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i love translators’ notes. i love seeing a little footnote that’s like “compare my good and grass-touching translation to the STUPID translations of smith and johnson, who rendered the passage ‘xyz’ because their heads are so far up their ass they’re giving ouroboroses body dysmorphia” or “this sentence isn’t translated very well, but that’s because the author wasn’t making any FUCKING sense”

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I never saw people say stuff like this enough when I was a teenager, so I’m saying it now.

I’m in my mid-thirties and I have never had sex. I’ve thought about it and could have had one or two opportunities if I put in more effort, but I always decided against it because I just wasn’t into it at the time.

I can safely say that I do not feel I have missed out on anything. I was perfectly capable, by myself, of learning about my own body and boundaries without anyone else there to muddy the waters. The immense pressure that was there in my teens/twenties to Have Sex Just Do It is basically gone. I’m vibing. I’ve got my routine by myself in bed that I enjoy, and that’s enough for me.

And in the unlikely event that I ever decide to have sex with someone in the future, I don’t feel at all like I’m lacking some essential Knowledge or Skill that would “make it good” for someone else. I fully expect to ask my partner out loud what they like and to receive an answer clearly communicated and to relax and have fun. And if it’s a disappointing experience, I’m fine with that too. It is what it is.

Sex is just not that big of a deal. I suspected it as a teen, and I’m more sure of it now. It’s fine to have it or not have it. It’s whatever.

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once i figure out how to do anatomy and facial expressions and proportion and foreshortening and basic perspective and color theory and composition then youll all be sorry

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Collection of my favorite YouTube comments

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since the yearly "certain medications can cause heat intolerance" PSAs are out in full force, let us fondly remember last year when I was at Pennsic (big ass medieval recreation event) and our group was tearing down our giant tent lodge we use for our kitchen and dining hall. and there's a part at the very end where the roof is sort of on the ground, but still tented on a pole in the middle. and someone has to go under there to unhook the roof from the pole. but it's hot as fuck in that part since it's been baking in the sun for two weeks, so it's called "Satan's asshole". which resulted in somebody VERY solemnly telling me, "going into Satan's asshole is NOT a job for somebody on SSRIs"

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it's been incredibly freeing to realize that i'm entitled to never having to come up with anything original ever again because i already made cookie clicker and i can be satisfied with that. sorry this isn't meant to be relatable the rest of y'all still gotta try

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LISTEN. all I want is a Big Strong Girlfriend and a Fancy Foppish Boyfriend is that SO MUCH to fucking ask. and they're both taller than me.

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I know some of you will love this

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Okay the WEIRDEST THING is going going down right now

So some guy in Michigan in the US has just found a letter in his grandmother’s house; it seems to be a pen pal letter from 1973ish, and it’s from a young Welsh girl. In it, she lists:

Her name, and the names of her brother (Gwynedd) and sister (Catrin)

Their ages

Where she lives in Wales (Denbigh)

Her hobbies, including horse riding and reading pony books.

So this American dude decides to take a photo, whack it on Twitter and ask the only Welsh person he knows if there’s any way to track this Welsh girl down, because you know, ALL WELSH PEOPLE KNOW EACH OTHER, OBVIOUSLY

Except

I am furious to report that it has worked

Welsh person he tags doesn’t know, but takes up the challenge. Someone reckons the Catrin might be a woman who translated a hymn book once, and checks the foreword to see that the dates and ages do seem to be about right. Someone else suddenly has a brainwave - wait, isn’t she the mother of Steff, the comedian?

My husband gets tagged, takes one look at this letter, and is like “That is 1000% my aunt.”

So now it’s 20 to midnight, Steff’s aunt has obviously not yet seen the excited message to put Twitter out of their misery, and my mother-in-law is currently on the phone gleefully telling us that when that letter was written her sister had never sat on a horse in her life before, and she’d lied to an American pen pal for clout before the internet even existed.

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You OBSTRUCT Miles? You call him a mutant? Oh! Oh! Brig for commanding officer! Brig for commanding officer for one thousand years!

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After a long silence, Bothari spoke again. "If I were killed, you wouldn't leave me out there, would you, my lord?" "Huh?" Miles tore his attention from trying to make new constellations. He had just connected the dots into a figure dubbed, mentally, Cavalryman. "They leave bodies in space sometimes. Cold as hell. . . . God can't find them out there. No one could." Miles blinked. He had never known the Sergeant concealed a theological streak. "Look, what's all this all of a sudden about getting killed? You're not going to—" "The Count your father promised me," Bothari raised his voice slightly to override him, "I'd be buried at your lady mother's feet, at Vorkosigan Surleau. He promised. Didn't he tell you?" "Er . . . The subject never came up." "His word as Vorkosigan. Your word." "Uh, right, then." Miles stared out the chamber's transparency. Some saw stars, it seemed, and some saw the spaces between them. Cold . . . "You planning on heaven, Sergeant?" “As my lady's dog. Blood washes away sin. She swore it to me. . . ." He trailed off, gaze never leaving the depths. Presently, the flask slipped from his fingers, and he began to snore. Miles sat cross-legged, watching over him, a small figure in his underwear against the black immensity, and very far from home.”

extremely happy not to need to be normal about it

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i would say that this is also about housing regulations but i truly believe those can be fixed

fucked up that you can never know the all the true ways your actions will affect the world until it's far too late to do anything about it

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Jihyo ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Lollapalooza 2025

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this is not just about bad effects btw, this is about random local theatre shows I think about to this day, a single strangers phrase that inexorably changed my vocabulary, a chance invite leading to my closest friend, and the cascade of coincidences flowing out from all of these

it's about complaints to copper merchants, the one line in an obscure book that sparks interest. Apparently the most meaningful thing I did to a friend was something I never thought twice about, but made her life better.

There are boring committees where I've fought for slight changes, where if significant effects come from them my own contribution will be invisible and better for it.

And yes, there are places where for someone else I have fucked things up, resonances of some stupid action that will give someone a nasty headache some day. And there are actions I'll think are good, that are twisted by history into something completely different than my intent, but I have to keep making choices

I have to keep putting my whole heart into the world, never knowing if a wave will resonate or dissipate or become the background state for some odd instability that only occurs at an unknown convergence

fucked up that you can never know the all the true ways your actions will affect the world until it's far too late to do anything about it

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fucked up that you can never know the all the true ways your actions will affect the world until it's far too late to do anything about it