This is a water-seal stoneware crock. The design is ancient.

It is, essentially, a large ceramic vessel that you put vegetables and sometimes brine into. To prevent spoilage, you place those ceramic weights on top of whatever food is in the crock, and that keeps them weighted down, below the level of the water. Because fermentation creates gases, most crocks have a "water groove" in them. The lid sits in the groove, which allows air to escape but not come in. Because fermentation creates gas, the interior of the crock is positive-pressure, and because the gas created is almost entirely carbon dioxide, it's a low-oxygen environment that additionally helps prevent spoilage.

And all this would be pointless without lactobacillus, the bacteria that chomp down on the vegetables you put into the crock. They're anaerobic, which means totally fine without oxygen, and they produce an environment that's inhospitable to most other organisms. The main things they produce are CO2, which means no oxygen for other bacteria, and lactic acid, which makes the fermented thing sour and also decreases the pH low enough that many other bacteria cannot survive. They tolerate high levels of salt, which kill yet more competitor bacteria. It ends up being a really really good way to keep food from going off.

Our ancestors figured this out thousands of years ago without knowing what bacteria were. This general ceramic design has been in use around the world in virtually every place that had ceramics, salt, and too much cabbage or cucumbers that was going to rot if they didn't do something about it. It's thousands of years old, so old that it gets hard to interpret the evidence of the ceramics.

And I have crocks like this in my kitchen, where I make my own ferments, and I always think about how beautiful and elegant it all is, and how this was probably invented hundreds of times as people converged on something that Just Works.

(I do have pH testing strips though.)

“The Driver” by Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is out now! Order it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky

Hired a moving company and they sent four strong, strapping, beautiful lads to my house to disassemble my furniture and move all my things. I loved them. I got them pizza. They told me moving company gossip. I missed them one minute after they left. My moving lads. Come back to me. You're so strong and so well trained in safe lifting

I miss my moving men they took such good care of me and they were so handsome and beautiful and strong and efficient and they wrapped all my furniture up in plastic and they loved that I got pizza for them and they knew how to safely drive the big big truck. Come back to me moving men

Moving men please come move me in your big strong arms in a way that complies with local safety regulations and the company's values

One of the men had a dangling earring and a stud, so I told him I liked his earrings. So he told me about how when he first got his ears pierced, he lost a stud and had to borrow an earring from his girlfriend to keep the hole from closing up. Well the only one she had to lend him was a dangling pink fuzzy duck. And everyone made fun of him for wearing it until they realized he didn't give a fuck what they thought. So now he always wears one stud and one dangling earring.

He told me this story while manhandling my entire couch. And I'm supposed to be normal about this? I'm bisexual

Hi, not sure if you remember me but we used to illustrate sacred cuneiform next to each other on clay tablets 6,000 years ago?

hey, uve probably forgotten by now but uh. u were a mesopotamian merchant living in a port city on the iranian plateau, i was a maritime trader come up from the indus valley by way of the persian gulf? i sold you a shipment of carnelian beads and a few stone seals.. our hands touched 😳

Tell me a soft memory

we would find out later i had burned off my entire cornea - about 65% of my eye. my doctor told me it is the organ with the highest concentration of nerve endings - i was in an amount of pain that can't be spoken.

and i was blind. for the first time in my life, i was totally blind. i kept thinking about reading, about writing. weirdly, just once, about driving. we had no idea if i would ever see again. just like that - my entire life was different.

it is a strange place to reference for a soft memory, to begin here.

my siblings were taking excellent care of me, but there was a moment in the hospital where, just through bad luck and timing - both of them had to step away for a moment. i was crying at that point; not emotionally. for 3 days after this i would still be crying, my tears, like a mermaid's, a frothy pink with blood.

my brother worried about leaving me. he had another, just-as-bad emergency.

"i got her," someone said. "don't worry."

a soft hand held mine, and then she started talking.

her name was jess. she has a wife named clyde. they live a few blocks up the street. clyde fell down, but the x-rays seem to be coming back better than expected. jess says she's got long dark hair and "more wrinkles than an elephant". jess describes every chair in the room and every person. she talks about her two kids and her cats and her favorite memories from college.

a doctor came. i had to switch to a different waiting room. i tried to stand up to follow the voice - i found jess's hand, following me. she didn't let go. she kept talking the whole way: lamp to your left, just a few more steps, okay to your right is the ugliest painting, good, now a little more walking straight, you got it baby

in the new silence of the next room she sat me down and called my brother for me, telling him where we'd gone to. and she stayed there for a bit, just chatting, her voice echoing in the eerie quiet. gently describing the room to me. and then someone was rude. from the sound of the voice, a kid, i think.

"why is she crying?"

"she just lost her vision," jess said. "she can't see."

"oh." said the kid. "that's scary."

the kid tells me he is here because he has peas stuck up his nose. that makes me laugh, his mom (?) groans. she tells me about the kid (he's 6, he likes paw patrol and eating cheese), about herself, about moving from cali.

jess says she's sorry, but she has to leave now, she's gotta go check on her wife.

"don't worry," says the mom. "i got her." and then i felt her hand press into mine.

for hours like that: i am taken care of by strangers. each person just talking with whatever comes to their head - not for any reward or celebrity or real reason, i guess. just because i am scared and alone and in the hospital and blinded and need to be distracted. not everyone even got told the story - they would just pick up in the silence with - oh by the way the television is playing HGTV - do you like that kind of a thing? yeah, me too, but could never quite get into those open-floor plans, i'll tell you -

by the time my brother is able to come back, the room is buzzing. we talk to each other like old friends, laughing, cracking jokes about if you don't like hospital food wait until you get on an airplane and can't believe i'm up past two in the morning what a party animal i'm becoming. i am holding the hands of someone named drew, who likes my crow tattoo and making crochet snails.

there are many dark moments full of pain in this world. this - in the low of absolute-dark, absolute-pain: people find a way to paint in it anyway. the color splash of their voices: this triumphant, radiating kindness of - let's be here together, let me help you, let's keep going.

i never saw their faces. i can't remember many of their names. but i think about them often, and the way we all took a deep breath - and did something gentle amongst the pain.

Most of us could probably stand to benefit from reading this. I did. It’s really lovely.

@millenniallust4death @diesel-park

this speaking as a cis person. Nothing brings me more joy seeing people find gender euphoria in becoming a mediocre representation of humanity. And I mean that so genuinely. Local boy finds joy and fulfillment wearing a cargo shorts and t-shirt combo. Local girl has transitioned to look like someone's disheveled aunt, has never been happier. Local person experiences gender euphoria rocking the world's worst bowl-cut. Without a scap of irony, this shit makes me see the wonder and whimsy in just, being a human. An average, person going through their day-to-day, is a wondrous thing? That's amazing. And heteronormativity has stripped these experiences of their joy. Like you're right, wearing a basic girlypop skirt should make my heart sing. Why not? Why are these expressions lesser because they're normal? All this to say. Shoutout to all the basic bitches out there. Yes that polo shirt does make you look like a divorced golfer dad. Yes, that too is kind of a slay, now that I think of it.

Sharing the secrets of your hearth with strangers who will never be able to meet or thank you. Honoring the dead through learning their traditions of the home; emulation and exaltation. A good carrot cake.

Screenshots for those who want to try to make the recipes. One was completely blocked by text but I thought maybe someone would like to make them ♡

Someone with better typing skills if ya wanna type em up….. ♡

I looked up the obscured grave with the blueberry pie recipe:

From Margaret Davis

GLAZED BLUEBERRY PIE

- Soften a 3 oz. pkg. cream cheese.

- Spread in bottom of cooled, cooked pastry shell.

- Fill shell with 3 cups of blueberries.

- To an additional 1 cup of blueberries add 1 cup of water.

- Bring just to boiling.

- Simmer 2 min.

- Strain reserving juice, about ½ cup.

- Combine ¾ cup sugar, and 2 tablespoons corn starch.

- Gradually add reserved juice.

- Cook, stirring constantly until thick and clear.

- Cool slightly and add:

- 2 tablespoons lemon juice

- Pour over berries in pastry shell and chill.

the others are:

From Kathryn Andrews

KAY’S FUDGE

- 2 SQ. chocolate

- 2 TBS. butter

- Melt on low heat

- Stir in 1 cup milk

- Bring to boil

- 3 cups sugar

- 1 TSP. vanilla

- Pinch of salt

- Cook to softball stage

- Pour on marble slab

- Cool & Beat & Eat

From Naomi Odessa Miller-Dawson

SPRITZ COOKIES

- 1 cup of butter ormargarine

- ¾ cup sugar

- 1 teaspoon vanilla

- 1 egg

- 2 ¼ cups of flour

- ½ teaspoon baking powder.

- ⅛ teaspoon salt

From Constance Galberd

CONNIE’S DATE & NUT BREAD

100% Good Stuff - 0% Bad Stuff

Ingredients:

- 8 oz. dates cut into small pieces

- 1 cup raisins

- 2 cups boiling water

- 2 tsp. baking soda

- 1 ½ cups sugar

- 2 eggs, well beaten

- 4 cups flour

- 2 tsp. baking powder

- ½ cup chopped nuts

Directions:

- Pour boiling water (where 2 tsp. of baking soda have been dissolved) over dates and raisins. Cool.

- Add 1 ½ C. sugar and mix well.

- Add 2 eggs, well beaten.

- Gradually mix in 4 C. of flour and 2 tsp. of baking powder. Beat thoroughly.

- Add ½ C. of chopped nuts. Beat thoroughly.

- Bake at 350 for ¾ - 1 hr.

Bake in tin cans.

One batch = 13 small cans

From Christine Hammills

A GOOD CARROT CAKE

CARROT CAKE

Ingredients:

- 2 cups flour

- 4 eggs

- 2 tsp. baking powder

- 2 cups sugar

- 1 ½ tsp. soda

- 1 ½ cups oil

- 1 tsp. salt

- 2 cups grated carrots

- 2 tsp. cinnamon

- 1 (8 ½ oz.) crushed pineapple, drained

- ⅔ cup chopped nuts

Directions:

- Sift together flour, baking powder, soda salt, and cinnamon.

- Beat eggs and add sugar.

-Let stand 10 mins.

-Mix in oil, pineapple, carrots, nuts, flour mixture.

-Turn into 3 greased and floured 9-inch round cake pans.

-Bake at 350’ for 35 – 40 min.

-Cool in pans for 10 min, remove to wire racks, and cool well.

VANILLA CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

Ingredients:

- ½ cup butter

- 1 (8 oz.) cream cheese

- 1 tsp. vanilla

- 1 pound powdered sugar, sifted

Directions:

- Mix butter, cream cheese, vanilla then add sugar. First between layers, top and sides.

From Annabell Gunderson

ANNABELL’S SNICKERDOODLES

Mix Thoroughly:

- 1 c shortening

- 1 c margarine

- 3 c sugar

- 4 eggs

Sift Together And Stir In:

- 5 ½ c flour

- 4 tsp cream of tartar

- 2 tsp soda

- ½ tsp salt

Directions:

- Roll (softly) into balls the size of small walnuts.

- Roll in mixture of 6 tsp sugar and 6 tsp cinnamon.

- Place 2" apart on ungreased cookie sheet.

- Bake at 375 F for 8-10 minutes or 400 F for 6-8 until lightly brown, but still soft.

Secret is: Keep dough fluffy!

Folding Napkins

I wash and fold about 12 napkins a week. Some of them are batik from Indonesia. My friends and I use them every Saturday when we get together for coffee and conversations. Folding these little scarlet and mocha-colored napkins lets me reminisce about my companions and look forward to next Saturday’s gathering. 

The other napkins I fold are faded and a little frayed, like me. I don’t mind. Over decades these soft squares of cotton have witnessed contentment, anxiety, fear, irritation, and love as they’ve pressed against our lips. 

So much in our world view demands excellence. One can be the best architect, the fastest swimmer, the most renowned surgeon. But folding linen is not on anyone’s 10 best list.

Anne Lamott writes, “Mother Teresa said no one can do great things, but we can all do small things with great love, and that is all we can do.”

One napkin at a time.

I think a lot about who I am to other people in the world–particular who I am to strangers as a mere concept in their lives.

Today this woman called our information desk and said, “my son’s band is playing tonight. I want to come see him, but he never answers his phone…..I want to be there. Have you heard anything about his band?”

And I felt so bad for this lady but I’m not in the music scene around here so I had to tell her no, sorry.

Five hours later, I’m hiking and run into a group of guys setting up for some outdoor performance, and as I watch them unload the drums it hits me.

“Hey,” I said, “are y’all in a band?”

They said yeah and smiled and I told them “one of your moms called today. She wants to watch you play, but she can’t get a hold of you. Call your mom.”

And they all pulled out their phones and started discussing whose mom it probably was as they presumably dialed their own.

And now, unless we meet again and recognize each other, that’s who I’ll be forever to those guys–some mysterious courier for mom-messages who came out of the woods and told them their mom called.

I didn’t even tell them why their mom called me. Who am I to their mom?? Nobody even asked. They just took my word for it and called their mothers.

Amazing.

I’M LAUGHING!!! THEY DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHO I AM.

[Image ID: Tumblr reply from quantim-mechanics reading: Truth emerging from the woods to shame band-kind. /End ID]

Plain text: I’m laughing! They didn’t even ask who I am.

people are saying do it scared, but you also gotta do it alone. you'll miss out on so much you want to do if you wait til someone will do it with you. do it scared and do it alone.

me (scared & alone) out in the wider world trying to broaden my horizons:

one time in college i wanted to hike out into the wintery woods and camp for the night. it was already pretty late and i couldn't convince any of my friends to join me, so i decided to go out by myself.

i packed my backpack, put on my warmest clothes, turned on my headlamp, and set out.

once i made it to the trail, i stepped into my snowshoes and continued into the winter wonderland. i was hiking for awhile before i started to hear what sounded like drums in the distance. reader: i was miles from anywhere people should be, let alone the sound of drums.

naturally, as any normal person would, i immediately shut off my headlamp, got off the packed down snowy trail, and continued toward the drumming in the soft, quiet powder.

as i got closer, i began to hear chanting, and eventually, i noticed the flicker of a flame on the top of a very steep hill. and that's where the chanting and drumming was coming from.

it was cold. night was here. i was scared. but i had to know more.

i found a path up the far side of the hill, far from the fire light. i slowly crept up it, careful not to make any loud noises. or as careful as i could be through a dense forest up a hill with 40lbs on my back.

finally, i made it to the top and saw the fire. and the drums. and the source of the chanting.

it was 10-20 college students hanging out around a fire with alcohol and other substances, with several of them banging on bongos and what they probably called "singing".

they didn't notice me. i had a choice.

i could leave, continue on with my original plan, and go sleep alone in the woods.

i could go back to the dorms, leaving all of this behind me.

or i could walk up to these strangers (at night, alone, miles from civilization), hope they're friendly, and see what happens.

so i walked up to the group. and then through it. and then i was standing in the middle of it. right next to the fire. and no one noticed me.

and they still didn't notice me. what happens when they notice me now. should i leave? but then they'll notice me. do i say something? i don't want to scare them. but will not saying something scare them more?

the one closest to the fire looked up at me.

"holy shit! who are you? want a beer?"

and that's the story of how i met a bunch of hippies in the middle of the woods one night. apparently they were at a house party and bored, someone suggested a fire in the woods, they drove out to some trailhead, and hiked into a spot they liked with bongos, beer, and other stuff.

eventually they got tired and hiked back to their cars; i hiked back to campus. i stopped at a friend's room when i got back and told them the story; pretty sure they thought i made it up.

the next week, i was hanging out with a friend and he said hi to some of his friends we passed. i recognized them from that night in the woods. it's a small world.

anyway, sometimes doing things alone earns you a cool story you can tell years later that no one believes. sometimes it gets you weird looks at the movie theater. and sometimes it ends horribly.

glhf, it'll probably be fine

In the club

I think I’m literally never gonna be sick of this masterpiece. I think watching it on a loop for eight hours could fix me. Dancing’s what clears my soul. Dancing’s what makes me whole.

I just love that this very video is an accumulation of thousands of years worth of art made by people who have never met each other. The concept of this video was so completely unfathomable to every single artist who made the sculptures and yet they’ve all put something toward the creation of it.

literally never underestimate how contagious kindness is. I saw on venmo that my friend had sent someone 5 dollars for coffee because she was having a bad day and I thought that was a cute idea and so I venmo’d a different friend coffee money when she had a huge assignment and now I have a huge assignment and that same friend sent me money for a chai latte. she doesn’t know the friend who taught me to do this but she learned it from me because I learned it from my first friend. like we are all learning from each other all the time and learning how to be kind anyway yeah buy your friends coffee do little favors for them tell them you love them. it’s cute and good

Sportsmanship at its finest! 🇯🇵🇨🇳

Daiki Hashimoto shushing the fans bc Zhang Boheng still had to perform and afterwards Daiki Hashimoto was also the first to hug him and basically told him "well done" in Chinese.

Where are the Daiki Hashimoto and Zhang Boheng Fans on here???

Brazilian handball player Tamires carrying the Angolan team captain Albertina Kassoma out of the court after she got hurt

uk journalists having to report through gritted teeth that there were no riots last night as thousands of anti-racist protesters significantly outnumbered the racist rioters across the country

around 10,000 people counter-protesting in walthamstow last night

here in brighton, with the three (3) racists vs thousands of anti racist counter-protesters

its awesome that every day is a bunch of peoples anniversaries

or the day a bunch of people are finally moving out. or getting a new job. or quitting a job. or having their first kiss. and tonight ill go to sleep everything the same but for others everything has changed

Solidarity

For those who don't understand, EBT are food stamps (government money for buying food for low-income people). Because the money is from the government, it comes with horrific restrictions, one of which is you cannot buy "prepared" food with it. You can only buy raw chicken, not cooked chicken, for example.

This kitchen is getting around that stupid rule by selling you raw, unprepared chicken, and then charging your EBT account for raw, unprepared chicken.

Then as a side thing, totally unrelated, they cook the chicken for free. Since you bought raw chicken with the EBT, it's legal. There's no law against cooking people's raw chicken for free for them. That's just charity.

This kitchen is a blessing to anyone who doesn't have a kitchen of their own.

ALT

— Ursula K. Le Guin, from “A Rant About ‘Technology’”

The whole piece is short and worth a read.

Teachers have tried this and are amazed when their classes don’t go feral like in the book.  It’s almost as if the book was supposed to be satire and not a treaty on the nature of humanity.

there’s a timeskip

THERE’S A TIMESKIP

THERE’S A TIMESKIP

THERE’S A TIMESKIP

after losing control of the signal fire there’s a FUCKING TIMESKIP and when the next chapter starts everyone’s hair is several inches longer and their clothes have rotted to shreds and they’re still just kind of chilling!!!!

IT TAKES THE TERRIBLE IMPERIALISM MIND-POISONED EXCESSIVELY BRITISH BOYS IN THE ACTUAL BOOK SEVERAL MONTHS TO COMMIT A SINGLE ACT OF INTENTIONAL VIOLENCE, EVEN THE ONE (1) CHILD WRITTEN AS AN ACTUAL SOCIOPATH

AND then when they DO turn on each other it is because

THERE’S AN UNSPECIFIED WORLD WAR HAPPENING

AND A PILOT’S CORPSE CRASH LANDS ON THE ISLAND POST-DOGFIGHT AND THE CHILDREN MISTAKE THE PARACHUTE FOR A MONSTER AND SPIRAL INTO PARANOIA

BECAUSE CHILDREN INHERIT THE LEGACY AND TRAUMA OF VIOLENCE FROM THE ADULTS WAGING WAR AROUND THEM

HURR DURR IN THE REAL WORLD IT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN LIKE IN LORD OF THE FLIES -

IT DIDN’T HAPPEN THAT WAY IN LORD OF THE FLIES EITHER YOU JUST HAVEN’T READ IT SINCE HIGH SCHOOL IF EVER AND DON’T REMEMBER WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN THE GODDAMN BOOK

#tbf the dude wrote it to be a dick

yes. yes he did. i’m also gonna direct you to the real life ‘lord of the flies’ which occured in the 1960s, when six tongan schoolboys got stranded on a desert island for over a year before being rescued by an australian fisherman (who, it should be noted, later took on all six as crewmembers because the reason they were out in the first place was because they wanted to see the world, and named his ship the Ata after the island they were stranded on). nobody died. the only injuries that occurred were accidental, and when one of the boys broke his leg falling down a cliff, the others braced it and looked after him so well that it healed perfectly. if they argued, then they would literally go to opposite sides of the island until they’d cooled off. after leaving the island, they remained friends for the rest of their lives. here’s a photo of them as adults, with their rescuer (who is third from the left) and other members of his crew.

i read about this in rutger bregman’s human kind, a book i cannot recommend highly enough, but if you don’t want to go and read a whole book about the inherent goodness of humanity (which again, you really should) then the relevant excerpt can be found here.

> sees nihilistic depiction of human nature

> looks inside

> hope :)

A sweet interaction today--an elderly Thai man held the elevator for me when I got off the Skytrain. As we rode down, he asked in English where I was from and if I'd come to Thailand alone, so I replied in Thai that I had moved here with my wife, who is Thai. He assumed I had used the wrong word for spouse and tried to helpfully correct my Thai, so I explained that we are lesbians and his eyes lit up, he shook my hand excitedly and said "Oh!! Oh congratulations!!" 🥹😭💗🏳️‍🌈

There’s this guy in town who owns this little house, and a while back he rescued a street dog that was going to get put down. Turned out she was pregnant.

Problem is, he has mental health & drug issues and couldn’t afford to get them all spayed & neutered, so now there are 6 grown bitches with 15 puppies total, and they’ve dug under his fence in multiple places but he can’t afford to fix it so they go roaming all around town. (When I say can’t afford it, I mean his house is currently running on a generator because he can’t afford his electric bill.) He’s also a day laborer so he cannot take multiple full days off work to take them to the vet an hour away. He’s in a really rough spot.

He’s not a bad person. He’s just overwhelmed.

And this little conservative town with 6 churches for 300 people, have they tried to help their neighbor? Have they adopted the puppies he’s been trying to give away? Have they offered resources?

NOPE! All they wanna do is talk shit about him and complain about the dogs but never lift a finger of their own. And they come to his house to yell at him and cuss him out about the dogs, which does not exactly engender in him a cooperative attitude, as you might imagine.

So after a while of this going on, my mom gets fed up with all the NIMBY bullshit and starts talking to the guy, because she’s done animal rescue for 20-odd years and has Connections. He’s resistant at first, but when he realizes she’s not being an asshole to him on account of his addiction or the dogs, he decides to let her help.

She gets to work organizing and networking. Finds a non-profit that will cover vaccinations, spay/neuter, and flea treatments for all the dogs. Talks the next-door neighbor into paying for materials to fix the fence, since this guy can do the work of it himself. Gets him in touch with another non-profit that will adopt out the adult dogs.

Less than 2 weeks after she decided to do something, all puppies have been to the vet, 10 puppies and 4 adult dogs have been adopted out, and the second non-profit is coming by next week to pick up the remaining 7 dogs to ship them out for adoption.

I’ve learned a lot of things from my mom—some good, some bad—but I think the most important positive message she lives as an example of is this: sometimes, when something needs done and no one else is willing, you gotta stand up and say “I’ll do it.”

The most mind-blowing revelation I received on this lesson happened to me when I was in college.

I was driving along a mountain road with a person I kinda knew in the passenger seat (like a roommate of a roommate or something). The road was very narrow, very twisty-turny, steep cliffs on both sides. I came around a blind curve to see a huge tree branch in the road. I managed to swerve just in time to avoid it, and also not veer the car into the sheer cliff face going up on the left, or of the sheer cliff face going down on the right.

"That's so dangerous. Someone should move that." I said.

"You're someone." said my passenger.

I very slowly pressed the brakes, my car slowly rolling to a stop as what he'd said started to sink in to my brain.

It had never occurred to be before, in all my life, that I could be the "someone" who could fix the thing. Not ever.

It was dangerous to stop here. If another car came, they could easily hit me, as it was a blind curve. We talked about it, decided it was worth the risk to possibly save a life, and we quickly ran to the branch and moved it to the side as best we could, then hurried back to the car.

It changed my life. After that, every time I have the thought "Someone should _____", I now hear that voice. I'm 'someone'. Now I evaluate whether I'm able to do something about a situation- that doesn't mean I always can! Sometimes I truly don't have the energy, knowledge, or time or money to fix something. But I should at least think about doing it myself- consider that I could, and weigh the options, which I never did before that moment.

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

i think "it takes a village" shouldn't be just "to raise a child". we should understand it takes a village to do literally everything we do. all day every day. without our communities we would not have drinking water or electricity or clean streets or food or shelter or anything. we cannot do any thing alone. we just can't. and with that comes the fact that you are not alone. you already have a community, seek to be an active part of it, you will feel better. reach out and thank them, they're happy to have you too. i promise. it takes a village to live.

ALT

still thinking about this youtube comment i screenshotted ages ago

this guy's beef got old enough to have geology

Item: did you know that if you leave beef broth in a bottle long enough you can grow Beef Crystals

The group this was posted in has been advertised to me several times on FB, and I think it's important to know where it's from- the group is called Dull Men's Club (gender neutral though, their rules explain the name was kept from the I think 80s when they started and had separate groups but anyone that believes in and agrees to abide by their rules can join).

The group's major conceit is only this: finding joy in ordinary (see: dull) things.

And they often do

God, I love weird people, MY people

I just want everyone to eat well and get old

every single one of us should have the chance to get old and bald and wrinkly and fat. I mean that sincerely

my advice to you is to never waste your time trying to fit into a club or hobby or any community who makes you beg for acceptance and approval just to participate when you could do the alternative—get involved in a niche and endangered hobby run primarily by old people.

i wanted to learn how to hunt ruffed grouse and train bird dogs so i sent an email to my local chapter of the ruffed grouse society explaining that getting into wildlife groups is intimidating to me because I’m trans

and all they saw was that someone under 60 wanted to learn to hunt grouse & several months into my mentorship I was told that like 7 old guys argued over me until they had to pick a number between 1 and 100 to decide who got to personally mentor me.

imagine vying for the acceptance of some gatekeeping weirdos when your mere interest could be inciting verbal combat among retirees

my mentor was so sweet & funny too. he suggested we meet over lunch first so he could tell me about what to expect before we got started & I emailed back “I’m ready to get started right away!”

and he said “I was actually suggesting lunch first for your comfort on the assumption you wouldn’t want to get together with a man you’ve never met, in the woods with a gun.”

Like, I trusted him because of the referrals I got from one of my professors but like, right you are sir fair enough. Lunch it is.

exactly 😌

kinda sick of all those posts that are like "my ancestors were surviving starvation and the plague meanwhile i get nervous ordering food at restaurants". as if jauffrey the woodworker didn't fumble his conversation with the fine maiden running the fruit stand and then tripped on a pebble as he left in a hurry

do you ever think about those friend-for-an-hour strangers that you only met because you ended up in a weird situation with them?

VERY IMPORTANT a dam in the Netherlands, the weerdsluis lock, is directly on a migratory path for spawning fish. They have a worker stationed there to open the door for the fish, but they can take a while to open it. So to keep the fish from getting preyed on by birds they installed a doorbell. Only, the fish don't have hands to ring the doorbell. If you go to their website, they have a LIVE CAMERA AND A DOORBELL that YOU RING FOR THE FISH when they're waiting, and then the dam worker opens the door for them! I can't express how obsessed I am with this. look at this shit. oh my god.

Please check on the fish doorbell once in a while :)

I just looked, and there are 170 other people on there, also checking to see if there are fish waiting.

Please remember, if ever you are tempted to make a sweeping statement about human nature, that on this night in March, 2024, while war rages, there are 171 of us looking to see if a fish needs us to ring a doorbell.

Plenty else is going on, but also that.

(PS, the site says that the busiest times for fish are sunrise and sunset, which for now are at about 6:30, AM and PM, local time. Local time in Utrecht is 1 hour ahead of GMT, 5 hours ahead of EST, if that helps. I'm going to try to remember to check back again around 2 AM my time, when it will be morning for the fish!)

Hanoi fruit ladies

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

Every sales job I’ve worked has that one item. The white whale. The biggest ticket you can sell. The sale you brag about when you’re chatting with other industry people.

When I sold mattresses it was a split king adjustable base. That’s two twin extra long mattresses next to each other to make a king, but each side can move independently. They’re insanely expensive and honestly kind’ve impractical but it was the biggest ticket thing to sell.

When I sold sex toys though our white whale was the 20lb ass. It was a female pelvis, a cut out from the waist to the tops of the thighs. It was hyper realistic material and cost about $500. I definitely had bigger tickets but not in one item typically.

In my time at the sex shop, I sold three. Each time was completely different in terms of how the guy acted about buying it. The first man was a little embarrassed and shy about it. I was professional and supportive as I rang it up. Once I handed him the receipt he looked at the box. Then he looked at me.

If you’ve ever wondered how big a box has to be to fit a 20lb ass let me just tell you: it’s pretty damn big. It’s an uncomfortably large armful of box and every side has a picture of the sex toy inside on it. It’s not subtle.

“Could I get a bag….?”

There was no bag that existed that could possibly contain all that ass. “Hang on,” I told him.

I got scissors and tape and covered the box in cut up black bags. Looking relieved he picked up his purchase and left.

The next man to buy one carried it proudly to the counter; self assured and not embarrassed in the least. When I said I didn’t have a bag, but I could wrap it for him he gave a hearty shrug and hefted it into his arms, marching out the door with the butt on full display.

The last man to get one was just kind’ve an odd guy. Not creepy, but eccentric. We got along great, and as I rang him up I said, “Well one guy wanted his taped over, and one guy carried it out. What would you prefer?”

“There’s no bags?”

“No store bags. I think our jumbo trash bags in the back might fit it….?” It seemed rude to suggest putting a $500 item into a trash bag, but he wasn’t bothered.

He considered this then said, “Bring me the trash bag.”

When I delivered it to him he still managed to surprise me. Instead of shoving the huge box into it he opened the box. He took out his new $500 sex toy, and all the little things it came with, tipping them unceremoniously into the trash bag.

“There! Now I don’t have to deal with the box later!”

I was slightly stunned but agreed that I could easily deal with the trash. Then in a move I still think about with delight he flung the trash bag over his shoulder like a Santa with a sack full of ass and sauntered out the door.

my top bit of advice going into the new year: compliment people. especially strangers. literally everyone you interact with if you can. when you buy coffee in the morning compliment the barista's tattoos. when you're chatting with a coworker tell them that by the way you like their outfit. always find something they've chosen to do on purpose. nail polish, jewellery, tattoos, hair colour/style, statement accessory, outfit, etc are all good bets. things people hope will be noticed. things that aren't too personal so it doesn't make them uncomfortable (eg probably not their physical features). i've gotten into the habit of scanning everyone i talk to for something about them that i think is cool so i can tell them. it's a great habit because it makes me notice people and realise just how many neat little details there are in people's presentation of themselves that might pass me by if i wasn't paying attention. and it brings out so much joy. you'd be surprised how much it disarms people to receive an unexpected compliment from someone they don't know. it is the most sincere smile you will see all day long. it feels nice to make people happy but it also means you win the social interaction. establish dominance by complimenting a stranger's earrings and disappearing into the fog

just wanted to add since a lot of ppl are saying they'd love to do this but they're socially anxious etc--that's actually why i started doing this! giving a compliment is basically a scripted lifeline in a conversation, especially one you can't leave. it's a great way to break the ice and it usually makes that person warm up and feel more comfortable chatting with you. sometimes they'll seize the opening as a hook (eg by telling you where they got the thing you complimented) which will save you fishing around for more small talk. if you're feeling awkward or you don't know what to say, it's usually a safe bet just to hop in with an aside like "by the way, i like your [xyz]!" doing this actively made me more confident in social situations and talking to strangers. bit daunting to start i concede but it's one of the safest conversational threads you can take. if you're an anxious person i can't recommend this enough

I do this, and I also do this in passing. For example, recently I was walking in an airport and this person who I assume was a mom (because she was wrangling small kids and looked frustrated about it) was wearing this great dress. I was walking by and I just swerved a little closer and said "I love your dress" and kept going. We made very short eye contact when she realized I was speaking to her, and I saw her start to smile before I was beyond her. I get a lot of compliments on my hair, and I'll tell you what, it is the nicest. And it does make it easier to start a conversation with people if it starts off like this. People are a little more warm. And people need more love and kindness in their lives!

Some additional advice: practice saying thank you to a compliment if that's not something you are comfortable with. It's hard! But accepting a compliment is a skill, and it's a returned kindness for the compliment itself. All you need to do is smile and say, "thank you, that's so kind" (or similar).

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”

Tale of Cinema (2005)

dir. Hong Sangsoo

(via Mubi)

Somewhere in Czechoslovakia
Color slide
1970s

ピンポン五目並べ　　(∩´∀｀)∩ ｿﾚｰ♪
Connect five

（ Reddit:r/Damnthatsinteresting u/Rice12Cake ）

it’s an unspoken thing between all of us- the grief of all the friends you never got to say goodbye to. like, the friends youd make in science class because the teacher sat you next to one another, the friends from your childhood who you mightve only spoken to in school, but whose existence sunk its teeth into you and left a permanent mark. even the ones you were closest to, the ones you called best friend for a time, somewhere along the way you parted without even noticing it. somewhere along the way, you played outside for the last time, shared food for the last time, stayed up talking for the last time, said i love you for the last time. when was the last time? we didnt decide to stop being friends. we didnt even say goodbye. but ‘see you next week’ turned into ‘it’s been a long time’, and now, if you saw each other in the street, you might pretend that you didnt. you might not even recognise them. they might not even recognise you. you can’t remember the shape of their nose. and what about the connections you made online when you were a child, playing games that meant so little with nameless friends that meant so much? or when you were a bit older, talking to strangers but loving them like family? here, raise a glass to the friends who disappeared one day, who deactivated, who stopped messaging you back, because online friends can bring you just as much joy as real life ones, too. when the adults told you dont talk to strangers, they didnt consider the good morning! :) texts, the have you eaten today? texts, the trying to hold in your laughter at 3am texts, the i wish timezones and continents and countries didnt exist so i could hug you texts, the little pieces of a persons heart texts, blue light flooding across the world just to say i love you. sleep well. i love you. i love you. the grief comes in waves. it’s slow, and soft, and steady- you dont notice it pooling around your ankles at first, you dont want to- but it comes. childhood is where the grief begins. it’s reared like a well-loved pet, a hungry mouth under the tablecloth. a passing thought from time to time, when you remember the girl you befriended a long long time ago, and when you wonder where she went. it doesn’t feel like much at first. it doesn’t break you yet. it’s not like real grief, not like anyone died, but you had something in your hand and now it’s empty and you can’t remember where you put it. it’s like that, except the thing in your hand was a person who loved you, once. a person whose face you couldn’t draw if the world got on its knees and begged you. when you dont get to say goodbye to someone, your memory becomes a funeral, every conversation you ever shared with them a eulogy. because this is how the story goes. i had a friend. this is not a poem. i had a friend.