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sketch under cut

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Oh yeah there's a part 2 of the horse desensitizing that I love.

🐎: Hey what's with that tiny predator, the one you're hold- WOAH WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS IT UP SO HIGH

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old wounds and festering guilt

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it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free:  pouring river water in your socks

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Okay, another little lesson for fic writers since I see it come up sometimes in fics: wine in restaurants.

When you buy a bottle of wine in a (nicer) restaurant, generally (please note my emphasis there, this is a generalization for most restaurants, but not all restaurants, especially non-US ones) you may see a waiter do a few things when they bring you the bottle.

The waiter presents the bottle to the person who ordered it

The waiter uncorks the bottle in order to serve it

The waiter hands the cork to the person who ordered the bottle

The waiter pours a small portion of the wine (barely a splash) and waits for the person who ordered it to taste it

The waiter then pours glasses for everyone else at the table, and then returns to fill up the initial taster's glass

Now, you might be thinking -- that's all pretty obvious, right? They're bringing you what you ordered, making sure you liked it, and then pouring it for the group. Wrong. It's actually a little bit more complicated than that.

The waiter presents the bottle to the person who ordered it so that they can inspect the label and vintage and make sure it's the bottle they actually ordered off the menu

The waiter uncorks the bottle so that the table can see it was unopened before this moment (i.e., not another wine they poured into an empty bottle) and well-sealed

The waiter hands the cork to the person who ordered the bottle so that they can inspect the label on the cork and determine if it matches up; they can also smell/feel the cork to see if there is any dergradation or mold that might impact the wine itself

The waiter pours a small portion for the person who ordered to taste NOT to see if they liked it -- that's a common misconception. Yes, sometimes when house wine is served by the glass, waiters will pour a portion for people to taste and agree to. But when you order a bottle, the taste isn't for approval -- you've already bought the bottle at this point! You don't get to refuse it if you don't like it. Rather, the tasting is to determine if the wine is "corked", a term that refers to when a wine is contaminated by TCA, a chemical compound that causes a specific taste/flavor. TCA can be caused by mold in corks, and is one of the only reasons you can (generally) refuse a bottle of wine you have already purchased. Most people can taste or smell TCA if they are trained for it; other people might drink the wine for a few minutes before noticing a damp, basement-like smell on the aftertaste. Once you've tasted it, you'll remember it. That first sip is your opportunity to take one for the table and save them from a possibly corked bottle of wine, which is absolutely no fun.

If you've sipped the wine (I generally smell it, I've found it's easier to smell than taste) and determined that it is safe, you then nod to your waiter. The waiter will then pour glasses for everyone else at the table. If the wine is corked, you would refuse the bottle and ask the waiter for a new bottle. If there is no new bottle, you'll either get a refund or they'll ask you to choose another option on their wine list. A good restaurant will understand that corked bottles happen randomly, and will leap at the opportunity to replace it; a bad restaurant or a restaurant with poor training will sometimes try to argue with you about whether or not it's corked. Again, it can be a subtle, subjective taste, so proceed carefully.

In restaurants, this process can happen very quickly! It's elegant and practiced. The waiter will generally uncork the bottle without setting the bottle down or bracing it against themselves. They will remove the cork without breaking it, and they will pour the wine without dripping it down the label or on the table.

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Grateful

by Leonard Cohen

The huge mauve jacaranda tree down the street on South Tremaine in full bloom two stories high It made me so happy And then the first cherries of the season at the Palisades Farmers Market Sunday morning “What a blessing!” I exclaimed to Anjani And then the samples on waxed paper of the banana cream cake and the coconut cream cake I am not a lover of pastry but I recognised the genius of the baker and touched my hat to her A slight chill in the air seemed to polish the sunlight and confer the status of beauty to every object I beheld Faces bosoms fruits pickles green eggs newborn babies in clever expensive harnesses I am so grateful to my new anti-depressant

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Maladaptive deeply held belief: nobody could ever love me. Im going to die alone

Positive counterthought: maybe someone has an exceptionally rare form of mental illness that would cause them to make the grave mistake of wanting to fuck me

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Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.

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the space that i take up, 2019

an installation i did for uni but it still hits pretty hard. unapologetically take up space and if people don't like it, they can die mad about it 💕

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i hope im not just a mutual to you but also a really annoying stranger who is somehow always going through something

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This is still one of the greatest things ever made.

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Coming to terms with the fact that I have to learn to treasure whatever people will give me, instead of yearning for what they will not.

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"unalive" should just mean the opposite of undead. if undead means a dead thing thats alive, unalive shuld mean an alive things thats dead. no i dont have any examples. ☝️yet

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idk thinking about how sometimes you have to show up for people you aren't that close to, because sometimes you're just the person who's there. sometimes you invite a new friend to a party and end up having to sit with them through a panic attack. sometimes you run into an acquaintance on their worst day and they need to talk about what happened. sometimes someone is crying in a stairwell and you're the only one around to ask if they're okay. and none of this is "trauma dumping" or whatever the fuck it's just being there for people because you're the one in the room with them.

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I think one of Pratchett's great skills in writing was being able to make silly things serious, in different ways. Like, there's a fairy godmother forcing everyone into fairystales, how fun! Except in the process, she has stopped seeing them as people. She's forcing people to live lives they don't want to because she decides that's how it has to be. Sometimes she goes so far as to violate her victim's minds and deform and puppet their bodies so they'll play their part right, and anyone who doesn't do their job gets mercilessly killed. And there's a zombie activist named Reg Shoe who buries himself every year out of solidarity for the dead, how funny! Except he is filled with a genuine passion for justice and improvement in the world, and that's why he literally refuses to die. And he buries himself on a holiday that happens to be the anniversery of his own death, and he does it next to the bodies of the friends and strangers he fought alongside, the ones who didn't get to come back, so he spends one day with them. There is still a lot of silliness in discworld, a lot that's wacky and funny, but a lot of it, when you think about it, is oddly beautiful or touching or disturbing or something else entirely.

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