#probably pulled this from ap euro

[eatsbooks]

so what do you think the autumn court’s political system actually looks like?

feudalism !! i think that system fits well for a few different reasons:

canonically, we already know that beron parcels out the land for his sons to rule over in his stead. a feudalistic system would explain why he decided to have so many children to begin with — more sons = more vassals to swear fealty to him, ones that he can better ensure the loyalty of than those of other bloodlines. this further helps to cement vanserra reign. with seven! sons!! he can effectively bump all the other non-vanserra nobles who oversaw parcels of land down the hierarchy, ensuring all are beneath not only him as high lord but also beneath another vanserra lord to boot. it also explains why the younger vanserra boys are so antagonistic towards one another, even knowing the unlikelihood that they will actually become heir — with their brothers out of the picture or just out of their father's favor, they have the opportunity to accrue more power by expanding their provinces or even taking over one another's.

we also know the common folk are suffering while the aristocracy is flourishing. if none of the land they tend actually belongs to them and all of their profits eventually find their way to beron, whether it's coin for rent or the crops they harvest that will ultimately be sold, in exchange for protections that are rarely actually received, this lends more credence to a discomfited autumn court population that is too disenfranchised to do anything about it.

plus there's more fun political drama amongst the vassals and nobles this way! everything has to move up and through this chain of command, which means the corruption can be systemic and spread beyond beron's rule. makes it even harder for eris to enact widespread reform. yummy.

autumn land is always fertile. i guess that's a personal hc more than anything canon, but i feel like that makes sense. anything can be grown, no matter the season, and the soil is always rich, even after a harvest. feudalism is the easiest way to ensure all of the land is being utilized to its fullest, most profitable extent without beron having to overextend himself as a ruler.

while this makes it more difficult for widespread reform, feudalism would give eris more room to maneuver in his own province. in the same way that there's more opportunity for corruption, there is also more opportunity for him to enact positive change — as long as he is coming up with enough coin / crops / what have you to meet quota, he can largely rule as he sees fit without beron's scrutiny. plus, with the land parceled and an isolated sect of nobility beneath him, it's easier to keep any differences in the way he rules compared to his father or his brothers contained. it even fits in with the respect and loyalty he has for his own guard / soldiers versus those of his father — they come from his province, they are his people.

a feudalistic system also gives beron an even better reason beyond just being power-hungry to want to expand his territory in acosf by allying with briallyn. he needs more land to make more profit! and spring might not function exactly like autumn, but it is no doubt the closest when it comes to fertile and bountiful land.

[tardis-ghost-blog]

Soul’s Shadow Ch2 (Doctor Who)

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He was already a few steps ahead before I got my body to react and follow him, the gun still in my hands. The metal had gotten warm from my own body temperature, but the weight and feeling was still so uncanny. I wondered if it was even loaded, and if so, why he would give it to me just like that. Right here and an now I would be able to simply shoot him in the back - and I was rather certain he wouldn't be able to avoid it this far away.

With a sigh I stuffed the weapon into my small shoulder bag. This was all just a weird dream anyway, right? Speaking of which... I pinched my nose shut with my fingers, trying to breathe through it anyway. When this didn't succeed I counted my fingers... twice. And finally pulled out a crumbled receipt from my pocket to read its content.

Alright... all reality checks indicated that I, indeed, was awake. No lucid dream for me, then. I frowned and sighed. Both, because it would have been cool, and because it meant I was awake and this was really happening.

"Where are we going, Mr. Saxon?" I asked eventually, when he walked down an alley I had rarely used before.

"Don't call me that. It's not my name."

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled and managed to get next to him. He wasn't that big, actually, compared to me he was, of course, but still not so much. And he looked rather cool in those clothes, sparkling the unfitting wish in me to sit down and draw him. I coughed slightly to get my head clear. "What is your name, then?"

The stranger turned around, halted in his steps and observed me for a few seconds.

"I am the Master," he announced with a proud smile.

"Of what?"

"Huh?"

"Master of what?" I wanted to know.

He raised a brow and shrugged, grinning boyishly. "Of everything."

I couldn't help it. My stupid brain just never stands still. "Well, not of Great Britain anymore,"

Instead of murdering me, the Master only let out a short laugh. It sounded honestly amused, though, making me smile a little myself. At least he seemed to have some humour.

"Oh, one day the universe itself will be mine, just you watch me," he said sweetly, like a boy telling his mom he wants to become a pilot.

Somehow the Master felt so childish and boyish, it was hard to believe he was the same man whom almost all of Britain had wanted as Prime Minister.

My thoughts briefly wandered back to that time, trying to puzzle together what exactly he had even told people. Something flashed behind my eyes, too quickly gone to really grasp. Images, impressions. Screams and smoke and round objects flying through the sky. I blinked perplex and shook my head.

"What's with you?" the Master bowed down a little, curiously observing my puzzled features.

"N... nothing. Just slept bad, 's all."

He shrugged and straightened again, wanting to continue the walk, however turning around once more. "And what do they call you?"

"Call...? Oh... I'm Lucy."

His face dropped instantly, morphing into an expression of annoyance and almost hate. "You have any other names?"

"Nooo..." I responded carefully. "What's wrong with it?"

The Master grunted and rolled his eyes. "My former wife's name. And that beasty thing tried to shoot me. Missed, of course. Never held a gun in her life before, but still..."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I'll just call you Lu, how about that?" He smiled again. "Alternatively we can settle on stupid earth ape."

"That's a bit long, innit?" I chuckled. "Lu's fine. But still, where're we going?"

"A shortcut into town."

"Oh.... I see. Say..." Again I felt my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Was I really about to do this? "The person I choose... do they have to live nearby?"

The Master tilted his head. "I have no TARDIS, right now. So, wherever they are, you have to get us there."

What the hell was a TARDIS?

I nodded. "Can you... mhm... get money? I mean, lots of it. Without anyone noticing it, of course. I... don't have much."

His eyes glinted happily. "No problem."

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The landscape rushed past the window, trees and fields, villages and cities, all a blur of colour. It had gotten evening, the sky took on soft dark shades, and orange and white lamps faded into light. Sometimes the train halted, and the later it got, the less people entered or exited. Sometimes the stations were completely empty and through the window seeped the smell of foreignness.

"As a child I always imagined to go on a ride like this," I mumbled dreamily, "and simply get off the train at one of those empty, black stations. Not knowing where I am, or where to go."

The Master sat opposite to me, arms folded over his chest, eyes closed and his head resting against the window. He wasn't asleep, that I could tell. He didn't feel asleep, more relaxed, in a weird way.

"You like long train rides, too, huh?"

He smiled, his eyes creeping open. "It's so nicely quiet."

"Quiet..." I repeated absently, my gaze wandering back to the darkness-covered world outside. "Trains are so loud, though. I like how they sound. As if the wheels on the tracks are singing a song."

His gaze rested on me, I felt it intensely and looked at him, eventually. Although we had the lights dimmed in our compartment I could still see his eyes. And like before they fascinated me. Usually I can't look people in the eyes for long. It always feels so overwhelming, distracting, downright unpleasant. Because of that they often think I'm not listening... But I understand a lot more when I don't have to look. With the Master it was different, as if his gaze wasn't constantly searching for a way to call me out, to tell me how inhuman I behave and rub it into my face. He just didn't care.

"That's a hellishly long ride to get rid of a person," he remarked after we parted from another station.

My gaze kept glued to the window, but I still nodded. The sound of the train lulled me into a light slumber, brought me back to some hours ago, when the Master had entered a bank only to walk over to the banker and had told him to hand him a hundred thousand Euros. Astonished I had watched the scene, had glared at the Master with an opened mouth when he pushed the bag into my hands.

I had to transfer most of it to my bank account, not wanting to carry it all around with me, and the rest of the way my thoughts turned summersaults. I could finally pay back all of my student debts! I could afford a brand new gaming PC, a bike or... a bed.

Thinking about my almost empty apartment I concluded it would be wise to start with the basics. I hadn't been able to afford furniture, so far, my belongings only consisting of a mattress on the floor, a shaky table and chair for my laptop and three cupboards that could - with lots of good will - be called a kitchen. Heck! I didn't even own a fridge!

Now, all of a sudden, none of it was a problem anymore. I was free, I had enough to live for at least a few years, in case my bad luck with finding jobs would continue.

And all that for the price of a human life.

"Who is it?" the Master asked, as if he had read my thoughts.

The question tore me out of the thoughts, bringing me back to the present moment, and also to a past long gone, to the time of my childhood - if you can call it that - to years of fear and being caged in. None of it was his busyness.

"You didn't want to know."

"Now I do," he countered calmly.

"Because it's quiet?"

An almost pained smile appeared on his face. I had hit a point, although I had no clue what it was about. Only another puzzle piece for my pattern oriented mind, another snipped about the strange man in front of me, that once had been known by every person in the country, but was now unrecognized, as it seemed.

"What happened when you became Prime Minister?" I couldn't help but ask, ignoring his own question. "I remember the spheres killing the president, but then..." Again, images whizzed through my head, probably created by my brain to fill the gaps. A brain can do that... create false memories, because remembering something at all is better than having a hole in your head.

"I took over the earth," the Master told with a grin. "First I decimated the human race, then had some fun with you all." He snickered. "Wiped out Japan, built a police state, let my Toclafane decimate a few more of you, here and there. You know... just for fun. Humans reproduce so fast, it almost doesn't matter."

I only blinked at him, confused.

"No, you didn't."

"Well, you wouldn't remember. It all was based on a paradox, so it never happened."

Again I blinked. There was something in my mind, pieces that got put together, a pattern, evolving from the net of information and thoughts in my head. Then it clicked.

"You're alien, too, aren't you?"

It made sense. Looking back at the attacks on earth, so far, his strange behaviour, the weird terms he always used, the way he felt so different... I glanced back into his eyes, knowing it to be true, no matter if he would deny it now or not. No human could have such eyes.

"What if?"

"Hm..." I made, noncommittally, shrugged and drew my legs up on the seat to wrap my arms around them. "A paradox..." I thought out loud, leaning my head against the window. If he was alien then it was possible he had the technology to make something like that possible. "You really did all those things, then?"

A childish smile let his eyes crinkle with joy. "Scared now?" he teased and gave me a mock-pout. "It's not the worst thing I've ever done, if that consoles you."

It didn't. But that he wasn't a good person had been obvious right from the start. I probably should have been scared, should have risked jumping from the train only the get away from this man. Strangely enough my heart was calm, my mind only tired because it was so late already.

No, I wasn't scared... yet. Had he been human I would have assumed he was a psychopath, but somehow that didn't quite fit him. There was more to the Master, a calmness behind the chaos in his eyes, a softness, buried beneath the ocean of blood and cries he seemed to have left behind. An image flashed through my head, of him kneeling in the rain, crying out an unspeakable pain, without anyone every listening.

I blinked it away. It happens sometimes, my brain just creating scenes and images from what I pick up from other people. No idea if I'm really that empathic... Or if it's more like with blind people... I can't read body language and facial expressions so well, but instead I somehow can sense people's moods and feelings, without even looking at them. I think everyone can do that, but most people don't have to.

"How is it?" I mumbled. "To take a life."

The Master smiled and leaned forward, hands folded in his lap. "Exciting. You finally understand how much power you have, what you're capable of, and that no one can stand in your way any longer." He chuckled a little. "You'll see for yourself."

I swallowed and glanced away. Rain started to trickle down the window and I closed it, listening to the added sound of drops against glass. So soothing, distracting me from what was ahead.

"You're an odd one," the Master remarked quietly. "About to commit murder, but you don't even look bothered about it. And there you humans are so annoyingly moral."

"I don't understand moral," I softly admitted and shrugged. "There usually is no logic behind it. It's just things you don't do, because you... don't do it. But no one ever tells you, why."

The Master laughed quietly to himself and leaned back again, signalling the conversation to be over. I didn't mind, feeling tired anyway. Good thing those seats were long. I slipped out of my shoes, lifted my legs up, while taking my glasses off and placing them on top of the trash bin.

"Wake me, when we're there," I mumbled and curled myself up on the seat.

[newstfionline]

Headlines

Social distancing could last months, White House coronavirus coordinator says (Washington Post) Some form of social distancing will probably remain in place through the summer, Deborah Birx, the White House’s coronavirus task force coordinator, said Sunday—the same day several governors expressed optimism about the course of the virus and outlined their plans for a piecemeal reopening of their economies. After weeks of being told to simply stay home to halt the spread of the virus, individuals and business owners are now facing more complex decisions about how to proceed. In places where restaurant dining rooms are reopening, is it safe to go? Is it a good idea to return to the hair salon for a much-needed trim? And for business owners facing a litany of new guidelines about how to reopen without endangering their workers or customers, are the risks worth it?

Las Vegas and the jobs crisis (NYT) As the bottom fell out of the American economy, few places were hit harder than Las Vegas, where a full one-third of the local economy is in the leisure and hospitality industry, more than in any other major metropolitan area in the country. Most of those jobs cannot be done from home. Nearly 350,000 people in Nevada have filed for unemployment benefits since the crisis began, the highest number in the history of the state. Applied Analysis, a Las Vegas-based economic research firm, estimates the city’s current jobless rate to be about 25 percent—nearly double what it was during the Great Recession—and rising. “From an analytical standpoint, this is unprecedented,” said Jeremy Aguero, a principal analyst with the firm. “We have no frame of reference for what we are seeing.” Before the crisis, Nevada’s economy was one of the fastest growing in the country. Then, practically overnight, the glittering Vegas strip shut down, throwing thousands of waiters, bartenders, hotel cleaners and casino workers out of work, often without severance or benefits, and leaving the most bustling and storied stretch of the state’s economy boarded up and empty.

Bolsonaro Pulls Back Justice Minister Pick as Critics Cry Foul (Foreign Policy) Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro has postponed the appointment of a new justice minister after numerous news reports suggested Bolsonaro loyalist Jorge Oliveira would be the favorite for the role. The decision follows an explosive few days at the top of Brazilian politics as allegations of presidential corruption mount and public confidence in Bolsonaro’s handling of the country’s coronavirus epidemic crumbles. The latest episode began on Friday with the abrupt resignation of Justice Minister Sergio Moro, after Bolsonaro had fired the head of Brazil’s equivalent to the FBI, Maurício Valeixo. In his resignation press conference, Moro alleged Bolsonaro had fired Valeixo for personal and political reasons relating to ongoing federal investigations into Bolsonaro’s children. Immediately following Moro’s remarks, Brazil’s chief prosecutor asked the Supreme Court to authorize an investigation of Moro’s accusations against Bolsonaro. Writing in FP last week, Eduardo Mello observed that Brazilian lawmakers will be loath to remove Bolsonaro if that risks empowering Vice President Hamilton Mourão, a retired four-star general. “While most in Congress know that Bolsonaro’s populist rhetoric is a threat to them, they also think that having a general with no links to the country’s political power brokers is a bigger risk at the moment,” he wrote.

Chile plans coronavirus certificates (Foreign Policy) Chile is moving forward with a plan to issue “release certificates” to those who have recovered from the coronavirus. The plan, according to Chile’s top health official, Jaime Manalich, would mean holders would be “freed from all types of quarantine or restriction, specifically because they can help their communities enormously since they pose no risk.”

Virus spreads fear through Latin America’s unruly prisons (AP) The spreading specter of the new coronavirus is shaking Latin America’s notoriously overcrowded, unruly prisons, threatening to turn them into an inferno. The Puente Alto prison in downtown Santiago, Chile, had the largest of Latin America’s largest prison virus outbreaks so far, with more than 300 reported cases. The prison’s 1,100 inmates are terrified. Social distancing is hard to practice in jail. Latin America’s prisons hold 1.5 million inmates, and the facilities are often quasi-ruled by prisoners themselves because of corruption, intimidation and inadequate guard staffs. Low budgets also create ideal conditions for the virus to spread: There is often little soap and water and cell blocks are crowded.

As Europe confronts coronavirus, the media faces a trust test (Nieman Reports) By and large, European COVID-19 coverage is not increasing the public’s trust in the media. In an Edelman survey, journalists were the least trusted information source on the coronavirus, falling behind politicians and healthcare CEOs. This response follows five years of declining trust in the European Union’s media, and in some countries, the numbers are quite stark. About a week into Italy’s COVID-19 lockdown, a TradeLab study found that only 16 percent of those surveyed believed news on the pandemic was balanced and transparent.

Dutch teens sail across Atlantic after becoming stranded in Caribbean (Washington Post) When the global pandemic made air travel impossible, a group of Dutch high school students stranded in the Caribbean got home the old-fashioned way—sailing a 200-foot schooner across the Atlantic. The 25 teenagers on board the Wylde Swan sailed into the port of Harlingen and were reunited with their families on Sunday, roughly five weeks after leaving the island of Saint Lucia. Many of the students had minimal sailing experience when they signed up for an educational program aboard the two-masted schooner and had anticipated spending only six weeks cruising the relatively calm waters of the Caribbean. They eventually embarked on a journey of nearly 4,500 nautical miles across the ocean. Along the way, the students gradually got past their seasickness and watched dolphins swim alongside the vessel. One 17-year-old told the Omrop Fryslan Dutch radio station that it had been “an even more exciting journey than what I had signed up for.”

Face masks become mandatory in public across most of Germany (Washington Post) Most federal states across Germany implemented rules on the wearing of face masks in public on Monday, amid hopes that it will allow businesses to reopen without sparking a second wave of infections. The details differ between federal states. For instance in Berlin, face masks are mandatory on public transport, but violating the rule will not be penalized. In Munich and other cities, however, the rules are expected to be more strictly enforced with hefty fines. Face masks are now also mandatory in supermarkets and other shops across much of the country.

Dry Germany, drying Rhine (Bloomberg) Germany’s spring showers haven’t materialized this year, and that’s drying out the country’s most important river (the Rhine), prompting concerns that key industrial goods might have trouble making it to their destination. Typically one of the wettest months, Europe’s biggest economy has received just 5% of its normal April rainfall so far, according to Germany’s federal weather service. It’s on course to be the driest month since records began in 1881.​

The right to work from home (Bild am Sonntag) German Labor and Social Affairs Minister Hubertus Heil has called to enshrine the right to work from home into German law, in a move that could become more common as advanced economies emerge from their coronavirus epidemics. “Anyone who wants to, and whose workplace allows it, should be able to work at home—even when the coronavirus pandemic is over,” Heil told Bild am Sonntag.

Saving Czech pubs (Worldcrunch) With more than 90% of pubs closed due to lockdown measures, the Czech Republic has been deprived of an emblematic part of its culture. In response, Czechs have spent 7 million CZK (257,124 euro) since the beginning of April on beer and food vouchers to be consumed in better times, reported iROZHLAS.cz. Started by the Czech Beer and Malt Association, the site “Zachraň svou hospodu!” (Save Your Pub!) enables concerned drinkers to buy vouchers in order to support their favorite bars and restaurants through the coronavirus shutdown, and use them whenever the cash-strapped pubs reopen.

Mideast economies take massive hit with oil price crash (AP) Iraq is planning painful cuts in social benefits relied on by millions of government workers. Saudi Arabia will likely have to delay mega-projects. Egypt and Lebanon face a blow as their workers in the Gulf send back less of the much-needed dollars that help keep their fragile economies afloat. The historic crash in oil prices in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic is reverberating across the Middle East as crude-dependent countries scramble to offset losses from a key source of state revenue—and all this at a time when several of them already face explosive social unrest. While some Gulf countries can rely on a cushion of foreign currency reserves, nowhere in the region are the circumstances more dire than in Iraq, where oil sales fund 90% of the state budget. Iraq saw massive protests in the past months by a populace angry over the weak economy and rampant corruption—and the turmoil could erupt again. Cutbacks in spending will only add to the pain for a population struggling to get by under coronavirus restrictions.

Lebanese defy coronavirus lockdown and block roads, protesting deteriorating economy (AP) Protesters took the streets across Lebanon late Sunday, blocking roads and highways to protest the worsening economy, in defiance of a coronavirus-triggered lockdown and curfew imposed by authorities, according to the country’s official news agency. Sunday’s demonstrations were the latest to rock Lebanon in recent days, even as a lockdown and a dusk-to-dawn curfew remained in place. The coronavirus pandemic has deepened Lebanon’s worst economic crisis since the nation’s 15 year civil war that ended in 1990. Since October, hundreds of thousands have demonstrated against the government and its elites, decrying corruption and other mismanagement that has crippled the economy.

Netanyahu confident of U.S. backing on annexation (Foreign Policy) On Sunday, Benjamin Netanyahu told a pro-Israel Christian group, the European Commission for Israel, that he was confident the United States would give its blessing to a planned annexation of parts of the occupied West Bank in a matter of months. A condition of Netanyahu’s newly formed coalition with Benny Gantz is that Washington must approve any annexation decision first. Writing in Foreign Policy on April 23, a trio of seasoned Israeli military commanders warned Netanyahu against such a move. Ami Ayalon (a former chief of the Israeli Shin Bet security service), Tamir Pardo (a former director of the Mossad), and Gadi Shamni (a former commander of the Israel Defense Forces Central Command) argued that annexation would undermine Israeli security and could spark a popular backlash in Jordan and Egypt—endangering hard-won peace treaties with those countries. “This irreversible step, once taken, is likely to trigger a chain reaction beyond Israel’s control,” they wrote.

[changji]

Wow you really went off the other day but at least it was worth it 😪 I normally look at the scenery when I’m on a road trip, but then I get bored of it and decide to sleep bc there’s nothing else to do. Motion sickness must suck :(( do you take gravol or something to help with it? Coffee literally drains the life out of my funds it hurts me

Yes omg pls make me cookies I love them. Maybe you can even open a bakery with pastries and sell some good /cheap/ coffee. Ilyt my dear baker 🥺 ye I’m not the biggest fan of my bday either but gotta celebrate anyway!! One year closer to death woohoo 🎉🎉 your birthday is the most important day of the year!!! You can’t fight me on this I’m right

Pearls are so good. Like most places I go to don’t add anything to the pearls so it’s just bland squishy balls but the place I frequent adds I think honey to sweeten them. It gives the pearls life istg. It tastes so good 🤤 hollering is a funny word. For some reason I always associate it with yodelling which makes me laugh

Ksks you must be op if you can make a joke in the wall with a door slam. I can’t relate my arms are literally sticks and I have no strength in me. Chrome books are terrible in general. Add my schools terrible wifi and you get one big recipe for disaster. I’d never fight u either (unless it’s for your bday) ily too much for that 🥺🥺🥺

Hahah I think it’s me. I haven’t heard anyone say “go ham” except for the people who go to my school. I find it really funny tho so I try to incorporate it whenever I can LOL easily burnt? Can’t relate but apparently I easily tan. There’s this one diagonal stripe on my shoulder that separates pale me and tan me which ??? How did that happen and what was I wearing for that to happen??

It’s all fun and games until you go outside and see a mountain of snow waiting for you to be shovelled. But there are some good aspects to winter, like skating and skiing and all that fun stuff. Snow is so heavy?? Or maybe I’m just weak but after I finish shovelling I’m beat. Gardening is not my thing. There’s too many bugs involved flying around 🥴

Kind of? I always thought it was short for cappuccino but I could be wrong. They don’t taste like fraps tho, they’re sm better. I was always a frap hoe until I discovered lattes. My old elementary school was close to a Starbucks so whenever frappy hour was happening, my friends and I would go almost every day LOL

I heard that dunkin coffee is really good. Oof there’s so many things that the us have that Canada doesn’t. But apparently you guys don’t have ketchup chips?? How can one live without them? You know that’s what soulmates are, we’re stuck together forever and I don’t mind that. I’d never leave you 😌😌

YES OMG LATTES ARE SO EXPENSIVE. I pay around the same amount and my wallet cries every time. If you ever yeet yourself off a bridge I’d come visit u in hell and bring u iced coffee 💖 we really are soulmates wtf I get almond milk in my lattes as well!! I used to get normal milk and was like “I’m a bad bitch milk can’t hurt me” but that didn’t really work out. Sigh what we do for coffee 😔

Washing dishes is disgusting. I hate doing them but yk someone’s gotta do it and that someone is me 😤 I’m acc lazy when it comes to smoothies, I usually ask my mom to make them LMAO. Pancakes are pretty much made of flour if you think about it so technically when u eat one plain ur eating cooked flour,, how barbaric. Waffles are Built. Like. They have a 20 pack 😪😪

I love angst personally so pls go ham but not too ham I’d like to keep my heart. Honestly at this point my last brain cell has given up on me. But yes I love angst and I love torturing myself with heart wrenching angst that leaves me crying into my pillow at 3am (I’m talking about this one haikyuu fic that I forgot the name of. I was literally dying inside jalsjwo)

Pls do send me peet’s I’ll send you an iced capp in a cooler so it’ll be somewhat melted and probably spilt everywhere 🤪 tumblrs probably gonna block me again, I’m looking at how much I’ve typed rn and it’s a lot lmaoo. Yes I managed to save myself. I redid the whole last with less detail bc I was not Having It but it turned out better?? How is ur drawing now?

I start after labour day in September. But starting in 3 weeks?????? On a Thursday?? I could never wtf. When do you end? I’m so confused with these ap and honours thing, like there’s none offered in my school nor majority of the school district. Are they just advanced classes or something? It is 7 classes a semester or the whole year?

Stan talent i think you meant yourself??? Jsjsksk I am not only ur coffee soulmate I’m not #1 fan as well and I support u bc ily 🥺🥺 the read more tag had me laughing for a hot minute. Like we really could make an essay out of all of our replies. I don’t have any pets (besides fish does that count?) unfortunately bc my moms allergic to fur 🥺 hbu?? (I can’t believe tumblr blocked me again they can fight me)

-

i didn’t even pay LOL i freeloaded off my cousin 🤧 i like to look @ scenery sometimes but like i can’t bc my head hurts LOL and the scenery is always the same for me, mountains and fields with cows. i try to take dramamine but it makes me so drowsy that i’m just basically dead,,, i live off of my cousins money so i’m okay 🤪

tbh i use nestle toll house pre made cookie dough, like that shit actually slaps. it’s the best it’s so good omg, perfect for lazy hoes 🤧 death here we go ! the order is ur bday, then skz debut date, and then christmas i don’t make the rules sorry sis 😤

pearls are Dangerous, i once drank a smoothie and there were pearls in it and i couldn’t see them bc there were like. only 3 and they were Buried under the smoothie but i choked and almost died but i chewed one of them and it’s like. so weird. HOLLERING AND YODELING IM- i once went to some public yodeling class and left in 2 seconds bc it was a bunch of white boys dressed like the kid from walmart 😪

it’s not even strength i’m actually rly weak,, i always think the doors are closed but they’re not and so i like slam them open and the walls are thin so it’s just. a sad hole. terrible wifi,, my school has pretty good wifi tbh but we have like three connections, one for the chrome books only, one for the teachers & staff, and one for students and guests. like it works rly good but everyone has a VPN bc of stupid social media restrictions 😤 & ilyt 🥺 u would probably win in a fight tho LOL

go ham is so interesting. the first time i heard it i thought it meant go pig and i was so confused but ig,,, i live lathered in sun screen whenever i go somewhere with the sun. ppl are like “i smell sun screen” and im just there like 🙃 it’s me u got a problem u burnt chicken nugget ??? i wish i tanned easily, i have a tan friend and when i showed her when my legs got tan she was so confused. i thought i was tan tho? bc during marching band season my sock tan becomes So Bad i’m basically white. she said she was blinded when she saw me pull my sock down and i laughed so hard LOL & i hate those dumb random tan lines like. where u @ bro? where u come from??

snow is fun for like a day and then i get tired LOL i csn only handle wet socks and a red nose for so long 😔 i tried skiing one time and i did so bad that the instructor had to hold me down and walk with me down the slope. i fell so many times i think he hated me 😳 i’m also rly bad at skating? i went w my friends once and i held both of their hands and still managed to bring both of them down when i fell. a cute guy once helped me when i was struggling to walk so 🥴 not my brightest moment tbh,, trying to walk in skates while on ice. do u enjoy skiing/skating? also gardening is. gross. worms and dirt and the sun i’m not here for it.

u: cappuccinos! me: ...ice bergs,,, now that i think about it fraps kinda suck,,, i used to think i was So Cool for drinking starbucks but now i’m like. wow. i used to think there was coffee in a frap but it’s just. sugar and ice LOL also speaking of tmrw is bogo fraps here,, idk if it’s all over the world but myb u should check it out 😪

dunkins okay it depends on what you get, i once got an iced latte and it was good but my dad got an iced coffee and he like. hated it so we had to switch and it was so bad like. it was coffee crime. it was horrible and not strong it was basically milk 😤 also,, ketchup chip? i just googled what that was and. that’s literally so weird. fun fact i hate ketchup and all other condiments i can only eat bbq sauce and i tolerate steak sauce

UR LITERALLY SO CUTE OKAY UR MINE NOW HHHH

i mentioned this in the other ask but. we going broke bitches club 😪 when u come visit me it’ll be old town road the one w mason ramsey on a loop. nothing will top the og remix but no, i’ll be stuck listening to some 5 year old rap for all of eternity

I USED TO BE SUCH A GOOD KID AND DRINK MILK EVERY MORNING ever since i got to middle school i preferred sleep over waffles and milk and i hardly drink milk but when i do. my stomach does not have it.

my mom made me wash dishes today and she just stared at me when i put ziploc bags on my hands bc we didn’t have gloves but i just painted my nails and i’m not abt to put myself thru chipped nails. not yet 😤 waffles are so good like i love waffles and lattes only 🤧

well i’ll go very ham (am i doing it right LOL) 😤 the angst ending is a lot better than the open ended or happy ones LOL i’m so excited for it 🥺 i’m rly tryna get it out before the end of this month bc the edit says july and it’ll make me Mad if i don’t get it out before the end of this month

i wanna start in september 🤧 and i usually end in the first week of june. also on a wednesday LOL it’s gross. stupid. ap means advanced placement so it’s just. a college level class. lowkey mad bc i’m taking ap euro (as a sophomore 😒) and other schools take it in their senior years? apparently this is normal? and honors are just faster paced classes with more weighting so,, idrk oops 😬 some people take 7 classes in a semester but i took it for the whole year! this year i’m dropping orchestra i’m Not for that spit in the carpet life

the only talent in this house goes by ada and jisung. i don’t make the rules. i’m ur #1 fan 🥺 as soon as u post anything i automatically smash that rb button LOL also put a read more here bc like. we’re really out here writing a whole ass essay. i’ll look @ all our convos bet it’ll be like. a lot. i don’t wanna say smth and be off so i’ll just not. i have a dog! he’s the cutest in the world and i love him sm 🥺 tumblr can fight me first like. what’s this ask limit bull hhhhh

[celawrites]

Day 127

“Day one of hell” I mumble under my breath as my classmates rush to enter the room before the second bell rings. Math is always the first subject, and while I absolutely enjoy it, it’s a pain in the ass to deal with. Too many equations to memorize and too many numbers to note down.

I finish fast enough, and I pull out my notes for Ap Euro to look over. I read through the printed notes and check the textbook as well. Mint finishes quickly and orders food on his phone next to the teacher. Despite the fact that we had a doughnut for breakfast, it wasn’t enough to quench our hunger. I motion for Mint to get Sun and I something as well and he nods. He sits down and pulls out his notes. He makes a couple annotations on the page, and begins his cheat sheet for History.

Mine is pretty simple, it’s just a page of the entire timeline we’ve learned crammed in color coded 9 point font so that I know which country is which. I’m pretty sure my history teacher is going to click her tongue and shake her head at me again but it’s fine. You gotta do what you gotta do.

The bell signalling out 30 minute snack break rings, and we file out the door. Mint goes to grab his order, and I drag Sun with him.

“What’d you do for your cheat sheet for history?” I peer at the paper in his hands.

“All my essay questions” Sun shrugs, his memory was good enough to cram everything in.

“Tsk I probably should’ve squeezed that in somewhere” I mumble, and I stare at my cheat sheet. Sun peers over my shoulder and lets out a soft how.

“Hm?”

“You crammed 3000 years of information onto a single sheet of paper as a timeline? How tiny did you design it?” Sun stares at me, half intrigued, half concerned.

“Breakfast” Mint interrupts us and hands me a bagel sandwich and Sun a box. Probably scrambled eggs and toast. I bite into the sandwich, and I scribble down any essay questions I know I’ll struggle with. Both sides were almost full and the only color I needed on the paper was grey. I scribble down the notes and chow down on my sandwich.

Sun and Mint stare at me, concerned for my poor throat having to swallow without water. Sun gets up, but I ignore it. I scribble down any last minute notes and Sun comes back with 3 cups of water. He hands a cup to Mint and slides a cup to me. I scribble the final bits of my answer and sigh when I finish. My throat needs water. I'm so thirsty wtf.

“Calm down why are you so stressed over the final?” Sun questions me, finishing the last of his water.

“Wait I finished the AP test already why am I so stressed-” I come to my senses, and Mint snickers.

“Your fault for not taking AP Euro in Freshman year”

“Ok unlike you and Sun I was not given the choice at public school” I grumble. The second bell rings, and Mint and Sun wave goodbye. I guess I’m stuck alone then. The final isn’t as hard as the AP Exam itself, but I still struggled a bit. When I finish my final, the teacher lets us out to clean out our lockers. Sun tosses me my lock and I blink at the sight of my locker all clean.

“Huh?”

“You’re welcome” Sun snickers. I blink, crush his bones in a hug, and mumble a soft I love you. I honestly did not care if a teacher saw me. Sun pats my head and I open up my bag to find my books. I grin at Sun and he smiles. Oh how much I loved him.

Mint coughs and I scramble over to help him with his books. Sun goes to help his brother carry the rest of his books. The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur and before I know it, I’m back home prepping for my physics final. Well I’m in call with Sun since why tf not and also, who’s stopping me from studying with a physics legend?

“What’s the formula for acceleration” I can hear Sun getting ready to sigh.

“Final velocity minus initial velocity?” I wince and Sun hums.

“Correct, what’s the formula for the conservation of a falling body”

“Death”

“No”

“I want death though. The body would probably die before you could save it if it fell from a high enough level” I mumble, and I scribble down notes for that new au I wanted to test out. Sun reprimands me for it, but I didn’t need to go to a college I wanted to go to, I just needed freedom.

Previous : Masterlist : Next 

[milkmoneyzine]

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" #3

#Follow4FollowMyGuy asks: As an artist in uncertain times, how can I keep promoting my music from quarantine?

M$: The first thing you need to do is find some compromising evidence on a friend that runs a website. Then you blackmail them into letting you write a pointless Advice Column that no one actually cares about. That’s the most important place to start.

Once you’ve got that secured, and the money from the blog is flowing endlessly into your account, then you just hustle. Hustling is a lost art these days. There are so many online outlets, and so many different social media platforms that it can get overwhelming pretty quickly. The key is to not let that happen. Focus on one or two at a time. Get weird on Twitter and sneak in some links. Ask for questions on your Instagram story, then find a way to relate your answers to songs you can post. Dive into the hellscape that is Reddit and find a thread that your music fits with, and drop a link. Not all of this is going to work, but it’s worth a shot.

The other important thing to remember is that you don’t have to promote a specific song, or an album, or a video. Just interact with people. Everyone else is online all the time, so just be visible, be friendly, and be accessible. As long as you’re doing something online, no one is going to forget about you.

Maybe don’t use the band page to drop heart eyes on thirst trap photos. Slide into those DM’s from your own account, you know? The last thing you want is the fucking bass player seeing their reply first and stealing your thunder. But then again, all is fair in love and hardrock.

Dan Price asks: Can I have your milk money?

M$:

@FiendingForMosh asks: When are shows coming back?

M$: The real answer is that no one knows. Probably sooner than you think, which is also probably too soon. It’s kind of a lose/lose situation.

Live music is in a weird spot. To go from “Everyone needs to practice social distancing until we can get a handle on this extremely contagious thing” to “Well, it’s not contained, and we don’t have a vaccine, but fuck it. Go ahead and pack as many people as you can into a tiny, poorly ventilated space and let them all slam into each other” in the span of a couple of weeks seems insane.

There are some medical experts that say live shows shouldn’t start again until 2021. That’s not going to happen. That can’t happen. Every place that relies on a steady stream of smaller touring acts and local shows—which is almost all of them—will close if that’s the case. No one wants that. Venues need to make money and bands need to make money. The only way to do that is with shows.

What’s going to be really interesting is seeing who takes the risk. Some bands are going to hit the road two days after “shelter in place” ends. There will be venues ready to host the shows, and people dying to see them—no matter who that band is. The very idea of getting back out in public and seeing their friends is going to be enough for a lot of people. Those bands are probably going to do pretty well, and play for a lot of grateful people every night.

Then there are going to be other bands that take the whole rest of the year off. To them, the juice won’t be worth the squeeze. They’ll stay home, write new songs, make a new record, and continue to wait it out. The bands that take this route are probably the bands that are a little more established, and have other sources of income. Some bands can afford not to tour. Others can’t.

There are also going to be a lot of people who just don’t trust anyone in a large crowd for a while.

“I’d love to see that band. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to stand in the dark while a drunk, sweaty guy—still wearing a heavy denim jacket in fucking July for some reason—brushes his damp hair across my face as he tries to squeeze through an already tiny space.”

It’s weird, it’s scary, and it’s pretty unprecedented. But it is going to be okay. Live music will always be something that people enjoy, and there will always be someone who figures out how to make the most of it. Things aren’t going back to normal anytime soon, but maybe that’s a good thing. It gives everyone a chance to decide what the new normal is.

There is one upside that could come from this, and one that Milk Money wholeheartedly supports: Maybe venues/bars/clubs will actually keep their bathrooms clean, stocked, and operational.

Ahhh, who are we kidding? No one is going to learn anything from the last five weeks.

XtestpressX asks: Who are M$’s favorite current #SLCHC bands?

M$:

M$ PRESENTS THE #SLCHC2020LOVE THE MIXTAPE: 1. Victim To None - Sacred 2. Devoid - Another Life Wasted 3. Ape $hit - Pretty Neat ft. Dea Giokas 4. Degeneration XXX - Bitter End 5. Dirty Mike - Angel (Prod. by Teemane) 6. Zodiac Killer - Serpent's Tongue 7. Crow Killer - Close Grip 8. Witchtrial - Burn 9. Absent - Dimmed Love 10. Tamerlane - Absense

Run tha trak!

Milk Money Mixtapes

·

M$ presents #SLCHC2020LOVE The Mixtape

@StatuteOfLimitations asks: What is your wildest tour story? Dan$: As all of Milk Money will attest, my memory is not the hottest. But I’ve been blessed with a metric shit-ton of sketchy/amazing tour experiences, so here’s a montage of pretty true events... - Coming up with the idea for Milk Money with Trevor on west coast Cherem runs.

- Roger Miret teaching me his prison workout regimen in an old church in Switzerland. 

- Watching Madball and Obituary festival sets in Turino, Italy from the fancy comfort of an above-ground pool.

- Breaking up fights between American soldiers and German hardcore kids.

- Breaking up fights between American soldiers and Japanese hardcore kids.

- Getting into fights with American soldiers in foreign lands.

- The time Lord Ezec asked me if I wanted to smoke some crack with him.

- The time the moon crashed into Idaho.

- Hiding outside the backstage tent of symphonic metal cover band Apocalyptica in a giant mud puddle during a Czech Republic downpour with Vinnie Stigma, waiting for them to take the stage, so we could sneak in and steal coffee from their espresso machine.

- Taking Matt Mascarenas to the beach for the first time in his life.

- Fuck Nick Cannon. - Watching an aggro road-rager freak and back down a steep-ass, 500-foot grassy slope into a cow pasture after he pulled us over to fight. - The Lightkeeper’s Trail (What's good, Countdown to Life/Broadway Calls?!?!?!) - Watching Sparky from Demented Are Go bite the head straight off a dead rat, pound a bottle of vodka, and say, “That’ll clean it up.” - Chasing a not-be-identified drummer from brothel to brothel in Graz, Austria to watch him dance with girls for a few seconds before running to the next brothel… just to make sure he didn’t get left behind by the bus.

- Not joining Hatebreed in a backstage jacuzzi full of actual erotic dancers. - 30 Seconds to Mars telling us we were “pretty heavy” when we shared a venue in Minneapolis. - Moshing in a Drum’n’Bass tent at a Euro festival with a not-to-be-identified NYHC band who were skying way high on ecstasy. = Learning so many important lessons the hard way while making all of my closest friends cuz… hardcore. Trevor$: I don’t have nearly as many globe-trotting adventures as Dan, but some of my favorite moments with my friends happened on tour. - Spending two full days at a Fazoli’s (the only kind-of vegan option in the city) in Grand Island, Nebraska on our first tour because the transmission went out 13 hours after we bought the van. - Directions to a venue that were “Turn left at the women’s prison, and drive to the end of the road. It’s in the junkyard.” Once inside the junkyard, getting the instructions “Stay away from the fences. That’s where the ladies have ‘yard time’ and the guards in the tower get really angry when we talk to them.” - Air guitar and autographs with a drunk guy named “Deth” in Tijuana. - Almost having to fight a promoter in New Mexico because he accused us of stealing a microphone, only to find out ten minutes after leaving that Bill accidentally put it in the pocket of his cargo shorts and forgot. - Swimming too far out in the Florida ocean and getting stopped by the beach patrol just before the shelf drops off and all the bull sharks hang out. - Going on tour without confirming anything, then having to beg every promoter to let us play when we showed up. - Trying to pretend there wasn’t a fight happening in the crowd until Jake pushed his drums out of the way to jump in at every single out-of-state show Tamerlane ever played. So what we're saying here is, once this plague blows off, GET IN THE FUCKIN VAN CUZ LIFE IS SHORT AND YOU SHOULD LIVE IT!

Until next time, this is Milk Money saying, “Tamerlane is not the Five Finger Death Punch of Salt Lake Hardcore."

[angry-ace]

Fictober Day 10

Today’s prompt:  You will love them in the end, like they said.

I also used this ask prompt from an anon who is the new love of my life “Ralbert (race x Albert, Newsies) ‘Do you think people hear our conversations and think we're crazy?’”

Anon this is for you💜

Race and Albert had known each other for years. Their friendship had developed from kindergarten buddies who scraped their knees together, to third graders that had their Warrior Cats phase together, to ride or die allies and joined at the hip and at the soul companions. Alongside their friendship a romance had budded, and it was on the verge of blooming.

In second grade they got married at lunch time by giggly girls, Katherine and Sarah, who swathed them in crowns made of white flowers speckled with maroon. The boys had gleefully played along until it was time for them to kiss so that they would become “husbands”. They were shocked, their friendship hung on a precipice that they were too young to understand. Soon enough they wouldn’t be able to get away with kissing on the playground, it’d be deemed dirty and unworthy, but for now their childhood innocence would remain uncorrupted by hatefulness.  They leaned in for their first kiss.

The nickname Racetrack had actually come from the Warrior Cats books. The clan name they’d come up for him was Horserace but eventually, and fortunately, it had dissolved into Racetrack due to his ambition on the track team. As soon as Antonio Higgins had sprinted up Cancer Hill, named by students who felt like they were dying on the run up it, in under three minutes, faster than anyone had ever made it up the grueling hill, the name Racer was plastered to him for the rest of his high school career.

That was freshman year though, now Albert and Race were seniors, and although Albert was not on the track team, he stayed for the duration of each and every minute of each and every meet to cheer Race on and support him.

Like always.

Contrary to how this sounded Albert was not bitter. Nothing made him happy than being there for Race. He peaked whenever he was lucky enough to witness the beautiful boy’s smile. Albert’s only regret was not having made his feeling for Racetrack clear. While they were both safely out of the closet, they had never acted on their mutual feelings because each believed that the other’s feelings didn’t exist. In their minds it was impossible, for someone as perfect as the other could love someone as wrong as them.

…

Albert opened up a bag of Fritos and big into one of the chips. “I hate these. They taste like corn syrup and dirt, I know you like them though. Do you want one?”

“I can’t right now, my race is in 104 minutes according to your watch. When I finish my last event I’ll eat them, save them for me.”

“Of course lo-” Albert stopped himself from calling Race the precious diminutive, from calling him his love. “Of course loser.” Albert punched him in the arm, while holding in his heart wrenching inner turmoil. They both laughed. “Go start your warm up Racer, or you’ll pull a muscle on your sprint.”

“Haha, okay,” Anthony agreed before jogging away, leaving Albert alone on an all too familiar concrete stadium bench that he’d never sat on before. If you’ve spent six hours at a high school in the sun watching a track meet, you’ve done it a million times. Maybe that was why Race’s parents had never showed up once in four years of track.

…

 The whole scene had been witnessed by Medda Larkin, the coach of the girl’s throwers. She had been on the bleachers to fetch a knockoff hydro flask for Smalls, their smallest thrower who still possessed an impressive amount of strength, when she saw the moment between the two. So sad. I wish those two would just act on it. They deserve to make senior year one spent without hopelessly pining. Not that Medda could ever consider interfering in her student’s love lives. As a coach that’d be hugely out of line and controlling.  Medda grabbed the bottle and returned to the thrower’s section of the meet.

…

Race shot his 100 meter sprint off in twelve seconds, it was a good time but he could do better and he had in the past. Albert hugged him at the end of the 100 meters, he still congratulated him, he still loved him.

They had about fifteen minutes til Race had to start his next warm up and walked back to the bleachers together. Albert carried Racetrack’s sprinting spikes. “Great job out there Horserace.”

“God no! Don’t remind me of that. We paraded around Burnquist Elementary like a bunch of fucking furries.”

“What aren’t you proud of it? I was a medicine cat!” Albert excitedly chirped.

“Do you think people hear our conversations and think we’re crazy?” Race asked.

“Probably. I’m okay with that.” Albert began to feel himself reaching for his friends hand but ended the motion faster than Race could ever run. No! Albert thought. Don't ruin everything. He’s your friend, don’t ruin it with your useless feelings.

Soon enough Race was leaving Albert again for another warm up. They didn’t get another moment together until after the meet. Race had led his relay group to a victory in the 4x400 and he was absolutely wiped out by the meet. Fortunately Albert let him ride home in his car instead of having to take the bus and wait for his parents to pick him up from the school.

Race began to doze, like any other night, but Albert stopped him. “I have something I wanna tell you,” he mumbled fearfully. He could feel their relationship hanging on a precipice, the pressure of their situation choked him.

Race removed an earbud, “What’s up?” he asked, unsuspecting.

“You and I, I think that we should maybe go out sometime. Like a date.”

A smile cracked Race’s face. He was overjoyed at the prospect of his relationship with his lifelong best friend becoming one that incorporated the romance he’d so long tried to suppress. “Yeah.” Race took one of Albert’s hands, leaving him one hand to drive with. “I think we should go out too.”

In the end the boys knew the way the other felt about them, just as the observant had been able to do for years.

This was very fun to write but now I’m up super late and I’ve gotta do Ap Euro and science homework. Worth it! 

Also Anon I hope you do really really well on those midterms.

[historicity-was-already-taken]

imoldbutimstillintothat

How was it [The Thirty Years’ War] taught?

For anyone who wasn't awake at 3am EST 8/6/2017, I posted this: “It’s 3am, I can’t sleep, and I’m really mad about how the Thirty Years War was taught in my c. 2005 AP Euro class.”

So before I answer, here are two caveats: I’m not an Early Modernist, so feel free to come for me if I’m wrong about something, and GIANT HONKING FLUORESCENT LIGHT TRIGGER WARNING FOR DISCUSSION OF TORTURE, GENOCIDE, AND HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSES* NOT OTHERWISE SPECIFIED.

So, the thing about me is that I’m weirdly intellectally attracted to historical events that make me physically ill to read/think about. But I can’t stop. I mean exhibit 1: the Holocaust, the black hole around which 90% of my historical inquiry revolves. I’ve stayed up at all hours reading about the intricacies of the genocide of Bosnian Muslims, the horrific human rights abuses committed by the Japanese in the China and Korea from ~1910 on (google “Unit 731″ if you feel like giving yourself a panic attack), the shit Spain pulled on the existing population during its already violent and disgusting conquest of South America, etc. 

I was taught the Thirty Year’s War and....the entire Early Modern period in said AP European History class as one big intellectual exercise between the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation. Like, a REALLY BORING intellectual exercise. Very sanitized, and the only thing I remembered for YEARS was that some dude named Gustavus Adolphus did something.

In reality, the Thirty Year’s was was a horrifically violent conflict in which varying European powers basically decimated the “German” interior (quotes because #anachronism) and created the first mass refugee movements (#anachronism), as we think of them today (fyi this is an ass-pull; I don’t even know how to talk about refugees pre ~1850). It was about the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation, meaning that it was about the balance of power in Western and Central Europe. Which means that it was about politics. It involved use of mercenaries who gave even fewer fucks than you can probably imagine about civilians (#anachronism). If you go to that War’s wikipedia page you’ll see these horrific images of people (mercenaries, mostly).....abusing other people’s human rights (#anachronism). Not to mention the witch trials it spawned, etc.

So I’m mad about it as a historian because the really political and therefore military import of the Reformation and Counter Reformation should not have been under-emphasized, and I’m mad about it as the weird, morbid person that I am because I don’t like it when the reality of people’s suffering is white-washed. Even if those people consist of a population group to whom I’d be so 100% alien that I’d probably be tried as a witch.

And there’s my answer. Also, this post is waaaay less scholarly than I prefer, so I may delete it later if it feels too off the cuff (you can tell I have a headache because I didn’t spend two weeks researching the histories and of human rights and refugees and ALL the associated interdisciplinary literature before answering). 

*I have a headache from the fact that I didn’t fall asleep until 5am and didn’t let myself sleep past 10 so I am going to use this term anachronistically and you’re gonna have to deal with it. “You” being “me.” I hate being anachronistic.

[gaudeixcc]

Peloton News – Germany calling

Last weekend I rode with 2 English riders who speak German. It’s not their natural language, but since they are both taking coin out of Merkel’s economy, I guess it made sense to put some effort in and learn.

JT has been firing employees in Germany for a couple of years now and is getting more and more comfortable despatching the walking dead with a Bavarian lilt. Neil, who has a proper job it turns out, has been there a similar amount of time.

Unlike the usual peloton career, Neil’s job is making real things. On deeper discussion, turns out he’s made the engine for one of the early hot hatches, the good old Ford focus ST170. He’s actually designed and made the thing. With his team of people. This is indeed useful and pretty impressive. James just yells at people. Dripping wanders the country with his health and safety clipboard and pencil round his neck, Macca drives a bus (albeit in the sky), RTA is in Insurance marketing so no doubt spends his days imagineering. The rest of us, well, it’s non-too impressive is it fellas..? I mean, me being able to navigate post-it notes and a flip chart stacks up pretty poorly against a man who makes engines for Henry’s firm.

Anyway, Neil was very modest about the whole thing, so I just sat there quietly hoping he was going to be shit at cycling so it would make me feel better.

He wasn’t. Bollocks.

Anyway, more of that shortly.

In numerous cafés and restaurants my 2 faux-Germans baffled me with what looked like pretty good conversational German deployed to numerous waiting staff. The waiting staff responded in kind and clearly communication was occurring which everyone understood.

Everyone that is, except me.

I sat there feeling like somebody’s Granny. Listening to the waiter, then turning to James and half shouting ‘what did he say?’

I don’t understand James at the best of times. I understand him even less when he is barking his shouty orders to menials in verse I don’t follow.

Still, German and indeed Germany suits JT. There is a ruthless efficiency to the country that perfectly apes our diminutive chums’ approach to life and work.

On the last night after 2 days of amazing/horrific bicycling, JT took me to the local German pub. We marched into the gaff… through the gaff… and out the other side into the Garden. There must have been half a thousand people in the Garden, all sat at benches drinking massive glasses of lager and eating food.

‘See the blue table clothes?’ squeaks JT ‘That’s where you can buy beer from here but bring your own food’.

A-huh.

‘See those table over there’ Sayeth James with a pointy finger that has dispatched many a quivering underling from his office on the 20th floor of Sky towers. ‘Table service’.

Er…ok.

‘and this section is self-service. Follow me’.

The next 90 seconds were a bit of a blur. But here goes an accurate (for once) account of what happened next.

James orders me a plate of Pork knuckle from a large German man who looks like he’s lived on nothing else. Within seconds it’s on my plate with a dumpling and gravy.

‘Veg James?’…… The place went quiet….James’ eyes narrowed and also spoke (a first for eyes).  ‘Oh do fuck off’ they said.

No veg then.

5 seconds later we were at another counter. Behind this one another large German stood with his back to us. He was drawing lager from a cask which could have easily accommodated a cow. It looked like this was wasn’t just his job, it wasn’t his vocation, it wasn’t even his dream. It was his utter and complete meaning. Without even turning he placed a pulled litre of lager firmly onto the counter. James took it and put it on my tray. 5 seconds later he’d done it again, another lager on the counter. No looking. No talking. No contact. Just lager. James nabbed the next one up and the hurried me off the counter number 3.

Payment.

James paid for both within seconds (a first) and noted down in his little leather-bound accounting ledger the transaction and proposed apportionment (muscle memory).

We sat down.

90 seconds. Seriously. Breath-taking efficiency which has been giving JT wet dreams since the moment he landed in Munich central.

The food and beer were sensational. I had been dreaming of both during the 2 cycling days. Meat on a big bone accompanied by lager. Don’t over complicate perfection with greenery and other such fripperies.  

We both sat there and reflected on the preceding coupla days.

‘Well, I’m getting an electric bike. That’s all there is to it’.

JT in one of the peloton’s strongest riders. Surely a couple of German/Austrian hills can’t do this to a man? I know he’s not done much training, but how hard can riding a bicycle up a hill be for pities sake?

Pretty hard is the answer to that one.

Near the town of Zell am See, nestled in the Austrian alps, lies a mountain. Großglockner. This is the highest peak in the Austrian alps and has been a pass for human traffic for over 3,500 years. The road probably wasn’t tarmacked back then and they definitely didn’t charge 35 Euros to haul your car up and down the mountain like they do now. Still, with around 2,000 meters of climbing for nearly 20k, 8% as an average was always going to be tough.

Interesting fact number 1. James has done next to no training. Interesting fact number 2. I have done quite a bit of training. Fact 3. I have also been consistent with shovelling Haribo and Dolly mixture down my greedy gullet of recent. This could all be very interesting indeed.

Obligatory photos are taken at the foot of the hill before we set off.

Now I am in no hurry to bust a gut on this one. We have the Pyrenees beckoning and for JT and I, this is very much ‘getting your eye in’ type of stuff.

Still, it doesn’t stop me putting an initial sprint in after 15 seconds on the hill. I’m in the lead. I’m already regretting having done that. Normal order resumes as Neil and JT gently pedal past, James shaking his head slowly.

We all settle in to a rhythm. Neil has a fast-paced cadence which is I suspect measurably accurate and consistent to within 0.05 rpm. He looks professional with his 95 revolutions every minute. I have a cadence of similar accuracy, the only difference being I occasionally mash the pedals, more often than not vary the speed of rotation between about 5-15 rpm, sometimes I kick over the top, sometimes I drag back and lift, sometimes I go for the fluid movement (but for never more than 8 pedal strokes in a row). Other than that, in comparing form we could literally be cycling brothers…

The hill is hard. The 8% climb is unrelenting. And the weather is starting to degrade. Gentle drizzle spits in and out of existence and whilst warm, clothes are starting to cloy to skin.

Unusually for a ride with JT, he doesn’t fuck right off into the future to leave me to my own mental demons. He’s up the road from me, but not that far. Probably about 100 meters or so.

We climb. The scenery is stunning, despite cloud significantly obscuring the best views.

Within half an hour we are high high up. 8% of climbing has seen us well into the sky. Trouble is, inside my head I can hear the voices complaining loudly about the effort…the drudge��� the slog. It is hard going. You forget what proper hill work is like. We remember all too easily the tea and slice of cake at the crest of previous efforts, followed by the flowing downhill of ribboned tarmac folded across alpine pastures. Today is stark and real. This stuff is tough. I project forward to the Pyrenees. I know James is ahead of me doing exactly the same thing.

Training wise neither of us are in the ‘too little, too late’ category and the Pyrenees may be steadier in gradient. Still, a resolve is being independently crafted by both of us to put some real effort into quality training in the remaining weeks.

Of course, I’m now in Turkey caning the ‘all you can eat’ buffet and drinking the resort out of pina coladas and Baileys. Other than that, quality training is my mantra. (There is no Haribo at this hotel. I have written to governor of the local province to ask him what the flaming heck is going on under his watch. I’ve had to resort to eating iced buns for goodness sake. I’m battling through the obvious discomfort this whole situation is causing me).

It’s an hour into the climb. JT and I are now cycling together. For a period of time I’ve actually been ahead. This is a most unusual experience. It’s like a different universe where I am the one with cycling talent. JT is the one who is frustrated and annoyed. I think if provoked, there may even be a little wheelie in the locker too…. But I’m too tired to irk him with this sort of behaviour. Instead, we both push on.

Neil is ahead and is looking comfortable (well, as comfortable as you can be on an increasingly cold and wet mountain).

We pass a sign showing the 1,900 meter mark. As a group we commit to go to 2,000 meters. It’s a good mental stimulus. Something to focus on. The signs come and go and the metric altitude counter seems to only inch up (I thought about that sentence for too long!).

We round a corner, JT in front, expecting to see the 2,000 meter sign. It’s not there! I can literally see the man deflate in front of me. He stops. Arms folded across bars. Head hanging. He’s in a tough spot. We’ve all been there. Ready to hurl your bike off the side of a mountain and just sit your arse down. It’s brutal. It’s miserable. It’s cycling.

We cross the road into a lay-by and call Neil back. As we discuss options, a cloud literally comes down the road toward us. A cloud. Actually, on the road. This is all JT and I need. I reach into JT’s imaginary rucksack and haul out the white towel and hurl it up the road. That’s it. We are done. Wheels about and off we coast.

The next 15 minutes are technically quite challenging. Slick roads, winds and drizzle combined with increasing cold. I’ve got the brakes applied for nearly the whole duration of the decent. My new wheels are great, but I’ve not ridden these tyres before. My old Conti 4,000’s gave ultra-confidence and I’m just getting my eye in with these Bontragers.

I over-cook one or two turns, but other than that, we were down a lot quicker than we were up.

We now have a flat 15 or so K before we get back to the hotel.

There is a tiredness in the team. Weariness. Like post-lunch toddlers, nap time is upon us. We have no choice. We look at the stats and the numbers don’t quite tell the story of the ride. That consistent gradient was the real killer. Combine that with JT’s lack of prep (my ok prep, ok-ish weight and less than ok age these days) and reality bites. We talk about comparative difficulty. This is probably up there with a Stelvio/Croix de Fer… that sort of thing.

That evening at drinks, a funny thing became apparent. Zell am See is a small town in the Austrian state of Slatzberg. Nothing funny there you would have thought. We were munching down on a burger post-pint and I slowly became aware of the general population mix and ethnicity. There seemed to be a fair few Gulf state rich folk and their families milling about the place. When I say a fair few, I would estimate that the general tourist population was 75% Gulf state. I’d definitely not noticed this proportional representation anywhere else whilst in Austria/Germany. So what gives?

JT is hardwired to the Internet and quickly found an answer.

Apparently back in the day, some smart bod on the town council thought that their picturesque town, crystal clear lakes and mountainous back-drop was an absolute shoo-in for the description of paradise laid out in the Quran. And so off started a spectacularly successful marketing campaign directed Emirates way. And so, every summer, thousands upon thousands of well-shod Arabs head toward this little town to get out of the desert heat and spend some of their hard earned on Austrian trinkets and general tourist junk. They even had a shop there selling hookah pipes. Although I’m not sure which foolish gulf resident is going to rock-up back in Qatar with his genuine Austrian Hookar pipe  and show it off to his mates…. Wouldn’t that be akin to going to the Galapagos to pick up some Kendal mint cake?

Next day saw some more gentle weather. The cycling with picturesque and generally less battering than 24 hour earlier.

There was however one notable exception.

One section stood out. 20% of solid climbing for what turned out to be perhaps a third of a mile.

I don’t think I’ve ever bicycled slower. Out of the saddle and still I reckon I’m doing 3mph.

James is behind me (repeat, James is behind me). It’s funny how such a simple statement can give me such warm comfort.

Anyway, I’m struggling… unbeknownst to me James has been doing my old Alpine skiing trick of traversing. Cheeky fucker. Still, when I threw in my own towel (might be a first that… beaten by a hill) I looked back down the road and was pleased to see that JT had also had enough.

When I re-tell this particular story, James was 700 yards back. When he retells it, he was literally nibbling my rear wheel. Either way, we were both shamed into walking up a steep hill, bike being led up like some tethered goat.

At the top we again pondered the upcoming Pyrenees trip.

There is a little less than 4-weeks before 9 riders of varying levels of fitness attack a Grande Tour and this year there is a definite hint of nervousness.

Some have trained really hard. Some of have trained fairly hard. Some of just trained and some have just thought about training.  

Whichever camp you sit in (and you all know exactly which one that will be), remember that riding in scenery like this is a privilege and we are all lucky to be able to be there, whatever level of training. Memories for life are booked in for 11th September.

Will we have another ‘Moley walking through the saloon doors with tears in his eyes’ moment?

Will we see Macca snatching defeat from the jaws of victory as Damo hunts him, down to the line?

Will ColMac shout ‘Buongiorno’ directly in the face of any local who has the foolishness to catch his gaze?

Who knows. For the first time in years thought the form book is well and truly wide open.

Whilst HRH and RTA will no doubt be dancing near the top of the pack, will Damo’s recent hard-yards see him flirting with the podium?

After those three, the remaining 6 look like a complete and utter shambles of a team. I think I’m going to take a photo of the ‘calamity six’ and make one of those motivational posters out of it.

There is one I’ve seen which shows a silhouette of a guy on a race bike at sunset. The slogan is ‘Effort and determination are the key to going the extra mile’.

The calamity six poster will be ‘Effort. This lot should have fucking put some in’.

So here we go again. Tour upcoming. Nerves a janglin’. Damo’s tuck shop is being stocked as we speak.

Let’s all keep everything crossed for Dripping, his new hip and his knackered back to make it there. If he can do it, the rest of you can pipe down and suffer in silence…!

G19….. this is most definitely going to be a tour to remember.

Hoppo

[pierrebeaumarchais]

I love hearing from you! How do I destress? I watch documentaries or the history channel, bath and candles. Did you have exams? I had a math final today (ah) and Tuesday ap European history final (god save me). My day today went better today! I'm pretty tired. What is your favorite color, food, and or hobby? Mine is reading or researching things I find interesting.

i haven’t had big exams yet- just a ton of complicated projects and quizzes! next week i have six tests in the span of three days so that should be… interesting

good luck on your ap euro test! i have an apush one on wednesday, so hopefully we both pull through okay!

my favorite color is blue, and for food it’s probably pasta because of my very italian family- but i’m also a fan of middle eastern food (especially kibbeh) and korean barbeque! i like to fence and ride, and when i have the time i enjoy reading, too. listening to music is another favorite activity! what are some of your favorite musical artists and genres?

and hearing from you is definitely a highlight of the day for me, too! ✨

[gadgetsrevv]

Czech Republic 2-1 England, Euro 2020 qualifier match report

England‘s bid to qualify for Euro 2020 hit a major bump in the road as they suffered a first qualifying defeat in a decade with a 2-1 loss in the Czech Republic. 

Gareth Southgate’s side remain top of Group A but level on points with the Czechs, who have played one game more, with three matches remaining.

Of England’s last qualifying defeat, a 1-0 reverse in Ukraine ten years ago yesterday, nine of the starting XI have retired, with only Wayne Rooney and Aaron Lennon still playing, illustrating just how unexpected this was, particularly given the 5-0 win over the same opponents at Wembley in March.

Shortly before kick-off, reports emerged of angry clashes between England supporters and Czech police in Prague city centre and it was to prove a troubling night on and off the pitch as England peaked in the third-minute, when Harry Kane put them in front from the penalty spot. 

The Czechs hit back immediately through Jakub Brabec and veteran substitute Zdenek Ondrasek – a 30-year-old on his international debut – scored five minutes from time.

(Getty Images)

Southgate made three changes from the barmy 5-3 win over Kosovo last month, with Mason Mount making his full England debut ahead of club-mate Ross Barkley and Kieran Trippier and Danny Rose preferred to Trent Alexander-Arnold and Ben Chilwell at full-back. 

Centre-half Michael Keane was a fortunate to keep this place after a calamitous performance against the Kosovans at St. Mary’s.

The opening three minutes here, at least, suggested another thrashing was in the offing when Kane’s gorgeous flick-around-the-corner released Sterling and the winger surged into the box before having his heels swiped by Lukas Masopust as he checked back. 

Kane, who missed from the spot against Kosovo, fired the penalty straight down the middle for his 27th England goal, taking him level with David Platt as their 12th all-time leading scorer.

(Action Images via Reuters)

Far from opening the floodgates again, England’s lead lasted all of five minutes and it was a measure of their dreadful defending that Jakub Jantko and Vladimir Coufal both had openings in the seconds before Brabec bundled home a corner at the back post. Kosovo’s second-half fightback at St. Mary’s raised serious questions about the quality of England’s defending and the centre-half’s simple finish and the build-up was another black mark against Southgate’s rearguard. 

It took England until the 33rd-minute to launch another attack of note – a blocked effort for Kane – as the hosts proved the equaliser was no fluke by taking command of the first-half. 

Using their extra man in midfield, the Czechs picked their way through England and frequently found space in the final third, where Keane continued to look out of his depth at this level.

(AP)

England were particularly vulnerable at set-pieces, once such a great strength for this Southgate side, and centre-forward Patrick Schick and Jan Boril both went close with headers either side of the left-back’s tame shot straight at Jordan Pickford.

Recognising England’s total lack of control, Southgate made a tactical change at half-time, switching to a familiar 4-1-2-3 system, with Mount dropping beside Jordan Henderson. 

Any suggestion Jaroslav Silhavy’s side were content with a draw looked unfounded within five minutes of the restart when holding midfielder Tomas Soucek raced into space by fired over with his left foot. England did improve with the change of formation, however, and Kane, lurking on the left wing, found Sterling with a brilliant first-time ball in the 57th-minute, only for goalkeeper Vaclik to push the ball away from the advancing winger.

It was now end-to-end, and two minutes after Sterling’s opening, Masopust forced Pickford into a acrobatic one-handed save from a dipping shot from 25 yards.

(AP)

England also had reason to rue fine margins when Sancho just could not bring down another fine Kane pass before the captain was inches away from connecting with Sterling’s cross. 

It became a question of when rather than if Southgate would make changes and, with 20 minutes, he remaining he introduced Marcus Rashford and Barkley for Mount and Jadon Sancho, who both failed to sparkle – underlining that this young team remains a work in progress.

It was the Czechs’ first change five minutes earlier that was to prove decisive, however, when Masopust burst into the area from the right and picked out 30-year-old Ondrasek, who passed home from 12 yards. Rose, the left-back, was floored during the goal but the referee waved play on.

England now have to pick themselves up for Monday’s potentially-volatile trip to Bulgaria.

Relive the game with Standard Sport’s LIVE blog!

Live Updates

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ES COVERAGE

2019-10-11T21:05:55.983Z

That concludes our coverage tonight as England fall to a disappointing defeat in Prague.

  Head over to the homepage for more reaction and we hope you’ll join us again on Monday for the Euro 2020 qualifier against Bulgaria.

  Bye for now!

2019-10-11T21:02:37.296Z

England manager Gareth Southgate certainly isn’t pulling any punches tonight. He spoke to ITV Sport:

  “We’ve had a lot of credit over the years but tonight we didn’t do enough. The performance wasn’t good enough. We should’ve got a draw probably, but the goal we conceded was typical of the chances we gave away throughout the night.

  “There are things we can look back on, but collectively there wasn’t enough good individual performances tonight. We tried to change shape in first half which wasn’t working and I think we looked more of a threat in the second and had enough good chances to win in truth.”

  On set pieces:

“We’re very strong at those usually and we knew we needed to be at full tilt to deal with Czech Republic. That’s an area that we need to be stronger in to deal with them.”

2019-10-11T20:53:38.000Z

Here’s Kane speaking to ITV:

  “I think it was down to us. It was a perfect start to an away game. We were sloppy with the ball, we didn’t move it as quickly and we weren’t pressing as we normally do.

  “The second half was better, we had a couple of chances to put the game to bed and we didn’t and unfortunately we gave one away at the end.

  “Every away game in Europe is difficult. They had the crowd behind them, sometimes the pitch is not as easy to play, but that’s no excuse. It’s a bit of a wake-up call but we’re in a good position.

  “There’s still stuff to work on for sure. We gave the ball away too cheaply and we’ll have to go away and look at it. There’s no need to panic and we’ll go again on Monday.”

2019-10-11T20:45:43.786Z

England captain Harry Kane has been speaking to ITV Sport, admitting the defeat in Prague is a “wake-up” call for the players.

  We’ll have the full reaction shortly…

FULL TIME

2019-10-11T20:37:07.356Z

FULL TIME | Czech Republic 2-1 England

  Ondrasek’s late strike condemns the Three Lions to a disappointing defeat in Prague and it’s their first in a European qualifier for 10 years.

  Work to do ahead of their next game against Bulgaria on Monday.

  2019-10-11T20:36:04.133Z

90+5 mins: It’s four on two and Kopic should score, but he fires straight at Pickford.

YELLOW CARD

2019-10-11T20:34:49.050Z

90+2 mins: Henderson catches Darida with a stray arm and picks up a yellow card.

2019-10-11T20:31:38.600Z

90 mins: Four minutes of added time for England to find an equaliser.

SUBS

2019-10-11T20:31:16.726Z

89 mins: Masopust, who has been impressive tonight, comes off for Jaromir Zrmhal.

SUBS

2019-10-11T20:30:26.116Z

88 mins: Southgate sends on Tammy Abraham for Rice as he looks to salvage a point.

2019-10-11T20:28:21.000Z

GOAL

  85 mins: The 10-year run could be coming to an end!

  There’s absolutely no pressure on Masopust as he’s allowed to cut it back to Ondrasek who is completely unmarked and he slots it past Pickford.

  Terrible defending from England and looks like Keane was the culprit there for losing his man.

  England heading towards their first defeat in a qualifier since October 2009 – 44 games ago. 

  GOAL!

2019-10-11T20:27:24.043Z

GOAL! | Czech Republic 2-1 England | Zdenek Ondrasek 85′

  2019-10-11T20:26:29.976Z

84 mins: Ondrasek’s eyes light up when he wins a 50-50 with Trippier but slips at the vital moment.

2019-10-11T20:25:31.360Z

83 mins: No matter what happens from here on, England have definitely improved in the second half but it’s fair to say they haven’t been good enough to win tonight.

  That could still change, mind…

SUBS

2019-10-11T20:24:10.056Z

82 mins: Jankto makes way for Jan Kopic 

2019-10-11T20:22:57.690Z

81 mins: Kane with a golden chance!

  Barkley swings a stunning ball into the path of Kane but his first touch takes him away from goal and his tame effort is saved by Vaclik.

YELLOW CARD

2019-10-11T20:21:06.463Z

79 mins: Boril just shoves Sterling to the ground and picks up a yellow card for his troubles.

  England with a free-kick in a dangerous position here. 

2019-10-11T20:19:02.816Z

77 mins: Great move from the hosts and it’s Kral who exchanges a one-two with Darida before launching a fierce strike, which Pickford does well to palm away.

ES COVERAGE

2019-10-11T20:17:27.000Z

Dan Kilpatrick at the Sinobo Stadium

  “It feels like one moment of quality will be the difference here and there is certainly no guarantee it will come from England. The visitors are getting closer, with Kane inches away from connecting with Sterling’s cross just now but it is no surprise that Southgate has called for Barkley and Rashford for Mount and Sancho.”

2019-10-11T20:14:47.000Z

73 mins: Rose takes a risk after holding the shirt of Soucek and has a little nibble at his ankle in the penalty area. The Czech striker goes down rather theatrically and slams the turf in frustration when the goal kick is awarded.

Can’t see the live blog? Click here for the desktop version.

  Source link . More news

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[robertvasquez763]

Bruce Brown, Lady Bird, the City of Trees, and the 96-MPH Caponord: An Appreciation

–

Over the weekend, I saw Greta Gerwig’s much praised Lady Bird. The release of that film was probably the biggest thing to hit my sleepy, sprawling burg of Sacramento since the Kings arrived from Kansas City in 1985. The movie was filmed here and set during the the protagonist’s final year of high school in 2002–2003, nine years after I was a starry-eyed senior set to head off to the Bay Area for college, and more than half a decade before everybody had a smartphone. Sacto native Gerwig touches on the importance of magazines at what was perhaps the last possible moment before the World Wide Web ruled everything. For those raised prior to an era of always-on digital access, the feeling of cultural isolation could be acute. Glossies like Spin and Details and newsprint zines in the vein of Maximumrocknroll were a window into another world. I’d read up, wander across the street to the original Tower Records, and try something out. But before I fell into the world of music and lifestyle books, BMX magazines were my first key to another, seemingly richer world. Go—a short-lived successor to BMX Action and Freestylin’ put together by a talented crew that included Spike Jonze and Jackass director Jeff Tremaine—turned me on to the music of D.C. hard-core stalwart Ian MacKaye. Without punk rock, my career path wouldn’t have led me to Car and Driver. But Go might not have existed at all were it not for Bruce Brown, who died Sunday at the age of 80. In essence, I owe Mr. Brown the last 30 years of my life.

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Bruce Brown, camera in hand, during the filming of The Endless Summer.

–

He’s best remembered for his seminal surf documentary The Endless Summer, which I first saw in seventh-grade science class, around the same time I was devouring BMX rags and spending hours convincing my parents to let me go out and race. In one retrospective on the sport’s early days in the 1970s—which may have appeared in BMX Action—racers including Stu Thomsen discussed having their minds blown by the opening credits in Brown’s 1971 motorcycle doc, On Any Sunday. In it, a pack of kids tear around a kid’s-bike-sized motocross course on Schwinn Stingrays, crashing, pulling wheelies, jumping, and making motorcycle sounds. Shortly thereafter, organized bicycle motocross races sprung up, because what kid hasn’t pretended his bicycle is a motorcycle at some point? When I finally got around to seeing On Any Sunday, I was immediately smitten. Mert Lawwill and Malcolm Smith are inspired protagonists, the cinematography—rudimentary by today’s standards but advanced for its day—still enthralls, and Brown’s good-natured California-cornpone narration lays out the action in a way that even the layman can enjoy. It’s not just a great motorcycle movie; it’s a great movie, period.

–

Brown, fundamentally, was a harbinger of good, a DIY magician who brought his cinematic works to the masses and, in doing so, made the seemingly impenetrable accessible. In the early days of his surf films, he’d barnstorm up and down the West Coast, showing his movies in high-school gymnasiums, narrating them in real time. Sensing that he had something bigger with The Endless Summer, he tried to secure wider distribution. When the majors said no, that it wouldn’t play beyond the niche of edge-of-the-continent surf rats, he rented a theater in white-bread Wichita, Kansas, and sold it out. And sold it out again. And again. Finally, the distributors took notice. The success of the landmark surf film paved an easier path for On Any Sunday, allowing Brown to secure funding from Steve McQueen, who figures prominently in the Elsinore Grand Prix section as well as the famous final sequence, during which he, Smith, and Lawwill bomb through the countryside and roost around on a Southern California beach.

–

A few years back, I asked Mark Wahlberg whether he preferred Easy Rider or On Any Sunday. He chose Easy Rider, and that sort of tells you all you need to know about Mark Wahlberg.

–

–

In one form or another, on bikes or in cars, I’ve sampled many of the motorized pursuits Brown runs through during the course of On Any Sunday, and although my heart lies with flinging a bike sideways through a corner while my steel-shod left boot skips along the ground, a couple of gnarly wrecks at a recent trip to Rich Oliver’s Mystery School have me reconsidering flat-track shenanigans, given my suddenly brittle 42-year-old frame. Long-distance touring, a discipline not covered in Brown’s film, is ultimately where I’ve found my niche, but in motorcycling, if you’re not at least something of an omnivore, you’re invariably missing out on something great.

–

For all of Sacramento’s foibles, it makes a case for itself as perhaps the best city in America to live in if you’re a motorcyclist. There’s year-round riding weather. It has less traffic than Los Angeles or San Francisco, but it’s clogged up enough to enjoy the feel-good benefits of lane splitting, which, of course, is legal only in California. What’s more, there are phenomenal, quiet roads within an hour’s ride in just about any direction. Sears Point and Thunderhill are 90 minutes away, there’s speedway racing up the hill in Auburn, Sacramento Raceway offers a drag strip, and it’s only three hours to Laguna Seca. The Hangtown Classic is a legendary motocross event (covered by Bruce’s son, Dana, in On Any Sunday: The Next Chapter), and, of course, there’s the storied Sacramento Mile, which serves as the coda to the flat-track portion of the original movie.

–

When I heard Brown had died, everything fell away. Lady crushes, clerical business, chores that desperately needed doing. All I wanted to do was get on my motorcycle, as going for a ride felt like the only fitting tribute and perhaps the only way to alleviate the empty thud in my chest. I only had a couple of hours, so I figured I’d run down into the California Delta. In Lady Bird, Gerwig’s camera lingers pretty hard on the rivers in Sacramento. The geographic picture she paints of the place roughly parallels the town’s footprint before the war. It has now been decades since this place wasn’t an agglomeration of cities and unincorporated areas stretching halfway across the Central Valley. Her decision makes a lot of sense, as much of the infill and expansion that led to our very own mini-megalopolis fundamentally paralleled the rise of the internet. I imagine one day, perhaps in my lifetime, you’ll be able to drive clear from Colfax in the Sierra Nevada to Gilroy, south of San Jose—a distance of nigh on 200 miles—without once truly leaving an urban area. Although the city has crept inexorably south, following the Sacramento River down toward its mouth at Suisun Bay is a quick way to escape the sprawl. Ironic, in that the river itself was the original transit corridor between San Francisco and Sac during the Gold Rush.

–

–

The Capo at the edge of Panamint Valley. Note obscene selective-yellow lights.

–

Awash in thought, I got on the Aprilia Caponord Rally I bought back in October. I’d picked it up at Moto International in Seattle, on my way home from an office visit to Ann Arbor. Just before I rode away, Dave Richardson, the face of the shop for 25 years and a man deeply beloved and respected in the Moto Guzzi community, told me that it was the last motorcycle he’d ever sell. I knew he was retiring, but the idea that this was the final bike he’d usher out of that little dealership on North Aurora meant that I needed to put it to good use. So far, I’ve put nearly 6000 miles on the clock, riding it through seven states in two months. The motorcycle itself turned out to be a dead-end design for the Noale-based Piaggio division. The smooth, rowdy 90-degree 1200-cc twin wouldn’t pass Euro 4 emissions regulations, and Aprilia had only built about 5000 Caponords in total since the bike was introduced in 2013. My bike is a leftover 2016 model, hardly the only such motorcycle in Aprilia dealer inventory. Do the math. Making the bike pass Eurosmog wasn’t worth the effort.

–

Down on power compared to Ducati’s Multistrada or KTM’s big ADV machines and lacking the dealer network, aftermarket support, and reputation of BMW’s category-defining R1200GS, the Capo’s adventure-touring variant is nonetheless the best mile-eating motorcycle I’ve been on. For my build, anyway, it fits better than the outgoing Gold Wing. It outplushes a Harley FL (buy my 2015 Ultra Limited, please) and will smoke it through a corner or in a straight line. The Capo offers the same sort of sporting comfort as a BMW RT, but without the bland efficiency of the latest Bavarian boxer twin. Say what you will about Italian quality, the salami set seems almost incapable of building naturally aspirated engines that don’t delight. Its default velocity is 96 miles per hour. Start the bike, twist the throttle, let out the clutch, look down at the speedo, and it will invariably read 96. Why do I need more power? Who are these KTM-riding maniacs? To bring this back around, I hold Brown somewhat responsible for the fact that I currently own five motorcycles, one of which always goes 96 miles per hour.

–

I pointed the Ape west, then south, chasing a Duc and a Hog down I-5, and popped off at Twin Cities Road. The “twin cities” in question are the humble hamlets of Walnut Grove and Locke, not much more than growths on the eastern levee of the Sacramento River. To be fair, Walnut Grove does feature a drawbridge and an auto-repair shop that often features interesting classic Benzes and Lamborghinis in the window. And Locke was the subject of the first novel by my perennial homecoming date, the American Book Award–winning Shawna Yang Ryan. The haze drifting up from the devastating Thomas fire—a whopping 300 miles to the southeast—hung brown as the sun dipped toward the Coast Range, but the valley air was still clear enough to make out the shape of Mount Diablo in the distance, off across the farms and marshland that separate the river from Fairfield.

–

–

Mert Lawwill, Malcolm Smith, and Steve McQueen during the filming of On Any Sunday.

–

Eighty-odd years ago, when Locke was still a town built and run by Chinese immigrants rather than standing as a monument to the Chinese immigrants who built it, my grandfather and his work buddies would drive down the levee to gamble here. One night, the infamous tule fog rolled in. It’s one of California’s meteorological curios, one perhaps even more deadly than the fire-pushing Santa Ana and Diablo winds, given the severity of the automobile accidents that its zero-visibility soup causes. Sometimes, it will inundate the valley from Redding in the north, all the way down past Pumpkin Center, 450 miles south. Anyway, the young AT&T engineers got stuck in the stuff after a night at the tables. One unlucky sod, presumably with a few drinks in him for fortitude, was tasked with standing on the car’s running board, making sure the driver didn’t dump them into the river on the 25-mile drive back up to Sacramento. Riding back from Las Vegas a month ago, I found myself caught in the stuff. Upping the power on the 13,000 lumens worth of selective-yellow lamps I’d installed on the Aprilia did nothing to improve the situation. I didn’t expect it to, but when things are uncertain and you’ve got a rheostat, you invariably wanna twiddle with it. With twiddling having proven itself fruitless, I fell back on my dad’s advice: Keep a truck’s taillights just barely in view.

–

It’s a primitive mode of travel at that point; no motorcycle technology developed in the past 46 years was going to help much, save perhaps ABS if things suddenly went pear-shaped. Fumbling forward in the fog, chasing a dim light. That was life in a pre-internet Sacramento. And, I suspect, plenty of other towns in America. There was no one grand font, no place you could go for the inside scoop. You had to piece it together out of rumor, innuendo, going out and seeing shows, meeting people, catching movies, and perhaps by getting lucky at Tower. Life was a series of hyperlinks that loaded at what, in retrospect, seems like an absolutely glacial pace. Now and then, however, there’d be a supernova moment that would allow so much else to fall into place. Nirvana on the radio. Bruce Brown bringing the possibility of a different sort of life to kids in landlocked towns.

–

–

Bad Buggies and Ballyhoo: Bashing through the Desert in VW-Powered Off-Roaders

–

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

–

Niken a Go Go: Yamaha’s Radical New Three-Wheeled Sportbike

–

–

I rode home up the river as the sun set, toward the great silver water tower that used to read “City of Trees.” Gerwig’s languorous shots of the river flitted through my mind as the river itself turned gold, then faded to purple in the waning light. The visions of riparian quiet fought for mental space with Brown’s footage of Malcolm Smith ripping across a dry lake down in Baja, Cal Rayborn putting a streamliner on its side at Bonneville, and Mert Lawwill leaving home in that rad old Ford Econoline on Torq-Thrusts, XR750 in the back, off on a futile quest to defend his AMA Grand National title. Then it all jelled into one great historic, present mass. What was once disparate was suddenly all of a piece. Time slips forward and fragments reassemble themselves in your mind as needed. A nice drive in a good car helps the pieces mesh more harmoniously, but taking that same trip on a bike somehow amplifies the experience exponentially.

–

At the end of The Endless Summer, Brown, in voice-over, says simply, “This is Bruce Brown. Thank you for watching. I hope you enjoyed my film.”

–

No, Bruce. Thank you.

–

from remotecar http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/caranddriver/blog/~3/w6jNgmkISn8/

via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/12/13/bruce-brown-lady-bird-the-city-of-trees-and-the-96-mph-caponord-an-appreciation-2/

[eddiejpoplar]

Bruce Brown, Lady Bird, the City of Trees, and the 96-MPH Caponord: An Appreciation

-

Over the weekend, I saw Greta Gerwig’s much praised Lady Bird. The release of that film was probably the biggest thing to hit my sleepy, sprawling burg of Sacramento since the Kings arrived from Kansas City in 1985. The movie was filmed here and set during the the protagonist’s final year of high school in 2002–2003, nine years after I was a starry-eyed senior set to head off to the Bay Area for college, and more than half a decade before everybody had a smartphone. Sacto native Gerwig touches on the importance of magazines at what was perhaps the last possible moment before the World Wide Web ruled everything. For those raised prior to an era of always-on digital access, the feeling of cultural isolation could be acute. Glossies like Spin, Details, and newsprint zines in the vein of Maximumrocknroll were a window into another world. I’d read up, wander across the street to the original Tower Records, and try something out. But before I fell into the world of music and lifestyle books, BMX magazines were my first key to another, seemingly richer world. Go—a short-lived successor to BMX Action and Freestylin’ put together by a talented crew that included Spike Jonze and Jackass director Jeff Tremaine—turned me on to the music of DC hard-core stalwart Ian MacKaye. Without punk rock, my career path wouldn’t have led me to Car and Driver. But Go might not have existed at all were it not for Bruce Brown, who died Sunday at the age of 80. In essence, I owe Mr. Brown the last 30 years of my life.

-

-

Bruce Brown, camera in hand, during the filming of The Endless Summer.

-

He’s best remembered for his seminal surf documentary The Endless Summer, which I first saw in seventh-grade science class, around the same time I was devouring BMX rags and spending hours convincing my parents to let me go out and race. In one retrospective on the sport’s early days in the 1970s—which may have appeared in BMX Action—racers including Stu Thomsen discussed having their minds blown by the opening credits in Brown’s 1971 motorcycle doc, On Any Sunday. In it, a pack of kids tear around a kid’s-bike-sized motocross course on Schwinn Stingrays, crashing, pulling wheelies, jumping, and making motorcycle sounds. Shortly thereafter, organized bicycle motocross races sprung up, because what kid hasn’t pretended his bicycle is a motorcycle at some point? When I finally got around to seeing On Any Sunday, I was immediately smitten. Mert Lawwill and Malcolm Smith are inspired protagonists, the cinematography—rudimentary by today’s standards, but advanced for its day—still enthralls, and Brown’s good-natured California-cornpone narration lays out the action in a way that even the layman can enjoy. It’s not just a great motorcycle movie; it’s a great movie, period.

-

Brown, fundamentally, was a harbinger of good, a DIY magician who brought his cinematic works to the masses and, in doing so, made the seemingly impenetrable accessible. In the early days of his surf films, he’d barnstorm up and down the West Coast, showing his movies in high-school gymnasiums, narrating them in real time. Sensing that he had something bigger with The Endless Summer, he tried to secure wider distribution. When the majors said no, that it wouldn’t play beyond the niche of edge-of-the-continent surf rats, he rented a theater in whitebread Wichita, Kansas, and sold it out. And sold it out again. And again. Finally, the distributors took notice. The success of the landmark surf film paved an easier path for On Any Sunday, allowing Brown to secure funding from Steve McQueen, who figures prominently in the Elsinore Grand Prix section as well as the famous final sequence, during which he, Smith, and Lawwill bomb through the countryside and roost around on a Southern California beach.

-

A few years back, I asked Mark Wahlberg whether he preferred Easy Rider or On Any Sunday. He chose Easy Rider, and that sort of tells you all you need to know about Mark Wahlberg.

-

-

In one form or another, on bikes or in cars, I’ve sampled many of the motorized pursuits Brown runs through during the course of On Any Sunday, and although my heart lies with flinging a bike sideways through a corner while my steel-shod left boot skips along the ground, a couple of gnarly wrecks at a recent trip to Rich Oliver’s Mystery School have me reconsidering flat-track shenanigans, given my suddenly brittle 42-year-old frame. Long-distance touring, a discipline not covered in Brown’s film, is ultimately where I’ve found my niche, but in motorcycling, if you’re not at least something of an omnivore, you’re invariably missing out on something great.

-

For all of Sacramento’s foibles, it makes a case for itself as perhaps the best city in America to live in if you’re a motorcyclist. There’s year-round riding weather. It has less traffic than Los Angeles or San Francisco, but it’s clogged up enough to enjoy the feel-good benefits of lane splitting, which, of course, is only legal in California. What’s more, there are phenomenal, quiet roads within an hour’s ride in just about any direction. Sears Point and Thunderhill are 90 minutes away, there’s speedway racing up the hill in Auburn, Sacramento Raceway offers a dragstrip, and it’s only three hours to Laguna Seca. The Hangtown Classic is a legendary motocross event (covered by Bruce’s son, Dana, in On Any Sunday: The Next Chapter), and, of course, there’s the storied Sacramento Mile, which serves as the coda to the flat-track portion of the original movie.

-

When I heard Brown had died, everything fell away. Lady crushes, clerical business, chores that desperately needed doing. All I wanted to do was get on my motorcycle, as going for a ride felt like the only fitting tribute and perhaps the only way to alleviate the empty thud in my chest. I only had a couple of hours, so I figured I’d run down into the California Delta. In Lady Bird, Gerwig’s camera lingers pretty hard on the rivers in Sacramento. The geographic picture she paints of the place roughly parallels the town’s footprint before the war. It has now been decades since this place wasn’t an agglomeration of cities and unincorporated areas stretching halfway across the Central Valley. Her decision makes a lot of sense, as much of the infill and expansion that led to our very own mini-megalopolis fundamentally paralleled the rise of the internet. I imagine one day, perhaps in my lifetime, you’ll be able to drive clear from Colfax in the Sierra Nevada to Gilroy, south of San Jose—a distance of nigh on 200 miles—without once truly leaving an urban area. Although the city has crept inexorably south, following the Sacramento River down toward its mouth at Suisun Bay is a quick way to escape the sprawl. Ironic, in that the river itself was the original transit corridor between San Francisco and Sac during the Gold Rush.

-

-

The Capo at the edge of Panamint Valley. Note obscene selective-yellow lights.

-

Awash in thought, I got on the Aprilia Caponord Rally I bought back in October. I’d picked it up at Moto International in Seattle, on my way home from an office visit to Ann Arbor. Just before I rode away, Dave Richardson, the face of the shop for 25 years and a man deeply beloved and respected in the Moto Guzzi community, told me that it was the last motorcycle he’d ever sell. I knew he was retiring, but the idea that this was the final bike he’d usher out of that little dealership on North Aurora meant that I needed to put it to good use. So far, I’ve put nearly 6000 miles on the clock, riding it through seven states in two months. The motorcycle itself turned out to be a dead-end design for the Noale-based Piaggio division. The smooth, rowdy 90-degree 1200-cc twin wouldn’t pass Euro 4 emissions regulations, and Aprilia had only built about 5000 Caponords in total since the bike was introduced in 2013. My bike is a leftover 2016 model, hardly the only such motorcycle in Aprilia dealer inventory. Do the math. Making the bike pass Eurosmog wasn’t worth the effort.

-

Down on power compared to Ducati’s Multistrada or KTM’s big ADV machines and lacking the dealer network, aftermarket support, and reputation of BMW’s category-defining R1200GS, the Capo’s adventure-touring variant is nonetheless the best mile-eating motorcycle I’ve been on. For my build, anyway, it fits better than the outgoing Gold Wing. It outplushes a Harley FL (buy my 2015 Ultra Limited, please) and will smoke it through a corner or in a straight line. The Capo offers the same sort of sporting comfort as a BMW RT, but without the bland efficiency of the latest Bavarian boxer twin. Say what you will about Italian quality, the salami set seems almost incapable of building naturally aspirated engines that don’t delight. Its default velocity is 96 miles per hour. Start the bike, twist the throttle, let out the clutch, look down at the speedo, and it will invariably read 96. Why do I need more power? Who are these KTM-riding maniacs? To bring this back around, I hold Brown somewhat responsible for the fact that I currently own five motorcycles, one of which always goes 96 miles per hour.

-

I pointed the Ape west, then south, chasing a Duc and a Hog down I-5, and popped off at Twin Cities Road. The “twin cities” in question are the humble hamlets of Walnut Grove and Locke, not much more than growths on the eastern levee of the Sacramento River. To be fair, Walnut Grove does feature a drawbridge and an auto-repair shop that often features interesting classic Benzes and Lamborghinis in the window. And Locke was the subject of the first novel by my perennial homecoming date, the American Book Award–winning Shawna Yang Ryan. The haze drifting up from the devastating Thomas fire—a whopping 300 miles to the southeast—hung brown as the sun dipped toward the Coast Range, but the valley air was still clear enough to make out the shape of Mount Diablo in the distance, off across the farms and marshland that separate the river from Fairfield.

-

-

Mert Lawwill, Malcolm Smith, and Steve McQueen during the filming of On Any Sunday.

-

Eighty-odd years ago, when Locke was still a town built and run by Chinese immigrants rather than standing as a monument to the Chinese immigrants who built it, my grandfather and his work buddies would drive down the levee to gamble here. One night, the infamous tule fog rolled in. It’s one of California’s meteorological curios, one perhaps even more deadly than the fire-pushing Santa Ana and Diablo winds, given the severity of the automobile accidents that its zero-visibility soup causes. Sometimes, it will inundate the valley from Redding in the north, all the way down past Pumpkin Center, 450 miles south. Anyway, the young AT&T engineers got stuck in the stuff after a night at the tables. One unlucky sod, presumably with a few drinks in him for fortitude, was tasked with standing on the car’s running board, making sure the driver didn’t dump them into the river on the 25-mile drive back up to Sacramento. Riding back from Las Vegas a month ago, I found myself caught in the stuff. Upping the power on the 13,000 lumens worth of selective-yellow lamps I’d installed on the Aprilia did nothing to improve the situation. I didn’t expect it to, but when things are uncertain and you’ve got a rheostat, you invariably wanna twiddle with it. With twiddling having proven itself fruitless, I fell back on my dad’s advice: Keep a truck’s taillights just barely in view.

-

It’s a primitive mode of travel at that point; no motorcycle technology developed in the past 46 years was going to help much, save perhaps ABS if things suddenly went pear-shaped. Fumbling forward in the fog, chasing a dim light. That was life in a pre-internet Sacramento. And, I suspect, plenty of other towns in America. There was no one grand font, no place you could go for the inside scoop. You had to piece it together out of rumor, innuendo, going out and seeing shows, meeting people, catching movies, and perhaps by getting lucky at Tower. Life was a series of hyperlinks that loaded at what, in retrospect, seems like an absolutely glacial pace. Now and then, however, there’d be a supernova moment that would allow so much else to fall into place. Nirvana on the radio. Bruce Brown bringing the possibility of a different sort of life to kids in landlocked towns.

-

-

Bad Buggies and Ballyhoo: Bashing through the Desert in VW-Powered Off-Roaders

-

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

-

Niken a Go Go: Yamaha’s Radical New Three-Wheeled Sportbike

-

-

I rode home up the river as the sun set, toward the great silver water tower that used to read “City of Trees.” Gerwig’s languorous shots of the river flitted through my mind as the river itself turned gold, then faded to purple in the waning light. The visions of riparian quiet fought for mental space with Brown’s footage of Malcolm Smith ripping across a dry lake down in Baja, Cal Rayburn putting a streamliner on its side at Bonneville, and Mert Lawwill leaving home in that rad old Econoline on Torq-Thrusts, XR750 in the back, off on a futile quest to defend his AMA Grand National title. Then it all jelled into one great historic, present mass. What was once disparate was suddenly all of a piece. Time slips forward and fragments reassemble themselves in your mind as needed. A nice drive in a good car helps the pieces mesh more harmoniously, but taking that same trip on a bike somehow amplifies the experience exponentially.

-

At the end of The Endless Summer, Brown, in voice-over, says simply, “This is Bruce Brown. Thank you for watching. I hope you enjoyed my film.”

-

No, Bruce. Thank you.

- from Performance Junk Blogger 6 http://ift.tt/2BEeYXG via IFTTT

[jesusvasser]

Bruce Brown, Lady Bird, the City of Trees, and the 96-MPH Caponord: An Appreciation

-

Over the weekend, I saw Greta Gerwig’s much praised Lady Bird. The release of that film was probably the biggest thing to hit my sleepy, sprawling burg of Sacramento since the Kings arrived from Kansas City in 1985. The movie was filmed here and set during the the protagonist’s final year of high school in 2002–2003, nine years after I was a starry-eyed senior set to head off to the Bay Area for college, and more than half a decade before everybody had a smartphone. Sacto native Gerwig touches on the importance of magazines at what was perhaps the last possible moment before the World Wide Web ruled everything. For those raised prior to an era of always-on digital access, the feeling of cultural isolation could be acute. Glossies like Spin, Details, and newsprint zines in the vein of Maximumrocknroll were a window into another world. I’d read up, wander across the street to the original Tower Records, and try something out. But before I fell into the world of music and lifestyle books, BMX magazines were my first key to another, seemingly richer world. Go—a short-lived successor to BMX Action and Freestylin’ put together by a talented crew that included Spike Jonze and Jackass director Jeff Tremaine—turned me on to the music of DC hard-core stalwart Ian MacKaye. Without punk rock, my career path wouldn’t have led me to Car and Driver. But Go might not have existed at all were it not for Bruce Brown, who died Sunday at the age of 80. In essence, I owe Mr. Brown the last 30 years of my life.

-

-

Bruce Brown, camera in hand, during the filming of The Endless Summer.

-

He’s best remembered for his seminal surf documentary The Endless Summer, which I first saw in seventh-grade science class, around the same time I was devouring BMX rags and spending hours convincing my parents to let me go out and race. In one retrospective on the sport’s early days in the 1970s—which may have appeared in BMX Action—racers including Stu Thomsen discussed having their minds blown by the opening credits in Brown’s 1971 motorcycle doc, On Any Sunday. In it, a pack of kids tear around a kid’s-bike-sized motocross course on Schwinn Stingrays, crashing, pulling wheelies, jumping, and making motorcycle sounds. Shortly thereafter, organized bicycle motocross races sprung up, because what kid hasn’t pretended his bicycle is a motorcycle at some point? When I finally got around to seeing On Any Sunday, I was immediately smitten. Mert Lawwill and Malcolm Smith are inspired protagonists, the cinematography—rudimentary by today’s standards, but advanced for its day—still enthralls, and Brown’s good-natured California-cornpone narration lays out the action in a way that even the layman can enjoy. It’s not just a great motorcycle movie; it’s a great movie, period.

-

Brown, fundamentally, was a harbinger of good, a DIY magician who brought his cinematic works to the masses and, in doing so, made the seemingly impenetrable accessible. In the early days of his surf films, he’d barnstorm up and down the West Coast, showing his movies in high-school gymnasiums, narrating them in real time. Sensing that he had something bigger with The Endless Summer, he tried to secure wider distribution. When the majors said no, that it wouldn’t play beyond the niche of edge-of-the-continent surf rats, he rented a theater in whitebread Wichita, Kansas, and sold it out. And sold it out again. And again. Finally, the distributors took notice. The success of the landmark surf film paved an easier path for On Any Sunday, allowing Brown to secure funding from Steve McQueen, who figures prominently in the Elsinore Grand Prix section as well as the famous final sequence, during which he, Smith, and Lawwill bomb through the countryside and roost around on a Southern California beach.

-

A few years back, I asked Mark Wahlberg whether he preferred Easy Rider or On Any Sunday. He chose Easy Rider, and that sort of tells you all you need to know about Mark Wahlberg.

-

-

In one form or another, on bikes or in cars, I’ve sampled many of the motorized pursuits Brown runs through during the course of On Any Sunday, and although my heart lies with flinging a bike sideways through a corner while my steel-shod left boot skips along the ground, a couple of gnarly wrecks at a recent trip to Rich Oliver’s Mystery School have me reconsidering flat-track shenanigans, given my suddenly brittle 42-year-old frame. Long-distance touring, a discipline not covered in Brown’s film, is ultimately where I’ve found my niche, but in motorcycling, if you’re not at least something of an omnivore, you’re invariably missing out on something great.

-

For all of Sacramento’s foibles, it makes a case for itself as perhaps the best city in America to live in if you’re a motorcyclist. There’s year-round riding weather. It has less traffic than Los Angeles or San Francisco, but it’s clogged up enough to enjoy the feel-good benefits of lane splitting, which, of course, is only legal in California. What’s more, there are phenomenal, quiet roads within an hour’s ride in just about any direction. Sears Point and Thunderhill are 90 minutes away, there’s speedway racing up the hill in Auburn, Sacramento Raceway offers a dragstrip, and it’s only three hours to Laguna Seca. The Hangtown Classic is a legendary motocross event (covered by Bruce’s son, Dana, in On Any Sunday: The Next Chapter), and, of course, there’s the storied Sacramento Mile, which serves as the coda to the flat-track portion of the original movie.

-

When I heard Brown had died, everything fell away. Lady crushes, clerical business, chores that desperately needed doing. All I wanted to do was get on my motorcycle, as going for a ride felt like the only fitting tribute and perhaps the only way to alleviate the empty thud in my chest. I only had a couple of hours, so I figured I’d run down into the California Delta. In Lady Bird, Gerwig’s camera lingers pretty hard on the rivers in Sacramento. The geographic picture she paints of the place roughly parallels the town’s footprint before the war. It has now been decades since this place wasn’t an agglomeration of cities and unincorporated areas stretching halfway across the Central Valley. Her decision makes a lot of sense, as much of the infill and expansion that led to our very own mini-megalopolis fundamentally paralleled the rise of the internet. I imagine one day, perhaps in my lifetime, you’ll be able to drive clear from Colfax in the Sierra Nevada to Gilroy, south of San Jose—a distance of nigh on 200 miles—without once truly leaving an urban area. Although the city has crept inexorably south, following the Sacramento River down toward its mouth at Suisun Bay is a quick way to escape the sprawl. Ironic, in that the river itself was the original transit corridor between San Francisco and Sac during the Gold Rush.

-

-

The Capo at the edge of Panamint Valley. Note obscene selective-yellow lights.

-

Awash in thought, I got on the Aprilia Caponord Rally I bought back in October. I’d picked it up at Moto International in Seattle, on my way home from an office visit to Ann Arbor. Just before I rode away, Dave Richardson, the face of the shop for 25 years and a man deeply beloved and respected in the Moto Guzzi community, told me that it was the last motorcycle he’d ever sell. I knew he was retiring, but the idea that this was the final bike he’d usher out of that little dealership on North Aurora meant that I needed to put it to good use. So far, I’ve put nearly 6000 miles on the clock, riding it through seven states in two months. The motorcycle itself turned out to be a dead-end design for the Noale-based Piaggio division. The smooth, rowdy 90-degree 1200-cc twin wouldn’t pass Euro 4 emissions regulations, and Aprilia had only built about 5000 Caponords in total since the bike was introduced in 2013. My bike is a leftover 2016 model, hardly the only such motorcycle in Aprilia dealer inventory. Do the math. Making the bike pass Eurosmog wasn’t worth the effort.

-

Down on power compared to Ducati’s Multistrada or KTM’s big ADV machines and lacking the dealer network, aftermarket support, and reputation of BMW’s category-defining R1200GS, the Capo’s adventure-touring variant is nonetheless the best mile-eating motorcycle I’ve been on. For my build, anyway, it fits better than the outgoing Gold Wing. It outplushes a Harley FL (buy my 2015 Ultra Limited, please) and will smoke it through a corner or in a straight line. The Capo offers the same sort of sporting comfort as a BMW RT, but without the bland efficiency of the latest Bavarian boxer twin. Say what you will about Italian quality, the salami set seems almost incapable of building naturally aspirated engines that don’t delight. Its default velocity is 96 miles per hour. Start the bike, twist the throttle, let out the clutch, look down at the speedo, and it will invariably read 96. Why do I need more power? Who are these KTM-riding maniacs? To bring this back around, I hold Brown somewhat responsible for the fact that I currently own five motorcycles, one of which always goes 96 miles per hour.

-

I pointed the Ape west, then south, chasing a Duc and a Hog down I-5, and popped off at Twin Cities Road. The “twin cities” in question are the humble hamlets of Walnut Grove and Locke, not much more than growths on the eastern levee of the Sacramento River. To be fair, Walnut Grove does feature a drawbridge and an auto-repair shop that often features interesting classic Benzes and Lamborghinis in the window. And Locke was the subject of the first novel by my perennial homecoming date, the American Book Award–winning Shawna Yang Ryan. The haze drifting up from the devastating Thomas fire—a whopping 300 miles to the southeast—hung brown as the sun dipped toward the Coast Range, but the valley air was still clear enough to make out the shape of Mount Diablo in the distance, off across the farms and marshland that separate the river from Fairfield.

-

-

Mert Lawwill, Malcolm Smith, and Steve McQueen during the filming of On Any Sunday.

-

Eighty-odd years ago, when Locke was still a town built and run by Chinese immigrants rather than standing as a monument to the Chinese immigrants who built it, my grandfather and his work buddies would drive down the levee to gamble here. One night, the infamous tule fog rolled in. It’s one of California’s meteorological curios, one perhaps even more deadly than the fire-pushing Santa Ana and Diablo winds, given the severity of the automobile accidents that its zero-visibility soup causes. Sometimes, it will inundate the valley from Redding in the north, all the way down past Pumpkin Center, 450 miles south. Anyway, the young AT&T engineers got stuck in the stuff after a night at the tables. One unlucky sod, presumably with a few drinks in him for fortitude, was tasked with standing on the car’s running board, making sure the driver didn’t dump them into the river on the 25-mile drive back up to Sacramento. Riding back from Las Vegas a month ago, I found myself caught in the stuff. Upping the power on the 13,000 lumens worth of selective-yellow lamps I’d installed on the Aprilia did nothing to improve the situation. I didn’t expect it to, but when things are uncertain and you’ve got a rheostat, you invariably wanna twiddle with it. With twiddling having proven itself fruitless, I fell back on my dad’s advice: Keep a truck’s taillights just barely in view.

-

It’s a primitive mode of travel at that point; no motorcycle technology developed in the past 46 years was going to help much, save perhaps ABS if things suddenly went pear-shaped. Fumbling forward in the fog, chasing a dim light. That was life in a pre-internet Sacramento. And, I suspect, plenty of other towns in America. There was no one grand font, no place you could go for the inside scoop. You had to piece it together out of rumor, innuendo, going out and seeing shows, meeting people, catching movies, and perhaps by getting lucky at Tower. Life was a series of hyperlinks that loaded at what, in retrospect, seems like an absolutely glacial pace. Now and then, however, there’d be a supernova moment that would allow so much else to fall into place. Nirvana on the radio. Bruce Brown bringing the possibility of a different sort of life to kids in landlocked towns.

-

-

Bad Buggies and Ballyhoo: Bashing through the Desert in VW-Powered Off-Roaders

-

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

-

Niken a Go Go: Yamaha’s Radical New Three-Wheeled Sportbike

-

-

I rode home up the river as the sun set, toward the great silver water tower that used to read “City of Trees.” Gerwig’s languorous shots of the river flitted through my mind as the river itself turned gold, then faded to purple in the waning light. The visions of riparian quiet fought for mental space with Brown’s footage of Malcolm Smith ripping across a dry lake down in Baja, Cal Rayburn putting a streamliner on its side at Bonneville, and Mert Lawwill leaving home in that rad old Econoline on Torq-Thrusts, XR750 in the back, off on a futile quest to defend his AMA Grand National title. Then it all jelled into one great historic, present mass. What was once disparate was suddenly all of a piece. Time slips forward and fragments reassemble themselves in your mind as needed. A nice drive in a good car helps the pieces mesh more harmoniously, but taking that same trip on a bike somehow amplifies the experience exponentially.

-

At the end of The Endless Summer, Brown, in voice-over, says simply, “This is Bruce Brown. Thank you for watching. I hope you enjoyed my film.”

-

No, Bruce. Thank you.

- from Performance Junk WP Feed 4 http://ift.tt/2BEeYXG via IFTTT

[usnewsaggregator-blog]

ESPN is big Jerk for another mess, this time with Barstool Sports

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/espn-is-big-jerk-for-another-mess-this-time-with-barstool-sports/

ESPN is big Jerk for another mess, this time with Barstool Sports

ESPN, what are you doing?

Just when you think the network can’t possibly make any worse of a mess, just when you think it can’t get any more embarrassing, ESPN was rushed from its circus train wreck of a year with yet another self-inflicted wound this week.

The ESPN marriage with the boorish Barstool Sports was over faster than Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries. Kardashian broke it off after 72 days with the former Net, which is a lot longer than the one episode Barstool lasted before ESPN President John Skipper pulled the plug on “Barstool Van Talk.”

Skipper said this week he ended the curious Barstool partnership in an effort to “distance our efforts from the Barstool site and its content.” As if Skipper and anyone else at ESPN should have been surprised. Please.

Just to show you how conflicted ESPN is, the network once suspended Bill Simmons for calling Roger Goodell a liar. Yet, ESPN just threw a bunch of money at Barstool, the same brand that sells shirts with a Goodell clown face on them.

John Skipper has had a rough year as ESPN president.

(Mark Lennihan/AP)

See, Barstool is cool and edgy and everything ESPN wants to be. ESPN wants to be all that, wants people to watch it so bad that the network ignored all the offensive things Barstool has said and done in the past, some of which were directed at ESPN’s own employees. ESPN is a big, powerful company, yet somehow it ignored all of its Disney protocols and smart business decision making to rush off to a Las Vegas marriage chapel with Barstool, a company that was built on jokes about sex, race, religion, all masquerading as a comedy site.

Barstool is free to do what it does, it is free to attack female reporters like ESPN’s Sam Ponder and Sarah Spain, and it is free to share images of lewd signs college kids and fratboys bring to football games on Saturdays. But ESPN should have known, should have been more intelligent about the brand it was doing business with. ESPN just suspended Jemele Hill for social media posts, yet signed a contract with a company that publishes rape jokes online.

Quite honestly, we have not seen a bumbling jerk this bad since Steve Martin played one in the movies.

The Worldwide Leader jumped into its marriage with Barstool Sports, and its about-face makes the network look even worse.

(Mike Windle/Getty Images for ESPN)

ESPN has acted like a total buffoon the last few weeks in its handling of a number of public embarrassments, from the way it fumbled Hill’s tweets to putting Sergio Dipp and LaVar Ball on live TV to the fantasy football slave auction to Jenn Sterger’s scathing accusations of sexual harassment in Bristol.

Not for nothing, but there was more outrage about ESPN teaming up with Barstool than there seems to be surrounding Sterger’s claims of institutional misogyny in Bristol.

ESPN is making the Knicks and Mets look as well-run as the Navy SEALs. That doesn’t make ESPN bad or evil or worthy of the cord cutting. It just makes ESPN a giant jerk right now.

BALL AND CHAIN

Odell Beckham Sr. was arrested in Texas on gun charges.

(TMZ Sports)

We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again: LaVar Ball might be annoying and obnoxious and the NBA season is less than a month old, and you’re probably tired of seeing his face and hearing his voice on ESPN hyping his son’s games like a Mayweather match. But there are worse sports dads in the world. Far worse.

This week, we were reminded of that. Look no further than Odell Beckham Sr., who was arrested on pot and gun charges in Texas Wednesday. Ball might be making it tougher for his son Lonzo to play in the NBA, but you know what would be even more difficult for the kid? If LaVar was in jail.

GAME OVER

Esports is a thing right now. The Yankees and Mets are both involved in the exploding professional video industry and some think esports can eventually topple NFL as consumption habits evolve.

We’re quite far from that happening, but esports is already catching up to the NFL in off-field, er, off-console incidents. Professional gamer Li Wei Jun lost his contract with the Chinese “League of Legends” team he played for after he live streamed a domestic violence incident this week.

According to a report, Li’s girlfriend complained he is too serious when he plays video games (not to mention he probably doesn’t make his bed or clean his room, either). While the whole thing was being broadcast, Li pushed away his webcam, knocked over a desk, and sounds of a physical altercation and crying can be heard on the video.

Unlike the NFL, which continues to employ abusers, esports leagues are not as tolerant. Newbee, the team Li played for, fired the jerk shortly after.

EURO TRASH

Anti-Semitism is a thing right now in European football and this week, Lazio fans littered Rome with anti-Semitic stickers that had Anne Frank wearing the jersey of a rival club. This is truly the behavior of people who are much worse than just jerks.

In response, teams staged a moment of silence this week to honor Holocaust victims like Frank.

According to reports, some Juventus fans turned their backs and sang the Italian national anthem instead.

Think about that utter lack of respect, that mortifying, disgusting behavior, and now ask yourself just how offensive a non-violent, silent and respectful protest during the national anthem really is.

PANTS ON FIRE

Cardinals head coach Bruce Arians.

(Matt York/AP)

You know how you can tell if a football coach is lying? See if his lips are moving.

Cardinals coach Bruce Arians was so desperate to deflect the Colin Kaepernick questions that have become common for teams who lose a quarterback to injury, he just made up a reason out of thin air why he isn’t pursuing the polarizing QB this week. Instead of being truthful, Arians was a jerk and flat-out lied when he said, “We’ve never had more than two on our roster since I’ve been here.”

Except Arizona has carried three QBs in all but one of the five years Arians has been coach.

UNEQUAL OPPORTUNITY EMPLOYER

Finally, Cam Newton didn’t like a question a male reporter asked about his offense this week, so he just stormed out of the room. It’s not a high crime to be sensitive and not want to speak to the media, but what makes Newton such a jerk is that if it were a female reporter, he probably would have stuck around. And made fun of her.

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[rmoseley]

Jacked part four

I locked eyes with Dean. They were swimming with concern, I nodded. “Yeah.” not that he would care. He was probably thinking about Joe. We found the clown. Or rather the Rakshasa. It was the blind knife thrower. The door to the room he led us in was stuck, he vanished a knife landed just next to my head in the door. Another one sailed just beside my neck as Dean pushed me in front of him out the door. We met up with Sam and ran to the fun house. We were separated. “Dean? Sam?” I shouted hitting at the wall. “Find the maze! Hurry!” I heard Sam yell. I ran to it seeing the calliope come into view. I was moved just in time to be pinnined to the wall. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” I yell trying to pry the knife out of my jacket. Dean tried to pull it out while Sam pulled the steaming brass pipe of the calliope out. He was pinned to me. All I could do was look at Dean. I was going dizzy as a knife stuck itself in the wall grazing a bare piece of flesh from my T-shirt riding up. Dean looked down at me, an unreadable emotion crossed his face. Then as soon as it appeared it vanished when he set to work pulling the knives out of the wall. My breath hitched as he pulled the last one out, it was just above the waist line of my jeans. His fingers brushed over the skin. Making my head spin. I was swooning over Dean. At Bobby’s the Impala was nearly done I was walking around when I heard the sound of glass breaking. I ran up there just in time to see Dean going ape on Baby’s trunk. “Dean…” I said placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned around. I wish he hadn’t. He looked really angry. “Go away Jackline I don’t want to talk. You’re just as bad as Sammy.” I crossed my arms. “Dean I-” “I said go away!” he pushed me back I tripped on my own feet and glared at him. I got up and dusted myself off. And walked off. I didn’t talk to him for a while I still wasn’t talking to him when we went on a case in Montana. A couple severed heads, some drained cattle, we thought we’d check it out. That’s when we met a hunter, another one that actively sought to kill vamps. I developed a strong sense of dislike for him when he was encouraging sadistic behavior in Dean. Sam got up to go to the motel I got up to follow him Dean grabbed my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going Jackie?” I wrenched my arm out of his grasp, glaring at him hopefully enough to convey my anger, “To bed.” I said as I followed Sam out the door. We called Ellen. “Hey Ellen its Sam…” Sam forced me to stay in the room which was a bad idea. We were bound and thrown into a van. I wake up shoulder to shoulder with someone. A bag over my head. It was yanked off I was sitting by Sam. The thing in front of us was a euro fangbanger. Shit. Well it would have drained us if someone wouldn’t have told it to wait. Her name was Lenor. She wanted to talk to us. She wanted us not to follow her. I put two and two together. Gordon was hunting them out of his own sick pleasure. I was still mad at Dean but I had to warn him. He was being hardheaded about this. We told him that they let us go and thatcthey fed on animals. He still didn’t believe us. I stopped him by stepping in front of him. “Dean, please. They would have killed us if they wanted to. You have to believe us.” I said my blue eyes searching his green hazel eyes. He put his hands on my hips and moved me aside, walking back towards the room. He said that killing supernatural things is our job. “No killing evil things is our job. If they ain’t killing people they ain’t evil. Dean.” I said so angry that my accent came out. We got into it him me and Sam yelling at each other before I gave up and walked back to the rooms. Dean punched Sam. I was going to be the peace keeper. I stepped in front of Sam. “Stop.” I said looking into his eyes. He clenched his jaw and said he was going to the nest. He looked down at me, an unreadable emotion swimming in his eyes, before he started walking to the rooms. Gordon was missing. We were going to stop him. Or rather Sam and I were going to. I looked Dean in the eye and stepped closer to him. “Trust us. you haven’t given us any reason to lie.” he looked down at me a serious look on his face. He swallowed hard. The tension was thick in the room Sam looked uncomfortable. I backed away and turned to walk to the door, “or don’t. Its your choice.” I said walking out the door. Dean had to hot wire the Impala because someone *cough cough* Gordon *cough cough * jacked the keys. I am so going to Gank that guy. We walked in on him torturing Lenor. I drew my pistol. The fucker threatened Sam with the knife he was going to use to kill Lenor. “They aren’t human, they haven’t changed and I can prove it.” he said as he cut Sam and let the blood drip on Lenor’s face. “No, no,” Lenor repeated over and over again fighting the urge to feed. So Dean pulled a Gun on Gordon, who waited till Dean turned his back before he tried to fight him I tried to intervein which got me tossed like a rag doll, I hit my head on the table and conked out. I woke up in Dean’s arms, my head to his chest. I looked up wincing as the tender flesh met his arm. “Dean? Wha- what happened?” I groaned. He looked down at me a serious look on his face, always so serious here lately.

We were going to visit the boys’ mother’s grave. Dean thought it was stupid, I agreed with Sam. We were at the cemetery. I gave them some space looking around I saw something peculiar. At one particular grave all the vegetation surrounding it was dead. It was in a circle around one single grave. “Uh guys? I really hate to interrupt your visit but, look.” I pointed to the dead tree. “Everything around it is green except for the parts closest to the grave.” I said. “What do you think happened?” I was shocked. Dean Winchester asked my opinion on a hunt. Mind blown. “Unholy ground? Maybe something happened after the funeral.” I shrugged. “I doubt its a sign of an unholy presence. There would be more signs. An omen or two.” Dean gave me a not bad face and I scoffed. He held his hand out to me to help me up, I was still sore from being thrown into a wall. I took it trying to hide the obvious redness in my cheeks. So we got the girls name. Angela Mason. Her father is a professor at the local college. We knocked on his door. “Professor Mason?” the old man said yes. “I’m Sam this is Dean and Jackie, we were friends of Angela’s. We wanted to offer our condolences.” we talked to the professor while Dean fiddled with a strange book. “This’s a strange book.” “its ancient Greek. I teach a course.” Dean changed the subject. “So a car accident. That’s an awful way to go.” he said the man nodded. “Angie was just a mile away from home…” “losing someone like that is hard. Sometimes it feels like they’re still around. You ever get a feeling like that?” I quirked an eyebrow at Dean. “That’s perfectly normal, Mr Mason, with what you’re going through.” I said looking at Dean.“ “I’m telling you there’s something here we just haven’t found it yet.” Dean said as the thumbed through his father’s journal. I nodded. “I agree with Dean Sam, something’s obviously going on.” “So far you have a patch of dead grass and a funny feeling. We shouldn’t even have bothered that poor man.” I crossed my arms when Sam suggested it was a flop. Dean left to go drink I was sitting on the bed. Sam was doing the same. “Sam?” he turned to me, “I think Dean is right. The dead grass was in a perfect circle.” Sam tuned back to face the wall. I went with Dean to investigate. Angela’s boyfriend killed himself. I investigated the scene with Dean. It was a blood bath, and the fact that all the plants and goldfish were dead, just added to my I told you so parade. “I think Sam owes you an apology.” I said smirking at Dean as I slid into the impala. Dean was being stoic again. My arm rested on Baby’s consol. Dean’s was right beside mine, one hand on the wheel. His fingers grazed mine ‘on accident.’ I looked at him, a grin on my lips. I jumped when his fingers laced with mine but my smile grew wider into an ear to ear, face splitting grin. I felt like a giddy teenager, I squeezed his hand. This man was full of surprises. We found out that Angela’s boyfriend cheated on her. That marks her as a vengeful spirit to me. We went to burn her body, we stopped digging. Her coffin lay untouched in the earth. “Ladies first.” Dean said. I slid into the hole and wrenched the coffin open falling on my rear. “Its empty. This is bad.” I said noticing strange symbols carved in the wood. Dean looked pissed. The next day he confronted her poor father. “What’s dead should stay dead!” Dean said still angry. “Dean,” I warned. He didn’t seem to notice. "What you brought back isn’t even your daughter anymore. These things are viscous they’re violent, they’re so nasty they rot the ground around them, I mean come on, haven’t you seen pet cemetery?” he was accusing this sweet old man. “Dean that’s enough!” I shouted. “We are sorry sir, were leaving. We won’t bother you again.” I followed Dean outside. “What the hell was that Dean? that man was innocent.” Sam and him kept arguing. I held the bridge of my nose. If anyone heard us they probably thought we were crazy. “So its Neil then?” I asked remembering the timid guy we questioned. “Neil its your grief counselors. We’ve come to hug!” Dean yelled. I sniggered then regained seriousness as I loaded my pistol. We entered his basement, the place smelled like death and the vent was loose. “Shit.” I cursed under my breath. “Look she killed Matt because he was cheating, it takes two to have hardcore sex.” Dean said. Oh god the thoughts again. I stubbed my toe on purpose to draw my mind away. I hissed and hopped around much to their amusement. “Stubbed my toe.” I said slightly laughing. It worked. So we went back to her friends house. Lindsay was in danger. I shot her right in the back. She turned around and I shot her again, she jumped out the window I moved to follow her but Dean grabbed my arm. He ran after her coming back minutes later. “Man that Dead chick can run.” he said as he stepped back into the window. He confused me. “I say we go have a little chat with Neil.” I said. Angela killed Neil. We were lighting candles to perform the ‘ritual’ waiting for that undead freak to come I was going to nail the to her grave bed. I heard rustling in the bushes. I stood up ready to Gank her. Sam lured her out. I shot her before she could break Sam’s neck.