Mr. Pritchard was a businessman, president of a medium-sized corporation. He was never alone. His business was conducted by groups of men like himself who joined together in clubs so that no foreign element or idea could enter. His religious life was again his lodge and his church, both of which were screened and protected. One night a week he played poker with men so exactly like himself that the game was fairly even, and from this fact his group was convinced that they were very fine poker players. Wherever he went he was not one man but a unit in a corporation, a unit in a club, in a lodge, in a church, in a political party. His thoughts and ideas were never subjected to criticism since he willingly associated only with people like himself. He read a newspaper written by and for his group. The books that came into his house were chosen by a committee which deleted material that might irritate him. He hated foreign countries and foreigners because it was difficult to find his counterpart in them. He did not want to stand out from his group. He would like to have risen to the top of it and be admired by it; but it would not occur to him to leave it. At occasional stags where naked girls danced on the tables and sat in great glasses of wine, Mr. Pritchard howled with laughter and drank the wine, but five hundred Mr. Pritchards were there with him.
—John Steinbeck, The Wayward Bus, ch iii (1947)
[Scott Horton]
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• Portrait of Innocent X (1650) by Diego Velázquez.
• Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X (1953) by Francis Bacon.
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Ukrainian Easter Postcard. 1916.
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A Ukrainian girl wearing traditional wreath and beads for a wedding - pre-World War II.
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A mother's word for word transcription of the imaginary phone call her four-year-old made to Santa Claus in 1911.
(source: The Harbor Beach Times, December 22, 1911.)
Through some outrageous case of serendipity I found a recording of another phone call this same child made 60 years later. Though I have to say his choice of conversational partner is a definite downgrade from the first call.
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dont like when people try to masculinise/feminise targ names when genderbending cos valyrian names are already gendered based purely on vibes. daenys and rhaenys are feminine but aenys is masculine, and its not the prefix because daeron and rhaegar are masc but aerea is feminine. viserys jaehaerys aerys are masc but naerys daenerys are fem. yeah -a names tend to be fem and -on tend to be masc but even these have weird extras, like -ar names are masc despite similarity to -a. feminine non -ys names tend to end in -a but then there’s gael. basically a girl can be daemon and a boy can be rhaenyra
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Wedding Dress of Lollaretta Pemberton Allen
Pictured with her groom, Grover Allen
1939
National Museum of African American History & Culture
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This election day, I'm thinking of my Nana.
I'm thinking of how as a young woman, she fled political violence in her native Colombia to build a new home in a more stable country. I'm thinking about how she lived a long life, but not long enough to see her home country elect its first ever progressive president (just a few months ago!).
Coincidentally, I was living in Colombia at that time (in the very city she grew up in), and I was able to witness what felt like a miracle. A very conservative country, suffering from the violent inheritance of colonization and catholic invasion and the war on drugs, against a backdrop of the dangerous global rise of the far right--this unlikely country managed to elect one of the most progressive heads of state in the world, in 2022. That's a pretty big deal.
And I'm thinking about this, this election day, because that election was won by a very thin margin. I'm thinking about how it almost didn't happen. I'm thinking about how it was only possible thanks to the highest voter turnout in 20 year. And I am thinking about the countless number of voters who chose to vote for the first time. I am thinking of the poorest and most disenfranchised citizens who showed up at the polls. I am thinking of the indigenous women who rode 12 hours on public buses to vote at the 'nearest' polling stations. I am thinking of all the money and corruption that went into preventing minority citizens from voting, and I'm thinking about how they showed up in the millions and voted anyway.
I am thinking that I would like to see a miracle like that in my own home country.
So if you're on the fence about waiting in line today to cast your vote, I hope that you will think--about the country you want to live in, the future you hope will unfold, and about all of the people it takes to make a miracle.
Because history may deem us nameless and faceless, but when we show up en masse, we are the ones who make history happen.
And yes, maybe also spare a thought for my Nana. Who was in fact a very angry and judgemental woman who supported the republican party for 50+ years, and who would be turning in her grave right now (if the family hadn't had her cremated). Think about the mean angry ghost of my Colombian grandmother, who very much wants you to not show up at the polls to support abortion and other sinful progressive values. Think about her. Do it for her. Do it for Nana.
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Giacomo Balla Dynamism of a Dog on a Leash. 1912. Oil on canvas: 89 × 109 cm (35 × 43 in).
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