#the photographer who got that picture of trump

[aaronexplainsitall]

X

[beardedmrbean]

(The trump pic made me laugh so I had to include it)

Robbie there is just right on the edge of getting it, at least he seems to know that this is something that took place.

The reason they're telling his story, if it is based on him, is because why not tell his story, we've got 1000 pieces of media about

This is a article from 2010 about the guy robbie mentions there.

As London suffered the full force of the German Luftwaffe bombing raids 70 years ago this week the story of Nigerian Ita Ekpenyon has been uncovered by the City of Westminster Archives.

The blitz and the response of Londoners is now the stuff of legend and the story of Ita demonstrates that integrity, responsibility commitment and sacrifice are not qualities confined to the English.

Ita Ekpenyon is the personification of London’s Blitz spirit and he along with over 15.000 Africans living in London at the time are for the first time being recognised and their bravery acknowledged.

Ita Ekpenyon was one of over 200,000 Londoners who volunteered as Air Raid Protection (ARP) wardens.

Black British experiences from the Blitz, is now being told by City of Westminster Archives in a new project funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund.

Ita arrived in London from Nigeria in 1921 at the age of 28. When war broke out in 1939 he was living at 146 Great Titchfield Street, near Oxford Circus, and studying to become a lawyer.

At 46, Ita was too old for military service but his sense of civic duty led him to volunteer for civilian defence duties. On 5 February 1940, Ita was enrolled as an ARP Warden with D Section, St Marylebone Borough Council Civil Defence Volunteer group. According to his unit’s records, he experienced raid after raid, putting out incendiary bomb fires, giving first aid and conducting population counts as the bombs fell all over the capital. ______________________________________

Sounds like a story that's begging to be told to me right there, kinda wish that was what it is about, looks to be more than that though. _________________________________________

George, McQueen’s child protagonist, was inspired by a picture the filmmaker came across while researching his television series Small Axe, which showed a small black boy being evacuated from the city. On his journey back home to his mother after being evacuated, George discovers much about his city – and himself.

A key scene shows George wandering through the old Islington Empire Arcade, encountering dioramas and murals of black workers, ever under the control of their white colonial masters. There he meets Isey, a Nigerian air raid warden, who cares for him and finds him a space in a shelter.

The shelter shows the diversity of blitzed London that was captured by the photographer Bill Brandt: Jewish families, Sikh families and white families crammed together in the squalor of the makeshift shelters below the city in the first weeks of air raids. When a white couple try to segregate the shelter by race, Isey reprimands them, reminding them that they are all fighting Hitler and the Nazi belief in a race war.

Blitz deserves to find a large audience. Not just because it retells a familiar story in a new way and gives voice to those whose stories are often overlooked, but because of what it has to say about who those blitzed Londoners, so central to British memory of the war, actually were.

In imagining the story of that small boy in the photo, McQueen helps us to re-imagine not just the blitz, but wartime Britain more widely. His sprawling, dramatic film reminds us that this is a shared history, one with meaning for many more people today than we might usually remember. ____________________________________

Aside what ever current year stuff they shoehorn in this seems like a good concept for a film.

And as for the answer to the question of "why" I'll say it's because it's the film the filmmaker wanted to make if you don't want to watch it then don't if you'd like a different story told then tell it yourself. _____________________

Here's some more about Contributions by Black Britons during the Blitz, because apparently some people didn't think they existed or contributed, or aren't worth mentioning or something.

For Black History Month historian Stephen Bourne tells us about some of the Black people involved in the fire service in the 1930s and 40s.

And I'll end with, the Steve McQueen making this movie is a totally different one than the one that died in 1980, in case there was any questions about that.

[anamericangirl]

You know, AAG (Can I call you Aggie?), I really wonder how people like that anon exist.

"Trump is a known rapist" Evidence: Honestly, I'm being genuine here, none. I have been asking for evidence for 4 years now. Apparently it's "Common knowledge" as I've been told hundreds of times, which means it should be super easy to find evidence, right?

So why can't I find it? It's not on Wikipedia, there's no evidence shown on any videos, anywhere, even in liberal Discords and liberal image boards and liberal discussion boards and Reddit and shit, I can't find ANY evidence of him being a rapist other than "A lot of people say he is and state it as fact."

Meanwhile: "Biden showers with kids" Literally saw the video. "Hunter fucked his niece" Saw the screencaps of it on 4chan. "Bill Clinton on Epstein Island with a very questionably aged girl literally on a leash" Seen the picture thousands of times now. "Hunter getting massaged by a bunch of children's feet" Seen it, that one's old, everyone's seen it.

Got evidence of those instantly, no questions asked. Didn't even WANT to see that evidence, I just had it shown to me against my will. Literally no discussion to be had about those ones, I just believe those ones. I promise you, if I saw any hard evidence that Trump was: - Racist - Homophobic - Genocidal against trans people - A Nazi - A rapist - Hiding under the bed right now mom please check again I know he's down there and he's making trans people kill themselves - Literally any other thing liberals call him

I would believe them. If they would just produce proof, I'd believe them.

But Aggie, to this day, not one of them has actually provided proof other than "What, you don't trust me?" or changing the subject into "Oh okay bootlicker bet that boot tastes really yummy bootlicker you just love eating Trump's fucking boots"

Bitch I don't even like Trump, I just like to know that when I'm being told someone is a rapist that there's evidence to back that fuckin claim up.

Not you, Aggie. Anon's the bitch. Libs are the bitches.

Well, I won't speak for you, if you wanna be a bitch you be the hardest bitch there you can be. At least capital BITC on that. I wouldn't go too far though, you could transform into one of those humorless women who loudly announces that they don't find jokes funny when they happen on a movie 12 other people just laughed at.

I'm high I'm sorry.

You can call me whatever lol.

And that's the thing leftists don't realize.

"Well he's been called a rapist/racist/homophobe/transphobe/nazi so that should be enough to convince you. If you need evidence that just makes you all of those same things!!"

If there was evidence Trump was a rapist it would be all over the place all the time. Everywhere. Like when he said "grab 'em by the pussy" 10+ years ago and people are still going on about it as if he committed a serious crime by speaking those words. So if he was a rapist we wouldn't have to ask them for evidence and they wouldn't have to launch their ad hominem attacks because it would be everywhere. It would be all any media was talking about.

Meanwhile you have Biden in office right now with substantial evidence of very serious crimes, we have photographic and video evidence of him being a creep to children and his own daughter's journal entry about "probably inappropriate" showers with him and they don't give a fuck.

But don't worry even high you're a lot more rational and level headed than the "trump is a rapist" anons lol.

[thebiscuiteternal]

George “wasn’t from around here.” That alone was enough to make the locals wary. He even differed from the outside “touristers” who traveled to the region to gaze at its beauty, breathe its crisp air and explore its panoramic wilderness. True, George was quite friendly, even though he spoke in an odd accent and with spotty command of the English language. When he got hired for peasant labor at one of the town’s larger employers, most folks figured he was OK after all. Like the “touristers,” George was awestruck by the area’s natural charm. He immersed himself in it at every chance: mapping and measuring trails and discovering impressive vistas. He eventually left the menial job, opened his own business and cultivated an impressive clientele. But times were changing. George’s “kind” were not universally accepted. Unfounded rumors and ugly gossip began to spread. The “patriotic” Ku Klux Klan harassed him. The federal government investigated him. Local police raided his shop and arrested him on trumped-up charges that were proven patently false. George rolled with these cruel punches and continued his craft, often without remuneration. His reputation flourished in the local area and also among civic leaders and government officials far removed from his community. Tragically, George’s business collapsed at the start of the Great Depression. Frail and penniless, he died of tuberculosis at age 52. Friends paid for burial services and settled his debts. Decades would pass before his priceless contributions to the nation would be recognized. Such is the legacy of George Masa, an undocumented Japanese immigrant who couldn’t apply for citizenship due to anti-Asian laws at the time. Yes, the same George Masa, a gifted photographer whose stunning images of the North Carolina mountains, accompanied by similar pictures from Jim Thompson on the Tennessee side, played a pivotal role in establishing the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and the Appalachian Trail. As you go to the polls this important election year, think about all the George Masas across the U.S. right now who are victims of racism and prejudice, yet persevere in their dreams as they add to the fabric of America. To some in his era, George Masa was nothing but a “sly ‘Jap’ with ulterior motives.” Much like “cat-eating Haitians” today. Those were different times, different words. But the same ignorance, fear and hatred are just as poisonous in 2024 as they were in 1921.

Sam Venable, Knoxville News Sentiel columnist - "Rumors, gossip and suspicions have no expiration date"

(to bypass paywall, copypaste the above link here: https://12ft.io/ )

[oh-my-damn]

Hi mod! Because you are one of the most level headed people here and your opinions are always well thoughtful, what is your take on what is going in now (in real time as we can see) ? I was skeptical but all this follows and stories and pics .. i dont know anymore.. its hard for Me to think that He would marry her with the points of view she and her besties have … (its about CE btw)

Welp I'm not gonna lie, it's all looking very, very strange

However, I do think there is a real possibility they are going for the Tom Brady celebration and that Chris is throwing a bash afterwards. I see it like this: Chris has a very, very parasocial relationship to Tom Brady (much like we do to him) and has always been super super invested and crazy about him (even to the point where he was ASKED about how he felt about Tom being a Trump supporter in a fucking interview. And Chris was disappointed but still loved him. It's absolutely a parasocial relationship)

Considering the many, many parties he throws in general for random reasons, I find it very very probable that he would throw a bash at his house after the game today, where Tom Brady will be present for the first time as a spectator, and they have said in articles it's going to be "a huge celebration of Tom Brady."

Now, why would some of his co-stars be there? Even the ones who aren't super football enthusiasts? (Renner is easy, he's gone to games with Chris before, but RDJ and Hemmy is more strange)

I honestly think they saw it as a chance of press and a reunion. They've all said before how hard it is for them to get together now. They're all on break from working which means none of them have any other engagements to keep them away. They also have no other ways of getting press in the media, other than feeding articles etc. Going to the game, getting photographed etc is a great way to get some press during this off time. And then afterwards a party with their old pals as a reunion, perhaps even staying in Boston for a few days to hang out etc, since no one is working currently. I don't find it far-fetched that Hemmy and RDJ would go for that, considering how close they all were/are.

Hemmy bringing his mom is also curious to me - we didn't see his wife, but his mom. Interesting.

As for the vendor/MUA/hairstylist thing; one of them posted the story WITH A GOAT which was cut out when it was shared on here (🙄 for obvious reasons. Certain blogs on here are trolls and legit just looking to rile you up, please stop believing them) and others are coming because I do believe it's going to be a big, big event. I do believe there will be a lot of celebs showing up, like Wimbledon, in order to get some press and attention. They can't promote their works so this is a great way to get their names out there.

I also think it would be odd if the OG's would come now, to the game (if thats the case) when the "wedding" was supposed to happen soon. Why would they go like two weeks before only to go back home and then come back? That's weird. Unless they actually got married already this weekend, in which case the whole MUA/vendors/hairstylist thing makes no sense. It also doesn't make sense they would go so soon or late to the wedding, depending on when you think it would be. Do we honestly think he's throwing a massive 500 people wedding on a week day?? (lets put aside that if thats the case then he's clearly not the person he's put himself up to be because no "grounded down to earth" person would throw a massive wedding spanning over several days like that)

I don't know man. The entire thing is weird.

Not to mention this is all coming right after we found out he in fact DID NOT go on the Bermuda trip and the proof has been out there all along. And yet "sources" came and said they had seen them there. Even if these sources were remotely close to him, how would they not know of the picture posted of him on that private account that went publicly for a VERY short time yesterday (just enough for the fandom to find that post)

It's all fucking weird.

Technically, we haven't seen them within the same vicinity since the Ghosted premiere. They haven't spoken on it or posted anything, either, other than her picture of Dodger which was during the winter.

It's odd all around. I have no idea what to make of it.

But if he does marry her or already did bla bla bla, it says a lot about him. Not just because she's a racist who associates with racists, but also because of how young she looks. It says a lot about him if he's not just attracted to her but chose to marry her.

If they did, I give it 5 years. Tops. Once she's served her breeding bunny purpose it'll fall apart.

[sugarpopss]

November 30th, 1942

This is very much inspired by that post thats like 'remember how Bucky said he enlisted so Steve wouldn't worry about him'. I just couldn't stop thinking about Bucky getting his draft letter and being so worried about people worrying about him. This draws heavily from the lore developed in the chat with @bucknastysbabe , inculding but not limited to: Rebeccas food thing, George Barnes the WWI vet who died from a medical problem caused by his time in the amry, Steve and Rebecca being close, Ma Barnes being one of the kindest people in the world and a midwestern girlie...etc etc. Sources for the bits of research I did for this fic are here and here.

November 30th, 1942

In 1942, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, Bucky got a letter. He saw it when he got home from the docks, slightly crumpled between Rebecca’s algebra and geography books on the kitchen counter. It had gotten a little damp in the mailing process and was stuck to the front of a letter to his mother, from her own mother back in Iowa. He didn’t think too much of it-he was too exhausted to think much of anything. Unloading crates from ships was far from the worst work in the world, but it sure did zap his energy and fill his sinuses with dust and dirt and smoke. Some of the old timers-guys who claimed to remember striking for a 5 cent raise-liked to joke that pretty soon ‘pretty boy Barnes’ would get to know the sort of back pain that went hand-in-hand with a lifetime of hauling cargo, and that would trump exhaustion every time. 

Bucky always laughed it off. They were just joking around, and he’d take any ache in the world if it meant being able to take care of his family, anyway. Even if his Ma kept bringing up trade schools that weren’t too far or too expensive, and Steve was champing at the bit to join the military, Bucky was fine right where he was. He was just fine in the apartment he grew up in, working hard, flirting with the girls running telegrams in the harbormaster's office, walking Rebecca home from school when he got off in time. He got fantasy novels from the library with Clark Gable knights and Lana Turner princesses on the covers; He boxed on the weekends and was always a good sport; He caught Rebecca in the short hallway connecting their bedrooms every morning and gave her a noogie; He went to the cinema with Steve when they both had a little change in their pockets and flicked popcorn kernels at each other like they were kids. 

All that to say-Bucky was doing perfectly fine. He wasn’t raring to make a name for himself or see some great bloody glory. He definitely wasn’t interested in signing up for the war. The picture of his father on the mantel, clean shaven in an army uniform from twenty years ago, kicked the sense back into him whenever he thought about it. If the photograph of the man Bucky could barely remember didn’t work, the urn next to it surely did. 

And all of these things were reasons why, when he unstuck the damp mail from his sisters schoolbooks, the bottom just about dropped out of his stomach. The ink was a little smeared from getting wet, but still perfectly legible: for him, with the selective service system logo stamped right on the front. 

It was like the entire apartment tilted, rocked like a seesaw and threw him completely off balance. Without even thinking, Bucky stuffed the letter into his pocket. He didn’t want to look at it, think about it, deal with it. Whatever it said-as if there was any question as to its contents-he would worry about later. Preferably not standing in the middle of the kitchen in his grimy work clothes, whale eyed and frightfully pale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The letter remained stuffed deep in Buckys pocket until after supper. Bathed, comfortably full and bone deep tired, he was usually out like a light after working a full day. But instead of passing out underneath the quilt-a gift from the elderly widow two floors up, after he’d spent the summer of ‘35 bringing up her mail and groceries and painting over the water damage on her kitchen ceiling-he fished the letter out from the pants strewn on the floor and just…held it. Looked at it. Turned it over, looked at where his address had been smudged a little by the damp. It was definitely for him; no mistake there. His full name was right there on the address line, middle initial and everything. 

Maybe it was completely mundane! Every guy had to sign up for selective service-tons of them probably got letters about misspelled words or unchecked boxes. Maybe he’d written something down incorrectly back when he had filled out the forms. 18-year-olds were stupid, after all, and he probably hadn’t been paying that much attention to the information he was putting down. That was most likely it; He’d put his birthday down as October 3rd instead of March 10th by accident, or initialed something that was supposed to be a signature or vice versa. So what if it’d been four years since he filled out that paperwork? Tiny errors like that were probably pretty low priority for the selective service, especially after America joined the war. 

He was just going to open the letter and see what they needed him to fix or resign. 

He opened the letter. He read it once, then twice, then three times. 

There was no problem with the paperwork he’d filled out at 18. 

He didn’t need to resign any forms or recheck any boxes.  

He did need to report to the local selective service board the following Tuesday. 

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. 

Buckys first thought wasn’t ‘I don’t want to join the military’. It wasn’t even ‘I’m scared’. Buckys very first thought was for his family. He couldn’t be in the military! He was an important part of the household! The Barnes had only recently edged back into a relatively comfortable financial situation because of the combined incomes Bucky and his Ma brought in, and someone had to be around to look after Rebecca-as much as she’d protest and whine that she was 16, she didn’t need to be looked after-when their Ma couldn’t. Someone needed to haul Steve out of fights and into dance halls, because yes, Steve was as good as family, would’ve been even if Rebecca hadn’t declared he had ‘adopted brother rights’ years ago. 

Buckys second thought was ‘I don’t want to join the military’, because he didn’t. He’d never wanted to, never even seriously entertained the idea. There had already been a Barnes man in a war and it had destroyed him; robbed a good man of his peace and his health, robbed Buckys mother of a husband and himself and Rebecca of a father. Hell, Rebecca had never even met their father-he had died two months before she was born. A couple of old photographs, a ceramic urn, and a watch and wedding band with no hand to wear them were all she knew of the man. 

It made Buckys stomach turn to think about leaving his family for the thing that had put his father in the grave before 40. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he started to think. He couldn’t tell his Ma he’d been drafted-he certainly couldn’t tell Rebecca or Steve. They’d all worry too much for him. The downside to having loved ones was that as much as you loved them, they also loved you. And loving someone meant worrying for them when they were about to get scooped out of their life with less than a months notice. 

It’d be less worrying if he'd just enlisted, if he had made a choice, even a rash, ill-advised one. At least that would imply he had some sort of excitement or confidence in joining the military. At least that would imply that he was ready, that nobody needed to worry about him because Bucky himself wasn’t worried or scared or hesitant. 

That was the thought that he chewed on all day. Chewed on it so much, in fact, that he barely chewed anything else, including his supper. And that was strange behavior for Bucky. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Rebecca had asked him. It sounded incredibly blunt, but to be entirely fair, she had first made a frantic gesture towards the peas on her plate with her head-because Rebecca was not eating peas that week, and if she could switch their plates without their Ma noticing she could avoid a stern look and a ‘clean plates club’ lecture-and then kicked him under the table when her head tossing got no response. 

Their Ma was looking at him, too. If there was one thing the Barnes siblings were, it was chatty, and although Rebecca had been blathering on about how a girl in her geography class had gotten in trouble for wearing lipstick, Bucky had been almost entirely silent. And he’d barely touched his food even though he wasn’t on the same legume strike as his sister. 

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, casual and calm. He took a bite of his food-the peas were fine even if they came from a can, because their Ma was an excellent cook. Rebecca was just weird about food sometimes-to give himself time to think. 

He settled on “I can’t walk you home next week.” 

Rebecca sighed in that ‘God, you’re all so uptight and dramatic’ way that teenagers do. “I don’t need you to walk me home. I’m not a kid, I know how to get home from school.” 

Their Ma gave him another curious look, though. “Did you make plans?” she asked. “With Steve? With a girl?”

She didn’t sound upset, just…curious. It was odd, after all, for Bucky to not want to walk Rebecca home. He tried very hard to align his hours at the docks with her school schedule. It was important to him, to make sure she was safe and that nobody bothered her. 

“Sort of.” He replied. 

He knew that wasn’t a very good answer, and his Mas face reflected it. He’d never in one million years chose some dame over his sister, and Steve was as good as Rebeccas second brother. He was more likely to just join in on the walk than make plans over it. Hell, half of the time they did things as a trio-things like pooling Christmas and birthday money to go to Coney Island, an outing upon which the then teen boys had ridden the Cyclone, Steve had vomited into a public trash can, and Rebecca had proven that she was somehow remarkable at darts despite never having played before in her life. 

His Ma raised her eyebrow. God, he was bad at lying, bad at keeping secrets, bad at misleading people. 

“I-” He met his Mas eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, steeled himself. “It’ll be a few days next week, actually. I enlisted and I’m reporting to induction on Tuesday.” 

The world didn’t end once he said it. A small part of him-the part that reminded Bucky he hadn’t lied to his Ma since he was 17 and she asked if he had cigarettes in his bedroom, and even then he’d come clean about two hours later-had expected something huge and dramatic to happen. Maybe both his mother and sister would drop their forks and snap their heads up, maybe a police siren or fire alarm would go off somewhere nearby, maybe lightning would strike the building. 

But none of that happened. Rebecca continued pushing her food around her plate. “No you didn’t.” She scoffed.

Their Ma didn’t dismiss his statement as a joke, but her expression was difficult to read. “You did?” She asked, her voice stern and level. 

Bucky kept going. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was just thinking about it and it seemed like a good idea. I stopped at the recruiting center last week. I…” 

He trailed off. This wasn’t a perfectly thought through lie, but it felt like a necessary one. 

“Yeah.”

Rebeccas fork actually did clatter to her plate once he finished talking. She looked up at her brother, agape with bright pink spots at the high points of her cheeks. 

“You’re fucking joking! You can’t just leave!” 

“Rebecca Grace!” Their Ma snapped, though it was clear that her heart wasn’t in it. 

Rebecca shot up from the table, her eyes-bright blue like Buckys, like their late fathers-welling up with tears. “No! You can’t leave, that’s not fair!” 

With that she stormed off, the slam of her bedroom door in the small apartment sounding like a gunshot. 

Bucky swallowed and looked down at his food. He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

“James.” 

He looked up at his Ma. Guilt immediately began to eat at him. Guilt for the lie, guilt for having to leave them, guilt for everything his Ma had been through and would go through in the future. 

“What branch?” 

He swallowed again. The guilt was crawling up his throat like vomit. He wanted to admit it was a lie, to say he was scared and didn’t want to go and didn’t know what to do. But there was nothing to be done. All he could do was help the people who loved him to not worry so much. 

“Army. Like dad.” 

She raised her eyebrows. They barely ever spoke about George Barnes military career. Not to say that they never spoke about Bucky and Rebeccas father at all-he’d been the love of their Mas life, she had plenty of stories about him. But they didn’t talk about his time in Europe. Bucky had always gotten the impression that his father hadn’t spoken much about his time in Europe when he was still alive, anyway. 

“Your father was drafted. He didn’t choose the army.” 

He shrugged. 

She sighed and put her fork down, picked it back up, put it down again. 

“I don’t-” She sighed again. “I can’t tell you what to do. You’re a grown man and you get to make your own choices.” 

Bucky didn’t feel like a grown man at that moment. He felt like a little boy trying to convince his mother that he wasn’t afraid of the dark. 

“Do you genuinely want to join the military?”  

The earnest concern in the question was what broke him. He took a very deep breath and met his Mas eyes, blue on brown. She had asked like there was any changing it. Even if he had voluntarily enlisted, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it after the fact. 

“No. I-I…the letter came yesterday and I have to go on Tuesday and I-.” Bucky cut himself off, feeling something far too much like tears in his eyes, something far too much like a sob beginning to choke up his throat. 

“Jamie, sweetheart…” She stood from the table and opened her arms to him, a hug that he gladly accepted. Three inches taller than his mother or not, 22 years old or not, there was nothing more comforting than his Mas embrace. 

“It’ll be alright, Jamie.” 

By god, he hoped so. 

[thelampisaflashlight]

Shutterbug

[That photographer Dew AU I mentioned from last night. The origins of Dew's hobby and his first encounter with something... strange. Dew joins Ghost on tour as a guitar tech only to uncover the band's gimmick is more than meets the eye. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

He supposes it started when he was young, maybe eight or so; Dew's father had purchased a new camera and had, on a whim, gifted his old one to his son, assuming the boy would fiddle with it for a time and then do as he often did with old, broken things and take it apart to better understand how it worked.

Instead, something had awoken in him the moment he held that old camera in his hands.

The weight of it slung around his neck had felt comforting, familiar, like it was always meant to be there, and something about viewing the world through its lens had lit a fire in his chest.

Dew had been small for his age, and failed attempts at enrolling him in various sports activities had proven... emotionally scarring if not also physically.

So a hobby that got him to go outside didn't seem all that bad, especially not to his parents, who had made it no secret that their marriage was falling apart, and that, perhaps, having something to do away from home while they sorted out the details of their impending divorce would be a good idea.

And, indeed, photography had been an excellent escape for Dew.

But over time Dew's outdoor adventures, taking pictures of wild growing daisies and frogs by the creek in the woods behind his house, would be replaced with other interests and hobbies that kept him locked up in his bedroom for hours on end.

Music may not have been his first love, but it was his greatest, and his desire to engage with it on all levels had thoroughly trumped his desire to trek through fields of tall grass in the early morning to capture pictures of the sunset in the park across from the small apartment his father had moved into when his parents finally did separate.

His camera would make its home in a shoebox in his childhood bedroom at his mother's house, buried under a haphazardly sewn quilt made of old band t-shirts and a box of action figures and other bits and bobs he'd cast aside as he grew up.

So why, after so long, was he yearning to hold that dusty old thing again?

Well, like so many others, Dew had fell into the trap known as nostalgia as he was cleaning his room.

He'd come to visit his mother for a short period of time, preparing to go on the road with a touring band as a guitar tech, and something had drawn him upstairs to his old bedroom despite having made his bed on the couch in the living room.

The upstairs of the house had been largely untouched for years now, his mother having moved into the room that had once been his parents' home office after a bad fall had left her with a prominent limp that made walking, let alone climbing the stairs, quite taxing.

Normally, he wouldn't bother going up there at all during his visits, wanting to stay on the same floor as his mother just in case she needed his help grabbing something, or if she called out to him because she was cold and needed another blanket, or simply wanted to be parked by the window to watch the birds... but it was late, and the older woman had long since gone to bed.

There had been an itch.

A desire to immerse himself in his past, if only for a moment, to pick through bits and pieces of his childhood so he might feel at least a little homesick while on the road.

To feel like he had something to miss while he was away, and not the other way around, as he had come to see hotel rooms and crowded tour buses and vans more like home than his real one.

Stepping into his bedroom after all those years had felt like opening a tomb, and he had treated it as such up until he realized, as if having completely forgotten, that it was his bedroom and he needn't be so cautious or respectful with the things left inside of it.

He'd flopped down on his old bed and found the sheets smelling a little dusty, but otherwise clean, and stared up at his ceiling, at the glow in the dark stars littered across his ceiling, at the stickers plastered over the blades of his ceiling fan...

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the room.

And with that, he'd sat up and gotten to exploring.

His closet was the last place he looked through, for no reason in particular other than that it was easier to explore everything that was left out in the open first before opening the door, but the moment he did, he felt that itch again.

Stronger now, urging him to reach for the pile on the top shelf -ignoring the large, padlocked chest on he floor, which he knew was full of "contraband" he preferred not to unpack at the moment- and reach he did...

"Aw, shit-"

...spilling everything onto the floor with a loud thud that he prayed his mother couldn't hear from the other side of the house.

And there, mixed in with his ninja turtles and matchbox cars, on sat on top of the pile unscathed, was his camera.

.

.

.

"God, my fuckin' dick is going to freeze off if we have to stand around waiting for the bus another goddamn minute..." Alpha bitches, gritting his teeth and hissing as another cold breeze weaves through the gathered band members and crew.

He's been complaining ever since the got off the plane, and while Dew understands his displeasure, he's trying to make the most of his time, occupying himself by fidgeting with his camera, making sure nothing had broken during travel.

"Say 'cheese', bitch." He says, aiming the camera off to the side and clicking the shutter button, earning a startled yelp from the lead guitarist as the flash goes off.

"If my hands weren't so cold, I would strangle you." the other man threatens, prompting Dew to stick out his tongue, "You little brat-"

"Al, lighten up a little, if you're so cold, come stand next to me," Omega huffs shaking his head at the others' antics, opening his coat slightly so Alpha can shuffle inside, "and, Dew, don't rile him up, it's too early."

"Sorry, Meg." Dew apologizes, then, in a moment of either bravery or stupidity, raises his camera again and snaps a picture of the two men huddling together.

"Dew-"

"It's for my scrapbook!"

Omega sighs, and rests his chin on top of Alpha's head, swaying them both back and forth to soothe the seething guitarist in his grasp, "I'm starting to wonder what sort of scrapbook you're making, considering the pictures you've taken so far..."

Dew gives a devilish grin, recalling some of the more scandalous photos he'd taken during the tour thus far, photos he couldn't wait to have developed in the dark room he'd thrown together in the second bathroom of his apartment...

The one that comes to mind first is one he's particularly proud of, considering grabbing the camera had been an after thought, but the image of Omega getting absolutely dominated by Mist had been too delicious to pass up, even if he had had to crawl to retrieve it because of how jello-like his legs had become thanks to the man currently having to be rocked like a cranky infant.

"Those images are strictly for the spank bank." he says, turning his camera towards Mist, who shoots him a smile, posing a bit, "My scrapbook's for... I dunno, I haven't really settled on a theme yet, but so far it's mostly pictures of truck stops and food."

"I was wondering why you were taking glamour shots of your microwave breakfast sandwich..." Omega hums, "How can you tell how the pictures are going to come out?"

"Just have to wait and see." Dew shrugs, "I can check the ones on my other camera since it's digital, but half the fun of using film is waiting for the results."

"Ever capture any ghost pics?" Mist asks, rolling her eyes when Dew gestures broadly at them all, "Not us, you nerd, I mean, like, paranormal activity style shit."

Dew thinks for a moment, "Hn... Uh, well, this one time I was taking pictures in the park and saw- Oh! Hey, the buses are here!"

"Thank fuck-"

.

.

.

Dew has been hunkered down in his bunk for the last half an hour or so, idly scrolling through albums on his digital camera in order to find some "paranormal activity style shit" for Mist to look through the next time they have a chance to sit down and shoot the shit again, but nothing has really jumped out at him as being even remotely spooky so far.

He'd gone back to the very first photos he had taken on his camera when it was brand new, cringing at accidental selfies from when he was trying to figure out how to navigate the menu, and one intentional dick pic to try and see the birthmark on his inner thigh for fear that it might of gotten bigger.

The spoiler alert on that one was that it hadn't, he'd just never seen the full thing before because of the angle, and the only reason he'd become aware of how large it actually was was because one of his previous partners had spread him out in front of a mirror and he had panicked at the sight of it.

With a sigh, he switches to his most recent album, filled with pictures from the tour so far, expecting to find nothing of note, before letting out a startled gasp at the sight of something grotesque staring back at him through the screen.

"What the fuck..."

It's a picture of him standing next to Alpha, except something is very wrong with his face, and he doesn't mean that in a rude way, it's just...

Alpha's face is... floating?

It looks faded out, blurry almost, but it seems like it's sitting lower than it should be.

Dew zooms in and tries to figure out what could have caused such an odd distortion.

Maybe Alpha had moved or bobbed his head?

But surely Dew would have noticed something like that sooner, right?

He taps the picture and moves it into another folder he labels, "For Mist" deeming it weird enough to show his friend later on, and returns to scrolling, only to pause again when he finds a group photo of the band huddled together under the awning of a restaurant.

All of their faces, even some parts of their bodies, are distorted and off the way they were in his picture with Alpha.

He frowns, disappointed, "Man, I really liked that one..."

As Dew flips through the rest of his pictures, the only ones that seem messed up are the ones with the ghouls in them, all of his other photos are crystal clear, even the ones he took of Terzo are still intact.

"Huh..." Dew drags the images into the new folder and decides to take a couple test shots of his face and the inside of his bunk to test and see if there's any kind of distortion going on, but all of them come out fine.

Deciding it must have been a glitch or the result of his own shaky hand movements, Dew snaps one more picture of himself and tucks the camera back into his bag.

"Weird." Dew yawns, "I'll figure out what's wrong with it tomorrow."

[9w1ft]

what is sushigate? also regarding the 2016 elections and the blackout, why didn't she do it in 2020 after biden won? is it because of her masters?

btw sorry but i'm not american so i don't really understand the bigger picture, i'm not even sure why would she have to hide after trump won (i get it but i also don't)

last but not least, do you think she'll act differently now when(!) kamala wins and she got her masters back?

sorry for bombarding with questions and thanks for talking to us!!

hi :)

sushigate is when karlie was papped going out for sushi with katy perry in LA, at a time when taylor and katy were publicly seen as mortal enemies.

i’m not sure i understand your second question. do you mean, why didn’t she like, come out or, be more public with karlie, after biden got elected? to me, the answer is that there was one little thing that got added into the equation, and her priorities shifted as a result. i guess another thing is that i believe the song evermore’s timeline extends up until before we knew about covid-19 or quarantined. i think the global pandemic is also another factor that contributed to her change of direction.

as for your third point, it is actually super interesting to me that you don’t understand why taylor would want to hide her relationship with karlie after the 2016 election, and it might be indicative that times are very different, and i think it points to the idea that her thought process might be different with regards to the outcome of the US election today, regardless of what it is.

as for why it was such a big deal back in 2016, josh’s brother jared is married to ivanka, trump’s daughter, and he worked a lot on trump’s election campaign in 2016. the outcome was a very big shock to people back then. it was as if the unthinkable happened. and what with the way the internet is, i believe it was one of those chains of connections and the chance of a perceived association to trump or republicans that posed a threat to taylor’s career or brand. and i don’t think taylor anticipated the outcome, because right before the election her brother austin and josh were photographed walking around new york together all smiles. i really think if hilary had gotten elected, karlie and even josh may have been further incorporated into her public friend group and we might have gone back to the level of glass closeting they had in 2014, pre-kissgate.. (i think people forget that there is a connection between the haim sisters and josh (and mikey, who was publicly connected to este for a hot minute) that is noticeable if you follow instagram likes). all of this to say, i do think things would have been quite different. but anyway, life finds a way.

as for your final question, i don’t like to predict because the world changes so rapidly and we (and taylor herself) simply cannot anticipate everything. but, if kamala harris pulls out a win and taylor finishes her re-records, i would have to imagine that the conditions are a lot more favorable for taylor to change up what she’s doing, and i do think i will be paying closer attention in 2025 to things in general (ive been laying back for awhile, trying to take it easy, because ive felt things haven’t been the right conditions needed to make any big changes)

i hope i’ve provided some of the answers you were looking for!

[papirouge]

You mentioned something about Macron's wife being trans... Is that true? That reminded me of when people used to say Lady Gaga was actually Lord Gaga (aka a man)

I just replied to an ask and talked about her 👀

But yes s/he is trans and started dating Emmanuel Macron (France current president) when he was 14 and she a 39 y.o married woman with a daughter. Her husband got totally blindsided and thought the reason Macron came to their house so often (she was his theater teacher) was bc he was dating his daughter (who's the same age as him 💀)

This scandal got revealed by a whistleblower called Natacha Rey who's did a 3 hours+ exposé, and Brigitte Macron dragged her to court for transphobia, which is very troubling bc if what Natacha Rey was untrue, she would be rather attacked for diffamation of something like that. 👀

I've seen that Candace Owens started to talk about this story which gave it more visibility globally but I lowkey hate to see rightoids moids praise her for that when nobody says the name of Natacha Rey who's the one who did all the investigation and is not a right wing grifter à la Candace Owens.

It would be hard to elaborate on the whole story but to sum it up :

Brigitte sexually abused Macron when he was 14 y.o

Brigitte said her old identity (as a boy) was her brother. The problem is that nobody ever found him (because he didn't exist, it was Brigitte old identity), and the Elysée (the french presidential house) falsified documents to make it seems he did

Brigitte is allegedly even older than her public age.

Brigitte has a past of mingling with pedophile rings of the infamous Pasteur Doucé (killed by the french intelligence because he knew too much)

She's friends with the Rothschilds (IYKYK)

Natacha Rey investigated the photographs of Brigitte (given by her cabinet) from when she was younger. Turns out they were pictures of her own daughter digitally manipulated to make them look older. There are literally no pictures of Brigitte before her 40s which is allegedly the time she transitioned

Trump allegedly has evidence of extremely compromising/disturbing info about Brigitte and Macron sexual mores...

Brigitte is Macron handler (MK ultra style) which explains why she's extremely involved in his political decisions despite not having any electoral mandate herself

I don't think Gaga has been man. The transapocalypse is a tinfoil lane championned by incels who've never seen a woman naked irl & think a woman who's not shaped in a perfect 8 hourglass figure is a man. I definitely think there are more trans women in the mainstream entertainment industry than we think, but a lot of transapocalypse tinfoils are stupid.

The only legit trans suspicion IMO are Paris Hilton, Michele Obama.... I'm on the fence for Serena Williams.

[ingravinoveritas]

I don’t think it’s fake tan I think it’s a god awful thick foundation. That’s not a criticism of David, he is very gorgeous and photographs really well. I had the joy of seeing him in GOOD and up close at a con late last year and his skin is beautiful and soft looking with lovely freckles. Really wish they would stop putting thick orange crap on his pretty face.

(This is referring to this post, for those who might've missed it.)

Ahh. Thank you for the clarification, Anon. (Also, so thrilled for you that you got to see David in Good and at a Con! I'm hoping I'll have a chance to see him on stage or meet him myself one day...)

Initially, I was leaning toward thinking it was foundation, but it didn't make sense to me why they would use that shade on him because of how garish it looks. It's giving Donald Trump, like where you can see the spray tan wasn't applied around his eyes, and why any makeup artist worth their salt would ever want David to look like that is beyond me.

I agree with you that he is gorgeous and does photograph well, but the continued pattern of putting this awful makeup on him is confounding to me. These are two of my favorite pictures of David ever:

And the reason I love them so much is because we can see his freckles. No makeup, no concealer or foundation...just 100% gorgeous David. So it feels incredibly distasteful to me that the shows and projects he works on repeatedly insist on covering those freckles, especially when there is no real reason to do so.

It makes me think of David having to do an RP or English accent for so many roles, most notably the Doctor. Again, I think it's one thing when we're saying the accent is part of who the character is...but when that choice is made just for the sake of it, it starts to feel like the message is that there is something wrong with David's natural accent. That it's not that the Doctor isn't Scottish, but that the Doctor can't be Scottish because for some reason, that is unacceptable (and yes, I know Peter Capaldi got to be Scottish as Twelve, so the irony is not lost on me).

Likewise with the freckles, the idea there is that having or not having freckles has nothing to do with the character, but rather that freckles are somehow inherently bad and have to be covered up. I just can't help but think of what kind of message that sends, and especially what it makes David feel about himself. He's mentioned his insecurities about his appearance in the past, and it's unfortunate because his skin truly is beautiful and deserves to be seen in all its natural glory.

So yes, like you, I also wish these people would stop putting such ugly foundation and other products on David's face. I'm hoping it was only for that particular photo shoot, and that he won't be wearing it in the show itself. Fingers crossed...

[patricia-von-arundel]

Dear Scott Adams,

First of all, you, sir, are an absolute dickhead, and another unneeded example of why straight, white, rich, conservative men who mistake success and/or self-described "expertise" in one area as indication that their inherent great wisdom and insight is just what the rest of the world needs (see also: Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, etc etc etc etc etc) are really fucking irritating and should honestly all be locked up together and filmed in a Battle Royale-style slap-fight to the death. (I'd watch it.)

That said, you seem to have gotten your racist, sexist, not-half-as-funny-as-other-white-conservative-men-think-you-are self shitcanned, finally (something anyone who is not one of your cohort of fellow straight, white, rich, conservative men has been waiting for for 20+ years). And you did so by oh-so-wisely calling Black people a "hate group" and saying white people should move away from them, because for some completely strange, obscure reason, Black people are a bit put out by white people being absolute buffoons about their own history, their families' potential involvement in upholding not-so-distant past atrocities, and their regular whining about reparations, affirmative action, cops murdering POC, rap music, Black women's hair, Colin Kaepernick, Barack Obama being a secret Kenyan Muslim KGB-plant Alpha Centaurian lizard-person, and having to say they're sorry for all the young Black men they, their parents, their grandparents, their great-grandparents, great-great - you get the idea - killed and continued to kill for daring to exist and be Black and male.

Huh. Why in the world would these things bother anyone??? Weird.

ANYWAY -

Mr. Adams, you list your location on Twitter as Pleasanton, CA. As of the 2020 census, Pleasanton had just under 80,000 people (and was, coincidentally,the wealthiest city of its size in the US) . It is about 67% white, and less than 2% Black or African-American.

That means, Mr. Adams, you are one of roughly 47,000 white people in Pleasanton. Compare that to less than 2,000 Black or African-American people. Even if we also looked at mixed-race inhabitants (without even considering that it is possible to be mixed race without being Black), we add in another 5% of the population, or roughly 3,300 more people. Okay - so about 5,300 people who are either Black or mixed-race. Compared to, again, 47,000 white people.

Now - I am white, too. As far as we've been able to determine, we probably had one Black man or woman in my family, likely sometime in the late 1700s or early 1800s, but as far as I'm aware, nobody has actually been able to pinpoint who or where, just assume based on some family lore and ancient photographs from the mid-1800s. This would have been through Harmon Chavis, my great-great-great-grandfather (I think?), who died in 1869. And clearly the single possibly-Black person in the family did nothing to improve the family as a whole, because both Chavis and his son-in-law (Anderson West) were from slave-owning families. (People in my family don't seem to learn - one of the first to arrive from England in the 1600s, a William West, got his stupid colonizing ass slaughtered by Native Americans. Good riddance, you asshole.)

(And to give a shred of credit to the women in the family, there's a picture where someone quite deliberately cut out ol' Anderson. I'm not crying over it...

And yes, I know, this is probably enough information to figure out exactly who I am, but I also have the "fuck around and find out" gene, and it's very strong.

And hey, the general racist and colonizing idiocy has improved somewhat. When my aunt found out Chavis was likely half or a quarter African, she was fine with that! The real shocker was that we had a Zinn in the family, and thus might have Jewish ancestry! The pure horror! 🙄

His name was Hieronymous Zinn, which is the most awesome name ever, and if given a choice, I'd take him over my aunt.)

ANYWAY -

My point, Mr. Adams, is this: my family is 99.9999999% WHITE AS FUCKING SNOW (or as white as a Welsh-Swedish-French family is likely to be!), but where I live, the population in the metro area is roughly 600,000 people. Of that, about 53% is white, roughly 318,000 people, and 45% is Black/African-American, or roughly 270,000 people.

Mr. Adams, I have lived here (in either this metro area, or elsewhere in the state) for all but approximately five years of my life. (Though god knows I'm hoping to get out soon, because heat and I do not get along...) I am not some great expert on racial history, politics, psychology, or reconcilation. I've taken some courses on sociology and cross-cultural psychology, and have worked on studies looking at racial demographics and health outcomes, but that doesn't make me particularly knowledgeable.

But see, Mr. Adams, this is where I differ from straight, white, rich, conservative men: I know and recognize the limits of my knowledge.

However, if we consider just base knowledge based on something as simplistic as where each of us currently lives - I'm much more familiar with living alongside the Black community than you are, Mr. Adams. I have had far, far more negative experiences from your type (especially the straight, white, male parts) than from anyone who is Black. I have had no problems going to school with, teaching, working with, or living alongside the Black community. I've been harassed, stalked, physically attacked, and sexually assaulted by... straight, white men.

Do you believe I should say, then, Mr. Adams, that it is best that I live apart from straight, white men? Would that seem a fair statement to make, based solely on my own experiences, rather than considering broader historical, cultural, societal, and economic factors?

I suspect you'd say "no." I suspect you'd argue that such a viewpoint would be short-sighted, ignorant, and unfair.

And yet, apparently, your experience as a wealthy, straight, white, conservative man living in a very well-off California community with a population that is less than 2% Black/African-American makes you an expert on all Black people, so much that you can call them a "hate group" (for what, contaminating drinking fountains because now you have to share???) and recommending white people should live apart?

I don't know, Mr. Adams. In my own experience, which has involved significantly more daily interaction with Black people through the 34 years I have lived in this state, I think my conclusion is based on a more solid foundation, family history, understanding of cultural factors and psychology, and, of course, my personal experiences. And it is thus:

Eat shit, you fucking bag of broken dildos.

(Also, your comic sucks, and has always sucked. May you face Charles Schulz at the pearly gates, and be found wanting.)

[lisa-and-shadow]

I have seen this post cross my dash a few times now and I am SO SICK of all of the out of state internet leftists crying about ACAB and buying into the narrative presented by the person who posted these pictures. Ya'll eat propaganda up whenever it fits your narrative. This dimwit's Twitter is full of pro-Trump Fox news posts and outright lies about Helene and ya'll are taking their word on this?? Really??? Realllyyyyy????? Can you do just an ounce of investigation before you spread this crap during a disaster.

So you think the store should give away the groceries? OK. Me too. But who does that? The employees?? Who are also victims of the storm???

Ya'll expect the minimum wage workers to leave their storm damaged, no power homes, put on their Ingles uniform, smile and say "Can I help you?" in a recently flooded, dark store with no power and wait on everybody like business as usual?

These customers had the unmitigated lack of sense to say, "Well I have cash" as though the card reader being down was the problem and not the fact that the store was completely without power, sanitation, had been flooded by about 4 inches of mud, and THERE WERE NO EMPLOYEES.

You think the evil corporation just magically makes the food fly into everyone's waiting hands like the loaves and the fishes?? Were those 3 cops supposed to go in there and personally set up an entire food distribution situation themselves with no experience in how to do that? Or just open the doors and let the whole town turn loose in there? Because I'm sure no one would take advantage. (Certainly not the people who were well off enough to drive to Ingles, cash in hand, expecting to grocery shop like it was a normal afternoon. As opposed to say... I don't know. The folks without a pot to piss in who actually need assistance. But I digress.)

I live in western North Carolina. I am truly blessed to say that I'm about an hour and a half east of where the storm did the worst damage and we were lucky. My cousin's house was crushed by a tree and her daughter had to be rescued from underneath debris by her neighbors. By some miracle she escaped with minor injuries. I am telling you this so you know that I speak as someone with a dog in this fight. I am also a grown adult who has experienced hurricanes of a similar scale to this in my life. Floyd specifically. I know what they are going through personally.

But why should we believe you, Lisa?? Because I know how to look up sources my darling.

The source of the photo is Twitter, which was picked up by a couple of news sites of varying veracity.

The original photographer's Twitter is a cesspool of misinformation and pro-Trump propaganda. Vile.

And by October 3rd this grocery store was an official distribution point for relief supplies and water. Oh wow! Crazy!

Because distributing supplies in a safe and orderly manner in a way that will actually help people requires organization and volunteers. You can't expect this shit to fall from the sky because you yelled ACAB at your computer real loud.

If you want to actually do something useful for my state donate to Second Harvest Food Bank. They're local and they've got boots on the ground.

If you made it this far. Thank you. I am not a fan of policing in this country. I will be the first to openly discuss the issues of institutional racism and brutality in its ranks. But I will remind you that these are small towns with even smaller fire, police, and emergency services. They have all been affected by this too, and they're working on the recovery efforts as well as needing the help themselves. It fucking sucks for everybody. You don't get a pass from the storm because you wear a badge. All the people threatening these small town cops in the notes when they've got storm damaged homes and missing family too? Grow up.

Can't wait for OP to block me for my "bad take". ✌️

[snapshotspeirs]

Now heading back from meeting Sonja!

Had a lovely time with sonja today and she's even offered to give me tips on headshots and directing people in her studio some time soon!

We met at her studio and she showed me the place, it was pretty small but you don't need a huge studio if you are shooting headshots. I asked how much she pays for rent since it's a nice small place and she only pays £240 I commented on how lucky she is and she's fully aware.

From there we walked down to a nearby cafe and got some drinks and sat down. I started the conversation asking about why she decided to move and work in Scotland since she's originally from Germany and this turned into a big political conversation pretty fast that I honestly wish I could have avoided because we went totally off track for a good 20 minutes for the hour I had to chat with her, talking about our politics and I mentioned how Germany is shifting to being more right leaning and that turned into a conversation about trump. Our views on politics are a bit different but I wanted to get the conversation back on track so I just nodded and agreed with most of the things sonja was saying out of politeness.

Once we got back on track however the conversation was enlightening! Sonja does a large variety of jobs, headshots, portraits, unit stills, production, gig, corporate and real estate are the ones we talked about. This really highlighted to me that to souley be a photographer as your main income you have to be pretty flexible and rarely can you only do one genre of photography and make enough money to live but on the same hand a lot of the skills you use for one type of those genres will be transferable to most other types of photography.

I asked Sonja how she manages to branch out into all these different genres and she told me it's all about your people skills. When you're on these jobs you shouldn't just take pictures. You need to socialise with these people to make sure they remember you and when they move onto other projects they'll remember you and want to hire you again. Another part was also to make good connections with other photographers! Often enough you might get hired to do too many jobs if you are are able to make these good connections and what will happen is you will recommend another photographer who you know is credible.

[bllsbailey]

Kamala Harris Just Keeps Digging With Latest Jab at Gold Star Families

A Kamala Harris aide decided to lean further into the story surrounding Gold Star families and Donald Trump visiting Arlington National Cemetery. The ceremony in question was held in honor of the 13 American service members who were killed during the Afghanistan withdrawal, a decision Harris has long bragged about being the "last person in the room" for. 

Instead of focusing on their memories, though, both the press and Harris have tried to make an issue of cameras being present, claiming that Trump disrespected "sacred ground." That talking point was technically put to rest on Saturday when eight of the Gold Star families released videos lambasting the vice president for politicizing the issue and stating that they asked for the event to be videoed and photographed so they would have a memory of the day. 

The smart move would have been to drop the issue, but on Monday, NBC News released a report citing a Harris aide claiming that the vice president wasn't invited to be there. That was meant to push back on Sen. Tom Cotton's claim on Sunday that both Harris and Joe Biden had the opportunity to show up.

WATCH: Tom Cotton Takes Down NBC News Anchor After She Lies Defending Kamala Harris

Gold Star families did not invite President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris to Arlington National Cemetery by last week to commemorate the third anniversary of the attack at Abbey Gate in Afghanistan, a White House official and a Harris aide told NBC News, rebutting separate claims made Sunday by GOP Sen. Tom Cotton and former Rep. Tulsi Gabbard.

Whether that's true or not is hard to pin down. For context, the mother-in-law of Marine Sgt. Nicole Gee (who was a victim of the suicide bombing at the Abbey Gate) said in her video statement that she couldn't get Harris to return her calls. Was there an attempt to invite both the president and vice president that got scuttled simply because the administration continues to stonewall the Gold Star families involved? That's certainly a possibility. 

SEE: Gold Star Families Release Devastating Responses to Harris Politicizing Trump Cemetery Visit 

It's also just not that relevant and ignores the bigger issue at play. Harris couldn't even be bothered to show up for the dignified transfer at Dover Air Force Base despite taking credit for the withdrawal that got the service members in question killed. She was never going to show up for this wreath-laying ceremony and everyone knows it. It's also been established that she won't return the calls of the families anyway so Harris not receiving a formal invite isn't surprising. You'd need to pick up the phone for that.

I have no idea why Harris continues to lean into this. The right move from the beginning was to shut up about the issue and just let it fade. By attacking Trump (and by proxy, the Gold Star families who wanted the pictures taken), the vice president has pumped new life into a story that does not play in her favor. Going after Gold Star families is never a good look, and using the biased press to do it via anonymous sources (in this case, an aide) looks even worse. 

Harris has had the opportunity to do the right thing for years. She hasn't done so. She has no moral authority to criticize others over respecting America's war dead when she clearly doesn't do so herself. 

[enemymine2000]

Wanted to address these: I very clearly only spoke about the Secret Service actions. I don't plan on speculating on the shooter and his motivations. And it ultimately makes no difference either way. The picture of Trump with a bloody ear raising his fist will be the one generations to come will be confronted with. Just like the voters this coming election. Think back to footage of other assassination attempts - successful or otherwise - you'll get footage of the Secret Service doing their jobs, of the protectee either dragged away or the aftermath in a secondary location. Even in the piss-poor execution of a protection detail that was the JFK assassination - taking a top down convertible, no agents in the car, not secured route (not going into the conspiracy theories here either) - the first order of business was removing the President from the line of fire. Due to the nature of that assassination it was straight to the hospital for him. Same as Reagan, due to the injuries sustained. Any injury would demand that course of action by the way. Because a Secret Service agent is no medical professional and able to make the call if bad or not bad. If not injured off to a secure secondary location it is. A governmental facility, a military installation, the next airport and off to places unknown for politicians, I guess. Civilians might have to make do with a vetted hotel or some private compound.

So, to summarize: Trumps protection was lacking. It took the Secret Service way to long to take the immediate appropriate action - getting him off the podium and down to the ground, covered by the bodies of Secret Service agents. He should have been removed from the hightened position all together, forcefully carried, if necessary, into the a waiting armoured car and off within seconds (maybe a minute tops depending on distance to car) after the first shot was fired. That he was not only not removed from the venue, but photographers were close enough within the throng of his protection detail to get those pictures, that he was able to have his head above any of his protectors at all, should have been impossible. Because as someone said, if we can see his face, a bullet can hit it. Because unless the entire venue was checked and cleared, as well as the surrounding area, no one could be sure if it was just one shooter. And since the event was done the moment the first shot rang out, there was no reason for any speaker - former president and candidate or not - to stick around. That was the main point I was making. The execution of the protection detail was fishy as hell. For that it doesn't matter what supposed race the shooter belongs to, what voting record he had or hadn't had or how many other people got shot. But to the point of "no one from the upper cares about the lower class": In context of such events properly executed protection includes a certain protection for everyone in attendance. Because an event like that is supposed to be vetted in advance. Each possible direct line of sight should have been checked. Agents should have been everywhere, where a shooter could set up. They should have had their own snipers on each elevated point. That's just basics. Adding on are bomb sniffing dogs, vetting of other staff, communication with private protection details of other attendees, and so on and so forth. Therefore if the Secret Service had done their job correctly, there shouldn't have been a shooting. Those civilians would still be alive. The matter of weapons in hands of civilians and no gun control is one for the people of the USA. A concern that has been raised again and again, but so far not deemed important enough over the interests of those who have financial gain from weaponsl sales and those that think that a small armory in the house would actually do jack shit in case of some imagined World War III on American soil scenario. You tell me, how many more mass shootings that country needs (72 in June of 2024 alone), to invest money into mental health care and a system of vetting gun buyers without exception - at least. (I myself am from a country with strict gun control, where you have to prove your fitness to own one - not carry, just own - and a legitimate reason to do so. Carry is restricted to professionals like police officers or hunters in the act of hunting.) As for it playing into Trump's hands: Yes, yes, it does, if you want to or not. Just like it would play in, say, Biden's, if it were to happen to him. Those pictures are media gold. A show of strength, that might swing a lot of votes of undecided or third party voters. And that's not saying he already has won. Please no, the entire world doesn't want to see that happen again! But it will make it even harder for the Democrats, whose candidate is currently under permanent "he's tired and unfit" attacks. Which sadly is the truth. Biden is not fit for a second term. Which already has a lot of those who normally would vote blue no matter who comtemplating a third party. And seeing as the USA have basically a two party system that means giving the Magas the advantage in the votes. Not taking into account the bs that is the Electoral College, because I wouldn't put it past either party to have tried at least once to "influence" those on it.

[eternal--returned]

Other things were going on at the same time. Houston had flooded, there were photographs of a care home in which several residents in wheelchairs, elderly black women, were up to their chests in dirty brown water. The President was on it, he was using a full arsenal of exclamation marks. Kathy read a long essay on Ivanka and Jared, she was doing her duty as a citizen, keeping abreast of corruption. No one liked them, that was the gist. Who gave a fuck, Kathy thought, no one liked Putin, likeability was irrelevant, what mattered was whether you could make people numb enough to change all the laws, change the entire system, that was the game. Once you pardoned a corrupt sheriff who'd openly run 'concentration camps' for Latinos you were probably well on the way.

Numbness mattered, it was what the Nazis did, made people feel like things were moving too fast to stop and though unpleasant and eventually terrifying and appalling, were probably impossible to do anything about. She'd been reading a book by Philip Guston. On 23 October 1968, Guston had been in conversation with Morton Feldman at the New York Studio School. He'd been thinking a lot about the Holocaust, he said, especially the concentration camp Treblinka. It worked, the mass killing, he told Feldman, because the Nazis deliberately induced numbness on both sides, in the victims and also the tormentors. And yet a small group of prisoners had managed to escape. Imagine what a process it was to unnumb yourself, he said, to see it as it actually was. That's the only reason to be an artist: to escape, to bear witness to this.

Kathy dug it, even as she felt the numbness moving up her body. The speed of the news cycle, the hyper-acceleration of the story, she was hip to those pleasures, queasy as they were. People got used to them, they depended on the reliable shots of 10am and 3pm and 7pm outrage. Take right now, 27 August 2017. HISTORIC rainfall in Houston, and all over Texas, Trump had tweeted. Floods are unprecedented, and more rain coming. Spirit of the people is incredible. Thanks! I will also be going to a wonderful state, Missouri, that I won by a lot in 16. Dem C.M. is opposed to big tax cuts. Republican will win S! The next day there was a picture of him by the floods, arm and arm with Melania in serious spike heels, her blow-dry flawless. Grifters on a jolly. The man who owned the megachurch, the pastor, Kathy supposed, was getting a lot of flak for keeping his church closed. He was praying, but since people were pitching tents on roofs they felt understandably annoyed at the doors being locked on a potentially vast public sleeping space.

Was everyone getting more democratic, now things were starting to bite? Probably not, though Kathy had some small hopes. A local mattress retailer, called something like but not exactly Mattress Matty, had opened up his stores to the wet hungry and otherwise dispossessed. He was offering free mattresses, help people get back on their feet. Meanwhile Stephen Hawking had written a letter to the Telegraph explaining that Jeremy Junt was about to sell off the NHS to private corporations, even though he said he wasn't. This was beginning to seem like the end game of Brexit, especially after the Japanese non-deal, to get the country into such a dead end, an abject hole that the only thing to do was sell the public silver. If there was any public silver left—yes, Kathy thought, schools, parks, swimming pools, possibly railway tracks, the Royal Mail, definitely the NHS. The gold had gone, also electric power and other utilities, there'd been a series of pieces in the London Review of Books that she'd read carefully but now could barely recall beyond a slow stirring of nausea, the sense of the ground being parceled off beneath her. Last night a steam train had gone past on the tracks at the bottom of the garden, an unexpected visitation, its windows lit gold with old-fashioned lamps. There were people inside, in glowing chambers, and she opened the door to her study and stood in the evening air, watching them shunt by. The past was gone, if you posted a letter now it took three days to reach its destination, there were definitely unpleasant changes up ahead, less money, fewer elephants, one day for sure no water in the taps. Kathy hoped to be dead by then, but she'd prefer it if the mostly benevolent life she lived was shared equally by all people. A crane in the distance, the imperative to make it over, make it new.

Olivia Laing ֍ Crudo (2018)