World War Two
Published 12 Aug 2021Astrid talks about spying all the time, but what was it actually like for people on the ground? We look through the lens of the British Special Operations Executive (SOE) to find out!
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August 13, 2021
Spycraft and the Special Operations Executive – WW2 – Spies & Ties 07
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Millennial maternalism
In The Critic, Kittie Helmick considers the Millennial generation and their pronounced maternalistic worldview:
“Millennials” by EpicTop10.com is licensed under CC BY 2.0
The popular conception of millennials paints the generation as immature, living an extended adolescence: late to marry, late to have children, late to buy houses. Even the retort — that society hasn’t delivered on its promises; that an unfavourable job market has prevented them from living the lives expected of adults — reads as a refusal to accept responsibility.
The response to Simone Biles’s withdrawal from the Olympics demonstrates that the opposite is true. Millennials are not behaving like teenagers — they are responding like mothers. The breakdown in family life combined with quantum leaps in telecommunication technology has sent the 90s generation to their computer screens for meaningful connections. Instead of growing out of video games and chat rooms, millennials have grown with them. Online communities have not stunted young people’s growth, but absorbed it.
Millennials — now aged in their late 20s and early 30s, some with families of their own — have directed all the maternal instincts of adulthood towards online media. Rather than collect family albums, they amass Instagram and Tumblr accounts with thousands of images of their favourite characters and celebrities. Notifications act as little appeals for attention akin to the tug of a child’s hand. This otherwise unrealised yearning to nurture underpins much of the affective response to news stories about the latest victim of injustice.
There are many strands entangled in the knot of American leftism, but the maternalism of millennials manifests in the self-righteous defensiveness of Biles’s supporters and the emotional outrage they direct at anyone who criticizes the gymnast. Stripped of patriotic sentiments and religious traditions, millennials have nowhere to direct their human instincts of loyalty and affection but at the figures (fictional or fabled) who occupy so many of their hours.
The language of critical theory cloaks these sentiments in intellectual rigor, lending some dignity not only to the mouthpieces of these ideas, but also to the intended objects of their affections. Millennials don’t have to worry about infantilising Biles if they call her an “exceptional Black woman”, even while they simultaneously invoke the moral standards of a kindergarten classroom in asking, “How do we make it our responsibility to love and protect each other?”
Witness these impulses play out in the more thinly veiled account of a father who wonders if he has turned “soft” because his parental cares now eclipse his admiration of Kerri Strug’s feat during the 1996 Olympics: performing a “one-legged vault” on an injured ankle. The father implies that only a monster could cheer when a teenage girl sacrifices her health for victory. He makes no secret of the reason behind his change of heart: “Now that I have two young daughters in gymnastics, I expect their safety to be the coach’s number one priority.”
There is nothing amiss in his love for his daughters, or the extension of that concern to other children, but this father has lost sight of other principles that might compete for priority in the spotlit, split second decisions of athletes and trainers in Olympic competitions. Loyalty to something greater than oneself — to Strug’s teammates, to the country she represented — has fallen out of the picture, leaving behind only the petty incentive of winning. This perspective permits no higher motive to the coach responsible for urging Strug on, than greed for a gold medal.
Millennial parents run to the opposite extreme of the Spartan mother: instead of inculcating self-sacrifice for the good of the community, they insist, “Not my child.” They see their role as shielding children from the dangers of the outside world, rather than preparing them to face it.
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[Military 101] NATO Unit Counters – Niehorster Dialect
Military History Visualized
Published 26 Jul 2016» HOW YOU CAN SUPPORT MILITARY HISTORY VISUALIZED «
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The Counter-Design is heavily inspired by Black ICE Mod for the game Hearts of Iron 3 by Paradox Interactive
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Ethan Meixsell – “Demilitarized Zone” (the Irony :D)
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QotD: Whisky, whiskey, and Canadian whiskey
I’m from Kentucky, and people tell me I should be loyal to Bourbon, but I see the whiskey hierarchy sort of like this:
- Scotch. Nectar of the Gods. Complex, smooth, and just the right thing to fill yourself up on before painting yourself blue and riding off to kick the crap out of a bunch of English gits. Lagavulin and Macallan (16 years) are the reason people have been able to tolerate life in the scrubby, bleak landscape of northern Great Britain. Or whatever the island that contains Scotland is called. For all I know, “Great Britain” includes the Falklands.
- Bourbon and sour mash. Only good for mixing, unless you spend at least forty dollars, because Bourbon is usually harsh. And that includes Wild Turkey. But the better ones are smooth and full-flavored, albeit about as complex as a Kool Pop. I like Blanton’s. Maker’s Mark gold is okay, but only if your friends are serving it free of charge. People holler about Knob Creek all the time. I’m suspicious of old-timey-looking products that didn’t seem to exist until 1985. I suspect that it’s a gimmick aimed at yuppie suckers, but I have not actually tried it.
- Irish whiskey. Wonderfully smooth; especially Black Bush, which is my favorite. Great subtle flavor. Even the cheaper brands are pretty good. But zero complexity.
- Canadian. This makes a good substitute for windshield-washer fluid. Absolutely the most boring whisky (with no “E”) in the universe. Tastes like brown water. Alcoholics love Canadian whisky, because there’s not much to it, and you can drink it day after day without much effort. I can’t believe Canadians waste their time driving to the distillery to make this garbage. Laughable.
I guess now I’ll get flames from the unfortunate people who enjoy Jack Daniel’s, and from pedantic losers who drink obscure distilled beverages made in Wales.
Canadian Club and Crown Royal drinkers won’t flame me until at least noon, because they are all alcoholics and won’t be done with their morning retching until then.
I still need to find some really bad Scotch on a par with Jack Daniel’s. Something packed in plastic bottles or even cans. You need a good cheap harsh whisky to marinate BBQ. The good stuff, I reserve for marinating myself.
Steve H., “Booze and Birds: My Stressful Life”, Hog On Ice, 2005-03-20
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