i recommend learning other alphabets if for no other reason than it’s very fun to see people replace latin alphabet letters with complete nonsense for Aesthetic
as julius caesar famously said: “vspph vphdph vphcph”
Are you telling me I am not as popular as Taylor Swift??? I must be envious of her impeccable musical prowess because I don’t get the same views on my PKCH surname as Taylor Swift does.
Every few months for the past 5 years I’ve been like “I should listen to Randy buying a bookshelf off Gumtree again”
I have gone on a journey.
The story’s fun but I’m always equally blown away by Heath’s puppetry skills. That’s a puppet there. A lil felt man. It’s so hard to remember that he’s not alive. Heath McIvor is a fucking master.
He has an actual name? The illusion is ruined, I’ve only known him as Randy Feltface for forever.
Nah I’m lying to you, this whole time Randy Feltface was actually animated by black magic.
Every few months for the past 5 years I’ve been like “I should listen to Randy buying a bookshelf off Gumtree again”
I have gone on a journey.
The story’s fun but I’m always equally blown away by Heath’s puppetry skills. That’s a puppet there. A lil felt man. It’s so hard to remember that he’s not alive. Heath McIvor is a fucking master.
He has an actual name? The illusion is ruined, I’ve only known him as Randy Feltface for forever.
Nah I’m lying to you, this whole time Randy Feltface was actually animated by black magic.
Biggest adult life trick I’ve learned is to lay that platonic praise kink on thick
Yesterday I told my friend “I’m proud of you for reaching out”. Today I got told sb is proud of me for stretching and taking care of my body. I absolutely cheered them on for getting pants on and leaving the house
Utterly underrated, telling sb they did a good job. I literally feel the positive reinforcement strengthening some neural pathways like. Telling sb what they did was good makes it so much more likely to value yourself for taking that same action.
Improper use not covered by the guarantee or by your insurance!!!!!
10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.
But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.
Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.
For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.
But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.
Happy.
It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.
Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.
It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.
A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.
5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.
It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.
Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.
I’m a Rescue.
She gave me a Home.
And, so, I gave her a Family.
It seemed fair
This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’tknow what the future holds.
10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.
But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.
Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.
For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.
But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.
Happy.
It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.
Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.
It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.
A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.
5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.
It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.
Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.
I’m a Rescue.
She gave me a Home.
And, so, I gave her a Family.
It seemed fair
This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’tknow what the future holds.
10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.
But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.
Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.
For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.
But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.
Happy.
It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.
Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.
It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.
A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.
5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.
It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.
Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.
I’m a Rescue.
She gave me a Home.
And, so, I gave her a Family.
It seemed fair
This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’tknow what the future holds.
Maybe this is the wrong platform to pose this question given the average tumblr user but
Is it just me or did our generation (those of is who are currently 20-30 ish) just not get the opportunity to be young in the ‘standard’ sense?
Like, everyone I talk to who’s over 40 has all their wild stories about their teens and 20s, being young and dumb, and then I talk to my friends and coworkers and classmates, and we just… dont.
My mom tells stories of skipping school to sneak across the border and spend the day at a bar in Mexico. I was threatened with not being allowed to graduate because of senior ditch day. One of my friends had to go to his first hour class on senior ditch day because the teacher, who almost exclusively taught seniors, arranged a huge exam that day with no available makeup days, specifically to punish kids who took part in ditch day. Our wild and crazy ditch day was playing mini golf and then stopping for ice cream on our way back to one of our friends’ houses to play cards against humanity.
Don’t get me wrong, we had fun. But all of that, threats of not graduating, threats of failing classes over a single test, over some mini golf and ice cream?
Throughout high school and early in college, my friend group got kicked out of malls, stores, and even a parking lot just for being there wrong. Not being loud of disruptive. Not causing problems. Just being there too long, or without buying anything.
My mom graduated high school, after repeating her senior year, without a single grade above a D, and was offered a full ride scholarship to a state university to play on their women’s football team. I had a 3.8 GPA, multiple extracurriculars, a summer job, and over 100 hours of volunteer work, and barely got into that same university, and then couldn’t afford to go there anyway.
We’ve made getting into college so important and yet so difficult that kids are sacrificing their childhoods for it.
Then they become adults and it doesn’t go away. Your employer/ potential employers are searching your social media and internet presence so you’d better hope no one has ever posted a picture of you at a party, or with alcohol, or wearing revealing clothes, or whatever else they’ve deemed unprofessional. And if you want to go out it’s a 10 dollar cover and drinks are at least 8 dollars, and you need to tip if there’s any kind of live entertainment, who can afford to do all that regularly?
My physical therapist, when I was 18, told me about his 21st birthday, how the last thing he remembers is people taking body shots off him. I spent my 21st birthday alone, was in bed by 10pm because I had to be at work the next morning. My boss had already told me that they knew it was my 21st, and if I called out, she’d write me up for improper use of sick leave because you’re not allowed to use sick leave for a hangover. I don’t know anyone whose 21st birthday was a big deal. No one went out and partied for it.
I dont really know where I’m going with all of this. I guess I just don’t understand the point of it all. We spend our youth working hard to provide a future that we still can’t afford. We have to be responsible and professional as teenagers. And we get nothing out of it. We can’t afford life or friends or fun. At least our parents got to have fun being young and dumb, we just got groomed on kik.
So I’m not the only one noticing this. I wish I had an answer or at least something to say about it. But I dont. I’m just tired.
Original report (waybacked PDF) is from 2007. That’s Gen Z kids.
When I, Gen-Xer, was about 12 - in my rural home, I had about a three-mile range. (Could’ve pushed it to more, but didn’t want to walk that far.) In the city, it was about a mile. Not that anyone was checking; again, that was about the distance I wanted to walk, and besides, that covered all of “downtown.”
My kids? Closer to that 300 yards limit at the same age. Not because I wanted to restrict them, but we live next to a freeway on-ramp and between two sets of train tracks… and there is absolutely nothing kid-friendly within a half-mile for them to visit.
I spent my 21st birthday bar-hopping. My kids spent their 21st birthdays at home with a nice meal. I don’t think either of them wanted to go bar-hopping - but yeah, as a society, we’ve removed a LOT of teen-friendly options.
See also: End of Third Places, switch from video game arcades to home consoles (hey, then every kid has to buy their own copy–great for game-makers!), shutdown of malls or restrictions on youth at them, closure of public parks, reduced/removed after-school programs, etc. Plus the places that think it’s illegal for a 12-year-old to walk to the corner store unsupervised.
I am, however, DELIGHTED to hear that the booze & other vices industries are panicking over Gen Z not going out to party. Like, you spent 30-odd years removing all the places and ways people can hang out together and have fun outside of someone’s personal house, and… guess what, when people hit milestone events (graduation, milestone birthdays, job promotion, whatever), they don’t immediately flock to the Party Zone that they have never been welcome at. How shocking.
It sucks that Gen Z does not get to party, does not have good celebration options. REALLY sucks that that’s often because school or job has decided to tell them not to celebrate, rather than just not having places to go. I’m just not upset over party capitalism taking a hit.
“don’t look away” is a meaningless phrase. who are you benefiting by inundating yourself with misery porn?
DO something about things you care about. Go to a protest for something you believe in, if you can. Donate money to a cause if you have it to spare. Volunteer your time to help people if you have the energy. Write a letter to your political representatives if that’s something you can do. These are meaningful ways to try to make change in the world.
And then? don’t feel bad about insulating yourself from horrible news. Don’t make yourself look at images that make you feel sick. Don’t read endless things that depress you. Because frankly it gets harder to actually do the more you doomscroll. Reading constantly about things you can’t change because they’re happening at a systemic level or on the other side of the world is paralyzing. It makes you less able to help where you can.
I’m not saying be willfully ignorant. I’m not saying pretend horrible things aren’t happening. I’m saying don’t destroy your mental health going in-depth and cycling through horror after horror on your phone. I’m saying there is no virtue in making yourself experience other people’s traumas because mere awareness is not activism. you inflicting suffering on yourself is not activism.
doomscrolling is literally sapping your energy and focus away from doing anything useful to help other people. you can burn yourself out without ever lifting a finger by exposing yourself to all the bad news in the world and who does that help? no one.
i bought pre-cum strawberries today at the store and they were like twice as expensive but theyre so fucking good theres not any bad ones in the bowl and i dont have to waste time doing it myself now. so worth it
i meant to say pre-cut as in. they were previously cut before i bought them. but okay i eat cum strawberries now. whatever
We know many of you have seen NaNoWriMo’s recent statements on generative AI…
Well, we have too—and that’s why we’ve made the decision to retract our sponsorship of NaNo.
Your support and belief in human creativity, transparency and collaboration mean everything to us, and we’re committed to staying true to that. Thank you all! 💙
We know many of you have seen NaNoWriMo’s recent statements on generative AI…
Well, we have too—and that’s why we’ve made the decision to retract our sponsorship of NaNo.
Your support and belief in human creativity, transparency and collaboration mean everything to us, and we’re committed to staying true to that. Thank you all! 💙
this is crazy bc I remember when i was in school, if a guy had spare tampons in his backpack he was deemed the most universally popular guy by every single woman in school. The rizz you get from having tampons on you as a man is immeasurable.
Most of my friends since i was like 14 have had periods and they mostly stick to two brands, the day i started carrying them on my backpacks i unlocked a level of loyalty and care i could not articulate if i had a poetry degree. I met my soon to be wife because that day i was the only person around her who carried pads and she has never stopped telling people about it, i’m getting married because of the immeasurable rizz given to me by openly carrying pads as a dude
Treating menstruation as something dirty and shameful when it is a thing that about half the human population experiences for half of our lives is fucking insane, Megyn. Hiding it from boys only reinforces the idea that its something girls should be ashamed of, which is bad for everyone.
this is crazy bc I remember when i was in school, if a guy had spare tampons in his backpack he was deemed the most universally popular guy by every single woman in school. The rizz you get from having tampons on you as a man is immeasurable.
Most of my friends since i was like 14 have had periods and they mostly stick to two brands, the day i started carrying them on my backpacks i unlocked a level of loyalty and care i could not articulate if i had a poetry degree. I met my soon to be wife because that day i was the only person around her who carried pads and she has never stopped telling people about it, i’m getting married because of the immeasurable rizz given to me by openly carrying pads as a dude
Treating menstruation as something dirty and shameful when it is a thing that about half the human population experiences for half of our lives is fucking insane, Megyn. Hiding it from boys only reinforces the idea that its something girls should be ashamed of, which is bad for everyone.
please keep sharing fundraisers. please. while we remain safe in our communities and homes and so many other places, constant fear and danger and genocide continues to strike in gaza.
someone said we had more fun in childhood because we didnt have any past memories to linger on and it has stuck with me ever since
Oh this matters. This matters so much because that’s why the world seems so wonderful as a child.
To everyone reading these words: You can still have this.
Wherever you are, I want you to do one thing right this second:
Stop imagining that you know everything. Look, I do it too. You get wrapped up in your routine and feel like you know what’s coming. But let’s all collectively just forget that for one single hour and watch how your life changes forever.
When you recognize that you don’t know everything, every rose looks interesting because they all have different petals. Every kitten is beautiful because it looks and mews different than it’s sister. Every time you walk outside, even if it’s 10 seconds later, the scene has changed from what it was before. Open once, a bug flies by. Open a second time. No bug. The tragedy of the missing bug, a story written by you in your moments alone.
And you will experience the wonder of the world once more.
like. imagine seeing your sibling at 18. and then not seeing them again until you’re 28. and then not seeing them again until you’re both 58. but you’re identical twins so every time you look in the mirror you wonder if this is what they would’ve looked like.
imagine never needing glasses but your brother did, and then in your adulthood your eyes get worse and you suddenly need glasses and you pick out the same frames your brother wore.
imagine always protecting your brother growing up cause he was different and kids picked on him. but you always protected him. and then you have a falling out and neither of you speak for years, and then finding out that in those years you didn’t speak, he was being isolated and tortured by a monster and didn’t think you’d come if he called. but then he calls and you go. and his house has blood on the floor in every room and writing on the walls and his journal devolves into paranoid ramblings. and you can’t protect him because you showed up and he got ripped away. and you can’t even ask him what the writing or the blood or the state of the house means because he’s gone. and you don’t have a penny to your name so you have to clean the blood up yourself and fix the house and live there. so you board up his room.
after 2 years working outdoors all day i finally got stung by an onion for the first time yesterday and i wasnt even doing anything there wasnt even a nest nearby
Also at a certain period of history in Europe specifically you were only considered to be literate if you could read and write in Latin. They didn’t keep records of how many people could read and not write or how many people could read and/or write but only in their local language.
Probably more people throughout history have been literate or semi-literate than we’ve been led to believe. Probably not everyone. Probably not even most people. But also probably more than you were led to believe.
Also a lot of people could read numbers either Roman or Arabic depending on the time period because people were dealing with merchants and they wanted to know they weren’t being cheated.
The armor stays on during sex because it takes like five people to help me take it off and put it back on again and I’d rather not call them at this hour
Your adventuring party actually needs at least 3-5 people so you can help each other put your armor on.
I mean unless you’re wearing chain mail I guess. Because you’re poor and have to do a silly little dance to take your armor off.
Unsexily leaning forward and shaking my chainmail t-shirt off before getting in bed
ALT
ALT
