Nautical but nice

Anna - 25 - Melbourne - Librarian

pastelnerd asked: So that swing dancing gif had a lot ladies dancing together in pairs which is something you don't see a lot of nowadays. Was it because dancing alone or as a group wasn't really a thing back then? Did guys ever dance together as friends like that?

historicallyaccuratesteve:

Dancing in pairs was definitely a thing at the time— there doesn’t seem to have been a lot of solo or group dancing, at least not in the way we dance today.

Dancetime Publications has a breakdown of dancing in the 1930s. There were group dances and circle dances (like square dancing or contra), and many dances had callers to tell you the steps as you went.

I’m guessing that it was socially acceptable for women to dance with each other and less so for men to do so, but I don’t know that for certain. It probably depended at least in part on the social setting and the ratio of men to women at any given event.

Interestingly I’ve noticed in modern swing dancing (or at least in the Melbourne scene, which is where I am), it’s pretty much the same! Mostly m/f lead/follow couples, with a few f/f lead/follows. (I LOVE dancing with female leads, it is the greatest, and will often dance around solo with girlfriends at social gigs.) I think maybe it’s a combo of the gender ratio - more women than men in the scene, and some insecurity about learning to follow as a guy? 

The whole gender roles/politics thing in modern swing is fascinating; I can’t help but wonder what Steve’d think, and also, would he want to go swing dancing/like jazz music?

A soft woman is simply a wolf
caught in meditation.

Pavana पवन (via 12sn)

Naturally it is not quite that simple, but yes, that is the “”“gist.”“”

(via charmcore)

(Source: maza-dohta, via charmcore)

Your mother did not raise you with a wolf in your chest so you could howl over losing a man.

—read this on here today and i haven’t stopped thinking about this quote since (via littlebirdsings)

(Source: pluiedem, via littlebirdsings)

The term “tear gas” is a misnomer. For one thing, “tear gas” seems to imply something innocuous— you would think it’s just a chemical that makes you tear up. In fact, tear gas is a dangerous, potentially lethal chemical agent which is outlawed under the Chemical Weapons Convention for use during wartime. As the Omega Research Foundation argues: “Less-lethal weapons are presented as more acceptable alternatives to guns. But these weapons augment rather than replace the more lethal weapons. Euphemistic labels are used to create the impression that these weapons represent soft and gentle forms of control. CS is never referred to by the authorities as vomit gas, in spite of its capacity to cause violent retching.” NGO Physicians for Human Rights believes that “ ‘tear gas’ is a misnomer for a group of poisonous gases which, far from being innocuous, have serious acute and longer-term adverse effects on the health of significant numbers of those exposed.”

What is tear gas? Facing Tear Gas (via gowns)

(Source: roundedcomms, via therumpus)

historicallyaccuratesteve:

marthajefferson:

twostriptechnicolor:

Swing dancing, 1939.

99% certain this is footage from the 1939 World’s Fair at Corona Park in Queens, NY (note the national flags in the background of the bottom two gifs and the artwork and statues on the building in the upper right gif).

estrella-fuego:

fatalscroll:

Zelda Wynn Valdes was the first black female fashion designer to own her own boutique. Her famous, figure hugging silhouette was worn by stars such as Dorothy Dandridge, Josephine Baker, Ella Fitzgerald, Joyce Bryant, Maria Cole, Edna Robinson and later superstars like Gladys Knight and opera diva Jessye Norman. She also designed dresses for legendary figures like Marlene Dietrich and Mae West.

Valdes came up with the costume for the Playboy Bunny which remains the same to this day.

I’m gagging.

Like SHIT.

(via finalfashion)

He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.

What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.

I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.

I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.

It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.

It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.

—Catalina Ferro, “Manifesto”   (via mellonball)

(Source: sincerely-the-end, via flannery-culp)