Pinned
so embarrassing when i forget im checking someone's blog and i start scrolling through and liking and reblogging shit as if it's just my dash. it feels like wandering into someone else's apartment and not noticing and making myself lunch
reblog if i can wander into your apartment (blog) and make myself lunch (like and reblog as if it's my dash)
not a week goes by without me remembering this jhonen vasquez strip and i so often want to reference it and i keep forgetting it is not, in fact, a well-known meme
Every time I see this I lose my marbles I love it so much. "For some reason I yelled who is in here as I was falling" is the point where my soul leaves my body. God I love.
BAH HAH
@niko4now : @capn-o-my-soul He has an American toilet where the bowl is really wide, and so he fell in when he went to poop in the middle of the night.
People used to comment on web comics.
People used to comment on fanfiction.
People used to comment on fanart.
People used to comment on OCs.
I hate "content" culture.
I hate "consuming content" and scrolling immediately to the next thing.
People used to be excited about the art that other people created.
People used to want to share that excitement with creators.
I hate this future.
Once someone tagged art that I made with "woah" and I think about it at least once a week. Someone else said "oh neat" once. Someone else WROTE A WHOLE DAMN POEM IN THE COMMENTS. Anyways even just one word can change how someone sees their art. You don't even have to think about it too hard. You could put a keyboard smash and I'd probably cry from joy.
I'm also trying hard to interact more, I understand that it's hard to break away from opening your phone and being in Content Consumption Mode.
I honestly hadn't stopped to think about this until I saw this post... I used to think people would get annoyed if they were notified everytime someone posted a comment on their art. I never thought about it being like fanfiction and that they might appreciate comments. Frick, that means I'm part of the problem on here. Thats gotta change.
Every tag, every comment, every reblog with some kind of reaction/opinion or even just one word. All of these things are precious to creators!
I spent countless hours reading and rereading tags full of love people left under my art. All the people i could gift a laugh to or even inspire with something I made mean more to me then you could ever know.
It's what makes me proud of my art!
And to think that you could have enjoyed my art in silence and I would have never known.
A very special shout out to the person who tagged "these mcgriddles make me want to shit so bad" on fanart in 2013 I think about you once a day
I love every comment I get on my art! It's so nice to see people interacting with what has taken me hours to make. Even if your comment takes a couple seconds to write out it makes my day that you took time to do it :)
The Origin Story of Rhinoceress
Cindy Shears used to be an ordinary girl until one day, she discovered her superpowers. However, her family were not happy about it so they took her in to be studied by Doctor Kavita Rao. She discovered a DNA variance unique to Cindy and suggested her parents leave Cindy in her care until a cure could be found. Abandoned and locked up, Cindy used her super strength to break out and become the Rhinoceress. While she does engage in some illegal work as a super villain, she also bartends and bounces at the Invisible Light nightclub.
Okay, I love her. Especially telling Klaw his vibes are bad, but also the “legally distinct from the x gene”
Leonid Pasternak (Ukrainian, 1862–1945) - The Torments of Creative Work
oh leonid, we're really in it now
Leonid, you really understand it.
Save me Leonid, from my empty Word document
Leonid what should I do about the emails
Babe are you okay? you reblogged Leonid Pasternak's Torments of Creative Work again
Leonid Pasternak is the best! My favorite of his is The Night Before The Exam (1895).
My man Leonid continues to be relatable
Now consider: a man in a dress. Not in drag or all dressed up or anything. No accessories, no makeup or styling, just wearing the dress, some ratty boxers and muddy sneakers. No socks or stockings, hairy legs in the open air, just raw dogging those nasty shoes. Hair mildly damp. Visibly sleep-deprived. Bruises on shoulders, elbows and knees, left palm bleeding. Sitting on a curb on the street, shivering, looking wretched, and absolutely miserable.
I forgot where I was going with this.
done. next challenge
A dog wearing a motorcycle helmet, sitting on a skateboard and knitting.
I made him an Italian greyhound, hope that's OK
Now, everyone picture the dog offering the man a little knitted greyhound.
fascinating.
The Human Mind is a wonder and a delight
the distortion of "there is potential profit we did not earn" as "there is money we lost" is fascinating and disgusting to me. "megamediaconglomerate lost $1,000,000,000 to piracy this year" is a flat out lie. it is not true. they did not have a billion dollars, that they now do not have. they felt entitled to one billion dollars, that they did not have, and still do not have. it's an infuriating perversion of the truth
"I (an employee) didn't earn $50k this year because a CEO hoarded it" and "The CEO is crying about money that they wished they could hoard but didn't get" are very different statements. Just as a reminder
once I did an Americorps position & I won’t get into exact details but two months in my one other coworker & I were rly frustrated bc we weren’t doing anything in our job description or the contract we signed whatsoever & instead we were basically being used as extremely underpaid retail staff and slowly the ppl in charge of us were cornering us more and more into that until I was finally like okay….what the hell? I opened up the work contract I signed and realized I hadn’t done a single thing listed in my role so I sent a long (professionally worded) complaint email to Americorps and they called me an hour later in total outrage because it turned out the work we were being made to do was explicitly prohibited by the program and we were being 100% exploited for cheap labor and the very next day we got a new supervisor and spent the rest of our year doing what we signed up to do and it rocked.
I ♥️ Complaining
[ID: tweet by gianmarco @GianmarcoSoresi:
"Nobody likes a complainer but they're needed for a functioning society. You know how humanity gets compared to frogs in boiling water and everything is getting bad so gradually we won't even notice? Not if l'm around". End of ID.]
I have often been asked: "Why do Scandinavians complain and criticise so much? You have it so good!"
Answer is: "To keep it being good and push for even better. If you stop complaining, the greedy and the power hungry will slowly remove more and more of the good ideas."
I think it needs to become common knowledge that "inability to read social cues" can show up as overcompensating.
You don't know how much misbehaviour is allowed, so you become the perfect child who never tests rules.
You don't know if someone is irritated with you, so you'll be extra generous and self-effacing.
You don't know how much is expected of you at work so you'll kill yourself in a minimum-wage job and not notice that nobody else is working like this.
"Hardworking and quiet" should be as much of an autism red flag as "ignores rules and doesn't know when to stop talking". Or why don't we just start using words to communicate so i can stop tracking everybody's eyebrow twitches, that would be great.
Oh.
Oohhh…
OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH…….
”How come you’ve never seen the Amazon rainforest if you’re from Brazil?” big country
Here, this should make it clearer:
Wait, hold on, I can illustrate it in a funnier way
There’s around one and a half Frances between me and the Amazon rainforest.
I had no idea “coach” could also mean “bus” until like, a second ago and I stared at your reply in disbelief for a good minute because I thought you were telling me to do the trip in a horse-drawn carriage. I was like “Coach?! Like Cinderella?! Where would I even get- that HAS to be slower than a car!”
Behind my home winds an Arroyo. Elephant Grass, an escapee from the landscaping of some wealthy immigrant upstream, spreads downstream each year. Far from its home range in the foothills of the Himalayas, there is no Monsoon Season to break up the strands, and it does not flower. I wonder if the entire strand is a single organism. Each winter, the frosts kill everything above ground, leaving ten foot tall tinder to split and fray in the sun.
There is a Rapeseed plantation downcountry. They don’t call themselves that: if you ask them, they’d say they are an Agricultural Conglomerate Cultivating Organic Non-GMO Canola Oil. But as I watch the blooms of escaped Rapeseed sprout many miles downwind of any legal claim, I feel compelled to use the antiquated nomenclature.
Off the coast, Spiny Lobster go about their days, their brilliantly colored shells and large antenna distinguishing them from the Lobster I sell at Work. That Lobster grew in waters many hundreds of miles north, on the other side of Canada, in Alaska. Our California Spiny Lobster is worth 3x as much in China, and most of those caught will be shipped there to be consumed. Petroleum will be burned both ways; refrigerators and freezers running all the while. Much of the lobster I defrost does not sell, not for $45/lb, and inevitably will be thrown away, uneaten.
The drywall in my home is mostly Gypsum. They say that there’s a vein of Gypsum in New Mexico big enough to supply the USA with drywall for 1000 years. I do not wonder why that estimate is phrased that way. Never mind that the Gypsum is a relic of an ancient Sea; the bones of a landform, and took tens of thousands of years to form. The walls are excellent. Fire retardant. Rot resistant.
Chocolate Milk, in a plastic half-gallon jug, from the grocery store. A taste and texture of and from my childhood. It is thick: it does not separate, it needs no shakings before serving. In the Philippines and Indonesia, kelp is raised in shallow sea beds, strung along fishing lines and bamboo posts. The weeds are harvested and dried, ground, sifted, washed. It is treated with hot alkali, centrifuged, filtered. The Carrageenan that results will be mixed with chocolate powder from god-knows-where, such that it will remain suspended in the milk long past its expiry date.
There was a day when the last Roman Engineer who understood how to make proper Roman Cement died, and took his secrets with him.
How many Americans comprehend The Bomb?
How many Americans know the Secrets of Steel?
The Smartphone in my hand was made in China. The Intellectual Plantation Owners make a feeble attempt to rightful claim, “designed in California.”
But who made it?
Sugar so pure, it shines like crystal. Industrially extruded Corn puffs, dusted in cheese; shelf stable for 2 winters, edible at a moment’s notice. Pancakes full of rich bovine fats and tree syrup. Perfect fuel for Laboring from dawn till dusk.
But this country is Fair; only the sinful die young, of poor health. It is good & right & proper for our Hands to be separate from our Heads; for our Thinkers to never Labor, and our Laborers to never Think. The Poor have poor health, surely, because of their sinful, decadent food, which does not leave them hungry for half the day.
Chinese Chips controlling Chinese Appliances. The markings on the motherboard of my television set are in Cantonese.
A Memory; rummaging through bins of Capacitors & Resistors with my Father, seeking a part with the correct Color Code to fix an old Stereo. The blue smoke curling from the tip of the Soldering Iron. The crackle and hum of the stereo coming to life. Satisfaction.
My ability to read a Wiring Diagram has come in handy a mere 3 times in the last 5 years. There are no bins of Parts for my son to rummage through. Even the unspeakable beast which once stalked the land wearing the skin of my beloved Radio Shack has starved to death for want of customers.
My laptop is integrated; the screws baffling sizes, obfuscation and occultism designed into the parameters by which the device was made. The Average American cannot be trusted to monkey about in the guts of their own machines, I am told. It is better this way, I am told. I rail against the walls of my garden in tongues of Linux and GitHub, but the AI is baked into the operating system and the children do not know where their Files are kept.
sooooo can yall help me determine if this is a fireable offense
a lady just came in asking if we have oat milk and we dont so i said “our soy milk is pretty good though, thats what i use in my drinks!” and she looked at me and went “yknow soy milk lowers a mans sperm count” and without thinking i just went “cant lose something you never had”
youre laughing. i got called a soy boy and youre laughing
okay to the people confused by this allow me to shed a little light on the subject
icant fucking breathe
world heritage post
tumblr is such a different animal than other social media platforms for so many reasons obviously but one thing i really find funny about it is how on other sites if i see something that doesn't interest me i don't follow or don't like the post. but on here if someone i follow starts posting exclusively about something really niche that i have no interest in my reaction is never to unfollow. its just part of the natural environment. like oh mutual is now really into pro wrestling? ok i guess ill be seeing these guys around now
