kablamo15

[kablamo15]

Do kids today even understand why podcasts are called podcasts?

[kablamo15]

forever sick and tired of people bringing up the muppet christmas carol when talking about interspecies muppet reproduction

the kids kermit and piggy "have" in that movie are not hypothetical children they could have. they're actors. in all the muppet adaptations of classic literature the point is that the muppets are acting. kermit is acting as bob crachit, piggy is acting as emily crachit, and so on and so forth. it's literally in the opening credits. tiny tim isn't kermit and piggy's child in an alternate universe. it's robin, kermit's nephew, playing the part of tiny tim.

please use actual canon muppet material and muppet interviews in your reseach

[kablamo15]

maybe i like my tech a little bit inconvenient

[kablamo15]

Pipe sprung a leak in the bathroom the other day and the cat came and bothered me about it and I can't stop thinking about it. She doesn't know what a towel or a mop is but she knew there was an unauthorised fucking Wet and she trusted my ability to rectify the situation

[kablamo15]

[kablamo15]

Two stunning winners ✨️

[kablamo15]

Growing up, my brother and I deeply dreaded going shoe shopping. It took hours, especially if it was for winter boots. My dad would examine the stitching, the brand reliability, the temperature recommendations, every piece of information he could get his hands on, and then when he'd finally found the right brand, it was on to making absolutely dead sure they fit properly - he had a particular way of poking the toe of the boot to ensure our foot was where it was supposed to be that always drove me nuts. This was always on a weekend, and it was about the worst punishment we could imagine.

Years later, I found out that he'd spent his entire childhood on the Canadian prairies with cold feet. My grandmother just bought whatever boots looked like the best value, regardless of whether they'd keep anyone warm. They'd kept him from frostbite, probably, but never, ever comfortable.

The reason my grandmother never had a thought about this was because she was buying her kids real boots. There was a sort of magical quality about real, purpose-made boots that meant that of course they'd work, because when she was growing up on the Canadian prairies, they had the kind of no money that meant you just stuffed some newspaper into your shoes and soldiered on.

The last pair of winter boots my dad bought for me was 15 years ago, in preparation for a three-month stint living in northern Quebec in midwinter. They cost $200 then, or something like it. I've worn them every year since, driving out to the remotest locations on the Canadian prairies and never once thinking about my feet.

When I read the Vimes Boots Theory for the first time, it rang a bell that reverberated back three generations.

[kablamo15]

kill the imposter syndrome in your head because not only is there someone out there doing it worse than you, they’re also using chat gpt to do it

[kablamo15]

mutuals seeing me post about The Character again

[kablamo15]

Being the person that needs to nap after every big meal is so embarrassing. I apologize for being a 1 week old

[kablamo15]

disabled people who do not directly "contribute" to society and need large amounts of care and resources to survive deserve not only to survive but to have comfort, stability, and fun within their lives while they do. no compromises.

[kablamo15]

i swear to god chatgbt "therapy" is going to be my actual breaking point

"god forbid people need 24/7 access to therapy to-"

THAT'S NOT THERAPY

THAT IS A PROGRAM DESIGNED TO TELL YOU WHAT IT THINKS YOU WANT TO HEAR

IT CANNOT PROVIDE YOU WITH THERAPY

*UNEARTHLY SCREECH OF DESPAIR*

[kablamo15]

Absolutely wild to me how sometimes you don't even realize the way you'd been taught to perceive things as a kid was kinda fucked up, actually, until decades later.

Example:

As a kid, I constantly lived in fear of damaging shit in my parent's house. The walls. The floors (especially the floors. The wood was beautiful. Shiny. But so easy to scratch). The cabinets.

As a sixteen-year-old, I once took my car to the dealership after work and paid a very dear sum of $250 ($10/hr cashier salary) to fix a slight scratch in the paint because I knew if my father saw it there would be hell to pay. It didn't matter that I parked far out, like I'd been taught, and someone scratched it anyway. It was my fault. I failed in my duties as a steward of my vehicle.

Every time I scratched a rim on a curb while parallel parking or got a door ding or, god forbid, didn't wash and vacuum that car every weekend, it was treated like some sort of moral failing.

Last year, when my husband and I first moved into our house, he scraped the side of our car when parking in our (Very Narrow) garage. When he told me, my first instinct was to be afraid for him. Like something terrible was going to happen to him because of this mistake. I urgently reassured him that it was okay, it was an accident, I wasn't mad. Baffled, he was like, "Yeah? I know? Like, thank you for the reassurance, but I'm only a little annoyed, I'm not upset. It's just a car." And I had to take several minutes to process that. It's...just a car.

We keep the car tidy. We maintain it. But we wash it maybe 4x a year. We only vacuum it after dirty road trips or when the dog hair starts to get annoying. It has scrapes and dings and the leather seats have stains. But that's ok. Because it's just a car.

This morning, I realized that a small rock had gotten embedded in the felt foot on one of our bar stools. Neither of us had noticed. There are now scratches on our beautiful hardwood floor. My immediate response was fear accompanied by a heavy measure of paralyzing guilt. "I'm so sorry," I told my husband, "I should have noticed. I'll figure out how to fix it, I swear. I can probably sand down that section and match the stain and--"

"Whoa, hey," he said. "It was an accident. And it's fine. Floors are going to get damaged. They're floors. We live here. There was damage in places before we even bought the house, remember? It's not a big deal. It's just a floor." Right. It's just a floor. Right.

My husband's mom is visiting and this afternoon, as I was sitting in the kitchen looking at the scratches on the floor, I offhandedly asked her if my husband had ever broken or damaged anything as a kid. "Of course," she said. Household items. A TV. A wrecked car during his teen years. I asked how she punished him.

"Why would I punish him for things like that?" she said. "They were all accidents."

Right. Of course. Right.

[kablamo15]

Rating Sexual Attractiveness of Various Tarnish, Corrosions, and Rusts.

Rust (iron oxide) 6/10: Generic. We've all seen it. Humans love iron. It looks like vaguely blood which is hot. . . but we've all seen mars.

Patina (copper oxide) 11/10: Magical. etherial. Blue-green contrast with copper's orange. Fairy blood. Please kisses. Please ma'am. Please fuck me. Please. Please. Please.

Silver Tarnish (sliver sulfide) 2/10: Eww. Gross. It's got cool metaphors with silver's slow decay. but it just looks dingy. Let's just stay friends.

Zinc Corrosion (zinc oxide) 4/10: Just looses luster and becomes paler. Not really hot. But reminds me of how old photographs fade. Cute.

Aluminum Corrosion (aluminum oxide) 8/10: Ohh. Pretty warping and dots. Her freckles are so fucking cute. I ahahahakewjbkbfbkfjbkjfebkb.

[kablamo15]

a society that allows people to starve when there is food has failed. like. that’s it.

[kablamo15]

it came to me in a vision

[kablamo15]

I was working with an item today that just utterly flabbergasted a part of me (the other was deeply frustrated with the catalogue record AS SOMEONE APPARENTLY THOUGHT IT WAS PRINTED ON SILK, coming back to that in a minute) … but ANYWAYS … said item is a replica of a medieval manuscript prayer book THAT IS ENTIRELY WOVEN out of grey and black silk … WOVEN … text, images, intricate grey scale, WOVEN … NOT PRINTED …

And it’s flabbergasting because it’s from 1888, Jacquard machine, IT USED PUNCH CARDS to weave these intricate pages … something like 400 weft per near square inch … IT looks like a page of textured paper, but it’s not, it’s entirely SILK … F*CK …

Anyways …