#berated isn't ''labour'')

[swamp-world]

like i think that we really really really need to actually gain the social literacy and compassion to understand that. not tipping your server isn’t praxis, but the fact that it’s expected that the customer pay the wage of the server also doesn’t mean that the customer (often also stiffed and a victim of wage theft) isn’t obligated to do so, and that while this is within our own economic system a great injustice and act of violence that needs to be rectified, it is in fact not the greatest injustice in the world and seeing people comparing getting screamed at for war crimes to not being tipped demonstrates a drastic lack of any sense of proportion. this is me speaking as both a service worker and someone engaged in organizing. let me be absolutely clear that I am not saying that not tipping your server is praxis. if you are able to tip i think that you should. i also think that “it’s the social contract in america to tip your server” needs to be read as “the structure has been built so that resisting it is tantamount to being a class traitor, and there are no winners in this situation”. i make less than 1k a month. tipping at 15% is straight up not viable all of the time if i want to pay rent. that’s not praxis, that’s me trying to keep a roof over my head, same as the service worker who i can’t always tip. so much analysis of this matter on social media tends to boil down to brute utilitarianism that causes further fragementation among the working class, and not for unjust reasons.

but just as not tipping my server isn’t praxis, tipping my server also isn’t praxis. not because it doesn’t help the individual (it does) but because it functionally validates the extant system in which the customer directly pays the wages. especially in the digital age: whereas cash tips are often considered nontaxable income, digital tips are administered as directly taxable income by the employer. when tips are paid out as wages i think it’s a little unfair to consider them to be “gratuities”.

again: not tipping isn’t praxis, but i wonder often about how many people who parrot this point are engaged in labour organizing or support in any way other than tipping. everyone deserves to be paid for their labour. but likewise, putting the onus on the working class customer to do so doesn’t actually help anyone except for the employer.

if you’re getting pissed at other working-class people for not tipping high numbers, especially impoverished and/or marginalized people, i hope that you are also engaged in literally any form at all, no matter how intense or dedicated, to any kind of action or organization that supports increasing minimum wage and shifting this responsibility from the customer to the employer (i.e. working class to owning class).

[redninjaoutfit]

Lore dumping about my Bully OC Colt De Luca:

He was brought up in New Coventry with Lucky who, despite only being 4 years his senior, has always been his primary caretaker since the uncle who took them in after the early death of their parents neglected them heavily and used them for unpaid child labour

The uncle was a butcher and often "employed" his nephews at the shop to make them "earn their stay". Colt absolutely hated it there and rebelled whenever he could even at the risk of a beating

He grew up with Lefty and Luis. While he remains attached at the hip with Lefty to this day, the same cannot be said about Luis. Colt considers him his worst enemy and despite being a naturally benevolent person he regularly wishes the worst upon him (why? Well that is for me to write and for you to find out 😈)

His and Lucky's relationship is complicated. Colt is bitter that Lucky refuses to see him as an adult and remains overly protective of him while Lucky is often kept up at night worrying about his brother's safety and future. They love each other unconditionally though and if you attack one the other will be after you

That being said, Colt's not a particularly talented or willing fighter, preferring to resolve conflict with words and mediation. He does support the Greasers in brawl though - from afar, usually with a slingshot or firecrackers. He's also a great escape artist

Before he completed his initiation into the Greasers he was bullied by both Bullies and Jocks who saw him as real estate fresh meat even with Lucky breathing down their necks. The Jocks' abuse was far worse, not aided by the fact that he's quite a sensitive soul and has yet to hit his growth spurt

He is by far the most studious Greaser though smarts don't come to him naturally and he hates studying. He doesn't like having to excel academically but his brother has always taught him that he HAD to become successful and one day move away from New Coventry onto something greater. He often lets the other Greasers copy off him or even tutors them, even the older ones - for a fee that is (usually paint and cigarettes, even though Lucky berates them for giving his little bro cancer sticks)

What he is a natural at though is art, both writing and especially painting. Colt takes pride in depicting the concealed, unseen beauty of New Coventry and Blue Skies in his paintings. He's even sold a few - not for very large sums but money is money. He is the best in Ms. Philips' class and it makes both Peanut and Ted jealous, though only the latter takes it out on him physically

ALWAYS covered in paint. You will not catch him completely paint-free, he's always splattered in one place or another

Despite going along with Johnny's and his clique's plans against the Preppies he ultimately wishes for peace. He is secretly great friends with Parker and close to being perceived as a friend by Bif. Though he'd never admit it especially after all he's done for him, Colt thinks Johnny isn't exactly stable and fit to rule

Hates the Jocks more than Ricky and the duo often pull pranks on them, varied in degree of cruelty. Though he suffers from a hero complex, willing to rush head first into dangerous situations to help a stranger, he would never aid a Jock in need

[autisticlifelessons]

Tips for autistic people on making phone calls

Uuuugh I don't think I need to labour the point too much about the particular hell that is making phone calls. From difficulties with audio processing, the lack of body language, the frustration of being put on hold, the anxiety, the procrastination...

Anyway, over the years I have discovered a few things that can make it a bit more bearable to get shit done and win at adulting. Bear in mind this post is made from the point of view of an autistic person who is able (with reluctance) to speak and manage their own affairs independently, but that isn't necessarily the case for everyone.

Double check it's actually worth your time calling - more and more these days, companies offer alternative ways of getting in contact, such as through chat messaging, social media or email. In fact, some prefer you contact them this way as they can sift through and process them much faster than a traditional phone call. However be careful, as they're also much easier for them to ignore, and for some issues you may have to call, anyway. (Bonus tip: if you've been dealing with an ongoing issue with a company or government service, it's a good idea to follow up phone calls with an email or letter, as this creates a record of what was discussed in case you need to make a formal complaint. But that's a separate post)

Plan what you want to say before you make the call - some people like to make a script for themselves. Personally, I find this a bit inflexible as if the other person goes 'off script' I've got no idea what to say. I basically just write down roughly what I'm calling about, any relevant details I may need to provide for security purposes, and what I'd like them to do. Keep it short and snappy.

Arrange for moral support - don't feel afraid to ask someone you trust to sit with you while you make the call, whether in person or maybe on facetime etc. Even just talking through with someone what you're going to say can be helpful. And getting the validation of a job well done afterwards will give you a boost.

Think about the timing of the call - have a look at the company's website for the times their phone lines are open. You may be pleasantly surprised, as a lot of businesses such as insurance firms are open well into evenings and at weekends. It might not always be possible to be picky about when you call, but if you are able to, try to time it for when you don't have anything pressing before or after. Bear in mind that when you face doing something that's anxiety inducing you're going to be keyed up before, during and after, so don't expect too much from yourself for the rest of your day.

You are allowed to stop the call at any time - if you get so overwhelmed you can't take in what the other person is saying, if you can't understand their accent or if the conversation is just not going the way you want it, it's perfectly fine to say you'll need to call back later. There's absolutely no shame in taking a break if you need (even if you end up people put on hold when you call back).

Be assertive but polite - most customer service people are unfortunately used to being berated by customers over issues they have absolutely no control over. Make sure you clearly communicate the issue you are trying to resolve and if possible have done research on the website beforehand. You may be unlucky and get a call agent who is rude to you, but the vast majority of human beings are happy to help someone who is kind and polite to them. Even just a simple please and thank you can go a long way.

And that's it! As I said above the cut, I'm aware following these tips may not be possible for all autistic people. I can't give advice on chat relay services as I have no experience of them, but I do know that for things such as insurance and banks you can nominate someone to speak on your behalf. You may be able to just give permission verbally over the phone or you might have to fill out a form etc, but it's definitely a valid option for some people.

Enjoying my posts and want to support me? You can buy me a coffee here.

[ivettel]

sometimes when im feeling rlly shitty i kind of sit back and berate myself for investing so much time and energy into this community and it gets. idk. hard to find a valid reason to keep going so enthusiastically, to help keep this place alive, that isn't just "but imagine seblr coming to life again and hanging out with old friends/mutuals!" like, at the cost of always feeling guilty? at the cost of always fighting that innate sense of socmed competition just so it doesn't tip me into the deep end again? knowing that we will never go back to how we were? our man's pretty well moved on, and isn't it about time i also stopped performing cpr?

it's like, Fine, i can accept that vettelsource is a flop that people don't really want to participate in, because yeah, it takes work. and time, and a kind of energy that's in short supply, with little reward at the end except to say, i helped keep this small, intangible community alive for one more day. and i can accept that the yearbook fell on the backburner while the team prioritized other things in their lives. and i can accept that people don't want to take on the burden of tedious administrative/planning work for a community event when they come home after a 10-hour day, so it's like, fine, so be it. i will take on more burdens if it means more people reinvigorating their love for creation and community here, even though i myself am barely scraping by on time and energy, because i love it. and no love is wasted.

but all this stuff online is really just. additional effort. labours of this love, for sure, but labour nonetheless. and for what?

isn't it a battle against the inevitable, when tumblr is trying to create a recommendation algorithm that'll make old school tumblr media fall to the wayside in favour of effortless memes and aesthetic photos from weheartit? when the current culture here is just to treat art or really any creation like "content?" is it noble to ready my bucket at the sight of rising water on this sinking, leaky ship, or is it simply laughable? a jester going through the futile motions of bailing, even as more cracks appear from the pressure of the sea? what are we doing here? when do we call time?

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 20th October

Well, we're back to more standard fare, a week off from Westerns and TV themes. In fact, looking purely at the name of this song, I have absolutely no idea what to expect, which is the kind of entry I enjoy writing, honestly.

Hey There - Rosemary Clooney (peaked at Number 4)

Oh, okay, this is sultry and lazy and kind of jazzy, like the sort of thing you could imagine being sung to you in a smoky jazz club. Even just the sax and brushed drum beats at the start are a fantastic vibe.

And then the lyrics: Hey there, / You with the stars in your eyes, / Love never made a fool of you / You used to be too wise. So off the bat, it's about somebody who used to feel haughty about love, but is now in love? This is one of my favourite romance tropes ever, and Rosemary is selling her role as an observer magnificently, with a sort of jaded, seen-everything tone.

Once we get past the opening lines, it becomes clear that Rosemary is also playing a sort of advisor role, warning the friend she's addressing that You had better forget him / Him with his nose in the air, / He has you dancin' on a string, / Break it and he won't care. It's such a keen image of a guy who isn't being necessarily outright cruel, but is certainly uninterested and maybe a little callous about his admirer's feelings.

Despite this concern, it's also kind of scathing to the friend, calling them out for how they're on a high-flying' cloud, and pointing out how Though he won't throw a crumb to you / You think somebody he'll come to you. And later on, Rosemary all but says that they're not listening to her, asking if they'll take her advice, Or are you not seein' thinkgs too clear? Are you too much in love to hear?

Honestly, it's giving me excellent "unrequited lesbian love" vibes. I know that was almost certainly not the intended message to take from this, but I can only imagine Rosemary, hopelessly and frustratedly pining for a friend who's in turn hung up on a guy who doesn't even like her. Compelling, even if it's unintended!

But yeah, even without this, it's a fabulous song, and it turns out its from the musical The Pyjama Game, where it's sung by a male character (with the pronouns switched) into a recording device, warning himself to forget his love interest, who's on the opposite side of a labour dispute at a pyjama factory. This kind of makes me want to go see a version of the musical, honestly. Knowing its somebody singing to themself changes the vibe entirely, in a way that's almost as compelling as the narrative I made up for the song!

And throughout, Rosemary is selling the song just as much as she needs to, hanging back carefully and not over-doing it. Her performance here is great, and I'm not at all getting tired of the song.

Well, this was fun. I love a song that tells a story, and this one suggested, like, three different stories. It was like each time I listened different lines and aspects of it popped out at me. I like the version where Rosemary is singing to a friend, I love the version where she's singing to somebody who's a bit more than a friend, and I also kind of love the version where she's berating herself. This song belongs in more rom coms. It's the same kind of classy "classic rom com using older music" vibes as the way they used In the Wee Small Hours in Sleepless in Seattle, honestly.

Favourite song of the rom-com-worthy bunch: Hey You

[neonovember]

Lemon meringues

steve rogers mafia!au

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

a/n: this is the first instalment of a series, I honestly don't know how long it will be, but ill try to update every week!

Your hand reaches to grab the disregarded ceramic mugs perched at the middle of the wooden table, deep mahogany coffee stains the edges of the porcelain mugs and the crumbs of David’s famous croissant litter the table.

“All done here?” You smile, your arm balancing a plate of waffles and toast, you hope to god that they’ll just leave you be, your shift has just begun and the way your back ached had you wishing you’d crawled back under the covers, angry landlord and manager be damned.

The faces of the men that sat nodded, eyes not leaving each other as if you weren't even there. Each of them had the same scruffy 7-day stubble as if they had all collectively chosen to throw out their razors. Trucker caps fitted tightly and flannel shirts peeked through large navy jackets buttoned tight against the harsh July cold. The weather here could get brutal, you’d learned that your first winter with frozen pipes and a heater that spoke only puffs of grey smoke.

They show no action of gratitude, but they don't unnecessarily incapacitate you either, exactly how you like it. Nodding you make your rounds to the other tables, wiping down any remnants of spilt drinks and crumbs from the diner tables and booths. It labourers work, but it's still work. And you don't know what would happen if you lost that measly laughable income you earned from waitressing.

As long as you were far and between from him, you kept reminding yourself, every chime of the diner door opening had your hairs bristling and your stomach in twists, he’d never find you here, he couldn’t, you’d made sure of it. Hell, you’d erased your entire life, left it all behind, he couldn't hurt you now. At least that's what you told yourself.

The white-hot fear still slips down your spine whenever you see a familiar shirt he’d wear though, or a voice that sounded like him when he was mad, or the sound of boots behind you, or- god you’d be in therapy if it didn’t cost you a limb.

The soft downpour outside provided a melodic track to your routine, the sea of blue and navy umbrellas moving in unison to escape the rain. The sound of it put you at ease, you've always loved the rain, the way it slid down your face and washed away all the fears you carried. The smell of the earth after it rained, steam rising from the dirt and roads was something you've come to appreciate.

It was the only things you could, the small things, things that had been taken from you, berated and crushed within his iron grip.

“Why are you wasting time smelling the flowers?”

His voice soon followed your every thought, every move, every desire. As if your mind was asking permission- “Please?”.

You forgot what it felt like to live within a body that was fully yours, and not pinned up with strings that were in his grasp. Now you could stop and raise your face to the sky and let the droplets pepper your skin without fearing the downpour of his anger.

“You silly girl, you silly stupid girl” 

Well, at least the one that isn't in your head.

The snap of diner door opens abruptly, slamming against the wall, as an umbrella pops through, your neck bristles with fear, shoulders tense and eyebrows furrowed.

Please no

It's a man, donning a deep maroon velvet coat, the buttons fitted and the material stretched against his chest. His golden locs were smoothed back, a scruff that seemed purposeful lining his jaw, the water from his umbrella runs down its rooves and ridges, gathering at his feet and seeping into the laminate floor. It doesn't matter, it isn’t him.

You quickly dust off your apron, gathering your rags before popping them under the compartment behind the till, the man is perusing through the collection of pastries and breakfast sandwiches displayed in the clear case.

“The lemon meringue is to die for,” You say, smiling at his indecision, You had many like him come in, overwhelmed with the many selections and flavours, not knowing where to begin.

He looks up quickly, eyes racking over your face, his cerulean blues darken for a moment, before a smile cracks over his features.

“That obvious?” He jokes, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat.

“Don’t worry about it, everybody has a first time at something” You reply, fingers wringing as you smile. His gorgeous up close, the kind of features that were clean-cut and old-fashioned. Like he didn't need to try so hard to capture anyone's attention, soft lips curl up as he notices your intense stare, and you quickly shake off your borderline stalker-ish ways.

“Well, in that case, I’ll get the meringue and a club special,” He says, hands coming up to brush through his golden locks dirtied by the rain. 

You ring his order through the till, fingers almost missing the keys as you hurry to have him seated, he always hated being waited on, there were countless times when his lack of patience and your tardiness left you bruised and bloody.

The man reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a deep leather wallet, it reminds you of your father and it has you smiling softly. He hands you a hundred-dollar bill, and when you try to hand back his change he stops you with his hands quickly. 

The feeling of the rough pads of his fingers shoots an intensity up your arm like you've been shocked and you pull your hand away quickly. The man stares intently at your hands, eyes surveying your frame as he rests them on your face.

“Keep the change..I’m sure” He finally says, hands back in his pocket only this time in tight fists.

You thank him generously, tucking the rolls into your side, tips never seemed to cover enough of your pay, and you think this man may have saved you from sleeping outside.

He doesn't say much, just nods, the same darkened look covering his features as he slides into a corner booth, the downpour above sheathed the morning sky in a deep dark navy. Causing the diner to be cloaked in a shadowed darkness as if it were evening instead of noon. The only thing providing light was the soft yellow overhanging ceiling lamp. It gave it a romantic feel that covered his features in a soft glow, and for some strange reason, you had the urge to know what his beard would feel like between your fingers.

Walking urgently back to the counter, you hand up the man's order for David, indiscretidely asking him to give him extra helpings. You carefully slice a cut of the meringue onto one of the ceramic plates, cleaning the edges and keeping it chilled.

David calls your name, motioning towards the finished sandwich that looked like if you didn't walk carefully it would topple over and onto the floor.

David winks at you, his jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he takes notice of your ulterior motive.

“When were ya gonna tell me about lover boy?” David teases, chin resting on his arms.

“Cmon David, he just gave me a good tip” You scoff humourselly, him? He wouldn't even look at you that way. You knew his type the moment you caught a glimpse of his goddamn cufflinks, besides, the rings adorning his fingers etched with the unmistakable A, told you he was in a business you wanted no part of. You weren't bout to jump into a relationship after just escaping your last, no, you definitely were not ready for that.

Yet a strange filling crept through your stomach, and it had you taking glances at his crouched figure in the booth, he was tall enough to the point where you could see the tussles of his golden locks, now dried and mused.

Snapping out of your stupor, you go to reach for his meal before another hand reaches for it, what is it today and people's hands? Chipped red nail polish and rubbery lips meet your gaze as Caroline smiles up at you.

“Mare’s asking if you could clean up the puddle in front of the diner door, says it’s quote on quote a cleaning hazard” Caroline rolls her eyes, tongue clicking as she shakes her head

“If she cared that much about following protocol she’d pay us a goddamn living wage” Caroline mutters loud enough for yout o hear, cautious of your domineering manager's watchful gaze.

You snicker, reaching for the mop at the corner of the diner, 

“Who that?” Caroline says, motioning towards the golden-haired man with her chin, curiosity filling her eyes.

“That, is your customer, who just ordered a meringue and sandwich because of yours truly” You reply, eyes finding their way back to him.

Caroline nods, reaching for the meringue in the fridge,

“He even tipped me like over eighty bucks” You whisper, the reality of it still shocking you

Caroline swiftly turns to you at that, her dark auburn plaits whipping across her chest at her movements

“No shit? Cute and a gentleman, if there is one person in this god-forsaken place who deserves it it’s you” Caroline retorts, a smile lifting her lips.

You shake your head, reaching for the notes tucked in your pocket, Caroline had been your one and only friend besides David, you could count a handful of time’s when she had let you crash at her place or borrow money to tide your landlord over the next month. 

It was your duty to give something back.

Caroline stops you gently, pushing the notes into your pocket before she grins gingerly

“Don’t you dare” Caroline begins, eyes darting across to the man in the booth,

“But, you can't possibly expect me not to pay you back” You begin, eyes burrowing as you try again, to hand her over a chunk of the money.

“You need it more than I do, besides you know the saying “reject the present to receive more in the future” Caroline sing songs, you shake your head laughing

“I don't think that’s quite how it goes, in fact, I'm pretty sure you made that up on the spot” You giggle, before pushing her out of the kitchen.

“You're too good for this rotten place sugar, you outta start taking things for yourself, before the world comes and swallows you whole” She replies, not sparing you a glance before navigating through the many red booths.

Her voice echoes in your mind as you clean up the murky water near the front door, watching as the brown liquid on against the laminated floor turns into a clean yellow that came with age and poor maintenance.

You serve half a dozen more customers before Caroline strolls towards you, a hidden smirk on her face with the man’s finished plates.

“What?” You reply, rolling your eyes, wiping down the counter, you always seemed to find yourself cleaning.

“Golden boy asked for you” She’s gone into a full toothy smile now, head lulling to the side as she teases you.

He asked for you? Why would he do that? Maybe he were asking for that tip back, reconciling that you weren't worth it. It wouldn’t be the first time

“Huh? What do you mean?” You cautiously answer Adi, aware of her ability to dramatise quite literally everything that happened between these walls.

“I mean, he asked why you didn’t come and give him his food. Said he was hoping that he could ask you something” She replies eyebrows wiggling playfully, knocking her hips to yours as she purred.

“I see how you play girl, just make him a regular customer why don’t you, I'm sure after the first taste he'll be coming back for more.” She laughed at you widened expression, you winced at her insinuations, you started to believe she wanted you to get laid more than you did yourself.

“Here, he left this” She replied, reaching into her pocket, and pulling out a ruffled tissue, you're expecting a message or a scribble of numbers, yet instead what meets your eye has your heart in your stomach and your fingers gripping your apron.

There written in black ink, is your husband's name, along with a number and one single word.

“I know what you did”.

Fuck.

[bauliya]

Might be somewhat weird and personalised but has spending childhood in India as a girl ever really degraded your femininity? All through my early teens I acted masculine, was applauded for it and scoffed at my feminine peers being berated for "acting like a girl" and I'm just realising how misogynistic the whole approach was. Like teachers will talk with boys about the games they're playing and crap indian youtube videos they're watching but if girls just pin their hair differently or wear nail polish or wear a nice tshirt suddenly they're dumb bimbos who are fashion obsessed? Sorry if this seems random and weird but yeah

a chemistry teacher told a girl in our class in front of everyone that if she didn't have her nailpolish off by tomorrow she'd remove it with a such a strong acetone that her nails will never grow back so yeah

but ""degraded femininity"" is such a nonsense term because the attack isn't on """"femininity""", it's on your bodily agency and the fact that that fashion and makeup are really really not associated with femininity in india, but The West. it's just patriarchy and misogyny.

indian femininity isn't looking pretty, it's being a quiet, sexless mule that obediently labours and worships men, that's the femininity we're expected to perform, and no one is "degrading" that.

it took me a while to realise it but young Indian girls aren't applauded for being "tomboys", they're applauded for shitting on other indian girls and not being "vain". that's why things like wearing boy-ish clothes are okay, but having the confidence of a boy immediately makes everyone uncomfortable. this is also why girls that were encouraged to be tomboys by their families are expected to marry and be as womanly as possible when they grow up.

the whole "degraded femininity" is total bs because it implies that if you're pretty enough you'll be treated better rather than acknowledging that women are treated awfully because of patriarchy, not because they don't know how to dress or do makeup.

[vergess]

Alright, sure, let's do this. Why not. Why not waste everyone's time with the stupidest conceivable derailment so you can feel good about your amazing talent for prioritizing your moral conclusions over any practical impacts or concerns. This is a fantastic use of my life and yours.

The reason plastics are used en-mass to make clothes is not because people aren't buying or making enough leather.

This isn't about who is responsible for the propaganda, it's about COUNTERING the propaganda with simple facts that people can even try out for themselves if they like.

It's because corporations are profiting off of plastics, and capitalism only care about profits even at the cost of the world at large.

No shit? For real? I wonder if that's why I encouraged people to seek out local, small srcale leather producers in their areas in the OP? Or did you think "If you're that worried about it, you're infinitely better off encouraging ethical leather production at the local scale instead." was included as a joke?

Leather tanning is an excellent hobby and an excellent job, and I do think people learning it can be great. But we also need to be real here,

"Be real here" is an insult, by the way. Not an implied condescension as oozes off the rest of your reply. An OUTRIGHT INSULT worthy of a children's playground.

learning leather tanning is not going to solve the climate crisis nor significantly reduce use of plastics.

It's not supposed to solve climate change, it's supposed to help people realize solutions are even possible at all, when the scale of the issue is so large it exceeds human comprehension and is abstracted in our brains.

Being a cunt about home leather production is actively, literally doing LESS than even that, by reinforcing climate anxiety and powerlessness.

Furthermore, many people are working high amounts of hours and don't have time to learn nor practice even practical hobbies like leather tanning. It's rather unfair to expect someone working 8 hours a day 5 days a week, often more, to also have to be meeting their own clothing needs and those of others.

WOW!!! I wonder why I might have TOLD PEOPLE TO CONTACT LOCAL LEATHERWORKERS THEN?

Obviously it was so I could mandate that every individual process their own leather at home and ban any and all trade or barter for it?

What the fuck kind of conclusion is this ?

Do you see people talking about making bread and berate them for wanting all bread taken out of stores and all bakeries shut down, too?????

Ultimately, if we expect to see change in the world, it is necessary that we organize to overthrow the system that is breaking the world.

Cool! I agree! That's why I spend most of my time working tiwards that, and the rest partaking in hobbies that align with that political goal.

Hobbies like SMALL SCALE LEATHER MAKING.

That said, I will say that organizing has many components, and organizing people like butchers and farmers to sell or donate extraneous hides to leather crafters is a way to organize labour.

So. When YOU talk about contacting local meat processors to impove the supply chain, that's labour organizing.

But when I talk about it, it's DISTRACTING from labour?

Or are you also ignoring

Contact your local wildlife agencies to ask about hunting clubs in your area and pester them for the skins left over after their animals are butchered. Beef farms probably already have someone taking their hides for processing, but maybe not! Especially the smaller ones.

Pig farms may have excess brains (yes, the organ in the skull) that they have trouble selling and end up tossing into their cess pools. Ask if you can have them. Got a neighbor with chickens who has more eggs than god himself? Get a line on their excess eggs for yolks.

Because you don't like admitting that your preference for labour organization you already know fooled you into insulting forms with which you are less familiar?

Just remember to not just focus on organizing the practical labour side of things,

This is literally a post ABOUT the practical aspects of this craft. That's the POINT of it. Demanding it be about something else is fucking absurd. It is also the definition of derailment.

but to also educate and agitate

Please god what do you think education and agitation are? Becaure apparently "encouraging skill development" and "improving your area's supply chains and local products" aren't?

Or do those only count when the labour and community look the way you want them to?

about the way capitalism is destroying the leather industry through its impractical and self-destructive focus on plastics to destroy any and all competition,

Did you even READ. IT. How in the name if FUCK did you conclude this post IGNORES PLASTIC POLLUTION when that's the entire premise: leather can be made environmentally safely and plastic CANNOT.

and that it will take workers using their labour power to take back control of the means of production if we expect to stop the overproduction of plastics.

Imagine unironically saying that taking over the means of leather production in your area needs to be more means-controlling.

What fucking workers are you addressing here? People learning to tan? Artisan tanners? Butchers and processors? Outreach activists? Educators? Researchers? Hunters? Home makers and child carers? Legislators? Historians?

Have you convinced yourself that all these types of work are done by the same people with the same skills?

Because you spent the entire post complaining about how it's not really labour organizing when you learn who how and where to go for particular kinds of work in your community, because it doesn't use enough of the key vocabulary you persinally learned about labour with.

Where did I denigrate anyone's interests?

Again, you literally called it delusional ("be real here") to think that local scale leatherwork could be helpful for building community power and combatting environmental ignorance.

I literally said it's an excellent hobby and job and and people learning it can be great.

And then you insulted it in the next line.

I was arguing against the notion that learning leather tanning is "being the change that you want to see in the world."

So, again, you've concluded without evidence that learning or encouraging others in your community to learn a labour skill using local supplies in direct disruption of reliance on the import of environmentally damaging materials is not helpful in building systemic change.

But even if it weren't, it's still ENCOURAGING OTHER PEOPLE TO RESPECT THE LABOUR OF OTHERS AND TO ENGAGE WITH THE SUPPLY CHAIN IN THEIR AREA.

Perhaps I misunderstood what you were saying, but it came off as condescending, in that it places responsibility of sustainable and ethical labour on the individual to do their own labour rather than on getting laborers organized to take control of their work so they can make their work ethical and sustainable.

NO SHIT YOU MISUNDERSTOOD IT. Why the fuck would anyone EVER conclude in ANY circumstance that encouraging others to learn a hobby level skill means I want ALL EXPERT AND PROFESSIONAL LABOUR IN THE FIELD REPLACED WITH RANDOM NEIGHBORS!

Do you see cooking youtube channels and think they're opposed to the existence of community kitchens and town pubs too? Do you see people mending their clothes and think they want tailoring and clothing design eliminated from society? Does growing basil in your window mean you want farmers to stop existing?

Or do you reserve this level of bad faith absolutism for types of work you're not familiar with?

Which is especially annoying to me, a disabled person who has no time nor energy for leather tanning

Your attempt to claim authority on a subject about which you are ignorant by using your disability status is noted. But here's a fun fact for you.

I'm a housebound cripple.

No shit I don't think everyone on earth should be making their own leather. But I DO think everyone who wants to try it should be informed that it's not nearly as dangerous as capitalist propaganda claims. And that EVERYONE benefits from knowing that it does not have to be environmentally destructive.

I'm a sociologist BECAUSE I'M A CRIPPLE. Because being housebound makes skilled labour like tanning BEYOND MY REACH.

Which is why it's all the MORE important that I encourage the building of these skills in my community and everywhere else.

and I don't take well to the implication that I am part of the problem of unethical and unsustainable textile practices because I'm not calling butchers to get skin to do my own leather tanning.

Not. Everything. Is. About. You.

There is no ~implication that you're part of the problem~. You made that up to be angry at. You literally won't even acknowledge the "problem" this post is ABOUT.

The problem is misinformation about leather production.

YOU decided it was about other things. YOU decided to be insulted over those other things. You decided this in spite of every conceivable angle of this post being as obnoxiously anti-capitalist as possible. Because you didn't recognize anti-capital action when stripped of academic terminology.

Was this meant to be addressed to leather workers or people interested in it? Because I missed that if it was.

Well it sure as shit wasn't addressed to you.

No one environmentally friendly alternative to leather needs to provide every trait that leather provides, btw.

If it's adequately abrasion resistant, then that's car seats and such handled.

If it's strong enough to use in impact protection, then that's impact protection handled.

If it's heat resistant enough, then that's gloves, aprons and other heat protection handled.

Adequate water resistance and flex stress durability, and that's shoes handled.

Adequate insulation and water vapor permeability, and you've got clothes taken care of (for all but the most extreme environments).

The reason leather is such a massive Thing(tm) is because it handles an absurd breadth of tasks. The only alternatives we have capable of handling even half of them simultaneously are plastics, and they do a worse job.

If you want to make a "leather alternative," you need to focus on one thing leather does best, and then do it even better.

The whole "we must find the One True Leather Alternative" thing is functionally impossible.

If you're that worried about it, you're infinitely better off encouraging ethical leather production at the local scale instead.

Because the big problem with leather right now isn't "oh no, an animal died."

It's "there's one city in India that makes 4 out of every 5 meters of leather on earth. That production volume is so environmentally destructive it's incomprehensible. Then further environmental destruction is performed in getting the leather to the people who will use it."

Contact your local wildlife agencies to ask about hunting clubs in your area and pester them for the skins left over after their animals are butchered. Beef farms probably already have someone taking their hides for processing, but maybe not! Especially the smaller ones.

Pig farms may have excess brains (yes, the organ in the skull) that they have trouble selling and end up tossing into their cess pools. Ask if you can have them. Got a neighbor with chickens who has more eggs than god himself? Get a line on their excess eggs for yolks.

Be the fucking change you want to see in the world or whatever.

Just stop trying to trick me into shilling for plastic.

[alicedrawslesmis]

okay so this chapter is a riot, literally and figuratively

The street gets deserted when the crowd starts pouring in, last chapter Hugo conveniently mentions how the distance between Rue Saint Denis and the second story window of the Corinth (where Bossuet was shouting at Courfeyrac from) is less then the range of a bayonet shot. Madame Houcheloup is becoming desperate, Joly gives her a gentle kiss on her neck.

Bahorel and Gavroche tip a lime vendor cart together. Feuilly, Hugo mentions he has hands used to delicate labour, is making piles of rubble on top of the two barrels of limes that the street vendor had. Fricassée (one of the two waitresses of the Corinth) serves them rubble as if she was serving them wine. Bossuet spots a bus on Saint Denis, stops it, makes everyone get out of it (making sure to give his hands to the ladies because he is a gentleman and because this is not a hostile gesture he just needs their bus) and releases the two white horses when they go to tip the bus on their barricade.

Grantaire, who is absolutely plastered on absinth, beer, whisky, wine and whatever drink Mother Houcheloup had, goes to the window, grabs Chowder (the other waitress) and starts rhapsodying about stuff. Literally any stuff, he doesn't have a train of thought it just keeps going. Enjolras berates him from the top of the barricade and orders him to go sleep it off somewhere else, which has a sobering effect of Grantaire. R, with a gentle look, asks to be able to sleep there. Enjolras berates him again. Grantaire says something like 'let me sleep here till I die here' and 'you'll see'. So he goes to sleep.

Note that Enjolras doesn't do that to Grantaire often, I mean actively berating him. He does it this time because Grantaire started to harass the waitress and disrupt the barricade which for Enjolras is an almost sacred space. For him Grantaire is mocking that space. Last time he did something resembling a scolding it was just 'be serious' but still he gave R the benefit of the doubt and let him go to the Barriere du Maine to rile up the artists. So this, mocking the barricade by turning it into his very own podium for his incoherent absinthe rambling, was the last straw for Enjolras. 'You are either fully in this, or you are out of here. This is a battlefield not a place for a joke' - and yes I believe Enjolras is kicking Grantaire out with the full intention that he leave. This isn't banter or a discussion, it's an order, and that explains Grantaire suddenly changing his whole demeanor to try and show Enjolras that he can be there with them.

Sketching Les Mis Chapter 4.12.3 - Night Begins To Gather Over Grantaire