i read the hobbit in 3rd grade and i thought it was really lame. however i liked bilbo baggins for some reason and i was fully convinced he was some sort of rabbit/mouse thing until i saw the lotr movies and was really, really confused
#OP this is adorable but i would like to pass on that tolkien got very irritated by illustrators doing stuff like this #the quote is something like 'bilbo is a little man not some sort of fairy rabbit' #this is NOT to imply you shouldn't do it. doing things that would have annoyed tolkien should be actively encouraged (via @penny-anna)
btw the term "women's health" to discuss uterine care/menstruation isnt just transphobic, it also keeps up this aggravating idea that the uterus & menstruation are obscene and impolite and need to be kept hidden under flowery vague terms as to not offend any cis men. like trans people demanding the end of gendered language around this stuff aren't just helping trans people, its also just good to normalize calling tampons and pads "menstrual supplies" because thats what they fucking are!!! we should say the words uterus vagina menstruation and we should do it in public and in stores instead of talking about ~women's needs~ and ~feminine care~. trans liberation is fundamental to women's liberation and anti-patriarchal action in general. listening to trans men & people isn't bad for women its good for literally everyone
yes! calling gynecology etc “women’s health” also reinforces a long history of centering the reproductive system as the most important part of women’s bodies and the only part that needs attention from a doctor.
when you hear stories about how historically, every ailment a woman could possibly have was blamed on the uterus (hysteria, the wandering womb, etc)? this kind of vague and generalized language keeps the legacy of that reductive approach alive. every part of women’s bodies are important to their health, and the idea that the reproductive system is the most/only important part is responsible for a lot of the barriers that women face when trying to access quality healthcare.
“women’s health” as a concept should include every part of the body and every kind of body a woman might have, because if it doesn’t, that only ends one way: women being neglected by medical professionals who don’t know or care enough to treat them as entire people.
listening to trans men and other trans people when we say neutral language in medicine is important will only improve medical care for women. you can say we’re trying to erase women all you want, but the reality is that it’s actually the gendering of reproductive care that leads to women being neglected.
This has affected me as a cis woman.
I wondered why none of my doctors ever scheduled a physical for me: checking my heart, etc. I found out recently that my doctor expected my gyno to do that during my pap smears. Not only was she not doing that, but even if she was, she had told me only to come in for a Pap smear every three years.
Finally, my doctor scheduled me for an “annual exam” and I thought that meant a physical. I show up and it turns out they used that phrase to mean a Pap smear. The doctors literally never thought to check other parts of my health. This obscuring language is so harmful.
So D&D black dragons are supposed to live in swamps, right? Pretty amphibious, live in swamps, lair in...
caves. With a main entrance and a back entrance.
In swamps.
I really have trouble with the idea that there's these dragon-sized caves in an area with such a high water table, y'know? We have to go through miles of swamp to reach this lair, it's not one little boggy place in a mountain valley otherwise filled with nice caves. And the cave has to have two entrances, too? I can believe in dragons, but not this geology.
So... maybe it's not geology. Because a lair in a marshy place with exacting design specifications sounds a lot like a totally natural thing --
A beaver lodge.
So now I have this new image of black dragons industriously gnawing down giant trees to construct their mighty swamp lairs, and I am so much happier.
He's building his lodge.
To anyone worried about this eliminating the fear factor, don't worry; instead, imagine a lair full of sharp spikes formed from logs. Imagine previous, less fortunate treasure-hunters, dragonslayers, etc. being impaled on those spikes for your party to see.
That's brilliant! I'd done a dragon with shrike behavior in my game before, but it was a red dragon. I had the wrong species. We do know that black dragons like to let their food decompose a bit before tucking in. So they put in on a meat hook for a while.
Sometimes I'll be trying to fall asleep and "smork alam" will just pop into my head and I start giggling.
It's midnight here, so happy disability pride month to my fellow disableds, the chronically ill, and also to the temporarily abled.
If your activism doesn't include disability, you're sure as fuck going to wish it did.
Nothing about us without us ♿👊
As we are, so you will be. All health and ability is temporary.
I suppose I should have guessed that offhandedly mentioning my father was in several year feud with a parrot in the tags of that post would make my inbox go nova.
Anyway, my dad was involved in a feud with an African Grey parrot for several years. No one knows how said parrot came to be in our Scottish village, it simply showed up one day at the rescue and the local hairdresser, Sharron, adopted it.
Now if you don’t know much about African Greys, they’re chatty buggers. They’re also wicked smart and incredible mimics. Which was how Marty the Parrot became an infamous feature of our wee town; frequently escaping his enclosure to perch above the barbershop door, hurling Scottish colloquialisms at unsuspecting tourists and whistling the ice cream truck song whenever kids walked past. One time, some construction workers drilled through the water pipe that ran through the village square, and above the roar of water spewing forth into the street and alarmed swearing, Marty could be heard cackling like a demon through the window. Right until the water reached the barbershop door and flooded the ground floor room he was sitting in, and then he started screaming, “help! help! murder murder polis*!”** until he was rescued and offered a plain digestive biscuit.
After that and many, many more escape attempts and being asked politely by the local tourist board if Marty could stop telling hikers to “away and pish!” Sharron took him to see some sort of bird whisperer who told her Marty was lonely and needed company. So she moved his cage into the barbershop during the day so he could see and talk to her and the customers.
Which is where my dad comes in.
You should know that my dad is the epitome of a wee auld Scottish granda. He’s had a full head of white hair since his early forties, and wouldn’t look out of place in a Norman Rockwell painting in Norman Rockwell ever took a wander doon the Barras and got swindled into buying a TV that quite-very-probably fell off the back of a truck. He’s got the gift for the gab, and everyone likes him. Sometimes against their better judgement. Everyone, that is, except Marty.
Marty hated my dad.
At some point, Marty picked up the habit of complimenting customers. He’d wait till Sharron was done with their hair, then wolf whistle and demand “who’s a pretty boy then?” in a broad Scots accent that ought to have defied avian vocalities. Sometimes he’d even do it before if he liked the customer. But regardless, he’d always chat with customers, even if it was just nonsense phrases like “Oh aye?” *whistles* “Iz at right?” *click click.*
Now my dad knew this about Marty. He knew it from local chat and from watching the bird fawn over customers as he and my brother waited their turn. So it came as quite a surprise when my dad sat down in Sharron’s chair and was met with stony silence. The way he tells it, Marty stared at him dead on in silence, methodically cracking seeds between his talons. When my brother was done with his haircut in the neighboring chair, Marty turned and gave a shrill whistle, followed by his customary “who’s a pretty boy then?” before resuming his death glare at my dad, who by now was feeling a bit unnerved by the unwavering eye contact and the nut cracking. The uncharacteristic silence continued, even when my dad was getting ready to leave. There was no whistle, no “who’s a pretty boy then?” just silence and the sound of seeds being crushed. And then my dad tripped over the step on the way out of the shop, and Marty let out a demonic peal of parrot laughter*** like water circling an open drain. And that was the start of the feud.
After that, whenever my dad went to get a haircut, Marty would talk to him, but only ever in insults. The one time my dad tried asking “who’s a pretty boy?”, the bird replied “naw youse!” before cackling himself into a whistling fit. And every time my dad would come away, determined to get that bloody parrot to whistle at him and ask “who’s a pretty boy then?”
Seeds were bought. Parrot appropriate biscuits were offered up as tribute. All to no avail. But eventually there became a sort of camaraderie in the insults. Like two enemies who know the steps to the dance they’re treading, and who welcome the familiarity of it. Sometimes my dad would just stick his head round the door on his way to work, just to hear the indignant squawk followed by a litany of insults that’d make a tea kettle whistle. And this went on for years, possibly close to a decade.
Parrot and man locked in an ongoing battle of wills to see who would give up first.
Sadly, my dad never got his “who’s a pretty boy then?” whistle. Marty was already old when Sharron rescued him and is no longer with us. I’d like to say he’s looking down on my dad, hurling loving insults, but given that bird’s panache for stealing ice cream cones from unsuspecting children and general flare for terror, it’s probably more likely he’s looking up. Either way, he’s fondly remembered. Especially by my wee auld dad, who while never having got a “who’s a pretty boy then?” did get a “see youse later” one time, which probably counts for more.
*Scots for police.
**A line from an old Glasgow Street song.
***Not Marty, but this is close to how I remember him sounding.
Happy 2-year-ish anniversary to this post. I need you all to know it’s been literal years, and during one of our recent phone conversations, I brought up Marty and what a terrible pun his name was, and my dad paused mid-sentence, asking what I meant and proclaimed, “Of course! It all makes sense! Marty McFly!”
Hello, today is my birthday, and I would like to share a comic I made in the last year with you. It's called Broomistega and Thrinaxodon.
This comic was originally printed with yellow, fluorescent pink, light teal, and violet risograph inks. Physical copies are available in my shop.
quick protip: if someone is crying or freaking out over something minor, eg wifi not connecting, can’t find their hat, people talking too loud, do NOT tell them how small or petty the problem is to make it better. they know. they would probably love to calm down. you are doing the furthest possible thing from helping. people don’t have to earn expressions of feelings.
I’m just gonna put it out there that if someone’s freaking about something small, they’re really freaking out about something big that they’re trying to deal with, or something long term that’s been building up, and that little thing is the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I don’t know, try and give people the benefit of the doubt. Don’t be the next straw on their broken back.
Needed this today.
People don’t actually go from 0 to 60. If you think they did, you have failed to notice how long they’ve been at 59.
People don’t actually go from 0 to 60. If you think they did, you have failed to notice how long they’ve been at 59.
fun fact: any policy on drugs that isn’t harm reduction is going to cause addicts to suffer and die
fun fact: Drug addiction is a public health issue, and approaching it as if it were a law enforcement issue is prejudicial to addicts and will result in their suffering and death
if you just assume addiction is a method of self-medicating, you’ll pretty much never be wrong.
now, not everything people self-medicate for actually has a proper treatment. i’m pretty sure the reason my uncle made sure to be slightly drunk at all times ‘to round the sharp corners off of things’ was sensory processing disorder. i have that too, and i just kind of accept that i’m going to randomly get my brain sandpapered from time to time. there is no medication for that. all you can do is dull your senses. i’ve chosen not to, but i can’t blame him for his decisions. when a ringing phone feels like getting hit upside the head with a frying pan, liver damage sounds like a fair price to pay.
anyway, it seems really self-evident to me that people don’t enjoy living the life of an addict, they do it because the alternative looks worse. people don’t get addicted to substances just for funsies. they start making a habit of taking something because of insomnia, or grief, or headaches, or depression, or seething undirected rage and terror they can’t put a name to – something that they can’t ignore or shrug off. and for whatever reason – lack of access, lack of knowlege, lack of money, or it just plain doesn’t exist – they aren’t able to apply the Approved Correct Remedy. they use what they can get.
addicts aren’t some weird otherfolk who inexplicably just Do Drugs because they’re Bad. addicts are you with a problem you can’t solve.
Anonymous asked:
My house is being haunted by Unown and they keep making fun of me. Just this morning I burnt my eggs while making breakfast and they lined up to spell “EPIC FAIL” in my kitchen. Can I convince them to stop? :,(
realpokemon answered:
ALT
Since elves have such a long life span, Legolas going on a ~6 month trip and coming back with a dwarf on his arm is the human equivalent of going to Vegas for the weekend and getting married to the first person you meet
@cafffine there's no way I could let this hide in the tags
[Image ID: Tumblr tag reading: #Gandalf was the Elvis impersonator #lotr /End ID]
when i was a kid I was really bad (or really good depending on your definition) at hidden object games. which is to say that I would not specifically search for the objects the book asked me to look for. no. that would make no sense. what i instead did was open a spreadsheet
i then proceeded to list every single object in the image in my excel spreadsheet, highlighting the objects the book asked me to find in red as i went. Then, by the end, not only had i found the objects, I had also found and categorized all of the other objects as well. This way, if anyone asked me to find any other objects in that image, i was fully prepared
on an unrelated note i was diagnosed as autistic before third grade
You used the letter a 46 times!!
And 555 letters, so the letter a is about 8.29%
The letter a is on average used about 8.2% of the time, which means you used it more than average!! :)
a-counter you are my best friend and greatest ally