#Manual Mathematics

[cant-think-of-a-good-one]

the Spectres aren't just a few shapes. they're an infinite family of shapes. a family that includes this:

i'm naming this particular shape

The Fuckre

[the-math-one]

my favourite thing is when some book or some solution to a problem I've been spending 10 hours on finishes all the steps I already thought of, and then goes "from here, it is trivial to finish"

aren't you supposed to be a solution? stop making me do work!

[artisticdivasworld]

The Art of Origami: A Journey Through History, Use, and Mastery

In this series, we have been looking at various types of art as art forms.  We have visited collage, multi-media art, Mexican Folk Art, ATC’s, Japanese Kintsugi, Street Art and Murals, pottery, Chinese Kites, and now Origami.  Wow! That’s a lot of art.  I hope you have been following and have enjoyed learning about these different types of art around the world. Origami, the traditional Japanese…

[davy-zeppeli]

one of my boyfriend’s lecturers always includes his pet dog (Kevin) in his questions and assignments and it makes me so happy. he just sent me his most recent question:

“5. Your pet dog Kevin eats a certain amount of dog food every day. His food comes in a big bag and consists of small dry biscuits that weigh about 5 grams each. All biscuits look the same to you, you can’t see any difference between slightly lighter and slightly heavier ones. the past two days you have kept track of how much food you have given Kevin and that data looks as follows:

It is time to give Kevin his food for today. You want to give him 525 grams, but unfortunately the battery in your scales is empty and hence you can’t weigh his food.

You decide to use credibility theory to design a model for the weight of the biscuits, and then compute the number of biscuits you should give Kevin to get as close as possible to the desired total of 525 grams...”

[writerthreads]

Americanisms that annoy the crap out of me in writing

By Writerthreads

Welcome back to another post! Today is a little rant/PSA for all of you who use American English and terminology.

When I read books that are meant to portray British characters, I get so annoyed when I read jarring Americanisms. Here’s a list of them that are especially annoying (I’m sorry):

“Pants”

Pants = underwear. Every time I read something on Ao3 along the lines of “Harry spilled a cup of tea on his pants” I immediately think of him drinking said tea in his undies which is absolutely hilarious.

Somebody who can’t afford to go to the GP/hospital??

Hello, we have the NHS which is free at the point delivery!!! #rare uk w

I had to fully stop reading a fic when a British character couldn’t afford medical care and that was a whole plot-line.

As a medical student, this scenario is fully bizarre for me to comprehend. The only situation in which someone wouldn’t seem medical attention from my pov is if they don’t want to wait for hours at the A&E

Chips/crisps/fries omfg

Chips= the fatter ones you get with fish and chips

Crisps: potato chips

Fries: the thinner ones from Maccies

Cookies vs biscuits

To this day, I still don’t fully get the cookie/biscuit thing but according to my British friends who get annoyed when I mix them up, biscuits are meant to be crunchier (eg. Chocolate digestives & jammie joggers), while cookies are softer, eg. chocolate chip cookies

Biscuits covered in gravy????

What is that. That is not a thing. The UK equivalent would be a scone (sweet, eaten with jam and clotted cream or smth like that and which one goes first is a whole debacle) or a Yorkshire pudding.

Accent/slang

Different people from different areas in the UK speak differently & have different vernacular. When who’s meant to be posh speaks in roadman talk, it’s the funniest thing ever, so please do research carefully!

Takeout

Unfortunately I do say this quite a bit, but people are saying this more in the UK now imo. Takeaway is the preferred term.

Fall

“It’s fall because the leaves fall form the treeeeees” no bro it’s autumn. I grimace every time I read this in a book set in the UK.

I could care less

Ok, then care less? It’s I couldn’t care less, which makes more sense anyways.

Fanny pack

Fannies mean something else in the UK lol. It’s a bum bag, but this term is used more now maybe?

Freshman year? College? Frats? Spring break?

We have a different education system :) uni is three years usually, colleges are halls at uni or sixth form colleges

Little annoyances:

Math: It’s maths. Mathematics.

Vacation: holiday (more interchangeable now tho)

“Line up”: “QUEUE up”

On accident: by accident

Trunk/hood: boot/bonnet (I do a weird mix and say boot/hood, my bad lol)

I drive stick vs I drive manual (learnt this from my ex). Most people in the UK (and Europe) drive manual because it’s supposedly superior

Movie: film (more interchangeable now)

Principal: headmaster/mistress

There’s probably a longer list somewhere…

Thank you for bearing with me. My friends are now subject to me saying ‘trousers’ every time they say ‘pants’, I can’t help it (help I’m getting colonised)

Also look up slang (esp slang from certain parts of London, or roadman slang), they’re hilarious and I can’t help but say some of them now (I blame my friends but honestly calling a meal a scran is so funny)

Anyways goodbye

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Donatello's First Love—Splinter's Talk

mostly bayverse, could be 2003 if you squint hard enough. did it a little different with this one compared to the others :0 word count: 1.6k

Spanning his messy corner of the Lair, Donnie's many monitors mounted to the wall were alight with a blue glow. The same few camera feeds rotated between the locations outside of their home and other places, monitoring, and allowing surveillance to take a backseat in his mind while he worked. At his desk, he gently squeezed a pipette into the mouth of a breaker, waiting for the reaction he was looking for to occur. 

"Interesting," he mumbled to himself, "I wonder what happens if I were to supercool the mixture." 

He placed the substance in a tray and prepared another batch, this time, much more concentrated. There wasn't much to do around the house besides experiment with the materials he'd salvaged. That was fine; he enjoyed the process, and filling notebooks—and his walls—to the brim with chemical equations, notes and mathematics that hardly anyone but he could read. 

Careful with his large fingers to not drop the pipette, he sucked a few drops up from the test tube, going in to add to the mixture. He squinted, almost there. And then the startling alarm pinged on the screen next to him, making him jump and squirt the chemical on his work surface. He quickly wiped up and looked over at the computer. "'Motion detected: [y/n]'s apartment complex'," the screen read, switching camera feeds to one of the multiple tiny cameras he had set up. He only put cameras where he thought it mattered; he was paranoid about an ambush, and even more so at her place than theirs, now that she was coming and going from the Lair. The likelihood of their enemies finding out her association with them was about a fifty-seven percent chance, fifty percent too much for Donnie.

He scanned the monitor for signs of anything suspicious, but it turned out to be only a friend dropping by with a key to put a package inside, with [y/n]'s permission. 

"Oh," he muttered, suddenly feeling silly. He made sure the person left her apartment—and locked it back—before quickly switching the feed. That was his one secret nobody had managed to catch him out on yet. Even so, he felt slick and a little guilty for spying. But, justifiably, they needed to know if she ever was in danger! He dismissed the notification and rotated the feeds manually. "Whoops. Sorry, [y/n]...yeah, I'll just switch that back." 

He shuffled around to resume his work titrating. Except Splinter stood curiously behind the desk, eyes trained close on the monitors, and then Donnie. Donnie flinched—Splinter usually didn't come in or near his lab. In fact, none of his family normally bothered him when he had his nose in his work, because none of them understood it. Not even Leo bothered to try to get the details. The details went over their heads. 

"So, Donatello, what is it you are working on?"

"Oh, Master Splinter," Donnie greeted him, glancing back to make sure the monitor was no longer on the door to her apartment. He picked up the pipette and test tube he'd knocked over before, "What is it?"

"Refer back to my last question," Splinter replied. He leaned calmly against his cane and looked all around the cluttered lab. Notes taped, tacked, even glued to walls. A whiteboard full of impossible equations, various pieces of technology in disrepair he'd picked up from trash and things going to recycling. Quite the mess, but Donnie knew where everything was. Splinter cocked his head slightly. "What disorganization," he commented.

"Disorganized to you," Donnie corrected with a smile, "but I can find anything I'm looking for—it's actually 'unorganized', implies that it never was organized. The definition of 'disorganized' suggests that something once was organized but now isn't, but I never once had this place in order," he rambled. 

"Donatello," Splinter interrupted. Once his son got talking, it was hard to stop him. He just had to interject to get a word in. "What is it you are doing? You have been very unfocused lately. This is strange for you."  

"Unfocused" was an understatement. With a mind already running miles per minute, he was getting caught up in his own head. Getting his work station back to a functional state, he set up his tube tray, answering, "Titrating these and writing out their chemical equations. The brain's like a muscle, gotta exercise it and stay sharp," he said. And with all that sharpness, he was only half-suspicious as to why Splinter was suddenly interested in what he was doing. 

Splinter nodded. "Then I must not have seen miss [y/n]'s apartment complex on your screen. Carry on." 

Donnie froze, watching Splinter out of the corner of his hazel eyes. His stomach dropped. So, it was one secret—they weren't going to understand, he was just as protective of their home, too! What if she couldn't call the police, or even them in time if someone broke in? Her apartment wasn't in a good area, Donatello already didn't like that. What if someone grabbed her? He couldn't put his mind at ease without knowing. 

"I—well, this was a recent development, you see," Donatello stuttered, fidgeting with the purple wraps around his hands. He realized then how weird it all looked and panicked. He'd never meant for it to go this far; his cautionary measures just kept escalating more and more with his feelings for her. "I swear, it's just outside of her place! I would never put a camera in her apartment, that would be creepy, and way overstepping," he explained. "I told her I'd always look out for her and that she can count on me."

"Oh, I suppose it's no problem, then, since she gave you such consent," Splinter said, looking away momentarily to scratch his chin. His eyes snapped back over to his anxious son and popped a hairy brow up as he knocked the end of his cane on the floor to grab his attention further. "Is that right, Donatello?" 

He wanted to go into his shell. I'm busted, this is not good. "Don't tell her! So, I, um…I didn't exactly…" The thought trailed off. He didn't need to finish that sentence for both of them to know. 

"Precisely my point. Now that we have made that clear, would you like to tell me what this is really about?" 

"No! I mean, I will, since you're asking, but—agh, I swear, I'm not a creep," he said. "I just wanted to make sure she'd be okay. That's it." 

Splinter crossed behind his desk, slipping an arm around his son's shell. Donnie wanted to pull away. "Come with me. Let's take a walk." 

He led them out of the Lair into the tunnels outside their home. They could loop around easily and end up back at the Lair, and Splinter knew Donnie was going to resist talking if the others could be around to hear. Sometimes, you must play on other people's terms, he thought, listening to the quiet drip echo as they ambled through the sewer. He figured it was time to do a little damage control, although he normally pledged not to interfere with his sons and them making their mistakes. However, he didn't want to see Donatello make a potentially hazardous one to himself. 

"Now, you must understand, my son, you cannot know everything at once," Splinter said, avoiding an accusatory tone. "You have a brilliant mind, but you certainly don't tend to see the obvious." 

"What do you mean, master?" Donnie questioned. The "obvious" being under any other circumstances, his actions would definitely be seen as "creepy". The notion flew right under his radar as something to worry about, as their circumstances were anything but normal. 

"Of course, you are a young man, you want to watch out for the one you love," Splinter pointed out. Donnie cringed, even though he hasn't made much of an attempt to hide that fact. He was excited to explore something new, why should he have hidden thos feelings? He didn't shout them to the world. But it was well-known among their family that he'd beaten his brothers to the punch when it came to her, and no going for it was an unwritten but understood boundary. Still, this wasn't a conversation he was prepared for have tonight; his mind was still back at his lab.

"About everyone but Michelangelo has noticed you've been retreating to your lab more often recently." He chuckled. "And your antics around her are obvious, again. Loosen your grip a little. You are annoying your brothers vying for her attention." 

Donnie felt a rush of embarrassment come over him. Yes, he was showy—expressive, maybe too quick to whisk her away to demonstrate his new inventions, the stuff he'd discovered. Donnie knew he could hyperfixate on and obsess over things; she was on his mind more than not. As for annoying his brother, he wasn't the strongest, but he was the smartest. He was much more eager with his staff and putting his siblings back in their lane when she was around. The electric component on his weapon came in handy for quick corrections, and goofing around. 

Through all of that, he remembered having a moment of clarity when she was inspecting his computer setup one night and the camera almost flickered to hers, to which he scrambled to shut it off. Conveniently, he brushed that aside. 

Donnie lifted his goggles, rubbing his face sheepishly. "I guess you're right," he admitted. 

"The things you do for love," Splinter shook his head. "Be sure you do not push her away by accident. You are fortunate I had the mind to come talk to you about this before you made a mistake and a fool of yourself. Consider it a fair warning," he said as he looked over at his son, who waited quietly for him to continue, "to not overstep." 

"I understand, loud and clear." 

Splinter nodded in agreement, "Good. I trust you will take this advice well. You have a good heart and good intentions, Donatello, do not be clouded by your mind. Your brain is not your only quality."

"Thanks, master Splinter. I'll let up on it," Donnie relented with a small smile. He was still uncomfortable, feeling a bit dumb. He always was so caught up on making predictions, keeping everything running smoothly and safely that he didn't always consider how that worked for other people. Just because it made sense to him, didn't mean it made sense to them. Note that for later, Donatello, he reminded himself. He turned around to head back to the Lair. 

Splinter stopped to take in a little sunlight from the grate above his head, stopping Donnie in his tracks. "Oh, and Donatello," he called. 

"Yeah?" 

Splinter assumed parental status, and Donnie knew that scolding tone all too well. "Tell her about it, or turn that damned camera off." 

~wooOoOOOoooOooOooo partitionnnnnnn~

Side rant: I actually hate it when people portray Donnie (except for 2012 iterations) as shy and unconfident. He is literally the opposite in 2003 and Bayverse. Donatello is not "a little baby uwu" and I'm tired of people making him look so meek 😭

[omenarchive]

Hey! I noticed on your (super rad) level ups page for Orym, you have him listed as having History Expertise from the first episode. I don't think I've seen that listed elsewhere, so I was wondering where that information is coming from?

Glad you noticed that! While we were working on the level ups data, we got a little curious about Orym's History Expertise ourselves. It had been very tidily confirmed in episode 105 by Orym rolling a nat 20 on his History check, for a total of 32. We were also thinking about the feats he might take for the level 14 analysis, so the origin of that mystery Expertise was top of mind. The folks at Encylopedia Exandria have had it indicated on Orym's page since June 26th, 2023. You can see in the background of Liam's Math Rocks tiktok that History has the circle and dot indicator that means Expertise, and furthermore, has the coloration that indicates on DnDBeyond.com that it was added in manually (see here: https://criticalrole.miraheze.org/wiki/Orym#cite_note-210, very nice catch there, EE). At this point in time, Orym would have been at level 9 in the game.

However, that did not clarify how long he had had it, or where it had come from, so Archivist Fey looked at Orym's earlier History checks to see if any of them were mathematically impossible for him without Expertise, and found this in episode 34:

In episode 34, Orym was at level 7. At that time, his Intelligence modifier was a +1, and his Proficiency Bonus was a +3. That means if he did not have Expertise, the highest he could get with a History check would be a 24. So there were two whole levels where it existed and we just hadn't noticed!

On a hunch, we checked for any History checks from Orym in EXU. Sure enough, in episode 8 of EXU prime, Orym rolls a 23 on his History check. The only way he could do this at that level would be to roll a nat 20, and there is no indication of a crit whatsoever. That means that in order to have gotten a 23 on that check, he would need to have Expertise, which in turn means Orym did not gain it at some point during C3. It's quietly, unassumingly, been there the whole time!

[maykitz]

it goes without saying that evangelical parenting books are telescopes into hell (like how "to train up a child" famously recommends you begin hitting infants asap with thinner sticks that don't leave marks and then grow the instrument alongside the baby) but "growing kids god's way" by anne marie and gary ezzo even gives percentages, saying that 80% of pain-based punishments schould take place before the baby is 3 years old, and the remaining 20% should be spread out across the next 10 years, and then cease it altogether on teenagers. my thoughts about mathematically calculating an allotment of how often you'll be hurting a baby aside- this obviously doesn't cohere with any concept of training at all. even IF you consider corporal punishment appropriate, surely it'd be administered "as needed" and not on a prescheduled timeline that exists before they're even born? why do you need to get in almost all of the pain right before the age where a kid begins to speak properly and then drastically decrease it? and why stop on teenagers, famously a very rebellious phase? well, because they'll tell on you.

and there are plenty of otherwise equally fanatical religious guides that aren't fixated on hideable physical pain like this or even reject it, so this particular market of books really only makes sense if you read them as instruction manuals for adults who experience an unnatural sadistic bent towards children or simply in general (which isn't necessarily, but occasionally related to the pedophilic variety). ie people who get a rush of pleasant feelings when they get to exercise dominance and subordination by inflicting pain on a person or animal, often on a child specifically, who are looking for peer validation and advice on what the tried and true methods are for getting away with it. that's it.

[whencyclopedia]

The Fabric of Civilization: How Textiles Made the World

In "The Fabric of Civilization," Virginia Postrel explores how the history of textiles is akin to the story of civilization as we know it. As evidenced throughout her book, Postrel treats each chapter as a standalone story of its production and journey, all the while masterfully weaving it together to show the story of human ingenuity. While academic in nature due to its incredibly well-researched methodology, the general reader will enjoy the book's unique style and approach to world history.

In The Fabric of Civilization: How Textiles Made the World, Virginia Postrel expertly demonstrates how the history of textiles is the story of human progress. Although textiles have shaped society in many ways, their central role in the development of technology and impact on socio-economics have been exceedingly overlooked. Attempting to remedy this issue, Postrel organizes her book into two distinct sections: one focusing on the different stages of textile production (fiber, thread, cloth, and dye) and the other on the consumers, traders, and future innovators of said textiles. To strengthen her argument, Postrel pulls from different primary sources across many regions and cultures, such as the works of people like entomologist Agostino Bassi and the accounts of disgruntled Assyrian merchants. However, Postrel goes beyond relying solely on books and peer-reviewed articles; she personally interviewed textile historians, scientists, businesspeople, and artisans who offered their own insight regarding the importance of textiles in the world. To help the reader envision the intricacies of textile manufacturing, the book is riddled with images that range from ancient spindle whorls and Andean textile patterns to nineteenth-century pamphlets raging over improved cotton seeds. It is quite a laborious task to explain the history of textiles, but Postrel’s way of organizing her chapters and style of writing does an excellent job of conveying her argument.

In Chapter One, Postrel illustrates the many uses of fibers and how their multipurpose functionality served its role in world economies. From the domestication of cotton in the Americas to sericulture in ancient China, such fibers left an indelible mark on trade and technology. Chapter Two looks at the use of thread's connection with social and gender roles as Postrel argues that dismissing fabric as feminine domesticity ignores its integral role in the social innovations that products like clothing and sails provided. Chapter Three connects mathematics with weaving through handwoven textiles by Andean artisans and in the notations written down in Marx Ziegler’s manual, The Weaver’s Art and Tie-Up Book (1677). Chapter Four explains how dyes not only contributed to the distinction between social classes, such as the use of Tyrian purple by Roman emperors but also the ingenuity of humans to ascribe meaning and beauty to a variety of colors. Furthermore, the increasing and competitive trading of dyes in the 16th and 17th centuries would eventually contribute to the discovery of synthetic dyes.

Textile traders and consumers also helped to foster cultural exchanges. Postrel then highlights how traders often also served as innovators. The implementation of the Fibonacci sequence in European trading not only helped traders with bookkeeping but also gave a new perspective to the practicality of learning math by helping traders understand profits and calculate prices. Readers explore in Chapter Six how the Mongol Empire expanded across many different lands for their desire for valuable woven textiles. Under the Pax Mongolica, the textile trade flourished as the Mongols protected the Silk Road, resulting in cross-cultural and technological exchange between Europe and Asia. Lastly, in Chapter Seven, Postrel introduces synthetic polymers like nylon and polyester, where the efforts made by scientists like Wallace Carothers, Rex Whinfield, and James Dickson have revolutionized the use of textiles. Companies like Under Armour use polyester to create water-repellent clothing. Despite synthetic polymers currently being used innovatively, many still seek to look into the future of textiles. As Postrel explains, imagine your pockets can charge your phone or your hat could give you directions. The future of textiles is incredibly exciting.

As an avid writer of socio-economics, Postrel expertly showcases her knowledge of the subject. Postrel’s previous books, such as The Future and its Enemies (1998) and The Power of Glamour: Longing and the Art of Visual Persuasion (2013), cover the interconnectedness between culture, technology, and the economy. Postrel has also worked as a columnist for several news sites, is the contributing editor for the magazine Works in Progress, and was a visiting fellow at the Smith Institute for Political Economy and Philosophy at Chapman University. This book is a wonderful intellectual contribution that feels like a documentary series, perfectly threading the reader through cultures and regions like a needle through fabric.

Continue reading...

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you Make it | Part 21

Eddie wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. Yes. He lived in a trailer park. But he wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. He had money, he made bank on being weird for the women of Hawkins, he’d made an easy quick buck dealing back in his high school years, and he had many marketable skills that could get him some kind of menial labour kind of job.

Barback, auto repair, retail, manual labour, and of course, music among the few.

So he was never really poor enough to see moths fly from his wallet in place of cash, never poor enough to miss meals on purpose to save money, or to worry about where his next meal was going to come from while hunger gnawed at his gut.

But being able to just. Walk through a supermarket, without having to look at the price of things before putting them into the cart?

That was a level of financial security that he’d not yet attained, and yet there he was. After being given a second cart for himself, and being assured that he could get anything he thought he and Steve might want while John would grab things for himself and Lynda in his own cart, he was set loose with the simple instruction to meet at the checkouts, John would wait for him if he ended up there first and vice versa.

Eddie didn’t think he’d be finishing first though. There were options. He had options. He didn’t have to look at prices, he didn’t have to grab the cheapest things on the shelf, or look for things reduced in price cause they were about to expire.

He didn’t even have to do mental mathematics for taxes because it didn’t matter!

The only thing he had to worry about, the only thing that made Eddie completely certain in the fact that he’d be making John wait for him at the checkouts, was figuring out what Steve might want to eat without making it way too obvious that he didn’t actually know Steve all that well at all.

He was really starting to wish that he’d just sided with Steve about the pizza.

Okay so, contrary to popular belief given his whole. Keg King persona back in high school. Steve Harrington… couldn’t hold his drink.

At least not anymore. He couldn’t even do a hand stand anymore.

Before, he’d been a killer at it, he could drink and drink and drink, he was like a fish with it, king of the drinking games, lording it over the popular crowd as if it were something to actually be proud of, as if it were a genuine accomplishment to be able to out drink your peers.

But he didn’t drink anymore. At least not nearly as often as he used to.

Alcohol was expensive, and he worked minimum wage.

The most he could do was a six pack from the gas station that he and Robin would split out on a picnic blanket in his back yard, staring up at the sky with nothing but the glow of the pool lights to dim the stars above, laughing about their failed conquests and making plans neither of them could really afford to see through.

Back to the point, Steve, and Lynda Harrington, had found ol Mags’ stash of cheaper reds.

Not quite the big bucks bottles lining the shelves of the wine cellar which Steve, despite them being his now thank you very much grandparents and their ridiculously generous will, wouldn’t touch, but definitely heavy hitting enough to lighten any terrible lows that may have lingered after their earlier spat.

Which led them to their current predicament. Laying on the rug in the living room in front of a crackling fireplace, two glasses of wine between them, and two half empty bottles.

One each of course, they weren’t going to share just one, what were they? Poor?

Steve, feeling curious about a thing that’d come up once as a small, throwaway thought, now the only thing he could think about as he stared at the wooden beams that made up the ceiling and having zero inhibitions stopping him from asking it, so he asked, “How come you never brought up Robin?”

“Hm?” His mother turned to him, cheeks flushed a warm pink, she never could hold her alcohol, he’d gotten that skill from his dad, however fleeting his use of it had been. “Your friend?”

“Yeah, Robbie’s great, why’d you never… why’d you never try’n set me up with Robbie, wh’ts wrong with Robbie?” He didn’t think she meant to laugh quite as condescendingly as she had, but it definitely sounded like that as she burst out laughing. “Tried every girl but Robbie—s’not funny!”

“Oh, sweetheart, my little baby boy, Eddie… Eddie is lovely. You’re not… not thinking of leaving him for Robin are you?” That slight infliction on her name, what was wrong with Robin?! And then— “B’cause, cause… Jesus—baby, sweetie, you’re not— she’s not—it’s not… hm.” She looked at her almost empty glass as if it’d offended her, then placed it down to look at him again “It’s s’not my place… if you don’t know, s’not my place to tell you!”

“What do you know?” He pushed himself up onto his rear, shaking his head for a moment to clear up the spinny feeling that followed him moving “I—I know everything, Robbie tells me everythin but you… you don’t—what do you know about Robbie?”

“Pfft, sweetheart if you want a chance with Robin then, I’m sorry you’re definitely not aware of everything and that’s surprising, does she know you’re… you know… safe? To talk to I mean? You seemed so close I thought she’d have told you!” Granted, half of the words she was saying were slurred, but not slurred enough that he couldn’t make them out, and they were ringing all the alarm bells his brain could possibly conjure.

What did his mother know, and how had she found it out? “I don’t, I just—I was just wondering why you never—I thought maybe you didn’t think she cut it or something stupid, she’s told me everythin but that doesn’t explain why you know… or what you know, what do you know?”

And now his mother was up, sitting up straight doing the exact same thing as him, shaking off that little spinny spin the world decided to do as she sat up too fast. “Robin is perfect, Steven. Truly a one of a kind, kind of young woman.” The slurring had reduced the more serious she’d become, as if the alcohol couldn’t quite touch the severity of what they were now talking about “she also doodles quite obscene things on her shoes. I saw them in the rack not the last time we were home, the time before it? When she stayed the night? Those ratty old canvas things she wore covered in marker scribbles… most young ladies don't doodle breasts on their shoes, and they certainly don’t write about going 'down' on someone’s sister… I… figured it out. I also know that this isn’t something we should be talking about without her being aware of it.” Or at all, really.

She was right. As usual, his mother was right, he even knew she was right about the pizza, he always broke out a little after Tony’s, a few spots would always appear around his mouth that’d drive him insane, so he knew she was right about the groceries too, but yet…

It was so hard to admit that she was right.

“She uh… she was talking about what you guys were doin before we came out here y’know?” But if his mother knew about Robin then… maybe it wasn’t bad to talk about it. His mom regarded him with a curious expression but didn’t ask him to elaborate, didn’t stop him from elaborating either though “the matchmaking thing? I was complaining about it, cause… y’know… I had someone already” no he didn’t, but the excuse of ‘they all sucked’ probably wouldn’t go down very well. “And she said she wished you’d try setting her up with someone…” it was probably a joke but then…

Robin had been struggling.

The uncertainty in approaching queer dating in a small town like Hawkins was… scary. It was terrifying. They were only getting older, there’d only be so many more chances to experience things and trying to experience things later in life while being a big ol bundle of inexperienced anxiety?

Not fun, Steve didn’t want that for Robin. He wanted her to experience things. To be confident in herself because he loved her. He wanted nice things for her. And nice things involved kissing pretty ladies.

“Really?” Oh that little lightbulb, the devious little twinkle in her eyes, her passion reignited, aimed at a much more deserving and probably receptive target “Oh! Sweetie she should have said, second we get home, give her my personal number, okay? It’s up to her to call me but I would— I have a rolodex of names, an it’ll only the best for—for Robin.” Lynda would find that girl a hot sugar mama even if it killed her.

“You’d do that for her?” Steve put a hand to his chest, touched in a way he couldn’t really describe.

“Oh sweetheart, of course I’d do that for her, she makes you so happy, you just… you light up whenever you’re around her an I know it’s not cause you’re dating her because, unless there’s another conversation we need to be having, you’re really not her type. I know she makes you happy. And I know—I know I don’t say it very often—” her voice was wibbling, and oh boy if she was going to cry, then he’d start crying and they’d be a mess “but I’d—" her voice cracked, oh no “I’d move mountains for—for anything—anyone that makes you happy, sweetheart.”

And that was how Eddie and John found them ten minutes later after shaking the snow from their bodies, grocery bags in hand. The mother and son duo bawling together on the carpet, two bottles into the reds, wondering a very simple “what the fuck...?” voiced by a very confused Eddie.

[floralfractals]

hi! :3 do you happen to know of any application/cross-discipline work (if that is the right term) between fiber arts (incl manuals, etc) like knitting and knot theory? it seems like there's an obvious bridge, but i dont really know enough abt either to go digging myself

Oo nice one, I admit I haven't thought about that myself.

For the uninitiated: knot theory is about knots in strings which have connected ends, and about when they are "equivalent" (i.e. whether you can form one into the other without using scissors or passing the string through itself).

When you're knitting, there's all of these different stitches you can do. You could see that as some kind of code (and those knitting guides really look like complicated code to me (I don't knit) (this post is a collab between me and my mom) (everyone say hi to my mom)) where every codeword/stitch gives the material different properties like stretch, rigidity or thickness.

Apparently, researches around the world are working on understanding those stitches using knot theory. Because if they manage to understand knitting, that will both lead to a mega-breakthrough in pure mathematics, and they might be able to use it for micro-materials! That's pretty cool I think :)

As an aside, since knitting consists of only a few actions you can do in different orders, and since every action is reversable, you get some sort of algebraic structure out of it :3 which is also pretty neat.

[tangibletechnomancy]

The AI Boom and the Mechanical Turk

A hidden, overworked man operating a painting, chess-playing robot, generated with the model Dreamlike Diffusion on Simple Stable, ~4 hours Created under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

In 1770, an inventor named Wolfgang von Kempelen created a machine that astounded the world, a device that prompted all new understanding of what human engineering could produce: the Automaton Chess Player, also known as the Mechanical Turk. Not only could it play a strong game of chess against a human opponent, playing against and defeating many challengers including statesmen such as Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon Bonaparte, it could also complete a knight's tour, a puzzle where one must use a knight to visit each square on the board exactly once. It was a marvel of mechanical engineering, able to not only choose its moves, but move the pieces itself with its mechanical hands.

It was also a giant hoax.

What it was: genuinely a marvel of mechanical engineering, an impressively designed puppet that was able to manipulate pieces on a chessboard.

What it wasn't: an automaton of any kind, let alone one that could understand chess well enough to play at a human grandmaster's level. Instead, the puppet was manipulated by a human chess grandmaster hidden inside the stage setup.

So, here and now, in 2023, we have writers and actors on a drawn-out and much needed strike, in part because production companies are trying to "replace their labor with AI".

How is this relevant to the Mechanical Turk, you ask?

Because just like back then, what's being proposed is, at best, a massive exaggeration of how the proposed labor shift could feasibly work. Just as we had the technology then to create an elaborate puppet to move chess pieces, but not to make it choose its moves for itself or move autonomously, we have the technology now to help people flesh out their ideas faster than ever before, using different skill sets - but we DON'T have the ability to make the basic idea generation, the coherent outlining, nor the editing nearly as autonomous as the companies promising this future claim.

What AI models can do: Various things from expanding upon ideas given to them using various mathematical parameters and descriptions, keywords, and/or guide images of various kinds, to operating semi-autonomously as fictional characters, when properly directed and maintained (e.g., Neuro-sama).

What they can't do: Conceive an entire coherent movie or TV show and write a passable script - let alone scripts for an entire show - from start to finish without human involvement, generate images with a true complete lack of human involvement, act fully autonomously as characters, or...do MOST of the things such companies are trying to attribute to "AI (+unimportant nameless human we GUESS)", for that matter.

The distinction may sound small, but it is a critical one: the point behind this modern Mechanical Turk scam, after all, is that it allegedly eliminates human involvement, and thus the need to pay human employees, right...?

But it doesn't. It only enables companies to shift the labor to a hidden, even more underpaid sector, and even argue that they DESERVE to be paid so little once found out because "okay okay so it's not TOTALLY autonomous but the robot IS the one REALLY doing all the important work we swear!!"

It's all smoke and mirrors. A lie. A Mechanical Turk. Wrangling these algorithms into creating something truly professionally presentable - not just as a cash-grab gimmick that will be forgotten as soon as the novelty wears off - DOES require creativity and skill. It IS a time-consuming labor. It, like so many other uses of digital tools in creative spaces (e.g., VFX), needs to be recognized as such, for the protection of all parties involved, whether their role in the creative process is manual or tool-assisted.

So please, DO pay attention to the men behind the curtain.

[fishymom-art]

Favorite bit Flatland is satirizing? I like the fact women are stabby happy, very hatpin panic of them

(Also, after Flatland, I started reading Victorian manuals. Because if Flatland is Victorian England but Shapes, then it followed Bill was a Victorian shape. And man, the Victorians. They had rules for amicable breakups! And suggested giving newborns a sponge bath with brandy. And said there's no evidence sugar causes tooth decay. And also said "for the love of god, if your child is developing a phobia please check they're not being abused by their nanny". Some good, some bad. Personally I am enamored with the slang of the time. )

I don’t know if I’ll read the Victorian manuals, but I have a couple of things I want to say about Flatland

Flatland has the best example of world building I’ve ever seen. Not only does Square explain the Second Dimension from a scientific/mathematical perspective, but he also explains as a person who lives there. A person who isn’t neutral towards the rules, but someone who followed them his entire life and has an opinion on. The laws, the history, the culture, the people - all of it is explained to such a great detail that by the time Square is done explaining, you know perfectly well what it’s like to live in Flatland.

I think you said to ignore the math but I found it very fascinating to read it from the perspective of a mathematician. Plus, I love math! I’m pretty good at it! So the graphs and math/geometry actually helped me understand Flatland much better (as well as Lineland and Thoughtland)

I also love that the people in other dimensions are simply oblivious. That none of them - including Flatlandians - can easily comprehend or even explain other dimensions. Their first reaction is aggression, because this is how people actually react to something new and unexplainable in real life. And this is shown in how they treat Irregulars too - they’re something that they cannot easily comprehend, so their instinct is to destroy them or lock them up. If they weren’t so conservative and oblivious, they would’ve been much smarter.

Anyway, the book is genius. I know that it’s a satire about the absurdity of the society and how everyone is literally stupid and do not dare to open their mind, therefore think in two dimensions. But even if you forget it, it’s fantastic. I loved it, a very good read.

Also Square is an absolute idiot, I love him. Buuut he did try his best to spread the Gospel, but sadly he just didn’t succeed to let go of the rules of Flatland and think the way Sphere tried to teach him.

[reality-detective]

The new variants coming out are MILITARY codes and each variant signals Military operations and White Hats chess< counter movements/

(The DEEP STATE got really confused when so much different Variants started popping up on the news and papers without their CONTROL and Acknowledgement>>>> they can't back track these STORIES planted or say they didn't name the new variants ...it will truly destroy their NARRATION if they deny these variants popping up!!!)/////

Pay close attention to the new variant >>>>>>>>>>>>OMICROM<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

OMI= ODIN (Omi is one of ODINS name)

CROM: is a commanded to an operating system or server for a job that is to be Executed at Specified time.

> >>>>>>>>>>PROJECT ODIN < </<<<<<<<<

MILITARY SPACE FORCE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY OPERATION CONNECTED TO STARLINK SATS. AND CONTROL ALL GRIDS AROUND THE WORLD AND CAN BYPASS ALL MEDIA/RADIO/INTERNET PLATFORMS. MORE OVER PROJECT ODIN CAN TAKE AND OPERATE ALL MEDIA/RADIO/INTERNET/DIGITAL PLATFORMS AND EBS.

_________________________________________

>OMICROM<

WHO Skips Next Greek Letter After “Nu” in Naming New COVID Variant – The Next Letter “Xi” Might Draw Attention to China – So They Named it “Omicron” Instead

Xi =11 in Roman numerals

XI = 11 =LAW OF WAR MANUAL/ CHAPTER 11.

>Q, POST #1116 (>ELEVEN<16)

Thank you Xi

Good start.

China/CQ cancel.

Q

(This post was not about China or Xi ...it was disinformation..Q knew the enemy was reading the post.... And Q Mil.Intel couldn't break the laws of National Security by openly stating the Laws of War > End of occupation 11.3< )

CHAPTER 11(xi) in the Law Of War all pertain to END FOREIGN OCCUPATION and 11.15 has specific rules on how to " combat the spread of contagious diseases and EPIDEMICS"

__________________________________________

Side note;

Xi also means 14 (fourteen in gematria =104)

Q post #104

Now is the time to pray.

We're are operational.

God bless the United States of America.

Q

__________________________________________

How many coincidences before mathematically impossible?

It was over before it began.

Q

__________________________________________

~ Be careful PATRIOTS/ANONS/ Freedom fighters across the world....... Be careful of those who divide inside the Great AWAKENING......( Many are drunk on EGO> FOLLOWERS>or simply are drunks and high and take to social media to vent (hate/accuse/>ego<) and instead of seeking help for their mental problems or drug problems or alcohol problems........./////

I'm not here for these games or followers or being a keyboard warrior looking for fights and raging nonsense....

Some of us are here.. Because we truly care for humanity, nature, animals and Earth...

No matter where you are seek peace.

God will not do for you.. What you can do for yourself. ( This means learn to use all your sacred senses in Harmony ..... Come to a clean life.. LIGHT)> THE GREAT AWAKENING is much more than can be fathomed...

I'm sure I'll get some flack for sharing this but I have to admit, a lot of Q posts have come to fruition in many ways. Sure it's a Psyop and it's happening on both sides. It's up to you to know or be-LIE-ve. 🤔

[ltwilliammowett]

Rutter

A rutter is a manual for sailors with written sailing instructions. Prior to the advent of nautical charts, rutters were the most important source of geographical information for sailing.

In ancient times, they were known as periplus ("book of circumnavigation") and among medieval Italian sailors in the Mediterranean as portolano ("harbour book"). The Portuguese sailors of the 16th century called it roteiro, the French routier, from which the English word "rutter" is derived. In Dutch it was called leeskarte, in German Seebuch and in Spanish derrotero.

Great Rutter, London: Printed by W.G. for Wil. Fisher at the Postern-Gate near Tower-Hill, and Benj. Hurlock over against St. Magnus Church near London-Bridge, 1671

As you can see, these books have been around since ancient times (4th century BC) to help sailors and mariners on their journeys from A to B. And these manuals often contained a wealth of information that went beyond sailing instructions. They often contained detailed physical descriptions of coasts, harbours, islands, canals, indications of tides, landmarks, reefs, shoals and difficult entrances, instructions on how to use navigational instruments to determine position and plan routes, calendars, astronomical tables, mathematical tables and calculation rules (especially the Marteloio rule), lists of customs regulations in various ports, medical prescriptions, instructions on ship repairs, etc.

The nautical chart, which emerged in the 14th century, therefore never completely replaced the manual, but was only a supplement to it.

If you would like to see more rutters, you can do so here - https://www.aseaofbooks.org

[sabakos]

The neat thing about mathematics is that you learn how to work things out for yourself, and in some sense this is a necessary skill to develop if you really want to understand any higher math; if you work through the problem sets in most undergraduate mathematics textbooks on your own, you'll not only know but also "understand" the content, in a way you wouldn't if you only read those books but didn't do any of the problems.

And what I'm calling "understanding" in this context is a more secure and accessible form of knowledge than most other forms of knowledge. You could learn that all of the other math students you had ever met were simply copying the instructor's solutions manual for each textbook, that your professors had all done the same in their time, that even the textbook author themself relied on someone else's solutions, and that none of them really understood the material in the same way that you did, and it wouldn't threaten the security of your own knowledge that you have understood mathematics. Even if you ever had any reason to doubt your memories or your senses, you still could rederive the mathematics yourself to make sure you still understood, while all of your memories of childhood would rely on the testimony of others or sense data on the external world. You could even begin to doubt the existence of the external world before you doubted your own understanding.

But we run into a new epistemic difficulty at this point. Suppose that all of your mathematics classmates really are frauds and charlatans. How could you, as someone who has truly understood mathematics, convince all of them that they hadn't? They don't understand, so they can't understand what they're missing. Some of them might just be willing to try deriving proofs for themselves if you ask them nicely enough, but it's not clear that there's any way you could win them over with rational arguments in order to get them to do so. Instead, you'd need to appeal to their irrationality, and find a way to get them to believe that it was worth their time to try, that they would be risking very little in exchange for something they'll only appreciate the value of once they've finished. Maybe some puzzles or riddles that throw them off balance, that create a need to seek more understanding. You might be lucky enough that some of them believe you.

So if all has gone well, you now have initiates, and you've all decided that together you want to restore the field of mathematics to its former glory, and purge the corruption of rote memorization from the academy. You'll learn quickly that much like you can verify your own understanding, it's also possible for you to identify those who have really understood math - you can present them with a proof for something they've never seen before, that's related to something they have seen, and they can work it out to a state that you or any initiate who truly understands can identify. And happily, they can use these methods of proof on each other. And so you can spread your knowledge and understanding via those who have also understood.

But you haven't gotten out of the woods yet, and your difficulty is not just that you're outnumbered. Once you've made a bit of a name for yourself and attracted a following, there will be other initiates who seek fame and glory, but yet can't or won't understand anything, and are no better off than before you met them despite your best efforts- they can't prove new theorems they haven't seen, they can't confirm the validity of others proofs, and they can't devise questions that others will be able to solve. Often these others will insist that they really are taking the same steps as everyone else, from their perspective, the rest of you all must be lying, or else something about them must be broken. Neither possibility will make them happy, and for the rest of it's existence your movement's survival depends on filtering these people off. If these sorts figure out how to fool the rest of you, or they go out in your name claiming to teach "real" mathematics, all will be lost, and your rare understanding will be diluted by their more common lack of it.

Unfortunately, at some point you will die, and everything you understand for yourself will be lost to the world. Your initiates who have truly understood you will die as well, and those they have taught will, in turn, also die. There are no immortal guardians who will safeguard the true understanding of mathematics, and it cannot be written down, only experienced directly, or it would have been written down before. Those who have understood this must always continue to spread understanding to those who might understand, and each generation of them must combat the threat of those others who have not, or else all may again be lost and forgotten.

But yet, there is one last glimmer of hope; though what you have found may one day be lost again, what has been lost may yet again be found, else you would not have been able to find it. Perhaps this is enough to hold onto.