randomthoughtsrandomdude
randomthoughtsrandomdude
You Never Know What You'll Find
12K posts
If I think it's interesting, I'll put it here. Gay. He/him. Old Enough but not That Old.
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 8 hours ago
Text
I dunno man. I found out today that a subway sandwich is $14 now. A shitty subway footlong sandwich that isn't actually 12 inches long and is occasionally made with expired ingredients and was never a great option to start with. I ate those in high school because I was broke and at the mall a lot.
There are poke bowls in my city from a local place for $16. Super fresh fish and veg, warm rice, more than I can eat in one sitting, for the price of a sandwich and a drink at america's most mid-tier sandwich shop.
Someone in another post said (paraphrased) you used to be able to get something mediocre for cheap, but now the mediocre things cost as much as the nice things so why would you?
83K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 8 hours ago
Text
It seems like the older I get, the more irrationally angry casual censorship makes me. And it isn't just the "unalive" "grape" alleged filter-dodging vernacular, but the way normal words will be peppered with asterisks, or screenshots will have words like "gay" "hell" "fuck" etc either partially or entirely blurred. Who is this helping? What is the purpose of it, except to reinforce shame and elevate a flimsy perception of purity and safety, however those things manifest. It's so tiresome and I'm sick of it.
3K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 21 hours ago
Text
it should be illegal for a company to be able to brick any console that you legally own I am so serious about this
7K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
61K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.
"Would you like to?"
"Sure!"
So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.
Tumblr media
Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.
19K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
imo the people who bring powerpoints listing all of their traumatic experiences to their therapy appointment have the wrong idea about what therapy is for. i think a lot of us traumatized people are so swept up in the drama of what happened to us and rehashing it over and over when that won't necessarily help us and can make us worse. yes, a lot of these taboo life experiences deserve to be spoken about. but it gets to a point.
882 notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
at the fishing tournament yesterday btw there were age categories bc it was all-inclusive and we didn't want like 60 year old anglers competing against 4 years olds obviously.
so anyway this 14 year old boy entered in the 11-15 age bracket and he saw a huge fish in the water he became absolutely determined to catch. i don't think he even wanted to win anymore. he just wanted that fish specifically. but his line wasn't strong enough for such a big fish and didn't have the ideal bait.
enter: two 15 year old boys who didn't know him. they saw what he was trying to do, and they were clearly experienced anglers, and they got involved in the chase. they got the right bait and the three of them spent hours with their lines in the water, until the first boy finally hooked the fish. they talked him through the slow challenge of endurance. he couldn't reel in all at once because the fish was too heavy for his line and it'd break.
he finally reeled it in, but they didn't have a net. it took all three of them, lying on their bellies, six hands on the fish, to pull it out of the water. they put it in a big bucket of water for the weigh-in (we just subtracted the bucket+water weight after), gave their new friend careful instruction on how to handle the fish so he could pose for a hasty photo without injuring its spine, and then carefully placed the fish back in the water.
in the end, he won first place in his age bracket. one of the other boys who helped him tied for second with a 12-year-old competitor, and he gave her the trophy.
then during the drawing, where participants won prizes randomly if I pulled their name from a box, I happened to pull his name and he got a great prize so it all came around.
Idk. the teamwork. the serendipity of friendship. the graciousness. the consideration for the fish. Just some things that made me happy.
10K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
[link]
83K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
I started using Head and Shoulders ten years ago for itchy scalp and dandruff, and then for ten years I have not had itchy scalp and dandruff, so I thought "why do I still buy shampoo to combat itchy scalp and dandruff when I do not have itchy scalp and dandruff," so I stopped buying the shampoo for itchy scalp and dandruff and can you guess I have now? Can you predict what currently afflicts me? It's alright if you can't because apparently I fuckin couldn't either
353K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 3 days ago
Text
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
532K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 4 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
>First, we’ve discovered that about a quarter of all the internet connection in or out of the house were ad related. In a few hours, that’s about 10,000 out of 40,000 processed.
>We also discovered that every link on Twitter was blocked. This was solved by whitelisting the https://t.co domain.
>Once out browsing the Web, everything is loading pretty much instantly. It turns out most of that Page Loading malarkey we’ve been accustomed to is related to sites running auctions to sell Ad space to show you before the page loads. All gone now.
>We then found that the Samsung TV (which I really like) is very fond of yapping all about itself to Samsung HQ. All stopped now. No sign of any breakages in its function, so I’m happy enough with that.
>The primary source of distress came from the habitual Lemmings player in the house, who found they could no longer watch ads to build up their in-app gold. A workaround is being considered for this.
>The next ambition is to advance the Ad blocking so that it seamlessly removed YouTube Ads. This is the subject of ongoing research, and tinkering continues. All in all, a very successful experiment.
>Certainly this exceeds my equivalent childhood project of disassembling and assembling our rotary dial telephone. A project whose only utility was finding out how to make the phone ring when nobody was calling.
Tumblr media
>Update: All4 on the telly appears not to have any ads any more. Goodbye Arnold Clarke!
Tumblr media
>Lemmings problem now solved.
>Can confirm, after small tests, that RTÉ Player ads are now gone and the player on the phone is now just delivering swift, ad free streams at first click.
>Some queries along the lines of “Are you not stealing the internet?” Firstly, this is my network, so I may set it up as I please (or, you know, my son can do it and I can give him a stupid thumbs up in response). But there is a wider question, based on the ads=internet model.
>I’m afraid I passed the You Wouldn’t Download A Car point back when I first installed ad-blocking plug-ins on a browser. But consider my chatty TV. Individual consumer choice is not the method of addressing pervasive commercial surveillance.
>Should I feel morally obliged not to mute the TV when the ads come on? No, this is a standing tension- a clash of interests. But I think my interest in my family not being under intrusive or covert surveillance at home is superior to the ad company’s wish to profile them.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
>Aside: 24 hours of Pi Hole stats suggests that Samsung TVs are very chatty. 14,170 chats a day.
>YouTube blocking seems difficult, as the ads usually come from the same domain as the videos. Haven’t tried it, but all of the content can also be delivered from a no-cookies version of the YouTube domain, which doesn’t have the ads. I have asked my son to poke at that idea.
Tumblr media
205K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 5 days ago
Text
It's impressive how Neil Gaiman vanished from the internet. Wish Rowling would do the same.
54K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 6 days ago
Text
my fave writing reminder
Tumblr media
honestly, this phrase has been on my mind more times than i can count. i've kidnapped it, taken it as a hostage with no ransom money because i need it to live permanently in my head.
42K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 6 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
19K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 6 days ago
Text
I know for a fact that my stepmother loves me.
I know it for a fact because the vaccine for the sleeping sickness came out when I was ten, and she cried. When she was a kid, parents would have Sleep Overs whenever someone caught it, in the hopes of spread it around - children were statistically more likely to be woken up by "True Love's Kiss" from a parent or family member, after all, whereas if you caught it when you were older, things got more complicated and if you were old, you might be the last one in your family left.
(There’s more to it than that, I know, I've tried reading the papers, but I barely passed biocurse with a C+, and don't even get me started on organic curses. Those two classes were enough to kill any hope I had of becoming a fairy godperson.)
So, when the vaccine against the sleeping sickness came out, my stepmother cried, and my father got me on the list right away; I wasn't high priority, after all; I was young, there wasn't an active outbreak in my school district, and I was otherwise healthy. But they put me on the backup list anyway, so if there was one, just one available, I could get it.
When the fairy godperson's office called, my dad was at work, but my stepmother bundled me up and drove there so fast I thought we were going to be pulled over. (Later, I found out that she'd gotten an automated ticket from one of the red light cameras, a fact that she hid from both me and my dad.) They called my dad, of course, and he left work, but he also gave the okay for my stepmother to be my medical proxy in case he was delayed.
Vaccines don't last forever, and it was decided that I would be given it without him there. At 100 minutes, my stepmother would try kissing my forehead, and if it didn't work, the office would set me up for the 100 hours it would take before my dad could try.
Magic can't be ignored, but it can be tricked.
It didn't matter. At 100 minutes post-vaccine, my stepmother kissed my forehead and I woke up.
So. I know she loves me.
My mom would have been there, if she could, but she died when I was five. She'd gotten Rapunzelean cancer in high school, but she'd beaten it! She was one of the successes!
...Until it came back.
I don't remember much about her, but I remember that she loved me. Even as the golden tumors grew from her bare scalp and sucked the life out of her, she would sing to me, and she wrote me a series of letters for me as I grew up, just in case.
My stepmother took me to her grave sometimes. My dad does too, but it's nice that my stepmother is willing, you know? I had a breakdown one year when I couldn't find my mom's favorite flowers to take to her burial site, and my stepmom drove me all over town until we found one store that had them in the right color. (My dad was at the fairy godperson's office to get some pre-wards before we went to the cemetery. I found out later that his father had caught a curse shortly after my grandmother passed away, specifically geriatric onset donkeyskin, and my father was paranoid of following in his footsteps.)
My dad and my stepmom shuffled their shifts, so that one of them was with me in the morning before school, and one of them was there after, and then both were home for dinner. When I told them I wanted to study to be a fairy godperson, they took me seriously, even though I had wanted to be a pilot and a vet, and and a lawyer and and and - they always supported me, and soon I was being gifted books on the history of magicomedicine and cursebreaking. Some of them gave me nightmares - siren's disease freaked me out for a long time; something about the tongue swelling so much you would suffocate, and the agonizing images of ancient "cures" where the victim had to get their tongue cut out so they could breathe. I don't even know why! There were much worse ones! But something about that was so visceral to me. For the next month, any time my feet hurt even a little was convinced I was coming down with siren's disease.
I worried my parent's so much that they took me to Fairy Elena, my PCFP, and asked if she would be willing to go over how siren's is treated now. She gave me a quick rundown on intubation, pain medication, and told me about Prince's Blood Donations.
It was the first time I learned that magic can be tricked; according to legend, siren's disease could be cured by killing someone's true love and smearing their blood over the patient's legs. At least, that was one line of thought; another line of thought argued that it had to be the blood of royalty. Some fairy godpersons and magicoresearchers got together in the '80s and decided to research it methodically, going through every known case of siren's disease & what worked and what didn't. It turned out royalty was the key, but then it became a question of ethics. I didn't care too much at the time, that was all boring, grown-up stuff, but finally one researcher decided to just make a blood bank company, call it Prince's and see if that worked.    
And it did.
Magic can be tricked, and my mind was blown.
I also asked my dad if we could put that book away for a little, because it was too scary. He agreed, and we put it on the top shelf, where all the scary books went. I reread it recently, and honestly? I don't remember what I was so afraid of.
Things started changing when I turned 16.
For one, my hair, which had always been brown, started darkening to black. For another, I stopped being able to tan. It was like a light switch went off; magic was determined to turn me into something, and I hated it. My PCFP really went to bat for me, getting insurance to cover the cost of cosmetic glamours and professional tanning sprays. She wanted me to tell my parents, but I didn't want to, not yet, and she was bound by her oath to protect my privacy.   
She was right. But... I wanted to ignore it. I wanted to pretend everything was fine.
I didn't want to lose another mom.
And it worked for a while; managed to get to my senior year of high school before the world broke.
Stepmothers don't have the best reputation.
It fucking sucks, and it's not fair, but enough stories have been told about them that magic took an interest, and began manifesting curses that warp stepmothers until they follow the story.
We thought we were safe. My stepmother didn't bring any children into the marriage, so she was safe from the ash-girl curse variant, and I was a tanned brunette, so we were safe from the snow-daughter variant.
And she loved me.
She hid it too, I think. Not intentionally, but some of the symptoms are paranoia and anxiety.
I've done a lot of research. I don't think I'll ever be able to be a fairy godperson, but that doesn't mean I had to stop caring. I swapped my focus to researching curses from the history and literature side of things. I still work with researchers, we just come from different angles now.
Anyway, no one realized anything was wrong until she was french braiding my hair and the next thing I knew, she had locked herself in the bathroom sobbing while EMTs took me to the hospital for overnight observation. I don't actually know what happened. She turned herself over to the cops as soon I was loaded onto the ambulance, and she was taken to a hospital herself. She was sedated at first, as she was so wound up that she was hurting herself, and the hospital couldn't scan her for curses. Once she came out of sedation, she immediately called my dad and offered a divorce, he could take everything, she would leave immediately.
But we'd gotten the results of the scans, and I was fine. As best that the fairy godperson's could tell, the magic was frustrated that we didn't want to go down the snow-daughter route, and had lashed out in an attempt to force it. That was apparently what knocked me unconscious; magic poisoned the comb my stepmother was using in my hair.
That didn't mean she didn't feel guilty - but so did I. If I had told them earlier, would things have changed? If I hadn't tried to hide the signs that magic was fucking with us?
They don't blame me, and I don't blame her.  
She loves me. I know she does. We still talk, as best as we can. She can only hear my voice for ten minutes before the curse starts taking over. We can email, though, as long as the orderlies can prescreen the email for any curse triggers. She also can't hear about me directly, but my dad will go and visit her, and tell me how she's doing. He refused to divorce her. His insurance still covers her hospital stay. He says he's married, and wears his ring.
When I applied to college, I wrote about all three of my parents, and how much they had all taught me.
How much they all loved me.
Someday, my stepmother will get her curse lifted, I have to believe that. I've joined a multidisciplinary group of researchers based in the EU. Some of us are looking at ways to trick magic, some of us are looking at ways to rewrite the stories of the wicked stepmothers, and create a new path for the magic to follow. One group of researchers is looking into ways of simulating the punishments that stepmothers receive at the end of tales to see if "punishing" stepmothers would break the curse. Actually going through the punishments would cause any ethical review board to remove someone's license, and there's no way I would want my stepmom to dance in red hot metal shoes.
But lately she's been getting hot stone foot massages before I call her; that's how we got to ten minutes before the curse took hold, and next week we're going to see if holding her feet in a hot bath lets us video call. Maybe someday we'll be able to see each other in person again. Maybe I'll be able to take her home where dad and I can cook dinner for her, and we can be a family again. My family has an apple pie recipe, and we never made it - I understand why, now, but maybe someday we can laugh at this and all make it together. To make your own apple pie, you'll need...
17K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 6 days ago
Text
7K notes · View notes
randomthoughtsrandomdude · 6 days ago
Text
My cat has always had the worst timing. He'll jump up on my desk to cuddle at the very moment I'm about to get up to urgently go to the bathroom. He'll try to curl up with me in bed the very instant I need to get up and refill my glass of water and put some vaseline on my dry, sore lips. He'll ask me to play just at the second I need to end my break and get back to work.
The poor guy, right? From his perspective, he approaches me for love and I immediately get up and leave. I feel awful about it. I try to reassure him first that I love him and he just has bad timing, but I know it can't feel nice, and also he's too big of a dumbass to understand that me getting up and walking away isn't triggered by him coming to say hi.
Except today I realized something: Yes. It is.
I was sitting at my desk watching a video and up jumps the boy with a mrrp, head positioned for pets, when I realized I urgently had to get up and go to the bathroom. As I opened my mouth to say "bad timing again, buddy," it finally occurred to me that... I definitely already had to go. I for sure did not "suddenly" have an urgent need for the toilet out of fucking nowhere.
I didn't realize I needed to go because my brain is piloted by angry gremlins and they were more interested in watching the video than letting me know about an important bodily function.
My cat coming to say hi is a regular trigger that pulls me back into my body from whatever bullshit I'm hyperfocusing on. And that's when I realize all the warning lights are flashing on the dash. Need water. Need food. Need toilet. In pain: need to change position. Holy shit look at the time, need to get back to work!
I now wonder how much worse I'd function if I didn't have a furry little guy in my apartment to regularly remind me that I exist in a physical form which requires maintenance and also that time passes.
I do still feel bad for walking away from him every time, but I have started just inviting him to come with me. Hey bud, sorry, I have to stand up right now, but come follow me while I get a glass of water. You coming? Come on! And rewarding him with pats for following. It's better than just walking away, I think.
Anyway cats (or other pet of your choice that requires frequent attention)? 10/10, strongly encourage having a little guy to bother you now and then, especially if you have ADHD and live alone.
14K notes · View notes