prettysurethisworks

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[prettysurethisworks]

Verily, man, this wizard peace is splendid. I just saw a guy clap his hands together and say "spirits o' field and vineyard" or something along those lines, and every one around him was showered in fresh-baked pastries and loaves, had their cups fill with aged wine, and then were soothed by a warm summer breeze. The minstrels didn't even sing his praises, that's what a joyous time this is. And here I've just been casting calming dew and level 2 aura of cheer. I think I just heard "power word: dessert" two groups over. I gotta get over there.

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The legend of King Arthur predates thinking

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this will be the year I finally convince everyone to abandon New Year's resolutions in favour of Yule Boasting, the clearly superior tradition

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Devastating to have more evidence that done IS better than perfect

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you think just because you're gorgeous that means you don't have to drink water?? pssh, think again, bub. you really thought just because you're smart and beautiful and loved that means you don't gotta drink water. ridiculous.

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WIBTA for taking advantage of my boss’ possible manic episode?

I know this already sounds bad but hear me out.

So I (30M) am the sole employee of this guy (62M) who’s honestly just a miserable boss and an even more miserable person. It sucks so bad working for him—the pay is horrendous, he’s verbally abusive, and the working conditions are awful (in the winter I literally have to stay bundled up the whole work day because he refuses to put the heat on in the office). He wouldn’t even give me holidays off if it wasn’t for the fact that there’s basically nothing to do those days because everywhere else is closed. I’m almost positive he unironically thinks poor people should die if they can’t work. His nephew (aka his only living relative and just the nicest guy) came by yesterday to invite him to Christmas dinner and he told him he’d see him in hell.

I cannot stress this enough—it’s BAD. I’d quit, but it’s been hard finding a better job and I’ve got four kids at home, including one with special needs.

Anyway, so here’s where I’m wondering if I’d be the asshole. Today was Christmas Day and he showed up at my house out of nowhere (huge red flag, I know). At first I thought he’d forgotten I had the day off and he was here to chew me out, which was worrying enough, but then his whole demeanor changed and he was super happy and excited and talking about how he was going to raise my salary. He even mentioned possibly making me a partner in the firm.

Now if that was it, I’d feel a little weird about the suddenness of it but it’d be fine. I’m not going to complain about having more money to feed my family. But then he started talking about how he wanted to pay our mortgage off. He talked about wanting to pay for our son to get the very expensive medical care that’s probably going to save his life. He mentioned at one point that he was going to be donating a huge amount of money to charity too—I knew he was rich but it staggered me. All this from a guy who doesn’t (didn’t?) even want to turn on the heat or the lights because it costs too much money.

It was such a sudden and drastic change that happened very literally overnight and now I’m kind of concerned he’s having a manic episode or something. I really, really want to accept his sudden generosity (I probably will; my wife is all for it and thinks he owes it to us), and I would love to believe that he’s truly had a sudden change of heart (an actual Christmas miracle lol) but I’m just worried about the possible consequences of accepting huge financial gifts like this from someone who I believe might be experiencing some kind of break from reality. Even if there’s nothing legally wrong with it, I’m worried about the ethics of it.

TLDR, my asshole boss might be in the middle of a mental breakdown. WIBTA if I accepted his offer to pay off my mortgage and my son’s medical expenses?

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One of the things that’s really struck me while rereading the Lord of the Rings–knowing much more about Tolkien than I did the last time I read it–is how individual a story it is.

We tend to think of it as a genre story now, I think–because it’s so good, and so unprecedented, that Tolkien accidentally inspired a whole new fantasy culture, which is kind of hilarious. Wanting to “write like Tolkien,” I think, is generally seen as “writing an Epic Fantasy Universe with invented races and geography and history and languages, world-saving quests and dragons and kings.” But… But…

Here’s the thing. I don’t think those elements are at all what make The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings so good. Because I’m realizing, as I did not realize when I was a kid, that Tolkien didn’t use those elements because they’re somehow inherently better than other things. He used them purely because they were what he liked and what he knew.

The Shire exists because he was an Englishman who partially grew up in, and loved, the British countryside, and Hobbits are born out of his very English, very traditionalist values. Tom Bombadil was one of his kids’ toys that he had already invented stories about and then incorporated into Middle-Earth. He wrote about elves and dwarves because he knew elves and dwarves from the old literature/mythology that he’d made his career. The Rohirrim are an expression of the ancient cultures he studied. There are a half-dozen invented languages in Middle-Earth because he was a linguist. The themes of war and loss and corruption were important to him, and were things he knew intimately, because of the point in history during which he lived; and all the morality of the stories, the grace and humility and hope-in-despair, was an expression of his Catholic faith. 

J. R. R. Tolkien created an incredible, beautiful, unparalleled world not specifically by writing about elves and dwarves and linguistics, but by embracing all of his strengths and loves and all the things he best understood, and writing about them with all of his skill and talent. The fact that those things happened to be elves and dwarves and linguistics is what makes Middle-Earth Middle-Earth; but it is not what makes Middle-Earth good.

What makes it good is that every element that went into it was an element J. R. R. Tolkien knew and loved and understood. He brought it out of his scholarship and hobbies and life experience and ideals, and he wrote the story no one else could have written… And did it so well that other people have been trying to write it ever since.

So… I think, if we really want to write like Tolkien (as I do), we shouldn’t specifically be trying to write like linguists, or historical experts, or veterans, or or or… We should try to write like people who’ve gathered all their favorite and most important things together, and are playing with the stuff those things are made of just for the joy of it. We need to write like ourselves.

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I feel like how dumb Gawain ends up looking in screen adaptations of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight depends entirely on how hard the costume designer goes on the titular Knight. Like, there's a definite point beyond which you've gotta be like, dude, look at him – of course he's gonna get back up.

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Little John waiting back at camp in Sherwood Forest

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ONE.

YEAR.

HENCE

(this 10000% has to already exist on here but i couldnt get the idea out of my head)

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See, our first mistake was trying to have a civilization in northern Europe between October and February. The darkest three months of the year should be for staying home under the blankets, midwinter festivals, and getting blind drunk when the sun goes down at 4 pm like the bog gods intended.

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ey kids, economy's tough this year. you're only getting one

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Toddlers are so pure. She doesn’t understand that we help her with certain things because she’s little. She thinks that everyone just helps each other like that. So she tries to blow on my food and cut it up for me and tries to help me put on my shoes.

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This diagram of a WW2 plane instantly won so many internet arguments

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JUST LEARNED NEW PANGUR BAN LORE?? 🥺🥺🥺

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The Baker Street Irregulars were not renowned for their patience; nor for their propriety, nor indeed their cleanliness; but wait they did. It was perhaps the longest I would ever see them stand in one place without making a nuisance.

When my shave was finished, and the barber passed me the mirror to inspect the results of his labors, even then they did not budge, but something -- some instinct, perhaps, or some secret, unconscious awareness -- led me to look once again into the ruddy face of the barber, who had so boldly interrupted the Irregulars. He winked at me.

I turned to the tallest of the present boys, who by his stature presented the most obvious claimant to leadership, and asked him to deliver his report, as Holmes had instructed.

That the lad immediately reported to the barber, and not to myself, should have come as more of a surprise, I suppose; but by this time in our friendship, my dear Holmes had so inoculated me against shock at his disguises that I might have taken in stride his appearing in the guise of a turnip in a greengrocer's cart.

You notice out of the corner of your eye the way the barber changes the grip on the razor. "Gentlemen. This man has already paid for his shave. Soap, lather, aftershave. Your business with him will have to wait until. I. Am. Done."