of Huldrych Zwingli (l. 1484-1531) felt likewise, while the Anabaptists, who had emerged as their own sect from Zwingli's reforms, elevated women's status to positions of authority as ministers and prophets.

Even within more restrictive Protestant sects, however, women still found they had more of a voice and greater opportunities than before. Luther's wife, Katharina von Bora, was a former nun who married, raised children, brewed her own beer, and ran a farm, while Katharina Schutz, wife of reformer Michael Zell (d. 1548), became far more famous than her husband for her written works. The Protestant Reformation encouraged literacy because, no matter the sect, the new teaching emphasized the importance of reading the Bible for oneself, and so girls were now allowed an education whereas, previously, educating women was considered a waste of time.

Ten Women of the Reformation

The ten women on this list are only a very small sampling of the many who contributed to the Reformation and are mainly drawn from the Lutheran and Reformed sects as their lives are among the best documented:

Katharina von Bora (l. 1499-1552)

Argula von Grumbach (l. 1490 to c. 1564)

Anna Reinhart (l. c. 1484-1538)

Katharina Schutz (l. 1497-1562)

Marguerite de Navarre (l. 1492-1549)

Marie Dentiere (l. c. 1495-1561)

Katharina von Zimmern (l. 1478-1547)

Jeanne d'Albret (Joan III of Navarre, l. 1528-1572)

Anna Adischwyler (l. c. 1504-1564)

Olympia Fulvia Morata (l. 1526-1555)

These women did not suffer as greatly as many others who took a stand for their religious convictions but often endured hardships for their faith, refusing to compromise, even when doing so would have made their lives easier.

Continue reading...

[cedarboughs]

Hiking(?) Journal: The West Coast Trail

Day VII.5: Pleasure Cruises

September 6

Nanaimo to Vernon

It all comes full circle. I left the same motel in Nanaimo full of the same breakfast from the same room I had on the 26th, as if the week on the coast had been just a long dream.

Arriving at the ferry docks, there was a three hour wait for the next sailing to the mainland. C’est normal, I don’t mind a couple of hours of waiting time. At the Horseshoe Bay docks on the way out I’d discovered blackberries growing through the fence. None of those here, but the sun was beating down on the asphalt car ramp so we spread damp tents and clothing on wide-open doors like clotheslines to dry in the interval. Then I went to explore the terminal.

I’m a big fan of terminals, stations, and ports. I’ll arrive early to a flight to wander around the airport. I love the liminal recreation of a waiting place made to be comfortable but still anticipatory. That’s one of about infinite reasons I yearn for a dream of passenger rail. Imagine hanging out in the stations! In the block around Calgary’s former main station there now exists a coffeehouse, a grand hotel, an observation tower, a mystery theatre, a curry house, and a brew pub. Imagine if those could all be integrated into a reopened waiting place for a train to Vancouver, Drumheller, Banff, Edmonton, Montana… Sorry. I’m lost in fantasies of hypothetical train lines again, as I usually am. Death and despair to the CPKC Frieght monopoly over rail lines forever and ever and all that. Back to Nanaimo. Point is, the Nanaimo ferry terminal is a nice one. I bought a Nanaimo bar (of course, one must when one is in Nanaimo,) looked at souvenirs, and watched birds circle over the tidal flats beneath the balcony. To me this is all an important part of any journey. I love layovers.

The ferry ride itself was basically a pleasure cruise. The jurisdictions on either side of the Salish Sea love their ferries. I rode and loved a fair share of Washington Ferries on the way to the Olympic Peninsula a few years back, but I’ll always be a B.C. Ferries boyo. On the boat they advertised that you could take not a connection but an actual cruise with the ferry company to places as remote as Haida Gwaii and as unknown to me as Tweedsmuir. Honestly, give me a trip of just hopping ferries town to town zigzagging across the channels from Olympia to Alaska. Well, this pleasure cruise was only about an hour, but still I ate some good fries from the cafeteria, dug the onboard gift shop and bookstore, and watched layered distant islets pass from on deck. I didn’t get any photos, so here are some Takao Tanabe prints to evoke the feeling of cruising the West Coast.

Strait of Georgia, 1990

Hesquiat Bay

Back on the mainland it was a long drive past the distant skyline of Vancouver and up the Fraser towards Vernon. Don’t ask me why we chose Vernon as a place to stop. The Okanagan is supposed to be Canada’s little Mediterranean, valley of cycling wine tours and more pleasure cruises. Mykonos west. So why was town shuttered by 7 pm? I had a burger and a beer at a moderately ok pub that was literally the only open door. And it was fine.

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So Refreshing by Paul Malon Via Flickr: 1950's.

[usafphantom2]

SR-71 # 981 C pulling out of a hangar at Hill AFB. Invention of the C model was necessary. They need another trainer, so they made one out of spare parts .She was actually two airframes pieced together. The forward half of 981 was never meant to fly at all. The structure was intended as an engineering mockup built for static (ground) testing only. But when one of the only two SR-71B two-seated trainers crashed on January 11th, 1968, the decision was made to piece together a replacement trainer from available parts. The first YF-12A prototype, SN 60-6934, was mated to the mockup by Lockheed engineers at their Palmdale facility in California. This is why she is called “The Bastard.” 981 flew just like the B model. However, There were some yaw issues. This airplane is currently being refurbished. They have scraped off the paint and found tail art. An Olympia beer can with the expression “it’s the sealant” is a joke meaning that the sealant used to keep the fuel from leaking is the secret ingredient in the beer.🍺🍻🍺

I will place a picture in the comments.

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[absolutebloodychaos]

I got bored and I was practising my editing skills for media class so I kinda edited together all of the videos of NGVOT (mostly Kris singing it) that I have saved on my computer.

The cuts are a bit jumpy but it is all in time as far as I can tell, I put in the explanation of the story of the song at the start btw (with subtitles).

TW: Flashing images

Sources:

[ENG SUB] Joker Out - Concert in Cvetličarna 21 10 2021

KRIS SINGING NGVOT

KRIS GUŠTIN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

x

JOKER OUT - Live at Belgrade Beer Fest 2023

eteisvalssi NGVOT | September 22nd 2023 | Olympia, Tampere