Tombstone of Dave Broadfoot and his wife. He was best known as a comedian. Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Toronto, Canada. Spring afternoon, 2021. Pentax K1 II.

 

A summing up of Dave Broadfoot's life by Brad Wheeler in The Globe and Mail:

 

Published November 11, 2016

Updated November 11, 2016

 

Dave Broadfoot, an earnest and bespectacled humourist whose uber-Canadian characters gave the country a folksy, lampoonable sense of identity, who doggedly blazed a new trail of stand-up venues across the nation, and whose sharper-than-you-think satire was presented with a smirk and not a snarl, died on Nov. 1. He was 90.

 

He knew about people, and he knew about Canada. And if one listened to him, one could learn.

 

"Whether you're a comedian or not, if you've had misfortune and laughed at yourself," Mr. Broadfoot told The Globe and Mail in 1966, "you've known the highest form of comedy there is."

 

In the same interview, Mr. Broadfoot, who began his performing career in 1947 when he joined the North Vancouver Community Players, spoke about the evolution of Canadian audiences when it came to comedy. "We have achieved, to some degree, the ability to laugh at ourselves."

 

Mr. Broadfoot seized on the collective self-deprecation and furthered it. He became nationally prominent from his stint with the CBC radio and television comedy troupe the Royal Canadian Air Farce from 1973 to 1988.

 

To the Farce he brought with him three memorable comedic characters, each maple-blooded and often confused: Big Bobby Clobber, the ineloquent hockey player; Sergeant Renfrew of the RCMP, who never got his man; and the Honourable Member for Kicking Horse Pass, a rambling politician who had a passionate way with nonsense. "How many of you are sitting here tonight with no arms because of Canadian sharks," Mr. Broadfoot ranted, as the well-meaning but distracted parliamentarian, in 2002. "How many? Let's have a show of hands."

 

Among his peers, Mr. Broadfoot was appreciated not just for his comic gifts, but for his professionalism, his humanity and his sociability. "He was a great dinner companion," Don Ferguson, a fellow farceur with the Royal Canadian Air Farce, told The Globe. "He had a great sense of what I call 'the human comedy,' which was an appreciation for how absurd life could be and how silly people could look and how ridiculous they could behave in the normal course of events. These were things you wouldn't notice yourself, but when Dave would point them out, you'd think, 'He's absolutely right.' "

 

Mr. Broadfoot worked with a high level of topicality, cleverness and human decency – he avidly argued for gender equality and women's rights, for example – that contributed to his authority and relevancy. "He believed comedy should be about something," said Mr. Ferguson. "He hated the kind of dirty-joke comedy that a lot of people did. He believed comedy should have some redeeming social value."

 

In his 1966 interview with The Globe, Mr. Broadfoot, in the heat of the civil rights movement in the United States, took a swipe at the "ultra-hip" comedians who used a derogatory word for African-Americans in their jokes. "They're forgetting the cost of that word in human life."

 

Paul Soles, the veteran actor and television personality, cited Mr. Broadfoot's astuteness and propriety. "He worked clean. I don't ever recall him saying a blue word," said Mr. Soles, longtime co-host of the CBC television program Take 30. "He had a lovely, mature arc of wisdom that allowed us to be amused with [people in] positions of importance, whether it was a member of Parliament or an RCMP officer."

 

A then-fledgling Canadian comedian Ron James first met Mr. Broadfoot some 20 years ago at a comedy festival in Gravenhurst, in Ontario's cottage country. "I watched this man do an hour and a half," Mr. James told The Globe. "He was almost 70, and he was pugnacious and he was preaching, brother. He used the whole stage. The cat was 6-foot-2 and he engaged the audience."

 

Mr. James watched gobsmacked from the wings, where sneering members of a hot Toronto comedy troupe also took in Mr. Broadfoot's act. "They were passing judgment," Mr. James remembered. "I turned to them and told them that if they could do that at 70, they will have won."

 

Born in North Vancouver on Dec. 5, 1925, young Dave was raised in a home where religion was the centre of life and where "fun was not a priority." His upbringing was a strictly Protestant one. His three older sisters would all end up as missionaries, one in Thailand, one in Bolivia and one in Malaysia. Speaking about them later, when he was a professional comedian and a self-described humanist, Mr. Broadfoot cracked that his scripture-following siblings had "better writers."

 

In an interview with The Globe in 1999, Mr. Broadfoot described his childhood as "very strange." On Sundays, he went to church three times. "It took me a long time to rebel and it was why I had so much difficulty at school. I was separated culturally."

 

Young Dave wanted to go to the movies and attend dances and parties, but, not wishing to displease his family, he refrained.

 

A failure academically, he quit school at 16, lied about his age and joined the merchant marine.

 

He spent the war years evading German U-boat fire. He was in Sydney, Australia, when the Japanese surrendered. (Mr. Broadfoot later would entertain Canadian troops in Japan, Korea, the Middle East, Germany and the Balkans, and was named an officer of the Order of Canada.)

 

Upon his return home, Mr. Broadfoot eventually found a job at a Woodward's department store. One night he went to see a talent contest at Vancouver's since-demolished Denman Auditorium, where a neighbour performed a soliloquy from Richard III. "It was so impressive," Mr. Broadfoot told The Globe. "The audience was completely silent. I thought if he could do it, maybe I could, too."

 

It took a year for him to work up the courage to join a theatre company, and he always remembered the laughs he got on his first stage entrance. "It was an amazing experience. I felt like I had come home. For the first time in my life, I did not feel like a misfit." Soon he was acting in three companies simultaneously. "Unconsciously," he said, "I was making up for lost time."

 

Mr. Broadfoot decided he wanted to be the best English-speaking comedian in the country. "I never thought about New York or Los Angeles at all," he wrote in his 2002 autobiography Old Enough to Say What I Want. "My focus was Canada."

 

In early September, 1952, he boarded a bus with $100 in his pocket and headed east. Four days he later, he landed in Toronto, where he found a "gloomy room" near the bus terminal. "What have I done?" he asked himself.

 

Mr. Broadfoot had done the right thing. He arrived in Toronto mere days before CBC television first went to air. He took a job selling suits at another department store, Simpson's, and started hanging around at the CBC buildings. Eventually, he earned an audition for producer Mavor Moore, who cast him in Spring Thaw, an annual stage revue of dance, satirical songs and topical comedic skits, predominantly on Canadian subjects.

 

He was on his way, and he never stopped.

 

After a nerve-racking (but well-received) appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1955, Mr. Broadfoot began landing spots on The Wayne and Shuster Show. In 1959, he married the vivacious comedian Jean Templeton. For a time, they performed as comedy duo, on a radio show and on their own daily children's television show (Junior Roundup). In the evenings, it was banquets, conventions and the sketch show Well Rehearsed Ad Libs in a room above the popular Italian restaurant Old Angelo's.

 

That show included a satirical solo piece, involving Mr. Broadfoot as an aboriginal public relations man. "As the revelations of injustices toward native peoples mounted," he wrote in his autobiography, "I wondered how a comedian could comment on the situation."

 

Wearing a headband and stuffing a peace pipe with tobacco, the character would speak to the audience, calling them "you white people." The bit ended with a native rhythm and a variation of a Woody Guthrie song:

 

This land was my land

 

And now it's your land

 

This land they stole

 

For you, from me

 

Mr. Broadfoot's marriage broke down when his wife moved to New York to further her career. He would later marry Diane Simard, a CBC producer he met in Montreal. The couple had a daughter, Valérie, born in 1970.

 

Over the rest of his career, Mr. Broadfoot took various incarnations of his shows across the country and around the world. He once performed for Queen Elizabeth II, who asked him "Where do you get your ideas?"

 

He got them by observing. Once during a break while taping at the CBC theatre, in a sketchy downtown area of Toronto, Mr. Broadfoot came upon a conversation in a nearby convenience store. A customer, the comedian wrote in his autobiography, was upset because the store was out of Aqua-Velva aftershave. When the clerk told him all he had left was Mennen, the customer sneered, "I wouldn't drink that stuff if you paid me."

 

When Mr. Broadfoot began, there was no established Canadian circuit for comedians. "He carved a trail, long before any Canadian had a clue what a stand-up comedian was," said Mr. James, winner of the Dave Broadfoot Comedic Genius Award. "And he had to do it one kilometre at a time."

 

Mr. James saw Mr. Broadfoot not long ago, at a taping of the topical CBC Radio comedy show Because News. "He was still interested," Mr. James said. "He was still a student of the form."

 

Indeed, at his 90th birthday party, Mr. Broadfoot was more interested in telling new jokes than he was in blowing out candles. "He was still writing every day, on current events," Mr. Ferguson said.

 

Long before he reached the end of his life, Mr. Broadfoot's decision to concentrate on a made-in-Canada career paid off for him. He offered a national perspective; he embraced people and place.

 

"He changed something here," Mr. James said. "He brought his words to the paying public, on the cold winter nights. And trust me, when you pull into a theatre in a blizzard on a Tuesday night in February, a thousand people laughing sounds exactly the same here as it does in Los Angeles."

 

Dave Broadfoot leaves his wife, Diane Simard Broadfoot, and daughter, Valérie.

 

Globe and Mail Obituary of Diane Simard Broadfoot:

 

Diane Simard Broadfoot, O Ont

 

'Ma chère Diane, c'est à ton tour, de te laisser parler d'amour'

 

Peacefully at Toronto Western Hospital on Wednesday, January 18, 2017 at the age of 75. Predeceased by her treasured husband Dave Broadfoot. Cherished mother of Valérie Broadfoot, mother-in-law of Joe Macdonald, sister of Lorraine Tracy and adored friend of many.

 

Originally from her beloved Québec, Diane was a bright, feisty, caring, loyal and funny person. She was a proud feminist and an advocate for gay rights and women's legal equality. As a longtime Torontonian, she continued to embrace her Québecois heritage. She loved classical, Québecois and French music, travel, theatre, good food and wine. She was a renowned hostess - Diane and Dave's home was always a hive of social activity.

 

In the earlier part of her life, Diane had a successful career in television as a producer and director. It was through this work that she met Dave, her husband and best friend of almost 50 years. While managing Dave's career, she also devoted herself to volunteer service to the community, both at the grass roots and board level. Her volunteer work covered many areas of need, from services to adults and children with mental challenges, health services to persons with HIV and AIDS, to support for the arts. She was a member of the Order of Ontario, recipient of the Queen's Golden and Diamond Jubilee medals, as well as numerous other awards from the many organizations she served.

 

Diane's family and friends thank the staff of 9A at Toronto Western Hospital for taking special care of her. Immense thanks to Diane's private personal support team of Annie, Leah, Cyril and Iresh.

 

A celebration of life reception will be held in Toronto at the Mount Pleasant Funeral Centre from 5:00 to 7:00 pm on Saturday, February 25, 2017. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Women's Legal Education and Action Fund (LEAF), Eden Community Homes, Alzheimer Society of Canada or the Arthritis Society.

 

To Plant Memorial Trees in memory, please visit our Sympathy Store.

Published in The Globe and Mail from Jan. 23 to Jan. 28, 2017.

“Now Is The Time To Talk About What We Are Actually Talking About” ―via @newyorkermag 🙌

 

www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/now-is-the-tim...

 

“Now is the time to counter lies with facts, repeatedly and unflaggingly, while also proclaiming the greater truths: of our equal humanity, of decency, of compassion. Every precious ideal must be reiterated, every obvious argument made...

 

👉 ...because an ugly idea left unchallenged begins to turn the color of normal.” ―Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 💯

…Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us…

 

There are some who will have strong feelings about today.

 

I have taken my lesson from The Complete Middle Eastern Cookbook. This is described as Lahuh, a Yemeni bread made from nothing more than wholemeal wheat flour, salt and water. My informant notes it is favoured during Ramadan and other Muslim feasts. She describes how the batter is allowed to ferment, like sourdough. Unlike the Yemeni sponge bread, this version is cooked on both sides. There's a sourdough culture of extended lineage in our family — though it is reasoned like our own microbiomes they evolve and change to resemble their environment. When I mixed my batter, I inoculated it with this culture.

 

Variations on the name Lahuh and batter breads like this feature in the cuisines of NE Africa and the Arabian Peninsula — I'm sure you're familiar with injera. But the references published on the internet seem to predominantly come from one place which has appropriated this bread as their own, as they have Shakshouka and Hummus bi tahini.

 

Of course, you already know the Middle East is complicated and ownership of many things is claimed and contested.

 

Today, like all days, we should break bread together. The cruel denial of access to food — to bread, the staff of life — in acts of conflict is inhumane and cannot be justified, whatever the grievance. This bread was good, was good to share. My counsel to anyone prepared to appropriate, as your own, the food of others is to at least have the human decency to sit down with them and share your spoils. Unless, of course, your eternal objective is to perpetuate grievance.

   

I don't know the name of this butterfly that we saw yesterday at the San Diego Botanic Garden, but that certainly didn't stop me from exploiting it. It had the decency to stay on top of a flower long enough for me to focus on it.

 

Other pictures that I've taken of butterflies are in my Butterflies and Dragonflies set.

www.flickr.com/photos/9422878@N08/sets/72157626745277518/

In the future spiderwebs will be woven in metal silk threads and electrified....its just how evolution works......so...Story time....I work every Saturday, but had yesterday off as a vacation day. One thing i miss out on by working Saturdays is the joy of driving around to yard sales (Tag sales if your weird and call it that). Its fun. Drive around early, most often down streets you've never been....discovering new spots. Mapping out the most efficient route weighing the factors of start time, description of goods for sale, and so on. One thing i have also observed over the years is that within a 120 yard radius of any yard sale location (up that distance to a minimum of 250 yards for estate sales) all laws of traffic, parking, u-turns, common courtesy, correct etiquette, or general human decency for the most part goes completely out the window. However, thats part of the fun and appeal.... some people take it sooooooo serious (an unhealthy level for sure) and get frantic...perhaps fearing they will miss out on what they probably image is the greatest deal of their lifetime if they don't cut off someone actively walking across the street to park sideways on a neighbors lawn....then followed by a mad dash sprint to the sale area. I often wonder if that type of yardsaler person is worried that they will miss out on discovering the sale has a one of a kind Giovanni Battista Torriglia oil on canvas work..... or maybe they heard that this sale has a pair of flower patterned oven mitts for $1.25.

So with my day off I went to a few yard sales in town. I drove around "late" morning 9:45, that combined with poor weather may have kept the number of people down. I was in search of a few odd items that i can work into my photography.... the type of thing when you see it you know its a good subject. The highlight of my yard sale morning was at an elderly mans house....i was the only one there. The set up was in his garage and a bit spilling out into the driveway. I said good morning to him as he stood kind of hunched over in a tan coat.. I complimented him on the great spot he has on the dead end road. We chatted a bit, and he told me that he and his wife are moving....they are in their mid 80's and the stairs and upkeep was getting to be too much. I could tell by his look it was hard to accept the fact that he would be leaving his home of over 30 years. He said the familiar phrase i hear at work a lot....getting old is no fun. I got to hear all about his career, then about how he took on full time work after his retirement into his 80s....because he loved it, not the need for income. I love seeing the elderly reminisce on the past, its a beautiful thing. So i continue to browse.....and he says to me..... I'm looking for someone who grows Pot. I couldn't help but smile widely and laugh a bit, as this was probably the last thing on earth i thought i would hear from a homeowner at a yard sale. I told him I'm sorry but i don't grow pot...ha... In my mind I'm thinking does this 84 year old man smoke pot? Is he looking for a connection? Perhaps for medical reasons? Do I look like a stoner?...ha.. He then continued to say.... well if you look over here I have these two large containers of nitrogen....its great for growing pot. Im still at a loss for words.... nodding my head with a big smile now thinking..... does this guy grow pot!? A retired Walter White of sorts selling off his growing supplies before moving out? Then he points to a huge storage bin filled with dozens of quart sized and larger glass mason jars. These are great for storing Pot he tells me. So now I'm really laughing pretty good, and say to him.... well i wouldn't have a need for those, but thanks. Thinking if even one of those jars was filled with Pot how much it would cost...ha... (and I don't smoke or buy pot but i do know that much). So he finally says to me, i thought you might get a laugh out of that. He continues to explain to me now.... awhile back he bought the contents of a storage unit at an auction (just like in the television show Storage wars...Yuuuuuup.) He said they guy who owned the storage unit must have grown and sold pot because it had all this stuff....including a large quantity of pot... which he says his grandson took....ha... I ended up buying a few nice old tools that i don't own for a dollar each, and an awesome old wrench for 4 dollars. The other two items of the day at a separate sale was a really nice fireplace poker for a dollar, and a metal cake cooling rack for 50 cents. Oh yea.....thats where i was going with this.....story time with Brian can get off track..... This 50 cent item was the focus of my photo series last night using camera rotation in a single exposure and colored lights....when i saw it....i was like....oh yea patterns galore with this. If anyone has read this far.... thanks for checking out the photos, hope your having a splendid weekend. -brian

So much to CELEBRATE on this wonderful day. We got our little dab of snow here in North Carolina (almost all gone now). We got OUR PRESIDENT and America has been restored (and will maintain, we trust) to its place in the LEAGUE OF DECENCY. And last, and probably least, we got to wait personally on a BILLIONAIRE, who said he liked the soup, and presumably, left a tip, though not to us. No details will be forthcoming.

The migration may have started ... or not, but at least this kestrel had the decency to hunt along my hiking trail. Too bad he wouldn't come closer than 75 yards.

Bondi Beach is a popular beach and the name of the surrounding suburb in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. Bondi Beach is located 7 kilometres (4 miles) east of the Sydney central business district, in the local government area of Waverley Council, in the Eastern Suburbs. It has a population of 11,656 residents. Its postcode is 2026. Bondi, North Bondi, and Bondi Junction are neighboring suburbs. Bondi Beach is one of the most visited tourist sites in Australia sparking two hit tv series Bondi Rescue and Bondi Vet.

"Bondi," originally "Boondi" is an Aboriginal word which has the same meaning as the word "surf" in English. The first record of "bondi" by European-ancestry Australians was made between 1899 and 1903. It describes the meaning as "noise made by sea waves breaking on the beach," which is essentially the definition of "surf" in contemporary American English. The Australian Museum records that Bondi means place where a fight using bondi sticks (nulla nullas or fighting sticks) took place.

In 1809 the road builder William Roberts received a grant of land in the area. In 1851 Edward Smith Hall and Francis O'Brien purchased 200 acres of the Bondi area that included most of the beach frontage, which was named "The Bondi Estate." Hall was O'Brien's father-in-law. Between 1855 and 1877 O'Brien purchased his father-in-law's share of the land, renamed the land the "O'Brien Estate," and made the beach and the surrounding land available to the public as a picnic ground and amusement resort. As the beach became increasingly popular, O'Brien threatened to stop public beach access. However, the Municipal Council believed that the Government needed to intervene to make the beach a public reserve. In mid-1882, Bondi Beach became a public beach. The first tramway to the beach was established in 1884. The Waverley Council was responsible for building the first surf bathing sheds on the beach in 1903. By 1929 an estimated 60,000 people were visiting the beach on a summer weekend day. The opening of the pavilion in the same year attracted a huge crowd of 200,000.

On 6 February 1938 five people drowned and over 250 people were rescued or resuscitated after a series of large waves struck the beach and pulled people back into the sea, a day that became known as "Black Sunday".

Bondi Beach was a working class suburb throughout most of the twentieth century with migrant people from New Zealand comprising the majority of the local population. Following World War II, Bondi Beach and the Eastern Suburbs became home for Jewish migrants from Poland, Russia, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Germany. A stream of Jewish immigration continued into the 21st century and the area has a number of synagogues and a kosher butcher. The multicultural migration funded and drove the growth of the suburb throughout the 1990s into the turn of the century, moving it steadily from its working-class roots towards an upper/middle-class enclave similar to its neighbors of Rose Bay and Bellevue Hill which was listed as the most expensive postcode in the country from 2003 to 2005.

Bondi Beach was long a center for efforts to fight indecency in beach attire. The beach was a focal point of the 1907 Sydney bathing costume protests, organized to oppose proposed dress standards for beachgoers. The Local Government Act, Ordinance No. 52 governed the decency of swimming costumes and was in force between 1935 and 1961, and resulted in public controversy as the two-piece "bikini" became popular after World War II. Waverley Council's beach inspectors, including the Aub Laidlaw, were responsible for enforcing the law and were required to measure the dimensions of swimwear and order offenders against public decency off the beach. While vacationing in Australia during 1951, American movie actress Jean Parker made international headlines when she was escorted off the beach after Laidlaw determined her bikini was too skimpy. The rule became increasingly anachronistic during the 1950s and was replaced in 1961 with one requiring bathers be "clad in a proper and adequate bathing costume", allowing for more subjective judgement of decency. By the 1980s topless bathing had become common at Bondi Beach, especially at the southern end.

Sydney's Water Board maintained an untreated sewage outlet not far from the north end of the beach until the 1960s when a sewage treatment plant was built. In the mid-1990s the plant was upgraded & a deepwater ocean outfall was completed to meet water quality standards.

In March 2007, Waverley Council started proceedings to evict a hermit who was living in squalor on a cliff overlooking the beach. Peter James Paul Millhouse, calling himself Jhyimy "Two Hats" Mhiyles, came to the beach during the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games and became a local celebrity for his lifestyle and poetry recitals to visitors. Residents and tourists put together a "save the caveman" petition to allow him to continue residing but under certain rules. In 2009, he was arrested and charged for the rape of a tourist. While he was in custody, Waverley Council under then-mayor Liberal Sally Betts removed his belongings from the cliff. In September 2011, charges against Jhyimy were dropped by the Director of Public Prosecutions over concerns of the reliability of the witness. Waverley Council has not offered recompense for his eviction from his home or loss of belongings.

In March 2020, the NSW Government closed Bondi Beach after a number of people there exceeded Australia's outdoor-gathering limit imposed to slow the spread of the coronavirus in New South Wales.

Dutch postcard by Uitg. Takken, Utrecht, no. AX 4712. Brigitte Bardot in La Bride sur le cou / Please, Not Now! (Roger Vadim, Jean Aurel, 1961). The Dutch title was Bandeloos.

 

French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) died on 28 December 2025, at the age of 91. In the 1950s, she was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she established herself as an animal rights activist and made vegetarianism sexy. In the coming weeks, we will post a BB postcard every day to remember her as she once was.

 

Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father, and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying a modelling career and found herself in May 1949 on the cover of the French magazine Elle. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, and Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand / Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953, she attended the Cannes Film Festival, where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956, she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as an ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. In 1953, she made her first US production, Un acte d'amour / Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.

 

Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smash success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. The immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme / And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956), directed by her husband, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.

 

Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped Brigitte Bardot's international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten', and fascination with her in America consisted of magazine photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theatres like lemmings. BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (Ralph Thomas, 1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne / La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957), which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur / Love is My Profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "This Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defence attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre can shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous and deadly side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960, postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.

 

Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 195,7 and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre / Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career

Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée / Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle, has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at French Films: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the high point of her career when she agreed to make this film with high-profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess, and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot, and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names was based on an actual incident, and is a resonant image of celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterwards, Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.

 

Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire Playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men, including Samy Frey, her co-star in La Vérité / The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Jean-Luc Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris / Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963) opposite Michel Piccoli. She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres / Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires /Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses / Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.

 

Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973, just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976, she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewellery and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990s, she was also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal was a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularising bikini swimwear, in such early films as Manina / Woman without a Veil (Willy Rozier, 1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photo shoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."

 

Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (French Films), French Films, Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

And please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

 

Is Is Writexxxxx The Other Left 2 Capture & Frame A Private Activity?

.

 

So As U Contemplate... THIS is 4 U!

 

Is there not something disrespectful by acting as a voyeur...

 

But how many times has one looked out of a window across a street at night as one is closing the curtains... only to see a scene...

 

From time to time U No Who has grabbed his cam... to capture the scene...

 

Is it an invasion of: privacy... a common decency?

 

au.youtube.com/watch?v=zCMyhs-XUcc&feature

 

But then there are those who clearly do it on purpose... NYC is a well known venue...

 

Never The Less... @ Flickr... it is a pleasure 2 see Creativity+i.e.MSP

After the shock of Donald Trump’s inauguration day, when millions of Americans (and visiting foreigners like me) felt understandably distraught, bereft, dismayed, as the grotesque, narcissistic, predatory, corrupt fraud that is Donald Trump delivered a bleak and graceless inauguration speech, it was nothing short of a delight on Saturday, Jan. 21, Day 2 of the aberrant Trump presidency, when, across the country and around the world, millions of women (plus large numbers of supportive men) marched in protest against Trump and all he and his administration stand for — his disdain for women, his racism, his xenophobia, his adherence to intolerant white Christian fundamentalism, and, last but not least, his opaque, but very obviously corrupt business practices. Two US academics have estimated that between 3.3m and 4.6m people marched in total across the US, with New York’s turnout estimated at between 400,000 and 500,000 people.

Stepping out of Grand Central Station into a river of protest, with more clever, witty and insightful handmade posters than you could imagine, and with chants and cheers punctuating the general hubbub at regular intervals was to feel that perhaps this dystopian vision of America can indeed be overthrown before it wreaks untold havoc at home and abroad. And with no beginning or end of the protest in sight, it was easy to believe that the number marching was much larger than even the academics’ estimate.

It will take more than one day, of course, as the people of America need to unite like never before — everyone who didn’t vote for Trump, everyone threatened by Trump, everyone appalled by Trump, including, of course, those who voted for him but might already be having second thoughts. This could be a disastrous presidency, or it could be even worse than that, but people need to put aside any notions of complacency, and work out how to resist. This was a great start, and a historic moment that everyone there will remember, but now there needs to be much more action and organizing.

As you look at these photos, however, I hope they are a reminder of a day of hope across the US and around the world, when ordinary people demonstrated that fundamental decency will not be silenced, and that a tolerant, multi-racial society, featuring, at its heart, equality between women and men, and between people whatever their race, creed or color, has humour, intelligence and compassion that throw into even sharper relief how troublingly miserable, negative and ungenerous Donald Trump and his advisors are.

For an article by US Uncut about the numbers attending the protests, see: usuncut.com/news/womens-march-largest-protest-us-history/

For the turnout estimates, see: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2...

For an article in New York Daily News, which ran a front page devoted to the protests, under the headline, “See them roar,” see: www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/women-march-washington-...

For my website, see: www.andyworthington.co.uk

For my Facebook posts after Trump’s inauguration, see:

www.facebook.com/andyworthingtonUK/posts/1015497574252380...

www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10154975238073804&set...

For my most interesting photos, see: www.flickriver.com/photos/andyworthington/popular-interes...

 

The backstory: as a capstone to the redevelopment of Welfare Island, but outside of the UDC scheme, the city and state of New York pushed for the southern tip of the island to be redeveloped as a memorial park dedicated to Franklin Roosevelt. Louis Kahn was brought in to design, and his second scheme (1973) met with the approval of the project’s most powerful champions – Governor Nelson Rockefeller and Mayor John Lindsay. A year later, the scheme was totally adrift: Kahn was dead, Rockefeller had ascended to the Vice Presidency after Watergate, Lindsay had left office, and the city was beginning its slide towards the 1975 bankruptcy crisis. Nothing happened on-site. For many years afterwards, the project’s shepherds were Kahn associate Romaldo Giurgola and former UN Ambassador William vanden Heuvel. Improbably, in the mid-2000s, the project was re-started with a series of fundraising campaigns and exhibitions; seven years and some $54 million later, Kahn’s design was completed in 2012.

 

The statue of Roosevelt became a bust (presumably for cost reasons) and a few stairs became ramps to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act - kind of obvious in hindsight given Roosevelt's paralysis. But otherwise, this is a Louis Kahn design and should be evaluated as such. In keeping with his poetic, quasi-Functionalist manner, Kahn broke the project down into two basic features: there’s the Garden and there’s the Room: one a broad green triangle framed with funereal trees, the other a tight square enclosed by enormous granite prisms (sized based on 1970s crane-loading limits) framing the city and the river. In addition to the bust and the carved recap of the “Four Freedoms” speech, allusions to Roosevelt include the riverfront site and the “ship’s prow” composition (Roosevelt was once the Secretary of the Navy), and the oblique view across to the headquarters of the United Nations (Roosevelt’s brainchild – and another Rockefeller pet project). As has been observed, Kahn’s own admiration of Roosevelt, whose New Deal housing programs kept Kahn employed during the Depression, may explain the shift here towards fairly literal symbolism versus Kahn’s usual reaches for abstractly monumental “timelessness.” Note that to reach the park one must pass the ruins of the Smallpox Hospital - a reminder of the incompleteness of government efforts to promote the general welfare before the New Deal.

 

With this in mind, it's interesting that the scheme bears at least a passing resemblence to Kahn's forgotten 1932 memorial to Lenin, as Michael J. Lewis points out. It may be that Kahn spent forty years waiting for a chance to stick a triangle in some water and terminate it with a Platonic figure. Alternately, perhaps he found some connection, at an emotional level, between the two figures being memorialized. Before the show trials, before the Hitler-Stalin pact, and indeed before the election of Roosevelt, it was not so uncommon for American progressives to express admiration for the Soviet system and its (purported) achievements in equality alongside nominal industrial growth in the Five-Year Plans. In the depths of the Depression, Communism perhaps represented hope of a return to sanity in the same way that the New Deal later would. Kahn may well have begun his design trying to remember how Roosevelt made him feel during his darkest professional hour.

 

More generally, the park develops on Roosevelt Island’s fundamental near-but-distant theme. It’s just far enough back from the city to turn the traffic and the bustle into a silent tableau of buildings against the river and sky, and Kahn’s design goes for silence above all else. The vast blankness of much of its square footage, especially the angled granite flanks of the “garden,” is a declaration against fussiness, against usefulness. The gaps between the granite blocks not only permit one to realize they are, indeed, solid blocks. They also give distorted, shimmering glimpses of the commercial forces that have been banished from this cenotaph: industrial production in Long Island City, commercial manipulation in Midtown. (Hilariously, the view dead ahead is of the unabashedly Kahnian Waterside Plaza, well underway when the park was designed.)

 

The severity of the park so clearly refuses monetization that even the few sops towards practical park operation (electric outlets, “don’t walk here” cordons, generic ground lights) stick out like sore thumbs. The park is designed to receive fifty million dollars into itself and never give it back, and by holding capital in suspension it gives the visitors a chance to exist without it – or, at least, to imagine that they do. Another Communist fantasy? Or just the chance of some damned peace and quiet, enhanced by the gentle approach through South Point Park and past the scenic ruin of the Smallpox Hospital? It’s often observed that New Yorkers love their city so much that their favorite places in the city are the ones that make you feel like you’ve completely escaped it; Kahn’s park belongs in this paradoxical canon. Not incidentally, this attempt to throw away both money and the prospect of making more has much in common with the United Nations building itself, if my reading is correct. Kahn's use of white stone here invites the comparison in any case.

 

Of course, all this comes at the expense of other things. If Kahn began by asking things what they wanted to be, here he seems to have been chatting with a mausoleum and not a park. As a funereal monument, it's excellent. As a “park” on an unmistakably spectacular site, the design seems to fail for the exact reasons it succeeds as a memorial. There’s nothing to do but think deep thoughts and maybe have a picnic. In particular there’s no way to get to the water, which is a cardinal sin in today’s landscape architectural discourse. There might have been some way to activate the flanking paths without robbing the park of its silence; perhaps some kind of stepped seating could have been integrated into the great retaining walls, angled in some way as to hide it from the northern approach, but still allow a good spot from which to view the city (or clamber down to the riprap at water’s edge). Could this have been done without undermining the very silence and decency Kahn was shooting for?

 

To be fair to Kahn, the Clean Water Act had only been passed the year before this design was completed, and the idea of “getting in touch with the river” would probably have seemed absurd. Today, an enthusiastic team works to develop a swimming pool that will float suspended in the river not far away (see Kickstarter to get your name on a pool tile, should it be built). But in the Seventies, the site of the Kahn memorial was splashed by a kitschy “geyser” that raised ire from East Siders convinced it was fumigating their neighborhood with aerosolized sewage. (In the Eighties, the water also killed off a grove of trees recently planted on the site by island beautification organizers, but this was due simply to erosion.) To retrofit the Kahn design reflecting today’s realities and landscape ambitions would be anachronistic.

 

One might then ask, as seier did a few months ago, why we should feel ruled by the master’s design at all? Why not have a new competition for a design that addresses the contemporary conditions of the island and the city? If one sets aside the hero-worship arguments (Kahn was great, he has very few buildings, etc.), it has to come down either to the quality of the design – which is very good though not sacrosanct – or the money. Inevitably, what enables this anti-commercial temple is the aforementioned fifty million bucks, and that kind of donation money is not going to manifest itself without a good hook. “Unfinished masterpiece” has a nice ring to it and I suspect this was more important in getting the building completed than the appeal of any particular design features. In a way, one wishes the project had been less completely designed at the time of Kahn’s death; it would have offered an opportunity for its stewards to constructively challenge the design, as José Oubrerie did with Corbusier at Firminy.

 

Ultimately, though, I’m pleased with this result. Roosevelt Island has plenty of parks, playgrounds, and gardens. It can afford one temple.

 

A footnote: Kahn’s design bears a slightly more than superficial resemblance to a 1970 proposal by the Classical architect John Barrington Bayley to construct a “Museum of Man” on the same site. According to Bayley, this was in response to a Met competition, but I haven’t yet been able to track that down. The Bayley project has a similar terminal square courtyard or plaza, reached through a Classical temple (rather than a ‘garden’) scrunched into the ship’s prow triangle. Kahn’s project could almost be imagined as the “ruined” version of the Bayley scheme, which would be a fun way to design something. I bring this up not because I think it really changes anything about the Kahn scheme, but because it seems to have gone oddly under-reported in the coverage.

 

Also, you'll note that the photos here jump around quite a bit in season and time of day. I've made five or six visits to the site since the park opened in October, each time apparently getting not quite the complete set of images. Frankly, I think the wintry evening images "get" the park better than the others; at the same time, the place is beautiful and extremely pleasant on a summer afternoon, with river breezes blowing past and the trees kissed with golden light.

 

And...that's it for Roosevelt Island! Thanks for reading along. If you missed any of it, the overview post is back here. Eventually I hope to reformat all of this for an offsite illustrated blog post, possibly with drawings, etc. For now I'm ready to move on to some other things I've been saving up...

French postcard by E.D.U.G., offered by Corvisart, Epinal, no. 264. Photo: Sam Lévin.

 

French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) died on 28 December 2025, at the age of 91. In the 1950s, she was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she became an animal rights activist. In the coming weeks, we will continue to post a BB postcard every day to remember her as she once was.

 

Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father, and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying to launch a modelling career and found herself on the cover of the French magazine Elle in May 1949. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, and Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand / Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953, she attended the Cannes Film Festival, where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956, she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as an ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. In 1953, she made her first US production, Un acte d'amour / Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.

 

Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smash success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. The immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme / And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956), directed by her husband, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.

 

Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped Brigitte Bardot's international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten', and fascination with her in America consisted of magazine photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theatres like lemmings. BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (Ralph Thomas, 1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne / La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957), which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur / Love is My Profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "This Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defence attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre can shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous and deadly side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960, postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.

 

Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957, and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre / Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career

Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée / Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle, has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at French Films: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the high point of her career when she agreed to make this film with high-profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess, and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot, and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names was based on an actual incident, and is a resonant image of celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterwards, Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.

 

Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire Playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men, including Samy Frey, her co-star in La Vérité / The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Jean-Luc Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris / Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963) opposite Michel Piccoli. She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres / Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires /Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses / Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.

 

Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973, just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976, she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewellery and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990s, she was also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal was a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularising bikini swimwear, in such early films as Manina / Woman without a Veil (Willy Rozier, 1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photo shoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."

 

Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (French Films), French Films, Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

And please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

Ordered this and they send the wrong item!

 

Now that it's sold out I can't get my Kitty! And they want me to jump through hoops to get a refund? They do not even have the decency to reserve the fucking doll that I was supposed to receive!

 

FUCK YOU ASSHOLES!

As Nottingham's shops continue to close at an alarming rate, the face of the streets is changing dramatically, not always for the better. At least, on Bridlesmith Gate, they are trying to brighten things up a bit. Snapped with the Samsung Galaxy S21 5G phone cam and pushed, pulled and twisted about, way beyond the realms of common decency!

File #4

 

Six months after Joker had been admitted to the Asylum the GCPD happened upon his contingency plan. A bomb built into a newly constructed wall beneath the Gotham cathedral. Analysis of the wall found that there was no way to remove the bomb without dismantling the wall which would bring the whole cathedral down. Thus there was only one option. Disarm the bomb before it could detonate. Joker had left the bomb on a timer that had been counting down from over the last six months and was due to detonate the next day.

 

In order to disarm the bomb a code was needed. Checking the keypad for prints yielded nothing, evidently Joker had the pad wiped clean after he activated the timer. That means the only way to disarm the bomb is to get him to hand over the timer. Needless to say, after the events in the tunnel of love, Jim was keen to keep me as far away from Joker as possible. As such it fell to Warden Quincy Sharp to convince Joker to hand over the code. Given how Arkham is regarded as a psychiatric hospital the guards aren’t allowed to use unconventional interrogation techniques so warden Sharp appealing to Joker’s human decency didn’t go down well.

 

Attachment: Warden Office CCTV – September 22nd 14:30

 

”Quincy old boy how are things? Still balding I see.”

 

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?”

 

”You’re finally retiring?”

 

“The bomb.”

 

”What bomb? That record Cash made?”

 

“The one under Gotham cathedral.”

 

”Bombing a church? That sounds more like Riddler’s MO. You know how much he loves insulting religion.”

 

“We know it’s yours.”

 

”I resent that! I’m not the only clown in Gotham with a love of explosives. Why’s it got to be me?”

 

“Probably because you signed the scene.”

 

”Oh yeah haha.”

 

“Give us the code.”

 

”Or what Sharpy? You gonna give me a stern talking to? Make me feel bad about myself?”

 

“You know this is wrong Jack.”

 

”WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?”

 

Joker charges forward at the Warden’s desk in anger, stopped only by Cash managing to grab hold of him.

 

”WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

 

“Tell me the code Jack. No-one needs to get hurt.”

 

”If you want my help then you know who I’ll talk to!”

 

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to you?”

 

”Then boom! Hahahaha.”

 

“Take him back to his cell, and get me Gordon on the line.”

 

End of attachment.

 

Ever since we first crossed paths after he murdered Loeb, Joker’s always had a case of waring personalities between two personas. Jack Napier, a wannabe comedian and the Joker, a clown trying to make the world smile by causing misery to others. After we faced off against one another the Joker persona has slowly but surely begun to dominate Jack to the point where I’m not entirely sure if Jack’s in there anymore. That was cemented after that night in ACE Chemicals. Joker was trying to gather the components necessary to mass produce a new variant of the Joker toxin. Thanks to an analysis of the toxin I was able to piece together that the only place he could gather the compounds necessary on such a large scale was ACE Chemicals.

 

With that foreknowledge I had the GCPD set a trap for Joker and his men. It all went exactly as I had hoped. All of Joker’s men were arrested by the GCPD but Joker seemingly escaped. What Jim and I didn’t know was that Joker ended up falling into a vat of chemicals during the firefight. He wouldn’t be discovered until the ACE Chemicals workers emptied the vat the following morning. Many believe that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 

Since then there’s been no reports of the Jack persona being exhibited by Joker. I fear it can be speculated that my hopes of purging the Joker persona from Jack ended up merely cementing his presence.

 

Alfred’s always speculated that Jason’s murder was Jack lashing out for what I did to him. Maybe he’s right, but I like to think otherwise. Perhaps that’s just me being desperate and hoping that deep down I didn’t end up killing Jack Napier. Either way, I now have to deal primarily with the Joker persona, and I had to deal with him in order to get the code to disarm the bomb under Gotham cathedral.

 

Attachment: Therapy Session Recording – Joker #2

 

“Therapy session 2. Patient’s name: J……”

 

There’s a long pause on the tape. Without a video feed it’s difficult to tell what’s making her hesitate but it’s implied that Joker was staring at her rather intensly.

 

”Joker. Acting physician, Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Date of session 22nd of September. Previous session was cut short so this session is designed to make up the remaining time from the previous session.”

 

”Cash can be so rude interrupting our one on one time like that.”

 

”From what I hear it was the Warden who cut out session short.”

 

”Word travels fast around here.”

 

”Well it’s not everyday a patient gets called up to the Warden’s office. You must have done something serious.”

 

”I just gave him some advice on how to stop his head from balding.”

 

”Warden Sharp is balding?”

 

”I think he’s considering wearing a wig.”

 

”Really?”

 

”Yeah the silly old fool.”

 

”So, Joker….”

 

”Yes Doctor?”

 

”Going back to our conversation. Why do you find yourself obsessed with the Batman?”

 

”Why do you find yourself obsessed with me?”

 

”I ask the questions here.”

 

”You’re hoping that if you can understand me that you will be able to understand him.”

 

”Perhaps.”

 

”Tell me, what’s the market at the moment for a book about the mind of the Batman?”

 

There’s a long pause. Evidently Dr. Quinzel was shocked that Joker knew she was just using him to write a book.

 

”Must be pretty good if you’re willing to talk to one of Gotham’s grade A crazies.”

 

”You think of yourself as crazy?”

 

”You don’t?”

 

”…”

 

”The world’s a funny old place Doctor. It’ll do all it can to break you. The only thing that separates us from the animals is how we let the world break us. Some give up. Some fight back. Some go mad.”

 

”Is that what happened to you? The world tried to break you?”

 

”Of course.”

 

”Which action did you take?”

 

”What do you think?”

 

”…”

 

”You think I went mad.”

 

”You don’t?”

 

”Oh goodness no. I know I went mad. But unlike most, I accept it.”

 

”Who do you know that doesn’t?”

 

”Who do you think?”

 

”The Batman?”

 

”I couldn’t possibly say.”

 

”You think he’s mad?”

 

”Nooooooo……..I don’t think a man dressing up as a bat is mad the same way I don’t think a man dressing as a clown is mad.”

 

”Of course.”

 

”I suppose….”

 

”Suppose…?”

 

”In many ways you’re right.”

 

”How so?”

 

”He and I are alike.”

 

”Why do you say that?”

 

”I know it. He’s yet to accept it, but deep down he knows it as well.”

 

”You think Batman knows he’s crazy?”

 

”Maybe. Or perhaps he’s crazier than me?”

 

”I’m not sure many people would agree on that.”

 

”Probably not. But I at least know I’m crazy. If anything he’s mad to think he’s sane.”

 

”Maybe he is. But why do you think you’re mad?”

 

”Probably thanks to dear old daddy.”

 

”The one who hit you?”

 

”Do you know another?”

 

”So you think he’s the one responsible for who made you into this?”

 

”Goodness no. Sure daddy dearest didn’t help the situation but he didn’t make me.”

 

”Then what did?” The Batman?”

 

”Nope. All it took to break was one simple thing. One bad day.”

 

”What happened on that day?”

 

”Life destroyed my world.”

 

”What happened?”

 

”I…I…..”

 

”You can tell J. You can trust me.”

 

”I saw my wife murdered in front of my eyes.”

 

”….I didn’t know you were married…”

 

”I prefer it that way.”

 

”When was she killed?”

 

”Five years ago.”

 

”Just before you killed Commissioner Loeb.”

 

”It was that long ago? It feels like it was yesterday.”

 

”You feel remorseful?”

 

”I always do.”

 

”Then why do you keep killing more people if you don’t want to?”

 

”How else am I supposed to drown out the voices?”

 

”Voices?”

 

”Their screams.”

 

”You hear their screams?”

 

”Everytime I close my eyes. Sniff I just want to make them stop.”

 

”Hey hey it’s alright. It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

 

“Time’s up Doc.”

 

”Alright. Thanks Cash.”

 

“Are you crying clown?”

 

”Go to hell Cash.”

 

”We’ll be just a minute Cash. Session terminated at 16:30. Dr Quinzel signing off.”

 

Harley didn’t know it then, but Joker didn’t actually feel any remorse for his victims. In fact, he’s often taken pleasure from making them suffer slowly, but Harley didn’t know that and though she couldn’t tell, Joker had already set his claws into her.

 

near London Bridge, London, UK

 

1 Timothy 2:9

I also want the women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, adorning themselves, not with elaborate hairstyles or gold or pearls or expensive clothes,

I don't know if my wife deserved to be put into handcuffs and arrested there in that cold and dark parking lot that night.

 

I'll leave that judgement to the people who know the truth.

 

Over time it would become obvious to me that the truth in many ways was hidden from me... obliterated by design or obscured by the events of chance...

 

Still, I did what any husband would do.

 

What any father would do.

 

I rushed to the scene to defend the woman that I married.

 

I raced there to protect my children.

 

I must've hit a hundred on the way... blowing through red lights and everything.

 

My brother's words on the phone echoed in my head.

 

'You better get up here fast' he said 'they're arresting your wife and they're taking your kid.'

 

He was breathless.

 

And he sounded really serious.

 

He never sounded that way.

 

The last thing he said before he hung up was 'you'd better get up here right away man... they're gonna take your kid away.'

 

The way that he emphasized the word 'gonna' made me floor the truck.

 

They were words that chilled me to the core.

 

I could hear yelling and screaming in the background when he went to hang up the phone.

 

I could hear crying.

 

I could hear them threatening to arrest my brother too.

 

It was pretty obvious that the scene was out of control and that tempers had already flared.

 

What was happening to my wife and children right now?

 

Why was it happening?

 

It sounded like chaos.

 

It sounded like the soundtrack to 'Dante's Inferno' if 'Dante's Inferno' had only had a soundtrack.

 

It was the sound of agony and anger all mixed together to create some squealing and blood curdling satanic sounding melody... it was the sound of pure evil being done.

 

It is an awful music that I would wish on the ears of no one.

 

Only minutes before I'd sat there in my office overcome with the warmest of feelings... wonderfully proud of my kids for what they'd done... completely content with where life had put me... overwhelmingly satisfied with my family being safe, warm and together...

 

Norman Rockwell couldn't have painted a truer picture of what'd just happened in my office.

 

A moment ago things were so perfect.

 

Everyone was warm... they were all safe... we were together...

 

Now it was beginning to feel pretty much like I'd teletransported smack dab into the middle of some third world country.

 

In an instant my family's existence had gone from one straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting to something more like Pablo Picasso's 'Bombing of Guernica.'

 

I was shocked, I was absolutely stunned and mostly I was just confused.

 

My family had set out to do a good thing.

 

For Godsakes they were going on a little outing to donate money to charity!

 

In a little golden basket!

 

What the hell was going on?

 

What the fuck could have happened in the few minutes that went by since they left my office that my wife was now under arrest and the police had taken my daughter?

 

And what about my other daughters?

 

Where were they?

 

The phone rang again right after I'd hung it up.

 

It was my wife this time.

 

She was crying and she sounded pretty incoherent.

 

I could barely understand a word that she was saying.

 

She said she'd been arrested... that they took our kid away.

 

She said something about parking in the firelane.

 

'Don't say another word to the police' I told her adamantly... 'I'll be right there baby... I'm on my way.'

 

I hurriedly parked my truck right in front of our station wagon which was parked right in front of the entrance to the Super Store.

 

Right under the sign that said 'Satisfaction Guaranteed.'

 

My wife and my older daughters were nowhere to be seen.

 

My two year old daughter was sleeping soundly in the car seat right where I'd put her just a few minutes before.

 

There were two police cruisers and a jeep parked together some distance behind the station wagon with their mars lights on.

 

I knew that being cool, calm and collected was going to be the only way to approach the situation or I was gonna end up in handcuffs myself.

 

Suppressing the anger that was welling up inside of me was a survival necessity for the sake of my family.

 

Somebody had to have a 'level head' here.

 

My brain was racing in overdrive trying to piece together the puzzle and figure out what'd happened.

 

I needed to talk to someone who knew what the hell was going on.

 

I approached one of the police cars... there was a woman in a police uniform talking to another officer in the car.

 

I could see another officer standing in the parking lot talking on his cell phone.

 

When I got up to the car I asked who was in charge.

 

And I asked pretty nicely.

 

The guy in the car said he was.

 

And he didn't say it nicely at all.

 

Just then I saw my wife in the back seat of the other police car.

 

She was bawling her brains out and you could tell that she was in handcuffs.

 

The pieces were all starting to come together now.

 

'Listen' I said... and I said it in a really 'buddy to buddy' kind of way... 'that's my wife you've got in the back of the cop car there and that''s my daughter sleeping in the station wagon.'

 

I'd figured it out.

 

When she went to take the kids to donate the money my youngest daughter had fallen asleep in her car seat.

 

So my wife parked the car a couple of car lengths away from where the bellringer was taking donations.

 

She left the two year old in the car while her and my older daughters went and dumped the change into the Salvation Army bellringer's bucket and took a few pictures.

 

They could have been out of the car for just a couple of minutes and the doors were still locked.

 

The kid was still sleeping.

 

The officer inside of the cop car poked his bony finger into my solar plexus and he said to me 'your wife is under arrest and your child is now in state custody. We've called DCFS... they're on their way.'

 

They had arrested my wife for child endangerment.

 

I could see that logic wasn't gonna be a part of the conversation that night but I tried anyway...

 

'Why don't you just write her a ticket for parking in the fire lane and we'll all call it a night and go home' I said it nicely again in that same 'buddy to buddy' kind of way.

 

With a glaring look of contempt, maybe even anger, the officer looked at me and said 'your wife is going to jail and DCFS is going to come and pick up the kid.'

 

I couldn't believe this... 'why wouldn't they give my kid back to me' I wondered... 'it wasn't like I left her locked up in a parked car' I thought.

 

I didn't do anything wrong.

 

Neither did my daughter.

 

Why were they coming down on us like this?

 

I was starting to get angry... I didn't want my daughter leaving there to spend the night with strangers... I wanted her to go home with me.

 

I wouldn't let them do this.

 

It wasn't right.

 

It was beyond fucking wrong.

 

It felt like a Goddamned kidnapping by the state.

 

I pointed my finger at him and I said 'I can't believe you're doing this... I am going to make a really big deal out of this... I am going to make a really, really big deal about this.'

 

'Go right the fuck ahead' he said.

 

'Look around man' I said... not so nicely this time... 'there are video cameras everywhere... did you guys even go inside and look at the video to see what happened?'

 

'We don't have to' he replied in a really sarcastic and condescending kind of way... 'Your wife is under arrest and we're taking your kid.'

 

It was easier to just tear my family to pieces and throw my wife in jail than to actually investigate and try to see what happened... to see if reality matched up with the story that my wife gave them.

 

It seemed like a 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality.

 

It was an absolute nightmare... it was surreal and it was insane.

 

And it was happening to my family, right in front of me... and there was nothing that I could do to make it stop.

 

Those sworn to 'serve and protect' were mercilessly tearing my family to pieces while I stood there completely powerless to disrupt their abuse of the authority that the people had given them.

 

And this they did because they could.

 

They did this because they had the power to do it.

 

It was more 'violate and neglect' than 'serve and protect.'

 

And it seemed so unbelievably malicious.

 

I could see that 'Mr. Nice Guy' wasn't gonna get me anywhere.

 

I walked over to the squad car my wife was locked in and I tried to talk to her through the window.

 

I told her it was gonna be alright... not to say another word... that I loved her and that I'd figure all of this out.

 

Her face was wet with tears and red from crying and it was tough to see her in handcuffs like that.

 

Right in front of me my family was shattered and their destiny at that moment was completely out of my control as a father.

 

It was like watching someone you love being raped... in agonizingly slow motion.

 

This was like something you'd hear out of Sadaam Hussein's Iraq.

 

It wasn't the way it was supposed to be in America.

 

I looked over at the other police vehicle expecting to see my other two daughters in the back seat and I didn't.

 

'Where's the girls' I tried to ask my wife.

 

Just then an officer approached me... he told me if I didn't back away from the cop car that he'd arrest me for obstruction of justice.

 

'Jesus' I thought 'this place really has turned into a third world country.'

 

The cop opened the door and he rolled the window all the way up... then he slammed the door on her.

 

My wife just collapsed in sobs and tears.

 

I'll never forget the way that she looked at me then.

 

You've never seen a woman in pain like that until you've looked into the eyes of a woman in handcuffs who's just had her baby taken away from her.

 

By some cops who could care less about justice, decency or the welfare of children.

 

'Where's my other kids' I asked the cop.

 

He only gave me a dumb look... it was quizzical almost.

 

It was clear that he had no idea what I was talking about.

 

I walked back over to the officer in charge's car and I asked him the same thing.

 

'Where are my other children?'

 

He just gave me this stupid look too.

 

'Aw fuck' I thought as the bottom fell out of my stomach.

 

In the irony of all ironies, they had arrested my wife for child endangerment and they had lost my other children in that cold, dark and busy parking lot.

 

The same parking lot that they'd arrested my wife in for leaving our two year old locked in a parked car only a few steps away from her.

 

The parking lot that they pointed out was dangerous.

 

'Anything could happen' they said.

 

And now no one knew where my eight and nine year old daughters were.

 

My family was never in any danger that day... until the Deadwood Police came on the scene.

 

That's the most danger my family would ever find themselves in... when the state decided to look after my two year old's welfare.

 

The iceberg had hit the Titanic and my little family's world had just been turned upside down.

 

I promised myself those children would see justice one day.

 

Once I found them.

     

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. If you wish to use this image, please, contact me through flickrmail or at vicenc.feliu@gmail.com. © All rights reserved...

 

Giles Corey was a prosperous farmer and full member of the Puritan church in Salem, Massachusetts, who died under judicial torture during the Salem witch trials. Corey refused to enter a plea, and was crushed to death by stone weights in an attempt to force him to do so. In April 1692, he was accused by Ann Putnam, Jr., Mercy Lewis, and Abigail Williams of witchcraft. Ann Putnam Jr claimed that on April 13, the specter of Giles Corey visited her and asked her to write in the Devil's book. Later, Putnam also claimed that a ghost appeared before her to announce that it had been murdered by Corey. Other girls were to describe Corey as "a dreadful wizard" and recount stories of assaults by his specter.

 

According to the law at the time, a person who refused to plead could not be tried. To avoid persons cheating justice, the legal remedy for refusing to plead was "peine forte et dure". In this process the prisoner is stripped naked, with a heavy board laid on their body. Then rocks or boulders are laid on the plank of wood. This was the process of being pressed to death.

 

... remanded to the prison from whence he came and put into a low dark chamber, and there be laid on his back on the bare floor, naked, unless when decency forbids; that there be placed upon his body as great a weight as he could bear, and more, that he hath no sustenance, save only on the first day, three morsels of the worst bread, and the second day three droughts of standing water, that should be alternately his daily diet till he died, or, till he answered.

 

As a result of his refusal to enter a plead to the charges of witchcraft brought against him, on September 17, Sheriff George Corwin led Corey to a pit in the open field beside the jail and in accordance with the above process, before the Court and witnesses, stripped Giles of his clothing, laid him on the ground in the pit, and placed boards on his chest. Six men then lifted heavy stones, placing them one by one, on his stomach and chest. Giles Corey did not cry out, let alone make a plea.

 

After two days, Giles was asked three times to plead innocent or guilty to witchcraft. Each time he replied, "More weight." More and more rocks were piled on him, and the Sheriff from time to time would stand on the boulders staring down at Corey's bulging eyes. Robert Calef, who was a witness along with other townsfolk, later said, "In the pressing, Giles Corey's tongue was pressed out of his mouth; the Sheriff, with his cane, forced it in again."

 

Three mouthfuls of bread and water were fed to the old man during his many hours of pain. Finally, Giles Corey cried out "More weight!" and died.

KIA in the November storms - a combat umbrella; and its owner didn’t even have the decency to give it a proper military burial!

Manly is a Northern suburb of Sydney, Australia, and is located 17 km from Sydney's Central Business District. Well-known for its fine beaches and strong surf, Manly is popular with both tourists and locals. The 30 minute ferry-ride from Circular Quay to Manly Wharf is a Sydney Classic. Depicted is 'The Corso', Manly's most commerical and bustling street with many shops and restaurants. This street runs from Manly Wharf all the way to Manly beach, at the Tasman Sea.

 

The name 'Manly' was given by the first Governor of New South Wales, Captain Arthur Phillip, for the indigenous people living there, "their confidence and manly behaviour made me give the name of Manly Cove to this place".

 

Also noteworthy is that Manly beach was the place where William Gocher challenged the restriction on sea bathing during daylight hours, something that until then (1902) was forbidden for reasons of public decency. A year later, after mounting pressure, the authorities permitted sea bathing during daylight, but only if a bathing suit from neck to knee was worn. How the times have changed!

This jetty is just outside of Queenstown on Lake Wakatipu and to me, the Glenorchy/Paradise area is an absolute must see.

 

To keep a long story short, after photographing the landscape and a lot of running around and excuse-making, I finally jumped in. It was fall at the time in New Zealand and pretty windy, so needless the say the glacial water was a little chilly and the few people who were standing on the jetty who watched my whole ordeal pretty much all thought I was crazy. But a few had the decency to give me a cheer when I shivered my way out. =)

-Alternate Universe-

 

(Continued from Chapter 22: The Meet-Cute)

www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/51304152317

  

***Please note that this chapter contains adult themes (NSFW).***

  

The last three weeks had passed both quickly and agonizingly slow for Aiden. Ever since his first date with Vincent at the diner, they had been texting back and forth. Aiden felt that they were getting along splendidly. But now all the waiting was finally over! Vincent was back from his business trip and he'd agreed to meet again for a second date! They decided to meet where they'd first met, at Babba's Cafe, in the early evening and see where the rest of the day took them.

Aiden had arrived at the little outdoor coffee shop just before the appointed time to find Vincent had already made it before him. Aiden grinned and couldn't help how his heart sped up excitedly upon seeing Vincent smiling back at him in return.

Vincent had to admit he enjoyed those text conversations over the past few weeks with the younger man. Aiden surprised him several times; often by causing Vincent to chuckle or say something he'd normally not reveal so early in the dating game...but Aiden had a way about him that made him feel so comfortable to be himself.

And it showed! Nearly two hours passed and the men were still just chatting back and forth as they enjoyed their coffees and each other's company. It was almost unheard of for the introverted Vincent! Just like the time at the diner, he found he didn't really want to say goodnight to his date yet. Last time, he had to cut the evening short due to his business trip. Tonight, however, he had all the time in the world!

Therefore, Vincent invited Aiden out to dinner and offered to pay since Aiden had generously paid for Vincent's iced coffee. Aiden was happy to spend more time with him and agreed to join him without hesitation and even offered to buy dessert.

Together, they'd agreed on Chinese. So Vincent suggested an amazing hole-in-the-wall restaurant over by his apartment. Vincent, surprising himself, volunteered to drive them there. So, together they walked to his vehicle (a black Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet) and off they went...once Aiden had his chance to gush over it, of course!

Dinner was delicious and while they continued to enjoy each other's company it was clear the mood had started to shift. They were more quiet now as they enjoyed their meal. Every so often Aiden would glance towards Vincent. Each time, Vincent caught him and gave Aiden a little smirk; often with a blush tinting his cheeks. Aiden was not as sneaky as he thought he was being. And there was a small tension growing between them; a good kind of tension.

As Vincent paid for their meals afterwards, he began to contemplate saying goodnight now after all. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend more time with Aiden...but was it wise? He glanced over towards Aiden as he stood in front of a claw machine. A moment later he began digging for quarters in his wallet. Vincent smirked a little and turned back to the desk to finish paying the cashier. Once it was all settled, he went to rejoin his date at the claw machine.

Vincent was impressed with Aiden's skill as he succeeded to score a small raven plushie! Good for him! He grinned and nudged Aiden's arm once the plushie dropped successfully into the prize bin and chuckled.

"Go you!"

Aiden laughed softly and blushed as he retrieved his prize. Then he turned to face Vincent and licked his lips nervously. But before Vincent could ask what the look was for, the plushie was held out to him as Aiden explained, "This is for you."

"For me?"

"Mhm. I saw it and I thought of you."

Vincent blinked in surprise as he reached out and took the soft, hand-sized plushie in his hands. No one had ever given him something like this before. But then perhaps no one would have guessed that the stoic, unsmiling, and straight-to-the-point Vincent was secretly a lover of adorable things. Vincent's cheeks colored a lovely shade of red as he gazed up at Aiden with a pleased little smile. Ah, Aiden was doing everything right tonight so far.

"Thank you. That's...sweet of you."

"You're very welcome!"

Aiden blushed slightly more as Vincent broke out into a wider smile. As he began heading out the door, Aiden began to walk alongside him with a satisfied smile. This date was going splendidly!

Once out in the evening air, Vincent inhaled deeply and let it out happily. As Aiden joined him at his side, Vincent gestured for him to walk alongside him. He didn't have to tell him twice! Aiden grinned and happily began to walk the short distance down the sidewalk back towards Vincent's car.

Yet Aiden was a little surprised that Vincent didn't slow down and walked right past his car. That WAS his car, right? Aiden glanced over his shoulder, certain that they'd passed it, and was about to mention it to Vincent. But before he could open his mouth, he felt Vincent's hand brush against his almost hesitantly before his palm turned towards his and boldly slid his fingers between Aiden's. Okay, Vincent realized, maybe he wasn't ready to say goodnight after all...

Aiden blinked and broke out into a grin as his fingers gently gave his a squeeze. Yes, he wanted this. Aiden nibbled his lower lip and glanced towards Vincent who glanced back at the same time. They both smiled shyly and continued to enjoy their quiet walk along the city street. Though it was only a minute later that Aiden suddenly remembered something as he noticed a sweet shop across the street!

"Are you in the mood for dessert?"

"Mm, I could go for dessert. What did you have in mind?"

Aiden smiled and pointed with his free hand across the way towards the shop that had caught his eye. Vincent followed his gaze and broke into a smile. Normally, he wasn't big on sweets but this shop sold a few of his favorites. He grinned up at Aiden and told him, "I like the way you think."

Inside the sweet shop, Aiden revealed himself to have quite a sweet tooth! Vincent watched with amusement as Aiden struggled to decide between everything! Finally he settled on chocolate drizzled honeycomb; a favorite but rare treat he'd not had in a long time. Meanwhile, Vincent chose one of his usual favorites: chocolate covered coffee beans.

The men happily made their way back out onto the sidewalk once again with their dessert (with Vincent's plushie tucked safely into his pocket). Vincent led Aiden the long way back to the car so they had more time to enjoy together. He couldn't help but occasionally glance up at Aiden and watch his enjoyment as he munched away happily. When Aiden offered to share a bite Vincent politely declined but offered some of his own dessert. Aiden grinned and reached in to take some but walking made it awkward and Vincent nearly dropped the bag!

"Aiden, wait!" Vincent chuckled as he reached out to grasp his arm to halt his progress. He gently tugged him to stand before him causing Aiden to laugh softly as he was steadied. And in the dim lighting of the streetlights Vincent could see that cute blush of his. With an amused smirk Vincent offered the bag up to him again. After gazing into Vincent's eyes for a moment Aiden then reached in and plucked out a few beans and popped them into his mouth.

"Mm, tasty!"

"Mhm. You can taste the freshness. They make them here at the sweet shop," Vincent explained as he began to walk once more. A second later he realized Aiden was not next to him anymore. When he glanced back at Aiden he saw Aiden's gaze had actually lowered and was very obviously checking out his ass!

Aiden realized quickly he'd been caught and sheepishly raised his gaze with a deepening blush and nervous nibble of his lower lip. Would Vincent be upset? Though his worries were quickly squashed as he saw a highly amused smirk perk his date's lips. Instead of saying anything, Vincent reached out and hooked his arm around Aiden's so they could walk close and still enjoy their desserts. He was still smirking as he popped a couple of his chocolate covered coffee beans into his mouth and silently continued walking. Aiden grinned and happily walked alongside him while taking a bite of his honeycomb. Evidently, Vincent approved of Aiden's admiration of his ass. Well, then!

They continued to slowly make their way towards Vincent's car in silence as they enjoyed their treats. But as they turned the corner and the car was in sight Vincent began to feel a small sinking feeling in his stomach as he realized this meant the end of their evening together. As he heard a tiny sigh next to him, he began to think that maybe he wasn't the only one feeling that way.

When they were close to the car, Vincent paused their trek beside a garbage can where he tossed his small bag out. He stepped back as Aiden tossed his own trash out. Aiden turned to smile at Vincent before he reached for his hand and took it now without hesitation. Vincent spread his fingers for him and intertwined their fingers. Though, they didn't keep walking.

As they stood there and gazed at each other, Vincent began to feel his heart thump harder in his chest and his lips parted slightly. He watched Aiden's eyes flick down towards his lips and he felt his heart thump again. It was the universal sign for wanting to be kissed. And truthfully Vincent's own lips had begun to tingle as he began to wonder how Aiden would taste...

Vincent's hands came up without permission and gently but firmly grasped the collar of Aiden's open button up and tugged him downwards and captured the younger man's lips with his own. He immediately delved in, fingers brushing up along his collar to cup along his neck as he began tasting him for the first time.

Aiden blinked in surprise as he was suddenly kissed, but he didn't need to be told twice! With a quiet sigh of pleasure, Aiden's hands moved around Vincent's slender waist and pulled him closer as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to experience their first kiss. Aiden had been fantasizing about kissing Vincent all night! He hadn't realized he had been giving any such look of longing as he was doing moments earlier.

They continued to kiss for nearly half a minute, uncaring of the world around them as they touched and tasted each other. When Vincent pulled back slightly and gazed up at Aiden with flushed cheeks, Aiden gazed back at him with a little grin. He glanced around then leaned in to peck Vincent's lips before reaching for his hand and tugging him nearby to a more private corner of the side street.

Once they had a little more privacy the two quickly met for another kiss; this time delving in deeper and pressing closer so that there was no space between them. It had been a while since Vincent had felt like this for anyone...but now that he was and knew that Aiden was feeling the same? He wasn't about to stop just yet.

Though it didn't take very long for their kissing to become more heated and they were pressing the boundaries of public decency with their making out. Vincent's fingers slid back to Aiden's hair and gave a gentle tug in a spot that most people found...arousing. He was not disappointed as he heard Aiden gasp pleasurably and felt his fingers curl into Vincent's sides. Vincent's lips slid down along his chin and to his throat as he began to allow himself to get a little lost in the moment. The fire was only fueled as Aiden gave a quiet moan as Vincent's lips found just the right spot...

Lifting his head Vincent gazed up into Aiden's eyes through his bangs and murmured, "Ready to go home?" to which Aiden's eyes darkened slightly as he breathed a little huskily and without hesitation, "Home? Yours or mine?"

Aiden hadn't meant that to slip out like that despite it being what he wanted! Would Vincent find it too forward of him? He very quickly got his answer.

With a small growl that sounded primal and a touch animalistic, Vincent leaned in and roughly nipped a spot near the base of Aiden's throat; a sensitive bundle of nerves that lit his body aflame with desire. As Aiden fought back another moan, Vincent's gaze lifted and poured into his with a heat that froze with fire.

"Mine."

The way he said it, Aiden felt, it felt more than just declaring their destination. It felt as if he were being claimed somehow. God, that was hot! Licking his lips, Aiden swallowed nervously and agreed breathlessly, "Yours."

Without another word, Vincent pulled away while keeping his gaze on Aiden for a long moment and very obviously was taking the time to look him over. With a small smirk he gestured for Aiden to come along and head back to his car. Oh yes, he couldn't wait to make this young man his...

...

At his apartment Vincent let his guest inside and closed the door behind him, locking it and toeing out of his shoes and leaving them at the door. Thus far, they'd been good. Just a little longer. Vincent went to his modern day record player and retrieved a favored album. It was one that was New Age; something melodic and sensual that would help enhance the mood, he felt. When he'd turned to look at Aiden, he saw that he was standing nearby and was watching him; not even bothering to conceal his look of desire. It seemed Aiden wasn't too concerned about a tour and neither was Vincent...unless it had to do with his bed.

Vincent approached Aiden and once he was in reaching distance, Aiden's arms opened and encircled him. He pulled him close and they immediately met and delved into a hungry kiss; one that they'd held back in public. But now that they were in the safety of privacy? There was no reason to hold back anymore.

Soft moans and heavy breathing escaped as they kissed, touched, and experienced each other. Still kissing, Aiden shrugged off his nice button up and Vincent's hands slid down his torso and began to tug his tee shirt up off of him. Their kiss broke long enough for the fabric to pass between them before their lips were back on one another's as Vincent tossed Aiden's shirt carelessly aside. Right now, he didn't really give a shit where anything landed.

Vincent gave Aiden's lower lip a nip before pulling back and lowering his mouth to ravish along his neck. He focused on that little bundle of nerves at the base of Aiden's neck, causing soft gasps of pleasure to escape him. And as Vincent's lips parted as he began to suckle along his flesh, he felt Aiden's hands slide down over his ass and squeeze.

Vincent moaned into Aiden's neck as his lips moved further south, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along his flesh. Gods, something about Aiden had lit a fire in him; one he never expected to feel so soon if at all!

Aiden's hands slid down further and suddenly Vincent was lifted up into the air and Aiden pressed his pelvis between his thighs. As Vincent's legs wrapped around Aiden's hips, he lifted his head and pointed towards his bedroom as he told him, "In there." With a nod, Aiden turned his gaze to see where he was pointing. Once he knew where to go, he turned and delved into a kiss once again and began to carry him to the bedroom as Vincent clung to him.

As soon as they made it inside, Aiden pressed Vincent right up against the nearest wall, pressing pelvis to pelvis and grinding against him and encouraging his body to respond more. Now that he knew Vincent wanted him, too, there was no need to hold this side of himself back. He broke the kiss to press his mouth heatedly to Vincent's throat and began to sample and taste his flesh.

Vincent moaned as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He felt Aiden's tongue trace along his sensitive skin, causing him to tremble and tighten his hands around him. Gods...yes. Aiden was doing everything right, and now? Now, Vincent couldn't wait to see what the future held for them. Something told him this was going somewhere. He was secretly looking forward to it. But they'd figure that all out tomorrow. Tonight? Tonight, he had every intention of getting to know his new lover in quite the physical way and finding out all the ways they were compatible in bed...

  

---

NEXT PART: (Soon to come!)

Please note that the next chapter will continue the original storyline of TCATE!

  

To select another chapter (or even start from the beginning), here's the album link:

www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127

 

***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (LGBTQ+) series. It is a slow burn and is rated YOUNG ADULT!***

 

Special thank you to my husband Vin for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!

 

♥ I would also like to say this chapter is written as per Vin's request! He is, after all, my #1 fan and I have to do some fan service, yis? *waggles brows* His request was to see Cap'n and Aiden getting rawr! So here you go, Baby! ;)

 

---

DISCORD SERVER: That's right! The Captain and the Engineer has a Discord Server! If you would like to join and chat with other crewmates and see what's new and happening before it gets posted to Flickr, click the link!

discord.gg/qBa769TAC4

 

FACEBOOK PAGE: The Captain and the Engineer has a FACEBOOK PAGE! Please come Like, Follow, and join the crew! Thank you so much for all your support!

www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61558531406088

 

Restoring some modicum of decency to her Photostream, we see a fully clothed Joni pausing to strike a pose before heading out on Friday evening for a second evening at the Savoy Lounge. This purple paisley dress seemed to engender a number of favorable comments during this series of photos documenting Joni's week in Orlando, so back by popular demand is Joni in her purple paisley dress! . . . It's one of her favorites!

What an amazing place this is. It used to be a thermal bath house. It was built in the 19th century and what beautifully decorated. It will soon be converted into a posh hotel.

When we entered early morning we were the first explorers setting up our gear. Within an hour the place was crowded with explorers from all over Europe and it was hard to take a decent picture.

Apparently it is hard for other people to wait until others who were there earlier are done. I gave them a hard time by just standing in 'their' way while taking a shot. Have some decency people and be patient!

 

Please visit www.preciousdecay.com for more pictures and follow me on Facebook on www.facebook.com/Preciousdecay.urbex

After the shock of Donald Trump’s inauguration day, when millions of Americans (and visiting foreigners like me) felt understandably distraught, bereft, dismayed, as the grotesque, narcissistic, predatory, corrupt fraud that is Donald Trump delivered a bleak and graceless inauguration speech, it was nothing short of a delight on Saturday, Jan. 21, Day 2 of the aberrant Trump presidency, when, across the country and around the world, millions of women (plus large numbers of supportive men) marched in protest against Trump and all he and his administration stand for — his disdain for women, his racism, his xenophobia, his adherence to intolerant white Christian fundamentalism, and, last but not least, his opaque, but very obviously corrupt business practices. Two US academics have estimated that between 3.3m and 4.6m people marched in total across the US, with New York’s turnout estimated at between 400,000 and 500,000 people.

Stepping out of Grand Central Station into a river of protest, with more clever, witty and insightful handmade posters than you could imagine, and with chants and cheers punctuating the general hubbub at regular intervals was to feel that perhaps this dystopian vision of America can indeed be overthrown before it wreaks untold havoc at home and abroad. And with no beginning or end of the protest in sight, it was easy to believe that the number marching was much larger than even the academics’ estimate. This was my last photo on the march, before I peeled off to begin making my way back to the airport for my flight home.

It will take more than one day, of course, as the people of America need to unite like never before — everyone who didn’t vote for Trump, everyone threatened by Trump, everyone appalled by Trump, including, of course, those who voted for him but might already be having second thoughts. This could be a disastrous presidency, or it could be even worse than that, but people need to put aside any notions of complacency, and work out how to resist. This was a great start, and a historic moment that everyone there will remember, but now there needs to be much more action and organizing.

As you look at these photos, however, I hope they are a reminder of a day of hope across the US and around the world, when ordinary people demonstrated that fundamental decency will not be silenced, and that a tolerant, multi-racial society, featuring, at its heart, equality between women and men, and between people whatever their race, creed or color, has humour, intelligence and compassion that throw into even sharper relief how troublingly miserable, negative and ungenerous Donald Trump and his advisors are.

For an article by US Uncut about the numbers attending the protests, see: usuncut.com/news/womens-march-largest-protest-us-history/

For the turnout estimates, see: docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2...

For an article in New York Daily News, which ran a front page devoted to the protests, under the headline, “See them roar,” see: www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/women-march-washington-...

For my website, see: www.andyworthington.co.uk

For my Facebook posts after Trump’s inauguration, see:

www.facebook.com/andyworthingtonUK/posts/1015497574252380...

www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10154975238073804&set...

For my most interesting photos, see: www.flickriver.com/photos/andyworthington/popular-interes...

 

Today was a lovely trip out to see some old family friends of Laura's.

 

Her mum has known this couple since god was a boy, and more convivial and generous hosts you could not hope to find.

 

They live up in central Finland far north of Helsinki, and they are on a lakeside bordering a Finnish national park.

 

One of the treats today was a spell in a proper wood fired sauna. The one at home is ok, and the one in Laura's mum's building is much bigger and nicer, but this was the real deal.

 

To complete the authentic experience, one sits and sweats in the sauna, and then immediately hops into the lake. This seems utterly nonsensical until you actually try it, when everything crystallises into sense. I still wouldn't do it in January though!

 

On the grounds of moral decency however, I resisted a self portrait of my lithe and sculptured figure slipping bollock naked into a big lake. Instead, I offer you a shot from the day's end, just catching a beautiful silhouette of the family rowing boat. A lovely day indeed.

Beep introduces Bonecrusher, Magnus and Grimmy to the joy of "To Kill a Mockingbird."

The UK now has more official Matchbox retailers than it has for several years yet strangely they are all stuck in this strange loop of early 2023 batches! Nobody has gone past Case D and nobody has bothered to offer anything but basic singles and multi-packs. Add to the fact that many are now charging over 2.00 for them and its easy to see why sales appear to be stalling!

At least Poundland have the decency of only charging 1.50 for their stocks of Case B and D which is why I couldn't help grabbing another Toyota 4Runner, definitely still one of the more desirable castings from this mix.

Mint and boxed.

Josh Homme, Queens Of The Stone Age @ Lupos, Providence, RI

 

p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.

 

I fly at speeds that make multi-billion dollar fighter jets look useless. At speeds like this, a jump across town should be a joke. Yet this wasn't enough. By the time I was on scene, the damage had been done. I saw the small white car, it's entire front completely unrecognizable from whatever it used to look like. The worst part though had to be the interior. It wasn't how it looked, it was what was inside it. A body, bloodied and devoid of a beating heart. This poor man never had a chance. A look to my left showed me why he was doomed from the start. This giant, hideous SUV in the middle of the road, the only noticeable damage to it being a lost headlight. And even then this rolling offense to decency was nothing compared to the "man" driving it. He wore a sleeveless leather jacket and cargo shorts hanging low. And all he could do was look at the $100 worth of damage on his car, paying no mind to the fact that he just outright murdered a man. Any sense of urgency, concern or distress wasn't aimed to the man in the slightest. Disgusted, I asked him if he ANY pity whatsoever. All he did was yell at me for not being here sooner. Hearing sirens in the distance, I decided I had enough. I flew off to the only place on this planet were I have any peace...

The initial five creatures in this collection all hail from the planet Joltendio, located in the Alpha Octant and being the first planet from said octant's sun, Shinnes.

 

• Mexotrill: A large, brutish carnivore that falls under the same general classification as the Sardoompa, Grobehom and Dredurcoz of other planets (Xekawiy, Alfriiden and Ergnoplis, respectively) in regards to its role in the ecosystem of its own planet. The Mexotrill is cyclopic and semi–cephalothoracic, lacking a neck of any description and with its "head" containing some of the internal organs that would, in almost any other creature, instead be found in a more clearly–defined torso than this one has. Its most prominent feature is its massive, gaping mouth, which has ten teeth, five of which are small and standard and the other five of which are multi–layered and almost Treymoz–esque, and three separate tongues, the middle specimen of which is larger, stronger and more essential than the peripheral two. Mexotrills have several bluish or yellowing tufts of hair similar to those of the Silahsomes, which is a manifestation of Joltendio's small gene pool in which some genetically–determined physical traits are shared between different creatures (similar phenomena are also present in the ecosystems of Logdlind, Poulbrim and Hulptos). Note that the limbs and extremities of both the humanoids and the beasts share some similarities as well and for the same reason. The Mexotrill's main natural enemy/rival, which it will attempt to eat but which will also attempt to kill and devour it, is the Tinkorement, and while individual Tinkorements are generally unlikely to be able to overpower their larger, stronger and more durable rivals, they often make up for this through teamwork whereas Mexotrills are loners that are rarely found in close proximity to others of their kind. As Tinkorements are concerned, Mexotrills generally wait for their enemies to come to them rather than seeking their rivals out and are thus rarely the first to attack, which is convenient for the Tinkorements considering that they are passive and defenseless approximately half of the time.

Full–grown Mexotrills stand between seven and ten feet tall; at birth, they are roughly a third of their final size, and grow at a steady rate over the first ten–to–fifteen years of their fifty–plus–year lives. Mexotrill durability values range from 1,600 to 2,500. Like all beings from Joltendio, they have a very high threshold for heat and thirst, and they are most often found in the particularly "dust bowl"–like areas of the planet, rarely crossing paths with the Silahsomes and usually leaving the humanoids alone when they do encounter one another.

 

• Kiselount: A small (basically Flufewog–sized), mammalian beast that has the reputation of being "Silahsome's Best Friend", and with good reason; the Kiselounts and Silahsomes share one of the best relationships between man and beast that can be observed in any part of the Prime Galaxy. Originally herbivores that made their natural homes amid the more forest–or–jungle–like regions of Joltendio, most Kiselounts are presently found living among the settlements of the humanoids that have domesticated their race over the years and to whom they now serve as guardian pets. Some, though, can still be found in the wild, and the Silahsomes leave this portion of the Kiselount population alone, having no intention of removing the creatures from the natural element of the Joltendion environment entirely. Kiselounts are both highly intelligent and highly empathetic for non–humanoid animals. In the wild, they are/were very resourceful and adept at survival, being able to cobble together simple structures to serve as dens or "houses" as well as basic handheld tools and frequently using reasoning and cunning to evade predators such as Tinkorements and other potential dangers. They mate for life, are very caring and protective of their young, which they devote several years to raising, and have even displayed long–term recognition of specific individuals of their kind (and eventually of the Silahsome race) outside of their immediate family units. The characteristic vocal noise produced by Kiselounts is a sort of low purring, and they have durability values between 300 and 500.

Since as far back as can be recorded, Kiselounts and Silahsomes had gotten along well when initially encountering one another in the wild, and the development of the relationship between the humanoids and the animals, including the latter's domestication, was a gradual process, and neither its beginning nor its completion can be assigned to any singular date. While the creatures initially served as simple "cute" pets to their masters after starting to be domesticated, the Silahsomes, in time, began to further explore the potential of the Kiselounts and what they could be taught to do, eventually training the diminutive animals in basic martial arts and the ability to stand and walk upright. Today, most of the Kiselounts living with Silahsomes are more than capable of aggressively protecting their masters in the event that they are attacked, and thankfully, the humanoids are not exploitative of their pets' willingness to fight and die for them.

 

• Silahsome: Joltendio's humanoids. Silahsomes are blessed, honorable warriors with strictly average body shape and size for a humanoid race but multiple, just as noticeable distinctions that make them more physically unique than most of their peer species in the mortal realm, to say nothing of their personalities and culture. They are solar–powered beings that actively thrive in and gain power from exposure to sunlight, whose negative effects they are largely exempt from. As a result of this, Silahsomes are significantly stronger and healthier, both physically and mentally, during the day than during the night. The primary color of their skin is, rather appropriately, a golden yellow hue, which becomes brighter or, in some cases, even glows when they are particularly "saturated" with solar energy. Although it is, for obvious reasons, almost never a life–or–death issue for them, Silahsomes do indeed need sunlight to live; as a biological necessity, it is secondary only to oxygen, water and food for them, and if one is deprived of it for several consecutive days, it will die. Although they are at their very strongest when their entire bodies are exposed to the sun, they wear at least some clothing or armor at almost all times, for the sake of modesty and decency. Silahsomes have third eyes that provide, in addition to more acute vision, enhanced general willpower and concentration, and even more notably, two mouths, one strictly for eating and the other strictly for speaking (while it is possible for them to at least try to form words with the "eating" mouth, the "speaking" mouth can do so much, much, much more clearly and easily). Three separate tufts of bluish hair atop the head of a Silahsome constitute the only hair on its body. The default durability value of a Silahsome is 750; when an individual is fully "charged" with solar energy, it may raise to more than 1,000.

Silahsomes are presently fairly technologically advanced, having efficiently evolved their civilization over the years from one of basic, isolated villages to one consisting of small but respectable cities with working trade and communication lines between them. They consider it their most important duty as a people to be willing and able to serve the greater good should a major crisis arise, and to this end they have always produced strong warriors, most notably thwarting two separate Skellen invasion attempts on their planet without any outside help during the Fourth Century Relative. The Silahsomes as a whole are very devout and equally as level–headed; most notably, they have never fallen for the tricks of the wandering sun–possessing Primal Deity Alth'Solda, despite their kind being by far the most obvious candidate for turning to such a deity. As explained above in the creature's "biography", the small mammals known as the Kiselounts have long served as the loyal pets of the noble humanoids.

 

• Tinkorement: A cold–blooded creature of dubious classification, effectively being halfway between a reptile and an insectoid. Tinkorements are tall, slender creatures with four tentacle–like legs and hands consisting of a large, scooping claw and a single articulate tendril. In addition to various plants and small, generic insects and rodents, their dietary options include Poxiwolps, Kiselounts (although they are now scarce in the wild) and Mexotrills (with which they are mutual predators). Despite being known to prey on most other local forms of animate life, it would be inaccurate to call the Tinkorements the most hostile creatures on Joltendio, seeing as they are not always so vicious. The Tinkorement possesses what essentially amounts to a split personality, with its default disposition being harmless and passive and its alternate "form", which gradually emerges and takes over as the beast grows hungry, being just about as vicious as any non–demonic predator anywhere. And while most predatory creatures attack and kill only when they are hungry and feel the need to, none have as evident a duality as the Tinkorement, whose passive state, as it reemerges after eating, appears to be oblivious to the very existence of its counterpart; the "transformation" from either state to the other is clearly involuntary. In their peaceful state, Tinkorements will never attack even if threatened, though this is largely a non–issue, as the only creatures that will ever naturally attack them are the Mexotrills, who rarely, if ever, leave their own territory to seek their rivals out; when the two creatures fight, the Tinkorement(s) is/are almost always the initial aggressor.

Tinkorements live mainly in the deeper parts of Joltendio's pseudo–forests/jungles, with their legs possessing great speed and stamina and allowing them to easily travel well beyond the immediate regions where they make their homes. They each operate alone most of the time, being apathetic towards one another, but sometimes form temporary groups, mainly for the purpose of taking down Mexotrills, which they are seldom able to outmatch when attacking alone. Tinkorements notably have two pairs of eyes, with the outer, very "buggy" eyes on the sides of their heads providing a completely standard range of vision and the inner, bright red eyes providing infrared and X–ray vision when active, during which times they glow dimly but visibly. Whether it be by coincidence or intelligent design, this trait heavily compliments the creature's dual nature. The durability value of the average adult Tinkorement is 800.

 

• Poxiwolp: An amphibious crustacean that is generally seen as being useful for little more than food. Poxiwolps are the most water–dependent animals on Joltendio (which is to say that their hydration needs are average by general standards), and they make their homes in and near the large, shaded oases sprinkled across the planet's otherwise drier–than–most landscape. They are omnivores, mainly eating the leafy greens and small marine life forms found in said areas, are not a predatory threat to any of the other Joltendion species showcased in this very entry, and are, indeed, the only animals listed here that the Silahsomes hunt and eat. Physically, Poxiwolps are short and stout, having rather large craniums and lower bodies with five point–ended legs that resemble hands/feet and their digits. Their actual hands consist of claws similar to those of the Tinkorements; another example of the often–overlapping genes present in Joltendio's creatures. Poxiwolps are of very little intelligence, with their activities largely being limited to eating, excreting, breeding and aimlessly waddling or swimming around. The durability value range of the Poxiwolp is 400–500.

 

The next three creatures, seen to the right of the former five, are inhabitants of the Demioid homeworld of Zornemim.

 

• Kingletort: A large, lumbering and lumberingly large quadruped that has long been used by Demioid aggressor forces, both of the original military and of the Dynamo Legion, as a weaponized war beast, and the only significant creature to be prominently and successfully exploited by the Demioids in this way, as opposed to being one of many varieties as is the case with Gorlunian war beasts. Kingletorts possess elevated bodies held up by very long legs, necks that are (proportionally) even longer than said legs and support rather small heads, and lengthy, segmented tails with large, blunt and heavy end–pieces. They may stand up to or even more than twenty feet tall, though their overall body mass is lesser than that of the comparable Ergnoplian Treymozes, and have durability values ranging from 3,000 to 4,000. Other physical features of the Kingletort that are worth mentioning are the four arced, pillar–like structures on its back and the thick beard on the chin of most males. Despite being herbivores, Kingletorts are highly aggressive and territorial, attacking at the slightest provocation, or even for no apparent reason. In nature, they live among traveling herds of their own kind, which are each led by what Demioids have insistently termed an "Omega–male". The role of omega–male is frequently fought over, often leading to fights but rarely to deaths – after all, a Kingletort can take a lot of abuse, and is intelligent enough to know when it is outmatched without needing to be fatally wounded to realize this.

Roughly one–third of all Kingletorts are presently kept in captivity by the Demioid population. Initially taming them was highly difficult on the part of the wicked humanoids, with the process of securing the animals as a loyal asset taking a matter of years and resulting in much loss of life for both concerned species. After the initial "batch" was successfully tamed, however, obtaining more of the creatures became much easier, since the offspring and subsequent descendants of those captured from nature could be trained starting at birth. Demioid–controlled Kingletorts are generally used in tank–like roles, being ridden by anywhere from one to several soldiers at a time and providing elevated positions to fire down at enemies on the ground from. They also can, and have been, further trained to demolish small or medium–sized buildings.

 

• Sisealiun: A hostile arthropod of moderate size and having an uncommon body shape in which the "upper" part of the body is positioned upright but the "lower" half is elapsed horizontally so that the creature can walk on all six of its slender legs. It possesses a long, muscly tail ending in a potent stinger that injects venom which is more often than not fatal to most humanoids and consistently carries the nearly immediate effects of severe swelling and paralysis. Death, when it does occur, strikes following a deceptive delay of several hours, after which the more immediate symptoms have usually started to subside, thus potentially giving victims a false sense of recovery, assuming they escaped the attacking creature in the first place after being stung. While this is obviously the Sisealiun's primary method of attack, it may also attempt to inflict harm using its clawed hands, which are basic as far as appendages of that description go. Sisealiuns exhibit significant amounts of the wrinkled, squishy flesh that is found in some form in all Zornemian creatures and which may or may not be an effect of the long–standing demonic influences on the planet, it being present mainly on their particularly wide craniums. They are immune to being harmed by most poisons (predictably including their own), acids and other volatile substances and are known for recovering from injuries the equivalents of which would be fatal to almost any other creature; this is to say that even when a Sisealiun appears to be dead or dying, it may very well not be. Despite this, they have ironically short natural lifespans, seldom living for more than twenty years. The durability value of any Sisealiun specimen can be expected to be no less than 500 and no more than 900.

Sisealiuns live in groups of six–to–twelve in hives/nests that are variably located either underground or in craters. These nests provide not only shelter for both living specimens and eggs (which are produced through standard intercourse–induced fertilization, are laid in batches of three–to–five, and hatch very quickly but have a high stillbirth rate), but also for storing food supplies in the form of victims whose decomposition is slowed by the very same venom that killed them. These creatures are considered vile even by the vile–in–their–own–right Demioids, whose various attempts to tame Sisealiuns for usage as attack/guard animals have consistently failed.

 

• Naimosper: Considered the least repugnant of Zornemim's native creatures, which is not saying much, the Naimosper is a passive beast–hominid that eats only plants and small insects and attacks only when threatened. It is similar to a Trylepibe in both size and durability value (~500), and can be distinguished by its large, webbed hands and, even more strikingly, its secondary pair of eyes, the spheres comprising which sit atop thick, ropey tentacles that protrude from the sides of the creature's head. The Naimosper's large, heavy, semi–metallic feat which produce louder–than–average footsteps when hitting the ground are also worthy of note. The creature's "face" consists of two vertically–stacked eyes, between which is a small, simple slit of a mouth, surrounded by several bumps/splotches of varying color. It has no visible nose nor ears, and its sensory organs for both smell and hearing are instead collectively contained within the thousands of tiny pores that cover the surface of its body, with the greatest concentration being in/on the hands. When threatened or otherwise provoked, a Naimosper will attack with slaps and punches, and if it manages to incapacitate its attacker or attackers, it will usually flee as soon as they are incapacitated, rather than deliberately finishing them off. Naimospers are the most common prey of Sisealiuns, and Trylepibes have also been known to eat them on occasion. Due to longtime Demioid domination and exploitation of Zornemim and its resources, their numbers plummeted in the decades leading up to the evil humanoids' height of power under the Dynamo Legion, with the Naimosper species eventually becoming severely endangered shortly before the defeat of the Dynamo Legion by the Eggmen Super Team and their allies, after which its population returned to normal levels and became stable again due to the resultant collapse of Demioid society.

 

At the bottom–left is the sole demon variety that will be catalogued in this particular grouping of beings:

 

• Veksinpora: A small humanoid demon, being marginally larger than a Shindoke, with an armored physique and some mechanical qualities. Veksinporas are agents of toxicity, pollution and, more specifically, chemical warfare, with their main ability being the production and spreading of poisonous gases, mainly of the sulfuric and arsenic varieties. These gases are primarily emitted in streams through the pair of chimney–like structures jutting out diagonally from the top of the Veksinpora's head, but can also be manifested in small, functionally grenade–like spheres of energy conjured in the demon's hands. In either case, these poisonous attacks rely on Infernal Energy, of which a Veksinpora possesses a moderately deep, regenerating personal supply, to be activated. This demon is asexual in every way, although its voice, while still somewhat androgynous, resembles that of a male more–so than a female voice. On its lower face is a perpetually present gas mask–like mouthpiece that prevents it from eating, not that it requires any physical sustenance, which most demons do not. On a Veksinpora's back is an almost reptilian shell (pictured here to the left of the creature's frontal–view main image) which displays a hazard symbol positioned parallel to but distinct from another, different hazard symbol on its chest. If this shell is removed, which is extremely difficult to do by force, the Veksinpora will die, but not before releasing a massive payload of particularly deadly toxins that basically constitute an explosion. As a suicide attack, this can be trigger this voluntarily, but unlike other beings capable of offensive self–destruction, Veksinporas have an above–average sense of self–preservation, and because of this self–worth they will do this only as a true last resort; only in situations where death seems guaranteed either way.

The Veksinpora is usually said to have been one of the final extant species of demon to come into existence, with the first "batch" supposedly spawning in and around the City of Drenn near the time of the Relative Calendar's invention (i.e. shortly either before or after Age 0) and the first recorded sighting of one in the mortal realm taking place in Age 12. The Veksinpora's overall level of power is on par with that of the "Greater Beings" of each of the Seven Deadly Sins, and it is sometimes referred to by the colloquially–assigned title of "Being of Pestilence". Its durability value is a precise 800, and there seems to be little variation, in terms of both abilities and physical form, between individual specimens. Veksinporas are more intelligent and articulate than most demons, their personalities being much like the Hoilidants' would be were those demons not so inherently predisposed to subservience; this is to say that they are sophisticated and pragmatic, but usually disgruntled. Though Veksinporas can speak fluently in terms of wording, their speech, as it is heard by those around them, always ends up coming out in muffled form due to their "masks"; this contributes to their aforementioned general disgruntlement.

A great number of Veksinporas have worked for the Arcane Order, sometimes as "sleeper agents" and generally taking orders from Princess Tzsicsz (who has some powers similar to theirs). Most notably, the demons almost certainly provided the inspiration for and definitely provided much of the bodily material for the creation of Lord Reson's artificial bioweapon known as Toxie #6, for which potentially hundreds of them were cannibalized. The "terms" of their being sacrificed to create the pseudo–Abomination are uncertain, but given the relatively high value they tend to place on their own individual lives, it seems unlikely that all of these Veksinporas gave themselves up voluntarily.

 

The final three creatures in this meta–set are all mortal animals, each coming from a different planet.

 

• Pegushike: A hostile large insectoid found on Finngaed, the Omega Octant planet ruled by the vampiric but mostly peaceful Wabacawlers. It is the most prominent local hazard that said humanoids have to deal with when traveling, and furthermore, due to its lack of warm blood, they cannot use it for feeding (or any other constructive purpose, for that matter). The Pegushike is known for its obscene number of limbs, having exactly a dozen – six arms and the same number of legs – in total. While its six legs are identical in form to one another, having standard shafts and clawed, lightly armored feet, each of the creature's three pairs of hands, as well as their respective arms, are distinct from one another. All of the Pegushike's hands, however, are simple, and having only one pair of them would be inadequate for allowing the creature to survive and thrive in nature; as it stands, the three pairs it does have need to be frequently used in conjunction with one another for maximum efficiency. These beasts have torsos that are wide and rounded but not particularly tough, and structures atop their heads that may appear to be horns but are actually soft nervous muscles which constitute the most vulnerable points on the creatures' exteriors. They are rarely, if ever, found alone; the presence of one Pegushike usually signifies that more are nearby, even if their positions are not readily visible; note that they commonly use hide–and–ambush tactics. While attacking, the primary instruments used by Pegushikes for inflicting harm are their mouths and teeth; here, their hands are used mainly for getting a hold of prey, rather than for directly dealing fatal blows. Pegushikes vary considerably in size, stand anywhere from two to four feet tall during adulthood. Their durability values, which generally correspond with the relative sizes of various individuals, range from 300 to 600.

 

• Mingoradra: An obscure and strange beast that inhabits the equally obscure and strange planet of Brinanzy, best known as the homeworld of the unintelligible Manciatents. Mingoradras are slug–like creatures of limited proportional girth but large body scale, the lengths of their partially–upright forms reaching upwards of twenty feet in some specimens and them being the largest native creatures on their planet. They are very chaotic and unpredictable beings with inconsistent behavior in terms of their dispositions toward Manciatents, being known to sometimes be so aggressive as to venture into Manciatent settlements and attack the inhabitants without provocation, while at other times remaining passive even when the humanoids venture into their territories within Brinanzy's swamps, forests and moist caves. Being a simple sort of folk and lacking much physical brawn with which to fight the creatures, the Manciatents usually play things safe by trying to avoid Mingoradras whenever possible, not just due to the possibility that they will attack but also, in part, because they are just plain creepy. The Mingoradra is one of the only creatures to possess multiple heads… of sorts. While the creature does have three separate articles resembling heads, only one of these, the central one which sits atop the torso in a fairly standard manner, contains a brain. This disproportionately small main head resembles raw flesh in texture and features a small mouth with very thick and prominent lips, three minuscule, pupilless eyes in a horizontal row, and no other features. The other, peripheral two "heads" are attached to long, flexible articles that largely resemble arms but are officially classified as necks, and consist mainly of large, singular eyes and sharp–toothed mouths that can flip open so widely as to make the head itself resembles a toilet bowl. Both the visual organs and the mouth organs on the Mingoradra's peripheral quasi–heads are far more powerful and useful than their weak counterparts on the creature's primary head, and thus it is them on which the beast primarily relies for seeing and eating, with its actual head mainly serving only as a control center. Behind each of the three heads is a cartilaginous half–cylinder–like structure that seems to be present to prevent decapitation. Each of the Mingoradra's actual arms, located further down the torso, branches into two "sub–arms" at the midway point equivalent to an elbow joint, resulting in the creature having four hands, the "extras" of which possess more claw–like fingers compared to the "normal" hands. The durability value of an average Mingoradra is 1,200–1,500.

 

• Critsauda: A mammal of average size found on Ithpinbo, the pseudo–jewel–laden home of the blissfully ignorant Wevaracti. It is currently listed as a "threatened" species and monitored as such, with dozens of specimens being kept in multiple off–world MetaQuariums just in case. Critsaudas are about four feet tall, and walk on four sturdy, closely packed legs and feet while having upright torsos, a body shape shared with relatively few other creatures. They have very long, gangly arms that are significantly hairier than any other parts of their bodies and each boast two upward–curving "spikes" projecting from their rear–sides. Similar protrusions are also present near the creature's waist level. The Critsauda has poor overall eyesight, constantly experiencing a visual filter that essentially amounts to moderate diplopia (double–vision), but this is compensated for by very acute hearing. Critsaudas are omnivorous but tend to lean towards primarily plant–based diets, and while normally living alone following the roughly three–year period for which they are raised by their mothers (fathers move on almost immediately after mating), they are known to sometimes form temporary cooperative groups, which individuals may join and leave as they please. The true defining trait of the Critsauda, however, is not any of these attributes, and relates neither to body shape nor behavior, but rather to body composition. This creature's body naturally contains and grows, particularly in the chest cavity and atop the head, a variation of sapphire crystal. This crystal, which naturally occurs only within the bodies of Critsaudas, is considered the rarest and most sought–after substance on Ithpinbo, where all the other jewel–like materials whose presence is a defining feature of the planet are too abundant for obtaining them to be a real issue, and the only Ithpinbon jewel that is worth significant coin off–world. This has caused Critsaudas to be hunted, or rather poached, by both Wevaracti and traveling seekers of profit for their crystals, the removal of which is fatal, which in turn is the reason for the creature's semi–endangered status and increasing rarity.

The Critsauda's maximum lifespan is about forty years, though crippling symptoms of old age begin to set in shortly after the age of thirty, and it is rare for one of the animals to survive long enough to be able to die of old age, especially given that it is frequently hunted by humanoids. Its mean durability value is 750; slightly higher than it would be were it not for the creature's crystalline features.

Talk about improbable photos! Here we see Joni actually posing with her sworn nemesis, Madam Bandeau, . . . and both of them are actually smiling!! This sort of thing can only happen at a place like the Keystone Conference, where Joni and Madam Bandeau met for the first time face to face under a flag of truce. Madam Bandeau is a relative newcomer to Flickr, while Joni has been around the block and then some. However, Madam Bandeau, a Vietnam Vet, after decades of closeted isolation, finally burst upon the Flickr scene in 2022, usually wearing little or no decent lingerie, let alone clothes. Nonetheless, by pandering to those with prurient tastes, Madam Bandeau was able to develop an adoring cult following within a relatively short time that persists to the present day.

 

It's a little murky as to how they first met on Flickr, but Joni quickly recognized a woman in need of guidance, especially when it came to dressing. Initially, Joni tried offering subtle suggestions, which didn't seem to have any effect, so she took a more direct approach and began rating the Madam's outfits and presentation on a scale of 1 to 10, frequently awarding Madam Bandeau embarrassingly low, but well earned, grades along with sarcastic commentary. However, if Joni thought she could reform Madam Bandeau by shaming her, she was sadly mistaken. Madam Bandeau proved to be completely shameless, and indeed, she reveled in earning low grades from Joni. Eventually, it became clear that unlike Eliza Doolittle from "My Fair Lady", Madam Bandeau could not be trained to become a lady, at least not by Joni's methods alone. It took additional instruction from a long neglected source, his wife Tia, to instill a proper sense of femininity and decency in Madam Bandeau's mode of dress, which has improved noticeably, although she still relapses from time to time to her trashier self. . . .

 

Yet, despite months of mutual insults on Flickr, they greeted each other like long lost friends, as this photo attests. They even dined together twice during the Keystone Conference.. Who would have figured it?? This photo was taken at the Thursday evening "Barbie Party" in the Harrisburg Hilton, after an earlier dinner at the Rubicon Restaurant.

  

Elliot (blushes): “Err… I’ve got Sybil. And weren’t you in love with that Anissa? I bet you can’t wait to get a chance to work with her again in a photo shoot you drag me into with you again.” (shows his tongue to Ben)

 

Ben (laughingly puts his bass guitar down): “Ha-hah! I still am interested in her. (face goes serious) You don’t wanna do any more jewelry photo shoots then?”

 

Elliot (shakes his head): “No.”

 

Ben (staidly): “I totally understand. I mean, it pays so little that it doesn’t even cover a subway ticket to the scene. And it’s so difficult to pose still for a few seconds, isn’t it? I got cramps and blisters, and you ran off ‘cause they hadn’t given you any toilet breaks all day. And especially with your face and body… Nah, you’d better stick to singing. I’m glad you at least had the decency to wear a loose T-shirt and a big sweater to yesterday’s photo shoot – you’re so fat and ugly. Who would buy anything looking at that?” (stares at Elliot’s tight muscles astonished)

 

Elliot: “Are you jealous? (grumpily) Don’t. You wouldn’t wanna swap bodies with me, trust me.”

 

Ben: “See, I’ve got these big hands and feet, fat around my body and a face like a grizzly bear’s. You have nothing extra. Zero! On the contrary, I think you’ve lost weight lately… You have cheekbones to cut glass and a head full of hair…“

 

Elliot (interrupting): “That’s just looks that fade and can be deceptive.” (shrugs)

 

Ben: “And you’ve got a poster on your wall of naked Kumi Callaghan-West that quotes her saying something like, ‘use it before you lose it,’ referring to her looks. You gotta make the most of it, dude. Seriously, you look like a brunette version of James Dean! Chicks fall down at your feet! You would make a fine model, you know. And I say this as a straight man… Which reminds me, I actually asked Anissa for a date last night. We’re going to the movies tonight, and I’ll let her pick the film… It’s probably gonna be some brainless chick-flick, but I don’t care for as long as the back row is empty, if you know what I mean…” (raises eyebrows up smiling goofily)

 

Elliot (rolls eyes): “Good for you… until I tell her what you just said about Abigail.”

 

Ben (smiles smugly): “Hah! It doesn’t matter since I don’t actually date her yet. And I don’t even know yet if it will become serious between me and her. Going for a date with her doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate other kind of beauty around me. I’m a free agent, me. But you, dude, you’re under Sybil’s strict supervision. How does it feel to be on the leash?”

 

Elliot (rolls eyes again): “You’re such a kid…”

 

Ben (grins): “Maybe. I’m a fat and ugly kid, but at least I’m not on anybody’s leash.“

 

Elliot (smirks slightly): “You ain’t ugly. I don’t call you Boniface for nothin’. Gym helps if you wanna lose weight. Not sure if it would fix your sarcy attitude, though.”

 

This couple on the beach within sight of Burj al Arab are pushing the limits of United Arab Emirates laws and decency

 

They are also at high risk of infection by swimming in these waters

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanitation_in_Dubai

WALMART WORKERS, TAXPAYERS ARRESTED CALLING FOR WALMART OWNERS TO STOP ROBBING AMERICA

 

Group calls on Walton family to stop taking advantage of taxpayer programs to support low-wage model & instead, pay workers $15 an hour and provide full-time work

 

If the Waltons fail to respond, protestors promise to return to Walmart stores on Black Friday

 

New York and Washington, DC – Forty-two Walmart workers and their supporters were arrested today calling on Walmart’s owners to stop robbing workers a fair wage and passing the bill on to taxpayers. Without a public commitment from the Waltons to raise pay at Walmart, the group refused to disperse, shutting down Park Avenue in front of Alice Walton’s new penthouse in New York and K Street in front of the Walton Family Foundation in DC. Last year, Walmart’s former CEO confirmed that the majority of Walmart workers are paid less than $25,000 a year.

 

“My grandkids go hungry because of low pay at Walmart,” said Sandra Sok, a Walmart worker in Phoenix. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make these billionaires and Walmart see what they’re doing to our families.”

 

“We are tired of seeing the Waltons enjoy every luxury this world can offer while the workers that build their wealth are unable to pay their bills,” said Interfaith Worker Justice Executive Director Kim Bobo. “Income inequality will only be addressed when the Waltons and Walmart provide fair pay and regular hours to their workers. I’m here today taking a stand for Walmart workers, and I’ll be back on Black Friday with thousands of others who have had enough of Walmart’s destruction of the American Dream.”

 

Before the arrests, the group delivered a petition signed by workers from 1,710 of Walmart stores in all 50 states. The petition calls on Walmart to publicly commit raise pay to $15 an hour and provide consistent, full-time hours. The actions today follow protests yesterday in Phoenix, AZ, where Walmart associates and community members delivered the petition to Walmart chair Rob Walton.

 

“The Waltons have made it impossible for me to get ahead and make sure my daughter goes to bed in a warm home,” said Fatmata Jabbie,a Walmart worker who delivered the petition to the Walton Family Foundation in Washington, DC. “The Waltons can choose to turn things around and stop robbing working Americans like me who just want to raise our families. We need $15 an hour and consistent full-time work—now.”

 

The Walton family, which controls the Walmart empire, is the richest family in the U.S.—with the wealth of 43% of American families combined. While many Walmart workers are unable to feed and clothe their families on their pay of less than $25,000 a year, the Walton family takes in $8.6 million a day in Walmart dividends alone to build on its $150 billion in wealth. Walmart brings in $16 billion in annual profits.

 

“Right now, corporate profits are at an all-time high while wages are lower than any time since 1948,” said Rep. Grijalva. “Walmart alone rakes in $16 billion a year while enjoying $8 billion in tax breaks and subsidies, but refuses to pay employees enough to put food on the table or clothes on their back. Many of their employees are forced to rely on taxpayer-funded programs, meaning the American taxpayers are paying for the Walton family’s refusal to pay a decent wage. It’s time to end this scam, and ensure all workers have the decency of a livable wage and full-time work.”

 

Walmart workers depend on food stamps and other taxpayer-supported programs to support their families. Walmart—the standard-setter for jobs in the retail industry—has created a norm of erratic, part-time scheduling that is keeping workers from getting the hours they need, holding down second jobs, arranging child care, going to school or managing health conditions.

 

The protests today come at a time when OUR Walmart members have made significant strides creating change at the country’s largest employer. OUR Walmart member Richard Reynoso, who sent a letter to Walmart about the new dress code policy, not only pushed the company to live up to its Buy America commitment with the new vests; his manager gave him full-time hours in response to his concerns about affording new clothing on his low pay. OUR Walmart members have had similar hours victories—through petitions and meetings with managers—in the San Francisco Bay Area, Dallas, Florida, Southern California, Louisiana and Chicago. Walmart improved its pregnancy policy recently after OUR Walmart members, who are also shareholders, submitted a resolution to the company about its pregnancy policy. And, responding to OUR Walmart members’ growing calls on the retailer to improve access to hours, Walmart rolled out a new system nationwide that allows workers to sign up for open shifts in their stores online.

 

Background

 

A report released earlier this year by Americans for Tax Fairness showed that by dodging taxes, exploiting loopholes and taking advantage of taxpayer subsidies, Walmart and the Waltons received an estimated $7.8 billion in tax breaks and subsidies in 2013. And while many taxpayers struggle to stretch paychecks, the richest family in the country has avoided an estimated $3 billion in taxes by using specialized trusts to dodge estate taxes.

 

National public policy organization Demos released a report this year showing low-pay and erratic scheduling keep millions of hard-working Americans—particularly women—near poverty. The report finds that establishing a new wage floor equivalent to $25,000 per year for fulltime, year round work at retail companies employing at least 1,000 workers would improve the lives of more than 3.2 million female retail workers and lift 900,000 women and their families directly out of poverty or near poverty.

 

###

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: UFCW and OUR Walmart have the purpose of helping Wal-Mart employees as individuals or groups in their dealings with Wal-Mart over labor rights and standards and their efforts to have Wal-Mart publically commit to adhering to labor rights and standards. UFCW and OUR Walmart have no intent to have Walmart recognize or bargain with UFCW or OUR Walmart as the representative of Walmart employees.

 

G-Print. Impossible to copy.

Since 1975.

 

1975. Bell-bottoms, disco, seaweed wallpaper in shades of brown, hair, a lot of hair, afros on every- body and voluptuous sideburns, roller-skates, Led Zeppelin. Coffee and oil is very expensive. The first disposable razor. Ali beats Frazier in the “Thrilla in Manilla”, The King is alive and kicking in Vegas and the king of Sweden is yet to be married. Gerald Ford is president in the USA, Brezhnev in the USSR. It’s the year when General Franco dies and Angelina Jolie and Tiger Woods are born.

 

Despite an oil crisis and prolonged recession, 1975 was a carefree time with more solutions than problems. A dualistic era where the colourful visions from the 60’s still lived but popular culture interpreted those visions in darker Kodachromatic tones. It was decency and decadence. It was the birth of the peace- and environmentalist movements, amidst a full-blown cold war.

Also, in 1975 a new paper is born – G-Print.

 

Since then, for 35 years, G-Print’s been loved for its overall quality and consistency by merchants and printers alike. And most importantly there’s been no significant changes in paper properties over all those years. This equals 35 years of perfection for a paper and a paper production process that is, “Impossible to copy”.

 

In this boxed DM, distributed to 20.000 paper clients all over Europe, Arctic Paper, the owner of G-Print, push the “Impossible to copy” message via an anachronistic box including mini examples of paper applications. A mini DM, a mini cookbook, a mini Magazine and a mini Poster and Map. All showcasing classics from 1975. Not very incidentally, just like G-Print.

 

I'm probably in the minority in my opinion, but this is the best adaptation of Choderos de Laclos' 1782 novel of emotional and sexual brutality among the French upper classes. Any adaptation of the material lives or dies by the casting of Merteuil and Valmont, and in Jeanne Moreau and Gerard Phillipe, the people behind this film hit the jackpot. Moreau brings all of the necessary shadings of cruelty, pride, cunning, and beneath that, loneliness and fear, that makes the character complelling. Philippe similarly is good at finding the human being behind the shiny scales of Valmont's surface, and he makes the 180-degree character twist, when the seemingly-heartless Valmont falls like a ton of bricks for the kindly Madame Tourvel, seem almost convincing.

 

Tourvel was played by Annette Stroyberg, the second, and least known, wife of director Roger Vadim, and she gave the character a dignity and bearing that Michelle Pfeiffer couldn't in the 1989 film version, and when the character cracks at the end of the film, she will break your heart.

 

The most controversial twist in the screenplay that Vadim wrote with Roger Vailland and Claude Brule was to make Merteuil and Valmont, ex-lovers in the original book, into a married couple. Peronally, I have no particular problem with the idea; upper-class marriages are often more about money and social position than love. Also, the film suggests that Merteuil, a bundle of ambition and pride, does lover her husband, but is also determined to prove to him that she can be as cynical and sophisticated about love and sex as he is--more so, in fact. The disastrous set of circumstances she eventually sets in motion results from his sudden announcement that he, the man who dragged her into this ugly arrangement, is suddenly above such behavior. He essentially destroyed her, and she is going to destroy him.

 

The supporting cast is strong as well. Jeanne Valerie is Cecile, strong-armed by her parents into an engagement to the latest of Merteuil's lovers (Nicolas Vogel), who commits the unpardonable offense of dumping her before she dumps him. Wanting revenge, she enlists Valmont to seduce her, a seduction that is more akin to rape than anything else, then encouraging the young woman to carry on with Valmont while doing her best to alienate the affections of the struggling student (Jean-Louis Trintignant--an appropriate bundle of nerves, pride, and vulnerable self-esteem) that the young woman really loves. Madeline Lambert and Simone Renant are both appealing as the mothers of Madame Trouvel and Cecile, and Boris Vian, the novelist and musician, has a small but poignant role as a friend of Merteuil's who stumblingly confesses love to her (she warns him off--one of her rare moments of unalloyed decency).

 

Vadim shot the movie almost in the manner of film noir, which seems appropriate, given the nasty behavior on display here, and he is helped in establishing that atmosphere by Marcel Grignon's dark, silky photography. Gladys de Segonzac makes the characters looks appropriately chic (you get the feeling that many unfortunate women have cut themselves on the razor-sharp creases in Valmont's trousers), and finally, one should say something about Thelonious Monk's wonderful score; spare, witty, and quietly meloncholy, the voice of a distant God looking down on his creations with bleak amusement and great sorrow.

Ok, before I get into this, let me preface by saying it has been a long week. I am fairly worn out and as such perhaps a bit more grumpy and rant-prone than usual. ;-) But nonetheless, what I am about to rant about is behavior that has bugged me for a little while now, I generally just don't pay much attention to it. At the same time, it is behavior I don't understand, at least fully, so I am willing to hear counter arguments to my following rant. If you disagree, please speak up, argue your point, let us have a discussion. A side rant of mine is I tend to enjoy too little discussion on here, but that is beside the point.

 

One rant at a time. :-p

 

So here goes. What gives with photographers who believe they need to keep places all "secret"? I see this most often with landscape photographers. They will go off to a place, generally one that is hardly undiscovered, and come back from it with their photos which they will gladly share, and often boast of, but will make sure to mention that it is their "secret" location. Now, I am not talking about the habit of not including location data, I mean, I don't always post where a photo is. Generally this is because it is not anywhere specific or I don't know how to describe where it is. Such as with some of my photos of the Palouse. Sure I could get down the map and scour it for 30 minutes finding the exact coordinates of where I took that photo. But I don't. If someone asks, I will try to give them as good of directions as possible.

 

So I understand the lack of location data. Rather, what makes me scratch my head a bit is photographers who go out of their way to brag about how a location is secret and they are not telling.

 

I mean, why? Really?

 

In a sense it always makes me wonder if the photographer is a little insecure about their own abilities, isn't this generally why one boasts? Because they feel some need to impress others by letting everyone know how special they are? Ok, maybe I am being a bit harsh. Maybe. Told you I was feeling rant-prone.

 

Insecure or not, I think it is kind of bad form and etiquette. If you don't want to share where a place is, I guess that is your decision, but bragging about your secret spot is a bit over the top.

 

And then there are those photographers who make full use of places like Flickr or Photo.net to locate spots that others have shot, asking questions on where locations are and such, and then refuse to share that information themselves. Kind of self-serving and selfish. I had a customer in the store once who was talking about how foolish most Flickr photographers were to share so much information, that he did not post because he did not want people to know where his favorite spots were, but he did like to get on there now and then to see where everyone else was going and thought it a good use for that. He was a bit of an arrogant scumbag too. But perhaps that is beside the point.

 

So the question I keep coming back to is, why? What is the reasoning behind this behavior? Are they afraid others will get down there and steal their photos? Can you really steal a photo? If so then perhaps the problem doesn't lie with the availability of info on where that location is, but rather with your own ability to be creative. And I think that gets to one of the hearts of the matter. With so many landscape photographers out there, many areas get saturated in terms of how often they get photographed, and so the competitive nature (another silly piece of behavior) drives photographers to not only range farther afield to "new" areas but to try and hide that info from other photographers so they cannot get out there and make their own pictures.

 

I have two responses to that. First, I have a whole series of the St. Johns Bridge created over several years. I find that I take my best and most creative photos in the places I am most familiar with, that I have visited the most. Sure I get nice photos in new places too, but those pictures tend to be based on experience I have gained experimenting in those places familiar with me.

 

And second, I learn a lot more from seeing others photograph in a place I have been to, than I could hope to on my own. What I mean is, by seeing how others photograph the Palouse, or Painted Hills or the Alvord Desert I learn about other comps, conditions, techniques. Way more than I ever probably would have on my own. So in the long run it is a benefit to myself to share that info and encourage others to those spots to photograph their own perceptions. At least that is how I think about it.

 

Now to be fair I have heard a good argument or two for keeping locations secret, but these tend to be the incredibly small minority. One was a photographer who was taking pictures of a Mennonite community in New England. He did not want to share the location of this rural community because he did not want photographers bum-rushing out there to take photographic advantage of this quiet community of people. I can appreciate him trying to protect them while still trying share their experience with the world. The second good excuse involved the Boiler Bay headlands along the Oregon coast because the popular trail to the coast involved crossing private property, specifically someone's front yard. Most photographers will behave themselves, nonetheless I probably would not appreciate a flood of photographers sneaking across my front lawn all the time in the pre-dawn darkness. Now an alternate route has been laid out that avoids the property and respects these people's privacy much better.

 

But that is about it, at least that I can think of.

 

I dunno, I struggle with this one, because on one hand I really don't care much. To each their own, or such. But on the other hand, it also strikes me as bad etiquette which can lead to bad habits and the teaching of. But even more so than that, because I think allowing yourself to fall into that trap of location hoarding is not a healthy perspective for a good photographer. I think it is a symptom of some underlying problem. I am not a psychiatrist though. Imagine that though, photographic psychiatry!

 

Anyway, as I was saying, if you think the success of your photos relies on you hiding where you take them, then you probably are not a terribly good photographer. Perhaps competent, maybe even good, but probably not great. Because a great photographer isn't limited by his location, secret or not, he carries all the secrets of his or her success with them. They are called vision and imagination. Between those two things, they make secret locations irrelevant. In my opinion.

 

So my advice to all you location hoarders? Don't. It's ok. Share information, encourage those around you to go there and shoot. Help them get better because by doing so, they will help you get better too. It is not a contest, nor should you feel like you can be collecting these spots. And if you do insist on keeping your secret locations, don't show us photos of them. Keep them secret. It is mildly obnoxious to dangle them in front of us and not be willing to share where they are. Chances are, somebody else already knows anyway. You probably were not the first one there. In fact, that is almost certainly the case. And if you still insist on going this far, then at least have the decency to stop taking advantage of other photographers who are willing to share their information. Because that is just selfish and I am out of excuses for you at this point.

 

Ok, wow, that really was quite a rant. Have not done that in a while.

 

So to sum all this up, let me just say this one last thing, sort of as the icing on the cake. That is, I have a lot of serious thoughts on photography, but I try not to take any of them too seriously. Even this rant. Sure, it was worth the twenty minutes of typing to put it out there, but at the same time, it really is not that important because I am going to keep doing what I do, in a way that I feel good about doing it. And all the location-hoarders in the world cannot affect that.

 

This shot by the way was sunrise at a super ultra secret location called Hug Point along the Oregon Coast just south of Cannon Beach. Don't bother to ask me where it is, I'm not telling. :-P I visited here back in February with Aaron (who got really wet), Andrew (who makes awesome videos) and Danielle (whose pinhole is present in this frame if you look hard enough).

(/busy week. too freakin' tired to shoot myself so here's an odd outtake from last time.)

 

do you ever just feel like you don't recognize yourself or your motivations?

suddenly, you question everything you believe in.

do you really believe it, or are you just going through the motions?

all these grandiose ideas and convictions...if questioned could they stand?

would you defend them to the end?

 

i wrestle with this from time to time because i feel like i don't have enough

time to devote to the things i really believe in. and i know, i know, i'll be the first

to say that if it's important you will find the time...but still...

two weeks ago, i got to thinking...

(i know, i know...that's my problem, right? thinking. smartass.)

anyway, after a spot of good news, i was driving along and happened upon

a red light that was part of my normal commute. i'm sitting there, rolling my thoughts

over my opportune luck when a woman standing

on the slim median dividing traffic caught my eye. she was dressed normally - jeans, t-shirt,

windbreaker. she didn't look as if she was suffering from anything more than the

40 degree temperature. she had a sign that said "lost everything, anything helps".

we've all seen those news stories, right? the reporter secretly follows a street person home after a day of panhandling only to discover said person drives a cadillac and lives in a $150,000 home.

i look at her, and wonder what kind of car she drives, what her home looks like, how many kids she might have, if she's married, or a drug addict. i think about how the universe has continually guided and seemingly blessed me

all these years, and just earlier that very morning. i think that i should, again, find a way to pay

it forward - to show my appreciation - that whole giving to get thing. so i roll down the window

and hand her some money. she doesn't look surprised. i'm sure by now she can, without fail,

look down a line of cars and know who is going to be receptive and who is going to ignore her.

she takes the money and without smiling, or even showing emotion says "thank you, bless you".

and i return the volley with "pay it forward to someone else someday."

the next day, i wondered why i hadn't just randomly handed one of these people money before.

where she stood was a hotspot for that kind of panhandling activity. young people, old people,

crippled people, sometimes even a kid. did i really need motivation to just "randomly" be kind?

i mean, i've done random kind things for people before, without any prompting or motivation, but

i still wonder.

 

am i kind because it's inherent in me to be so, or am i kind because

i like the feel good dopamine release of having done a good deed?

 

they say kids don't know predjudice. that it's taught through parents or the enviornment.

but i wonder then...why do kids have such a hard time sharing their toys?

why do parents have to sometimes force kids to share toys even with their own siblings?

is this a kindness that's being taught? are we inherently selfish and have to be shown

how to be kind, how to share?

 

the more i thought about it, the more i discovered that my own motivations for kindness

come out of a circular logic, i guess. on the one hand i feel like if something good happens to me

i should share it (you get what you give). but isn't that selfish? expecting to get kindness for giving kindness? or is it just that whole balancing thing the universe does so well?

on the other hand, if i see someone in need that i can help out, even in a small way,

i do because my immediate thought is 'i would want someone to do the same for me'.

i guess, really, they're both one side of the same coin, or whatever the hell that cliche is.

(sorry, i'm tired and a wee bit cranky from lack of sleep. hence the uber late post)

 

either way, kindness is kindness

whether it's an affirmation back to the universe,

a pay it forward, a quick dopimine release, or simply an empathetic gesture.

 

and somedays, i really don't want to be nice. i just want to tell everyone what i really think of them

and their stupid fucking attitudes, and how if they had any sense of decency they'd get a real job instead of panhandling in the middle of a busy street expecting people to just hand them money...

 

and then i realize

it's all a choice.

every last bit of it.

even standing on a street and begging for money.

it's not my business to decide if that's right or wrong.

it is my business to be kind when the time calls for it, in whichever

way the universe sees fit to set it up,

and encourage people to pay it forward.

  

10/06/2015, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Canary Islands, Spain.

 

Keel laid on 26/11/2002, launched on 21/02/2003, & completed on 31/03/2003, by Hyundai, Ulsan, South Korea (1450)

41,078 g.t., 48,923 dwt., & 3,607 teu,

launched as:

'Northern Decency', completed as:

'Potomac Bridge', to 2006,

'MSC Vienna' to 2016, &

'Northern Decency' since.

I just found out today, that some of my pictures are used very widely in the internet, without linking back to the original. Some were even in commercial use, as in, for sale.

I really don't know how that makes me feel.. It makes me feel sick, gutted and quite frankly, mad.

Aye, they weren't able to get the large size photo and aye, most of them had still my signature visible on them. But some people had actually tried to remove my sig and were offering a "full size" picture upload of a very bad quality.

There's actually no reason to be happy about being explored, it just exposes your pictures to even wider range of thieves, those shitty little people who are not good enough to do their own photography and end stealing from others. I wish they get a rash! On their face!

There's no such thing as common courtesy in the internet, I know that. This is a no man's land and the laws of nothing rule here. And I guess it's totally futile to even hope, that people would have some honesty and decency.

Aye, I know, a long rant.. But it was shocking to see how much pilfering there is going on in the world of photography in the internet. I always knew it happens, but to this scale? I feel sorry for those who do really amazing work, they must be targeted so often like this. And I really started to feel for the musicians who are getting pirated regularly. Piracy is a crime, be it photos or music. Just so sad there's nothing one can really do about it, apart from quit internet all together...

/rant off

 

Try this with your own most popular shots:

www.google.com/insidesearch/features/images/searchbyimage...

One of my contacts, Nick, said he wanted to see more nudes from Bay To Breakers. I'm not one to disappoint! So, here's a girl dressed up as a character from Avatar, I believe. The costume was made entirely of blue paint...and that's it. I probably would have tossed this if it weren't for the lucky chance of catching that guy showing his appreciation for the costume. :)

 

I'm actually really surprised that with so many naked people running around and me firing off the camera with absolutely no sense of decency or taste, I came home with exactly zero photos that would be unsafe to post here (the part about photoshopping in the backpack over the naked cowboy was a joke). There was always a well placed arm or a convenient backpack blocking the right things at the right times. Just amazingly lucky (or unlucky, depending on what you are going for) timing, I guess.

Christ Church, Queanbeyan is an example of a Gothic Revival Church, which was designed by Alberto Dias Soares in 1859. Without its spire, the opening service at the new Christ church was held on 7 Oct 1860. On 2 March 1861 the spire was completed.

 

Heritage listing details

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Goulburn Herald and County of Argyle Advertiser (NSW : 1848 - 1859) | Wed 31 Aug 1859 | Page 2

 

COUNTRY NEWS.

QUEANBEYAN.

 

(From our correspondent.)

The ceremony of laying the corner stone of a new church at Queanbeyan was performed on Thursday, the 25th instant.

 

At about twelve o'clock about two hundred persons assembled in the vicinity of the church, and shortly after repaired to the school house, forming in procession, and headed by W. F. Hayley, Esq., J.P., C. E. Newcombe, Esq., P.M., and A. Cunningham, Esq, J.P. Then followed the children belonging to the school and the inhabitants of the town, with a sprinkling from the district. The procession then walked to the church ground. The Rev. A. D. Soares met them at the church gate and, on arriving at the foundation, commenced the religious ceremony with a short and solemn address He then read a part of the 127th Psalm, the 87th Psalm, and part of the 29th chapter of the first book of Chronicles. With a few introductory remarks relative to the custom of laying the foundations of sacred edifices, with manifestations of holy joy in the present as in former ages, and dwelling upon the great cause they had to be thankful that the Lord had so far prospered the works of our hands upon us, Mr. Soares then presented C. E. Newcombe, Esq., P.M., with a bottle to be deposited in the foundation, containing the last numbers of the Church of England Chronicle, the Goulburn Herald, the Goulburn Chronicle, and the Sydney Morning Herald, with. the last monthly summary for England,. and a parchment with the following inscription:—

 

The foundtion stone of this church was laid by

William Foxton Hayley, Esq.,

on

25th August, 1859.

Governor of the colony—Sir William Thomas Denison, Knight, &c.

Bishop of the Diocese—Right Rev. Frederick Barker, D.D., &c.

Incumbent of Christ Church, Queanbeyan—Rev. A. D. Soares.

Trustees of church ... ... { N. R. Powell, Esq., J.P.

{ W. F. Hayley, Esq., J.P.

Churchwardens ... ... { W. F. Hayley, Esq.,

{ Mr. W. O'Neill,

{ Mr. R. Mehigan.

 

The bottle being deposited in the place prepared for it, Mr. Soares expressed a hope that it might remain there undisturbed until the Most High God should no longer be worshipped in temples made with hands, but the church militant should be incorporated with the church, triumphant, and the one place of worship should be around throse in heaven.

 

Mr. Newcombe followed with a short and impressive address to a similar effect.

 

Dr. Hayley then proceeded to lay the stone. The mortar being spread and the stone lowered into its place, and the mallet having done its work., Dr. Hayley prefaced an excellent address, well suited to the occasion, with the words, "I lay this stone as the corner stone of an edifice to be called Christ Church, and to be set apart for the worship of God, according to the rites and ceremonies of the United Church of England and Ireland, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." In the course of his remarks he particularly touched on the necessity of a larger amount of accommodation, and felicitated the members of the church of England on the prospect they had of shortly having a building adapted to their wants.

 

The whole assembly then joined in singing the old hundredth psalm, to the words "All people that on earth do dwell." The united voices of the school children lent almost pleasing effect to this part of the service, which was terminated by the Rev. A. D. Soares repeating certain appropriate collects, the Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' Creed, all joining. The doxology was then sung, and the benediction finally pronounced.

 

The assembly then repaired to a booth erected outside of the church ground, which was most taste fully decorated with flowers and evergreens, and sat down to partake of a most excellent lunch, the eatables being of more than ordinary excellence, and gratuitously provided by Mesdames Faunce, Soares, Newcombe, W. O'Neil, W. Hunt, Duff, and Bradbury, grace having been previously sung by the company.

 

Immediately afterwards the Rev. A. D. Soares addressed the meeting, and urged, in strong terms, the duty incumbent on the members of the Church of England to assist liberally to complete the erection of the new church, only a portion of it as yet having been contracted for.

 

Dr. Hayley, after making some observations in support of what had fallen from Mr. Soares, said that, besides the honourable office in which he had bhen that day, engaged, ie had also another

pleasing duty to perform, and that was to present their deservedly respected minister with the sum of sixty guineas, as a collection from the district of Queanbeyan, to compensate him for the loss sustained by the recent vote of the assembly.

 

Mr. W. O'Neill, one of the churchwardens, then, in a very appropriate speech, urged the meeting to evince their sympathy for the cause of the church on the present occasion, and requested those who had not yet paid their promised contributions, and those who had not contributed at all, to do so, and that liberally.

 

The plate was handed round, and those who had come unprepared put down their names as subscribers, for various amounts, from five pounds to five shillings. Upwards of forty pounds was taken at the table.

 

The proceedings of the whole day were among the most pleasing that I have ever witnessed in Queanbeyan.

 

The building committee met the same afternoon, and a resolution was.unanimously adopted to carry on the erection of the whole building, instead of the transept, chancel, and vestry, which is all the work that has been agreed to he performed in the present contract.

 

The buildings now in course of erection will, no doubt, cause a stir in Queanbeyan during the ensuing summer, which is much required. Hitherto every thing has been very dull. There seems a great difficulty in obtaining stonemasons; and if a few competent workmen were to come this way, there is little doubt of their readily finding employment.

Queanbeyan, August 27, 1859.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Golden Age (Queanbeyan, NSW : 1860 - 1864) | Sat 13 Oct 1860 | Page 3

 

OPENING OF THE NEW CHURCH, QUEANBEYAN.

 

ON Sunday morning last, at 11 o'clock, the new Anglican Church, called Christchurch, was solemnly opened for Divine Service. The Rev. A. D. Soares, the Incumbent, officiating, in the absence of clergymen from Goulburn or Yass, whose services had been expected for the occasion. The interest manifested by the friends and members of the church was, judging from the very numerous attendance and becoming de[unreadable]ment of the worshippers, more than coming in ; and must have afforded much pleasure to the minister and lay officers upon which has devolved the onerous task of building such an edifice. The text from which this morning discourse was preached, was taken from Zechariah iv. 6: 'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the lord almighty. After sundry introductory remarks, the preacher proceeded to speak of the sacred house in which they were then assembled, [unreadable] proper feelings which should actuate [unreadable] and hearers on the occasion. The [unreadable], he said, should not be taken to themselves, but both glory and praise should be givem to Him to whom they were so justly due. [unreadable]e," he continued, "who undertook to [unreadable] this temple to the Lord, were comparatively few in number, and with few resources of our own. We undertook a great work in conscious weakness. We had many and great difficulties to overcome. Yes, mountains of difficulties, and innumerable obstructions had we to encounter: but we have seen them removed one after another,—we have beheld them gradually dwindle into insignificance, and disappear before us ; the great mountain has become a plain. Even enemies (who happily now no longer exist) were not wanting to hinder the good cause we had in hand, even as the Jews had enemies who endeavoured to hinder them in their good work. We had our day of small things which many despised, and we ourselves hardly dared to contemplate the magnitude of the work we were engaged in, and found it difficult to assure the faint-hearted amongst us, that we should yet bring forth the headstone with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace unto it. In these points we have found ourselves similarly circumstanced to the Jews when building their temple, after it had been destroyed; and we, like them, have succeeded in the work undertaken with doubts and fears, and much distrust on the part of many; we have brought this building so near to a completion, that we can in a suitable manner dedicate it to God, by the offering of praise, thanksgiving and a holy worship, and by observing in it the ordinances of His appointment with decency and order. And now, I would ask, whence have we obtained this success ? To whose power are we indebted? By whose might have been enabled to carry out our designs? Oh! brethren, let us not sacrifice to our own gifts, nor burn incense to our own exertions; but bless GOD, who has given us wherewith to build, and prospered this work of our hands upon us. Well does it become us this day to enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise, to be thankful unto Him, and speak good of His name."

 

After having fully considered the bearing of the text on the erection of the material temple, he proceeded to consider it from a higher point of view, and to draw from it a lesson of greater importance, though of a like natiure, observing, that the style and language of the prophet were such, that the reference to the spiritual building was plain. They evidently pointed to the final establishment of Christ's church,—the spiritual edifice; not made with hands, but reared by the power of the Holy Ghost. The structure they had built could [unreadable]n as far as it might serve for the purpose preparing stones for the true [unreadable], hence if there should go forth lively [unreadable] of Christ, who would help to build [unreadable] upon earth, they would have [unreadable] grounds for rejoicing. He attributed [unreadable] and languor of the visible [unreadable]act, that the words of their text [unreadable]rally overlooked. The early [unreadable] the gospel preached with power [unreadable] and the people who heard de- [unreadable] upon the same power; therefore the [unreadable] that followed. The revivals of the [unreadable] day were the work of the Spirit. The building up of the church had ever been his work and every member belonging to it [unreadable] acknowledge. By the grace of God I am what I am. The preacher proceeded : " What an alteration should we shortly observe in the manner of our attendance upon God; did every member who came before Him with his lips; bear them in mind, and seek earnestly that the rich unction of the Holy One might be poured forth upon him. Who would condemn the beautiful liturgy of our church as formal, did every one who joined in it lift up his heart with his voice in the responses? It is indeed pitiable the indolent and iinattentive way in which many join in our services, bespeaking most plainly the absence of the Spirit, and the little desire there is for His gracious influence. How different might it be!"

 

After pointing out what would be the probable results to the congregation, if every one present were to worship the Most High in spirit and in truth, he exhorted his hearers to seek the agency of the Holy Spirit as well when out of the church as whilst within its walls,—to live in the Spirit, otherwise in vain might they hope to overcome the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil; and concluded: "Finally, my brethren, let us all learn to seek this blessing more earnestly for the church at large; let us show our membership by a more cordial sympathy with the members of Christ's body generally; let us pray that the time may soon come, when we shall no more need to teach every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord, but when all shall know Him from the least to the greatest. Oh! for the outpouring of the Spirit, in that day when the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea! when we shall all be filled with the Spirit, and in communion with the Father and the Son shall inherit eternal blessedness.. * * Let us pray God marvellously to carry on his work of grace, purifying our hearts by faith, and revealing himself to a perishing world, as able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come unto Him. Let us pray Him for the outpouring of His Spirit in pentecostal showers, that the wilderness and solitary place may be glad, and the desert blossom as the rose. * * And while we are thus praying for ourselves and others, let us earnestly strive in our own persons to exhibit all the fruit of the Spirit, love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. * * Then will heaven hereafter resound with hallelujahs, and vieing with each other in declaring, that not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit of the Lord of Hosts, in one prolonged acclamation we shall ascribe glory to God and to the Lamb, who saved us by his grace."

 

The sermon was listened to with devout attention; and we trust that the impressions made by it will be productive of real good. For our own part we never remember to have listened to a more appropriate and effective discourse. There was undoubtedly the very unction attending it which the preacher was exhorting his hearers to seek, and which he insisted was so necessary to the spiritual growth of the church.

 

The evening service was conducted by the Rev. P. G. Smith, of Canberra, who preached a very suitable sermon from 2 Corinthians vi. 16 : For ye are the temple of the living God. The congregation; perhaps owing to the darkness of the night, was not nearly so large as in the morning, but was, nevertheless, equal to the expectations of many.

 

The collections for the day amounted to £21 15s. 7d., of which the sum of £15 19s. 10d. was collected in the morning.

 

With respect to the edifice itself, whilst it is an ornament to the town, it is a credit to the denomination to which it belongs, still more so to those whose individual exertions have brought it so near a state of completion. It is neat and beautiful without unnecessary enmbellishment, and yet nothing is wanting to render it in every way suitable for all the purposes of Christian worship." One thing in particular attracted our notice; we refer to the text, Believe oin the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,—beautifully executed in old English characters, and traced in relief around the chancel arch. We admire the taste which selected such a passage—there being, in our opinion, not another throughout the inspired volume so well adapted for the purpose, or so calculated to inspire, the worshipper with confidence towards God.

 

There is ample accommodation for a large congregation, the following being the dimensions of the building :—nave, length 37ft, breadth 22ft; transept, length 46ft, breadth 22ft; chancel, length 16ft, breadth 14ft.; height of walls 14ft.; height of gables, 31ft. When in its finished state it will be lighted with stained glass windows, and adorned with a spire whose height will be 75ft. from the ground. On the north side of the building is a vestry, and the entrances to the body of the church are by a door on either side of the, transept, and another at the tower end.

 

The internal fittings are excellent, having a pulpit, reading-desk, baptismal font, communion table, &c., in perfect. keeping with the building; and the sitting accommodations have certainly been made with a view to the ease and comfort of the occupants.

 

As regards the financial state of the church, the cost, as far as now contracted for, is as follows:—For the building, independent of internal fittings, £1810. new internal fittings, £80, much of the furniture of the old church being used in the present ;—making a total of £1890. Of this amount about £1460 has been actually paid leaving a balance requiring immediate payment of £430. What further sum will be required for the erection of the spire and the other additions which are requisite to the thorough finishing of the church we have not ascertained; but we think that when the time shall arrive for these improvements, the friends of the episcopalian church will not be slow in coming forward to so good a work. In the meantime it must be apparent to all, that the most active exertions are necessary to. liquidate the already specified amount of £430, and we would urgently call; upon those who have not yet paid up, their subscriptions promptly to do. so, seeing as they must, that the amount has to be paid for work already done.

 

We congratulate the Rev. Mr. Soares, whose labours for the production of this creditable structure have been untiring, on the complete success which has so far attended his exertions; and sincerely do we hope, that the numerpus congregation we witnessed on Sabbath morning last will not become the less when in succeding Sabbaths the novelty of meeting in the new sanctuary shall have passed away, but continue to evince an appreciation of their present privileges, by a constant and devout attendance on the ordinances of the house of God.