hotel st george

anonymous asked:

What has been your favorite day?

hmm I’m not sure if there’s a whole day I would call my favorite! I mean, I think the usual answer to this type of question is “my wedding day,” and up until the day I got married, my wedding day was absolutely my happiest and sweetest and most fun day! but I have had equally great (and some better!) moments and days since then (and our wedding was a pretty great day, let me tell ya!) so I guess I will give you a few of my most favorite moments since then!

new years eve of this year–we were in Ireland, on our honeymoon, and we were staying at a cottage in the middle of nowhere–and I feel like when you read “middle of nowhere,” you will think, “in a tiny town somewhere.” but this was miles away from that tiny town. that tiny town was in the middle of nowhere and we were a good fifteen minute drive away from that town. anyways, it was pretty much constantly rainy and romantic and perfect and we got to explore during the day and cuddle in our warm little cottage and do nothing or do whatever we wanted–it was perfect. but for dinner, we got dressed up (I had lipstick on and did my makeup all fancy) and went to this small pub in the tiny town, called Pepper’s Pub. we were planning on staying for dinner and coming back to the cottage to have our own Guinness celebration and ring in the new year but that is not what happened. we arrived at Pepper’s at around 6:30 and didn’t leave until almost 1 am–we got appetizers (delicious cheese bread) and Guinness and listened to the live band that had begun playing some pretty cheesy Irish music (there was a guy playing guitar and a guy ‘playing’ keyboard but really he was just pushing the button on a bunch of recorded tracks)–and! our server Gus, who was the coolest guy (he bought us a few rounds of his fav beer and told us all the cool spots to see!), had a daughter that was 7 or 8 and kept making reallllly strange faces everytime we saw her and she did this weird little tap-dance for everyone but she was only looking at her mom and her face looked extra squished and just kept getting redder and redder! haha. anyways, people had started dancing but Zach didn’t really want to join yet. so we had dinner along with another round of Guinness, and by this time, I was prettttty convincing so we danced along for a few songs and it was the FUNNEST. we were by far the youngest people there and somehow everyone in the entire town knew we had just gotten married so basically everyone in the pub was all coming up to us and congratulating us and giving us their best marriage advice and giving us hugs, it was so wonderful. and then we had dessert (THE most delicious dessert I think I will ever have–rhubarb crumble with custard and strawberry ice cream!!!!!!!!!!!!) and a round of Smithwicks this time, followed by a glass of Irish whiskey each (delicious btw) and at this point, the band was calling us to the dance floor for a newlywed dance and we couldn’t really say no. but the song they played had close to seven or eight verses and was seemingly never-ending and everyone was looking at us with that “aw"  look on their faces–it was terribly awkward and wonderful all at once! then at MIDNIGHT (this is the best part), with no announcement of any kind, everyone in the entire pub came to the dance floor and joined hands and the band started playing and we all sang Auld Lang Syne, while holding hands in a lumpy circle. and sometimes parts of the circle would pull their section to the middle and then come back out and then another part would do the same and everyone was so happy and smiling and it was like a giant happy Irish family. and then after the song, everyone was hugging and kissing cheeks and cheering!! and, after being together for nearly five years, Zach and I FINALLY had our very first New Years Eve kiss! it was such a magical and happy night, one of my favorites ever. another of my favorite moments was seeing Forest’s squishy little face on the ultrasound screen after we got in a pretty bad car crash a few weeks ago. basically, a really old lady named Judy ran a red light going close to 50mph (in a turn only lane) and hit our car, flipped her car and bounced over another car, and landed upright. our car was wrecked but no one was hurt, other than a bit of soreness, Judy’s car was wrecked and she got banged up pretty badly but is doing ok now, and the third car barely got scratched (MIRACLE). right after the crash happened, and seeing Judy's car flip and all the glass shatter, I was thinking "crap that person is dead” and started freaking out. once we figured that she was ok and everyone was ok, I remembered “oh yeah, I’m pregnant” and all the scary thoughts started rushing through my head of everything that could be wrong. Zach’s mom had me go sit in the other car, that had the AC running (it was like 100 degrees that day in Utah) and I just remember looking at a map of Utah that was in the seat pocket in front of me and drinking my water and crying and praying that he would be ok and that nothing would happen with him. it was also the first time I truly felt like a mother, cause of all the worrying and pleading with God. I don’t know if I have ever pleaded (pled?) with God like that before. anyways, I had to ride in an ambulance to the hospital and the EMTs were the nicest guys, and were very comforting. and the doctor I had at the hospital was the funniest lady, dr. dickens–she took my mind off the worrying until we could get the ultrasound technician in there. then, when we heard that fast little heartbeat and saw his tiny little face, I tried so hard to hold my tears in, cause at that point, I was the only one crying for most of that day–I am very emotional! plus also pregnant with hormones and all– and all of zach’s family was in the hospital room with me and Zach was on the phone with insurance peeps all the day long and I really just didn’t want to cry. but I couldn’t even hold em in, man. I was so happy. and his face is sooo cute, you guys! I sometimes still cant believe me and Zach made a human hehe. another wonderful aspect of that day was the biggest blessing ever–the couple who’s car was also involved in the accident (the car that was bounced over by Judy’s car), owns a hotel in St George (where we were) and they gave us TWO free rooms for that night, one was for me and Zach alone! serious kindness! so once we were done at the hospital, we got us some food (Chick-fil-a spicy grilled chicken sandwich and sweet tea, obv) and got our butts to that hotel and swam in the pool for like two hours. we were the only ones in the whole pool! me and Zach’s sisters were doing handstands and other fancy tricks and being mermaids and then when Zach got in, we were giving each other piggy back rides and trying to keep our heads up and we all had a giant splash fight and it was the greatest. and then we had outback steakhouse for dinner and thanked the Lord for our lives. the perfect end to a stressful and scary day. another one of my favorite days was on Tuesday. I had two doctors appointments and had to get blood tests done and Zach had a meeting near where my appointments were so we went together to SLO (San Luis Obispo fyi) to get stuff done, but we had a little break of like two hours where we couldn’t really go back to work cause we still had one more thing in SLO to do. so we got lunch at the Honeymoon Café in Pismo Beach–we got a cowboy breakfast burrito (has sweet potatoes and salsa and bacon and eggs!!!!!) and a BLT wrap and side salad and shared em and it was gooood. so good. then we walked like a mile down to the pier and sat on a bench and the ocean was literally Kool-Aid blue, I don’t understand how it gets like that! but it was beautiful and the sun was so warm and the breeze was perf and we just sat there for close to an hour and talked about what we are going to do next. there has recently been a suuuuper big sense of uneasiness with our future because we pretty much have to decide a lot of big things very soon, but a lot of those decisions depend on other littler things that haven’t happened yet and so its just a lot of unknown stuff. and it was so so good to talk about it. Zach is so good at being gentle and comforting me when I get worked up or emotional and is so sure of himself and he knows that the Lord is in control and has a plan and that we will be ok. it was such a sweet time getting to sit and relax and talk and cuddle a little on a bench on the Pismo Pier. then after work, we had to get groceries and we knew that we’d be over budget since we just got back from two weeks away and our cupboards and fridge are literally bare except for granola and rice and expired eggs and probably ice cream. so we went to Costco (and picked up my photos from my Pentax!!!!!!!) and Trader Joes and we were both just in really funny moods and everything was hilarious and ironic and it was just one of those times! plus then we found $10 in the parking lot and gave it to a homeless man on the corner and he said, “hippies unite!!!!!!” and that just was the cherry on top! some other favorite moments of mine: camping for the first time after we were married and cuddling all the night long/not having to put up two tents, feeling baby Forest move (EVERYTIME is cool, i swear) (especially when he is literally moving in response to his daddy playing music!), cooking in our underwear, seeing the neighbors wolf dog hobble over to us with a literal smile on his face, waking up every day to a thousand kisses on my face and neck and zachs beard/hair suffocating me, break time walks, Zach putting cocoa butter on my belly (side note: once, I said, “ok, cocoa butt time!” by accident and Zach started chanting “cocoa butt! cocoa butt!” over and over again and chased me around pinching my butt and tickling me and it was SCARY and fun and crazy. and now anytime he says that, I brace myself and prepare for a tickle battle.) sorrryyyyy for the novel! but I really liked this question and it was fun to remember these sweet moments!!

nothing makes me happier than angry and confident queer bucky tbh

bucky who learned early on that nothing made straight people more uncomfortable than queer people liking themselves, who was told if you’re going to be like that, at least have the decency to be ashamed of it and resolved to love himself ten times more

bucky who thrived in the gay community in brooklyn in the thirties, who kissed girls in central park and boys in the st. george hotel and people who were none of the above in the bars and dance halls of the village, who found the places where the queer community overlapped with the artistic and literary as well as politically radical ones 

who counts homosexual among his identities right next to jewish and working class 

who has no desire to assimilate with or appeal to straight people

who absorbs the new knowledge and progress of the 21st century like a sponge, who cries with joy when he learns the word pansexual but criticizes commodification and sanitization and whitewashing of lgbt movements

who calls straight men “honey” to make them uncomfortable and has done since nineteen thirty-fucking-eight

gooood i just love queer bucky 


1939 New York World’s Fair Matchbook for the Hotel St. George, Brooklyn

For my birthday the other month I decided to splurge and go shopping on Ebay for a few cool items for myself. Happy birthday me! This is the first of the handful of things I got.

So this is a matchbook featuring an advertisement for the Hotel St. George, focused of the 1939 New York World’s Fair which was held in the (relatively) nearby Flushing Meadows.

The outer cover of the matchbook (now flattened) features an illustration of the Hotel St. George on one side, with the text “Greater New York’s Largest Hotel” by the fold-line. The opposite side features a silhouette of the iconic Trylon and Perisphere. It looks even cooler in person than it did online — the front in printed in metallic gold! The inside of the matchbook features a map showing transport options between the hotel and the fair ground. It highlights travel by train, automobile, and subway. It’s just a super cool item and I fell in love with it when I saw it — I also got some 1930 World’s Fair postcards to go with it.

The Hotel St. George is located at 100 Henry Street, Brooklyn Heights and was indeed the largest hotel in New York City at the time, occupying a full city block surrounded by Clark Street, Pineapple Street, Hicks Street, and Henry Street.

The 1939 New York World’s Fair ran between April 30, 1939 and October 31 1940, and was a futuristic showcase of technology from around the world — “the world of tomorrow”. It attracted more than 44 million people over the two seasons that it ran. It’s a great example of a real-world equivalent of Howard’s Stark Expo that Steve and Bucky attended.

If you remember back to my pervious purchase of a 1943 map of Brooklyn, you’ll know I’m not suppose to be buying books, because books and moving aren’t friends. So sad really. Thus, for now it’s just cool postcards, matchbooks, maps, and other printed ephemera for me.

In addition to the matchbook, I also bought four postcards, three of which are official 1939 New York Worlds Fair postcards featuring different attractions. The fourth postcard shows an illustrated view of the Brooklyn Bridge and part of the neighbouring streets of Brooklyn Heights in the 1920s. I’ll post these a little later on :)


Exclusive, never seen before photographs from The Smithsonian’s new exhibit “Captain America and the Howling Commandos”! Click for bigger versions.

James Barnes, 1939 - taken by Steven Rogers outside “St. George Hotel”, found in Captain Rogers’ personal possessions.

Steven Rogers, 1937 - place and photographer unknown, found in the Captain’s Brooklyn apartment.

James Barnes, 1938 - place unknown, taken by Steven Rogers, found in the Captain’s Brooklyn apartment.

Steven Rogers, 1936 - wrapped in Bucky Barnes’ coat on an expectedly cold trip to Coney Island; found in James Barnes’ personal possessions, photographer unknown.

Steven Rogers and James Barnes, 1944 - last known photograph of James Barnes, taken by Gabriel Jones just a few hours before his death.

Bob Rogers: ‘Where’s George?’

Ringo Starr: “He’s writing a letter.’

BR: 'He’s writing a letter home.’

Paul McCartney: 'Yes.’

BR: 'Well, you’ve just started…’

PM: 'He’s a good lad to his mum, y'know, is George.’

—  Interview at the Hotel St. George in Wellington, New Zealand, 23 June 1964
On the A Line

This is a birthday present for actualmenacebuckybarnes. Happy birthday, bb!


He goes to Brooklyn after. He knows it’s supposed to be an important place to him; he read that in the exhibit. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, two scrappy boys from Brooklyn.

He is no longer a scrappy boy from the streets of New York, that much he knows without having to read it.

Still, he feels something deep in his bones, something that tells him to go. When he steps off the bus at the Port Authority, teeming with people, it’s like meeting a ghost: He knows this place, except he doesn’t. Deja vu, he thinks, of course he’s been here before. (Most of his missions have been burned from his mind, wiped away—but he thinks that they must never have sent him here, because with every step he remembers. He remembers the feeling of his boots on these floors.)

He goes up to the map of the subway, deciding to take the A train to Brooklyn Bridge Park for reasons he doesn’t really understand; it just feels like the right place to start. He thinks that maybe he used to like parks. It’s the middle of the day, and although the train isn’t quiet, it sure isn’t busy. He finds a seat and leans back. He keeps his hands in his lap, folding them over each other, making sure to keep his eyes trained on the people around them. He knows that he looks nervous, that he looks like he’s watching out for someone, and he is; he’s always waiting for someone to find him. To take him out. At this point, he doesn’t care what it looks like.

The woman across the aisle—short, dark hair spiked into a mohawk with splashes of pink, eyeliner, tattoos—watches him, raises one pierced brow, and goes back to the book she’s reading. He can’t see the title, just that book is old and fat and heavy. He remembers watching people read books on the trains; thinks that maybe newspapers were his choice.

Has a distinct feeling, then, that he must have preferred chatting with fellow passengers, and then his hands stop moving. He closes his eyes and breathes deep, the smell of grease and dirt and humanity. He concentrates on that. (He doesn’t like remembering, doesn’t like these sudden spikes of someone else bubbling up from under the surface, sharks underwater, except that thinking of it as someone else makes it as if he’s a someone right now, and he doesn’t feel like someone. He just feels lost, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he would like to be found.)

When he opens his eyes again, they’ve passed three stops, and the woman with the book is gone. He liked her hair, he thinks, and then he closes his eyes again. He can’t bring himself to look out the window at the tunnels. He knows that the sharks underwater liked to watch the tunnel walls whipping by, and he’s not going to give in to them, not yet.

They finally get to the High Street stop, just over the border into Brooklyn. He steps off the train, automatically checks for tactical teams; he’s always expecting bullets. There is no one suspicious in his line of vision, and he moves on. He knows how to walk like someone with confidence, even if he feels like he’s collapsing in on himself, and he draws himself up into something—someone—who could perhaps belong in this city. Someone who knows where he’s going. He takes the stairs up to the street; his eyes linger on a worn sign for the Hotel St. George. He remembers that name. It unsettles him.

If the Port Authority was a ghost, it’s because all bus terminals have a certain similarity to them. There’s a particular frenzy that accompanies long-distance bus travel. It’s the type of stop-and-go, hurry-and-wait, that no part of him has ever liked. It’s dirty and grimy and harried, and he fucking hates it. Cities, on the other hand, are much more unique beasts, much less recognizable. The ways they bustle and the ways they are built seem so much more varied; transit is for all the ways that people can travel, but cities are for all the ways that people can live, and he remembers enough of his life to know that a single person can, it seems, live in infinite ways.

If the Port Authority was a ghost, High Street is whatever is left behind when a ghost leaves this green earth. Some part of him recognizes it, but more is baffled. He stops at the top of the stops (moves instinctively to the side, to be out of the way) and leans on the green rail. He stares. So many of the buildings are unfamiliar; so many of them are new, clearly built after the war, part of the transformation from a manufacturing neighborhood to the upscale neighborhood this now evidently is. He doesn’t like the unease he feels at this. The sharks are clamoring, are upset. They know that this is different, that this is new, even if whoever he is doesn’t.

He puts his hands in his pockets, walks forward. He tries not swivel his head about like a tourist, but he can’t help the way his eyes catch things—that’s new, he thinks, or why the hell would they put that there, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it. He finally stops at a corner when he realizes he’s getting close to Brooklyn Bridge Park. He knows the building in front of him, really knows it. It’s brick, and the brick has a sort of bluish tint under its red; he’d always liked that bluish tint.

He has some recollection of being sixteen, of being a kid with a smart mouth and a chip on his shoulder, and of only noticing that blue tint because it was pointed out to him one day after school. Remembers blond hair and skinny limbs and this time he squeezes his eyes shut very, very hard. He hates remembering, he hates it, it makes his heart race and his head feels like it’s full of bees and it’s been so, so long since his heart has raced because of anything other than chasing and being chased (and he supposes this is still a chase, just of a different sort, and he might like this chase least of all).

He needs to sit, he thinks. In his pocket he can feel the wallet he’d pick-pocketed off a wealthy-looking fellow in D.C. There’s a small shop across the street; he’ll get some bread, and find a bench in the park and feed the pigeons, or ducks if they’re around. If anyone is looking for him, looking for the Winter Soldier, they won’t be looking for the man in the park feeding pigeons, trying not to feel the world around him.

He harbors the thought that maybe, just maybe, if he is the kind of man who could sit and feed the pigeons, maybe there is something left for him here in this city that he almost remembers.

He thinks that he would like to be the kind of man who could sit and feed the pigeons, here in Brooklyn.