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PLEASE WATCH THIS IT WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY I PROMISE
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you'd think I'd be excited about a new Robin Hood movie but it's fallen at the twin hurdles of marketing itself as 'The True Story Behind The Myth' (horseshit, stupid) and starring Hugh Jackman (piece of shit, in a cult).
For my money if anyone is going to talk about the True Story Behind the Myth they need to make that man North Walian
Fuck the rest of these I want to see Tudur Owen in the tights or we should ban Robin Hood
Transcript: Recently, the actor Hugh Jackman made the gossip rag headlines for performing a song and dance routine at the 95th birthday part
Looking back on 2020, I think it's hilarious that Wellerman of all shanties is the one that blew up online. It's not a song about life on the high seas or adventuring
It's the "Where the fuck is my delivery" song
âBecause the truth is, tech doesnât have an image problem. It doesnât have a message problem. It has an intention problem. Whatâs wrong with the axe murderer who broke into my house is not that he hasnât successfully persuaded me to buy into his narrative. Whatâs wrong is that heâs trying to kill me with an axe. Similarly, when you launch a product thatâs designed to put millions of people out of work, block access to sources of verifiable truth, replace human creativity with slop, and lower the barriers to every sort of atrocity, the problem isnât that you havenât told the public a good story about those things. The problem is that you are trying to do them.â
â The 40 Most Rage-Inducing Problems in Tech
Everyone should be aware of nitter.net
for any address to twitter you can replace the âx.comâ with ânitter.netâ and you will be able to browse as if you have an account. Lifesaver.
Similarly, imginn.com works for most Instagram addresses. I still havenât found one for Facebook.
I remember my first eagle ceremony when I turned nine. The first eagle you get is always declawed, which I always thought was pretty inhumane, but it was a good way to ease into caring for the birds. My eagle (named Baldy, because I wasnât a terribly clever child) was already quite old when I received him (he was a rescue eagle, luckily) but I did have him until I was 16. I donât know if I was more excited about getting my drivers license that year, or my new eagle! You should have seen the party we had when I got him, too! Grilled hot dogs and fire works and lemonadeâŠ. obviously I named my beautiful new eagle Freedom. Heâs too big to keep inside anymore, unfortunately, but weâve got a pretty comfortable roost for him on our apartmentâs balcony.
Ah, yes, the eagle ceremony! My Justice and I remember his quite well. (They had just come out with telepathic link transplants when I got him, which is how I know he remembers it.) Our celebration was quite modest, compared to Freedomâsâapple pie under a cloudless summer sky as we signed our Declaration of Interdependence. I still have the inked and talon-pierced document hanging on my wall.
what is thisÂ
Get out Canada
I was so scared during my pet eagle ceremony I almost threw up. But Stonewall Jackson and I have been best friends ever since. My dad and grandfather built a really massive roost behind the house for my eagle and my sistersâ eagles. Stonewall always waits for me when I get home from class since schools are getting so over protective and strict these days and wonât allow eagles indoors. Which just goes to show how much weâre bubble wrapping kids today. Back in the day, if you couldnât handle a few stitches because you pissed off the wrong kidâs eagle, you had to just man up and learn your lesson!
Ooo, I never miss a chance to tell this story! I had a rather unusual first eagle ceremony. The traditional giant American flag that you wave around to summon your eagle had been severely damaged the week prior (a ceremony that had not gone according to plan, but the child only suffered minor talon wounds. The flag took the brunt of the attack). Anyway, I couldnât use the normal flag so we had to search ALL OVER for one suitable for eagle summoning. Unfortunately the stripes werenât the correct shade of patriotic red so everyone was worried an eagle wouldnât show up at all. I had to stand in the middle of that wheat field, the wind creating amber waves out of it, shaking that flag in the air for over three hours. Everyone was just about to give up when suddenly Patriot appeared out of nowhere! He came to me so quickly it was like he was apologizing for being late. And weâve been together ever since.
Some people think itâs excessive to have two eagles. But what can I say, Iâm a two eagles kind of guy. Well, I can say, âYou must be a terrorist to call me out over my excesses,â but I digress. We donât have many open fields around here, so I got Liberty by waving my flag atop a decommissioned WWII aircraft carrier. I was kicking a couple of boxes of tea into the harbor for good measure, and there she was. I loved her so much I repeated the process a year later and got young Colbert here. Itâs hard work, raising two eagles, but I have two shoulders, after all. Besides, I know that the secret to happy and healthy eagles is plenty of Bud Light.
Oh man, the eagle ceremony. I was a weird fucking kid, okay, so I was totally sure that the eagle ceremony wasnât just going to net me my eagle and deepen the mystical bond between a citizen and their country, I thought I was going to get to turn into an eagle too. So me and my mom and my dad and my little brother are all standing in the old civil war battleground, surrounded by the ghosts of our fallen soldiers, and all and the problem here â itâs not usually a problem because I make sure to shave my beard off twice a day, three times on sundays â was that I am, actually, born on the fourth of July. So it wasnât just one eagle that showed up, it was pretty much every big old patriotic warbird in Missouri, all flapping around confused and pissed off, their innate senses of direction completely fucked up by the way firecracker babies warp Americaâs natural system of ley lines. And I was six, so grabbed the flag and ran with it over my shoulders, rippling in the wind, thinking it was going to turn into wings for me and I would go be an eagle with all the other eagles. Instead I just got mobbed by a freaked-out mess of nationalistic avians who all weighed more than I did. I lost half my nose and my whole left arm and spent most of fourth grade in reconstructive surgery getting machine guns welded on to the shattered remains of my ulna. Completely missed my little brotherâs eagle ceremony, which I will always regret, but it was all worth it to have met Columbia. I never did turn into an eagle on the outside, but I like to think those long hours in the hospital, feeding her rubbing alcohol and my own blood, have made me an eagle in my heart.Â
I usually never reblog long things, but this is worth reading, I swear.
Ah, see, in Canada things are very different. In Northern Ontario, for example, you never quite know what youâre going to get. Ralph, my beaver, is a very standard 20 lbs, and she came to me quite easily during my Oh Canada Calling. A friend of mine, though, ended up bonded to an 800lb bull moose (she named him Bambi, she was a weird kid).
Youâre so lucky you got Ralph! I had such issues during my Oh Canada Calling, and wound up with a pair of grice.
My eagle ceremony was weird. First of all, my parents felt I was too young to get my first eagle so I was the last one of my classmates to get an eagle. My parents are hippies so they got really into the spiritual aspects of it. Like, with my first eagle, I wasnât allowed to get the telepathic implant, they wanted me to do it ânatuallyâ so I had to sit and meditate with Artemis for the entire morning. Luckily she was awesome and creating a natural telepathic bond pretty much happened organically. Of course we had some of the traditional parts of the ceremony, the waving of the American flags while the guests chanted âUSA USA USAâ. But other than that it was a pretty relaxed eagle ceremony. Iâm glad my parents gave me the opportunity to develop a natural telepathic bond with my eagle because itâs good experience, but with my current eagle, Brunhilde, I went ahead and got the implants because Iâm so busy with school that I didnât have time to do the proper meditation. Brunhilde is a scientific type so she thinks the implant was a good call.
Ugh growing up in New Zealand is worse. You just stand outside and yell Xena war cries until a Hobbit pops their head up over the nearest hill and politely tells you to keep it the hell down. If youâre lucky, a Kiwi ambles up, but itâs basically like having a football with a handle for a pet. This is why I moved to AmericaâŠ
getting my american citizenship was both amazing and a bit traumatic. you have to do a lot of work before they will let you have an eagle ceremony, and the older you are the more difficult it can be. but after I passed all the tests and received my flag, my canada goose, laura secord, and I went to a shut-down auto plant and waited. eventually uncle sam, my eagle swooped out of the sky, and after a brief struggle, killed laura secord. it was sad, as we had been together for so long, but everyone knows canada geese are assholes, so I got over it quickly. because of my age we had to get the implants, but uncle sam and I are quite happy together.
Our family, well, the common word youâd have for us is âhillbillies,â but I donât mind. Weâve been living in our part of the Alleghenies for a long, long time, and my Paâs family in particular holds to the old values. Of course, this was a while back, so we didnât have the link, but I donât think the old man would have approved if theyâd been around. Anyway, he was determined that I would do things the right way, even though we both knew he was pretty sure I would be a disappointment to him. I didnât like to fish or hunt (to his shame, I was gunshy); I hated camping, and I wasnât good at swimming. Still, I was bound and determined to go for my eagle like our family had always done it.
He took me up into the Laurel Highlands, past where stupid old British General Braddock got himself shot in the back and where George Washington built and surrendered his first fort to the French and their Indian allies (though the enemy never got his cannon because George hid them). We got to the end of the track our family had always taken up into the mountains, and Pa gave me a panic button if I wanted to quit. Heâd come and get me then, but heâd give up on me, too. That was another thing we knew without saying.
Long story short, I was coming down a hill my second day, worn out because Iâd gotten little sleep in the cold, and upset because I hadnât seen or heard any birds or animals let alone an eagle (I wasnât what you would call an observant kid) when I tripped and fell. Down I went, and tumbled. I stopped on the bank of a stream,
I had my first aid badger from Girl Scouts, and supplies in my back pack, so I soaked my sprained ankle in the icy creek, then bound it up. By the time I found a branch long and strong enough to lean on, it was coming on sunset. I had two more days before Pa started to track me. I wanted at least to be partway back before he found me.Â
I had given up on that eagle. Heâd have to wait for my sisters Kim and Dani to get big enough. Theyâd find theirs; they were better in the woods than me already. I was just a daydreamer, someone who never had any sense. Put me to shelling peas or doing dishes and Iâd take twice as long as anyone else, because Iâd be telling myself stories. Thatâs what I did that night, to keep my mind off my pain. I told myself stories of brave girls who found their eagles and went off to be soldiers (girls werenât allowed to be in the Army then) or joined the FBI (we werenât allowed to be agents, either). If the owls who hooted or the deer who drank at the stream liked the story, that was good, too.
I must have dozed off sometime before dawn. When I woke, a golden eagle stood by my hand. Not a bald eagle, like all those in my family, or like my friendsâ parents had, or like people had on TV. A golden eagle, a big fellow with a trout in his beak. He dropped it on my knee.
At first I couldnât breathe. When I could talk, I said, âThanks, but I have jerky, and peanut butter, and celery, and ⊠things. You eat it.â And he did.
When Pa saw me limping on the track three days from where heâd dropped me, dirty and crazy-looking with twigs in my hair and no eagle on my shoulder, he stopped and looked at me, his weathered face like stone. Then Anthony Wayne, his eagle, began to raise hell on his shoulder as Tecumseh glided down from his tree top. Weâd found it was easier for him to fly ahead and wait for me than for him to ride on my shoulder, at least while I had one bum foot. This time, though, for the purposes of meeting family, he settled on my shoulder.
I describe things all the time, but I can never describe the look on my Paâs face. I only know that he reached a hand out to Tecumseh, who stretched out and touched his fingers with his beak. Finally Pa said, âItâs been right in front of me all along. Iâve been trying to make you a strong member of the family, and you are strong, but youâre also a medicine woman. A dreamer. And this is a dreamerâs eagle.â
âHis nameâs Tecumseh,â I said.
Tecumseh fluffed himself up with pride.
Pa grinned. âNow letâs see if I can get you two home. Your mother is going to read me out for letting you into the woods alone.â He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. One of my uncles and two of my aunts walked out of the woods, their own eagles on their shoulders. Tecumseh and I were going home like royalty.
Did Tamora Pierce just fucking add her own âhow I got my pet eagleâ story?
What a time to be alive, folks.
Omg! Omg!
Guys. Oh my gosh, guys. You think your childhoods were difficult?
I have a freaking gryphon.
Donât get me wrong, I love my darling Goldeneye to bits, but seriously, growing up was hell.
First of all, even though she was small when she came to me during my eagle ceremony, âsmallâ for a gryphon is not actually small. I live in the suburbs, and public high school was a nightmare. I was pretty much an outcast, called a freak basically every day. Because, of course, everyone else had eagles perching on their shoulders and looking cool, and hereâs little olâ me, running along late for class with a huge lion-bodied animal tromping along, trying to get into my bag for fish.
Second, I am tiny. I scrape 5âČ3âł with my arms up. I jump to fool the doctors into thinking Iâm 5âČ5âł. My half-eagle picks me up regularly to groom me and Iâm stuck there between her paws until she decides she has had enough. Sheâs honestly got the worst personality traits of both cats and birds and itâs insane.
But, to be honest, flying is awesome. And nobody tries to beat me or my friends up anymore.
(I still blame my brother for this though. He needed the good flag for Boy Scouts that day and left me with the wholey-cat-hairy-flag. I guess nobody should be surprised at the outcome.)
I see all these country folk are telling their eagle ceremony stories, so let me tell you how we do it in the city. There are specific days, every one or two months (depending on the population of your city) where all the kids who are looking for their eagles meet up in the local park. The park rangers make sure to put out apple pies around the park perimeter to alert nearby eagles that a ceremony is upcoming. Then, on the designated day, all of us kids walk to the park, outfitted in various striped and spangled clothing. Everyone sits in a circle, and waits until the park flag is raised, at which point veritable hordes of eagles will descend upon the seated group. At this point, it will become hard to see, but youâll know when your eagle picks you, as it will land on your shoulder. (Those of us who wish for a deep bond with our eagles often forgo a shoulder pad, so that the first blood on their talons will be ours.) Then, you can stand up, and, using the caws of your eagle as a guide, navigate towards the park entrance where a vet will be standing by to outfit both you and your eagle with the psychic implant.
We moved twice in the space of eighteen months around the time I was nine and ten. The cutoff age for what grade you were in was different in all three cities, and I was always too young or too old for eagle ed classes and never got a ceremony.
We donât have eagle ceremonies in my community. We go out, we chant âIâm Black and Iâm proudâ a dozen times or so, do the necessary offerings, and we bond with a nearby falcon. Itâs the pride thatâs key, but really why not make sure the kid learns to love themselves early. A positive message never goes astray. Like all raptors kestrels love high perches and cities are great that way, plus thereâs lots of food sources.  The best part of having a kestrel is that they will follow you anywhere and donât need much in the way of direct care if a child is skittish or a family has a lot of kids who have already done the ceremony. The only downside if your kid befriends someone who called a pigeon the first time their kestrel might decide that sucker is lunch and that can really make new friendships harder to maintain. Some kids are stronger than you would expect and bond with two kestrels, a coyote, and a murder of crows. The last kid to do that ended up the First Lady.Â
This is really fascinating! I never knew there was a whole ceremony for calling your eagle. In Italy, you just walk outside one day and the cat is waiting for you. You know which one is yours.Â
I gotta tell you, the ceremony I had was a giant pain the ass, but totally worth it. Iâm from the Midwest and live on the Mississippi River, and our ceremonies are always in early January on Bald Eagle Days. You have to go out on the dam, in freezing-cold weather with the wind whipping up the river, so the eagles can see you. And trust me, we always make sure the apple pies we bring are fresh so we can use them as hand-warmers. One of the guys from the Army Corps of Engineers puts up flags for us, and the we hold up the apple pies, wait, and try not to die of frostbite. I made my pie myself, and felt so lucky when Betsy chose me! She and I have been together since, and I have a fantastic nest for her. Which is lucky, because my husband is British, so he of course has a swan, and Bitey (cut him some slack, heâs had her since he was a tyke) does NOT get along with Betsy, but since their nests are separate, we work it out.
It really is incredible seeing Midwestern kids from where I grew up talk so casually about summoning their bald eagles these days. When I was young the eagle population was only just starting to rebound from DDT, and a sighting was an EventâI was in high school when a pair started nesting on a little pond a couple towns over, and kids and their parents from all over the state were camping out in the fields around the pond in all weather, for weeks, waiting for them to choose their bondmates.
Most kids in my class ended up with red-tailed hawksâthatâs what the summoning ceremonies were geared toward. I skipped a grade so I wasnât old enough when my class did the big ceremony out on the football field, but my girl scout camp held its own ceremony over the summer, and thatâs where I got Persephone, my turkey buzzard.
Sheâs been with me through a lot and our bond is really strong, but having a carrion-eater was not easy in those days. You came in for all sorts of bullying. I hope thatâs changing, too. I think it must be, with the eagle populations coming backâlast time I visited my parents, I counted five bald eagle sightings in a week, and four of them were eating roadkill.

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test weaving of penelope's tapestry on the chiusi skyphos:
reference:
there are some adjustments I need to make for tension, but I'd like to make the next version into a header band for a warp-weighted loom so I can try weaving the whole pot, including telemachus and penelope.
progress?
the proportions on the header band have improved, but I think I maybe should have doubled the weft threads for the warp.
also if anyone wants to knit the heddles for me, please be my guest. the last time I tied on heddles, I put the bar in the wrong place and had to redo the whole thing.
in true penelope fashion, I may need to unweave and start over, but at least now I've got the loom weights and heddles in place.
I started weaving the spear, penelope, and the right border via double-weave with the intent to leave the remaining warp threads unwoven (as they would be on penelope's loom on the pot), but predictably this is giving me tension problems. I either need to increase the loom weights or just weave the black layer and leave the orange warp threads unwoven, and then switch colors once I get to the heddle bars in the drawing, with the black warp threads floating on top. (I guess weft-faced tapestry would be a third option, if I add a ton more tension.)
either way, this is going to take me the full three years of penelope's stratagem, or perhaps the entire twenty years of odysseus's absence, primarily because clearing the sheds takes a monumental effort each time with this double-weave setup (which I'm not even sure is how it's supposed to be done, I kind of set it up based on vibes and what I thought made sense from floor loom setups).
I have 999 problems and warp tension is 997 of them (the other two are my selvedges).
hope is a skill
hope is a weapon you are trained to wield
favourite additions
You cannot hide this in the tags, bestie. This is too lovely to keep a secret.
I cant go to my local libary anymore because last year when I stopped by a librarian was reading a book I wrote under a pen name years ago. This book sold under 10k copies and I've literally only heard people talk about this book online *if* I went looking for it so I went up to them and tried to start a conversation like "oh hey I've heard of that book is it good?" Like hoping for some real feedback and she goes "yeah I love reading things by queer writers" and in a moment of terror I was like "oh but- hold on, I thought the author was some old hetero white guy?!" A thing I thought because I used my own dead grandpa's picture for the author pic because grandpa never had internet. I fake looked it up and was like "yeah if he was queer its not public?" And without looking up this absolute unit goes "oh the author bio is obviously fake. I'd bet my left leg the author is a west coast millennial non-binary queer who has never lived on the east coast." And then proceeded to rattle off a dozen linguistic flourishes that are specfic to the pacific northwest that are in the book and several that are nearly ubiquitous in the state where I said my pen name lives that are somehow completely absent from the book.
So you know. Got read for fifth and didn't even find out if she liked it.
for no reason whatsoever hereâs a reminder that if you consider yourself a leftist/punk/abolitionist/anarchist/radical in any sort of way and get called into jury duty, you are to become the most square person on earth during the jury questionnaire!!!
donât be that guy who says fuck the police in the jury questionnaire! that just gets you sent home! if you want to generate change, interact with the case and use your jury vote for good! ESPECIALLY if itâs a high profile case!
Remember, when you're on the jury, a good "that cop's story didn't add up" will sway a lot more Chads and Karens than "fuck the police."
Had jury duty, can confirm!
An innocent man is home with his family instead of spending his kids' whole childhoods in jail for "resisting arrest" when none of the cops could agree on why he was being arrested in the first place. (But it definitely had nothing to do with him being a Black man in a nice car, honest! đ)
And it still took like two hours of delibration after we'd heard all the evidence because one lady was so gung ho about believing everything the cops said, even when not a single goddamn one could agree with their own testimony, let alone their colleagues'.
Pointing out all the inconsistencies and admitted misconduct and letting people slowly come to their own conclusions as the trial played out was fucking hard, I won't lie. I can be patient, but it doesn't come naturally to me.
But. Yelling about how this was obviously a bs case would have shut everyone down and made them stop listening. Asking questions and letting people discuss how the cops tried to make xyz sound suspicious but it was totally normal, or about how if things played out the way the cops said then logically events should have proceeded in a totally different direction, and positing different theories that actually lined up with the evidence presented?
That got people thinking, and everyone realized that for a variety of reasons we all had reasonable doubts that the defendent had committed any of the crimes of which he was accused.
Being able to raise reasonable doubt among a jury of one's peers saves lives. If you get the chance, take it.
"Jury Room / The Holdout" (1959) by Norman Rockwell. One of my favorites of his. Particularly the gendered dynamic he depicts here.
Schism? Schism today?
Wow, I didn't have "catholic schism" on my 2026 bingo card
Schism today

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I DID THIS IM VERY PROUD OF IT YOU KNOW WHY
BECAUSE
WAIT FOR IT
LORDEÂ OF THE RINGS
But every dayâs like
Gold ring, greybeard, trippinâ on the mushrooms
Blood-mad Nazgul trashinâ the hotel room
We donât care
We got to Rivendell across the stream
And everybodyâs like
Mountains, dwarf mines, presents from the Elf Queen
Rowboats, rock paths, Gollum on a rope leash
We donât care
Yeah weâre simply gonna walk in there
Cuz weâre going to Moooooordor
(Moooooordor)
I finally found the original. I will now put it on my blog, bless this legendary post that ended up a meme
âDid you know that Juneteenth is also celebrated in a part of Mexico? Nacimiento Mexico was once home to thousands who escaped slavery in the US. As many as 10,000 slaves followed a clandestine Southern Underground Railroad to Mexico. âTo date, many Black Mexicans from the Texas area retrace a portion of the same route their African American ancestors followed in 1850 when they escaped slavery. âDescendants of slaves who escaped across the southern border observe Texasâs emancipation holiday with their own unique traditions in the village of Nacimiento. âSlave hunters would patrol the southern border for escapees, led by the Texas Rangers but the Mexican army would be there waiting for them (the slave hunters) to turn them away.
x
This NPR Article!!
As the U.S. Treasury considers putting Harriet Tubman on the $20 bill to honor her role in the northbound underground railroad, new attentio
Also, in the Mexican constitution, the first article mentions how slavery is prohibited in México and every enslaved person arriving here would be freed by virtue of being on Mexican soil, and protected by our laws
important and encouraging
Found a great (free) documentary on the Freedom House Ambulance Service here- https://www.wqed.org/freedomhouse/ (has captions too)!
I canât believe this is the first time Iâve heard about this. like for years Iâve been thinking âimagine if the police were in charge of ambulances and firefighting, all the horrible problems that would cause, wouldnât it be better if they were a separate thing, etcâ as a way to better understand/explain the fundamental problems with the existence of police. that framing was part of what made me start to understand why my friends were saying âACABâ and âabolish the policeâ. I had no idea it was literally once historically like that and not just a hypothetical tbh
Interview with one of the original members of Freedom House Ambulance
This is cool as shit, and a part of my own careerâs history that I didnât even know about.
This is a spot from an italian estate agency (we are governed by the right-wing party)
The woman says "Ridiculous..."
If you want to spread it elsewhere, here's the official link

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Where's that tweet about how American chants are "let's go [team name] and some other country (Irish?) fans are "I've made up a song about the other team's drinking problem to the tune of London Bridge Is Falling Down one two three"?
great work everyone hit the bathhouse