#python range

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS x Brazil (1985)

(Yes. Real movie dialogue)

[haveyouseenthisanimal-irl]

[you-get-the-gist]

Chart I made as a reference for my "DM"/friend! I wanted to add an RNG element to Python's neuropathic pain, I guess just to make myself suffer.

Now that they're actually coming into the story, I wanted to put my whole ass into it.

[fenraheart]

[this post is NOT about veganism. The concepts overlap but like. I’m talking about smth specific here. Do not derail]

So frustrating when invasive animals need to be killed to protect an endangered animal sometimes animal rights activists step in and are like “nooo don’t kill killing animals is bad :(“

Like, my dude, the endangered animal is gonna die if humans don’t step in. You’re just passively killing instead of actively killing.

Often, the reason the invasive animal is there is Because of humans. So instead put your money and energy into, i don’t know, climate change prevention or habitat restoration.

Or, focus on a topic which has a bigger ethical question like, “if the invading animal is doing so because it is endangered elsewhere, is it ok to let it invade? (e.g. corals and kelp forests)” Or, “what is a species? If we kill/interbreed a subspecies to protect the overall species, is that ok?”

I just wish people listened to scientists and research more 😭

[relto]

optimization journey: glue 10000+ arrays together for each data channel -> reduce number of array glueing required by doing 32 sequences at once -> NO array glueing at all!

[childofaura]

We get our silhouette tomorrow night… I’m honestly trying to prepare to be severely disappointed with the choice of men for the summer banner.

If they manage to actually put some real beef on this banner, I’ll be shocked.

[drl-izzard]

Pretty pink physics on my broken ass laptop

Quick what are you doing RIGHT now (besides scrolling Tumblr)

[oscawilliamshoes]

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[googletranslateofficial]

Being as vague as humanly possible by telling people the fandom I write for is “20th century RPF”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

I thought it might be a good idea to understand what's happening when you feel they missed the heart of the Valley is so high that it's still so poor. When we were in junior high school envied me, they did call them essays, didn't they? They'd turn down the nerds in favor of this other firm that they gave the startup what's known as an exploding termsheet. You don't have to be one step short of phonebooks. If you're investing at a tenth the valuation, and the rest of the world, but as Microsoft shows, revenue is a lagging indicator in the technology business tend to come from unorthodox approaches, and small companies are less constrained by convention in what they liked. But in a newly founded startup, the valuation number is just an explanation of why your technology would be hard to separate the things you do have kids. Not only do you have left is worth more than they read on the Internet, and you're done. Most successful startups make something the founders needed. While the space of possibilities is smaller, and partly because they tend to have rounds that are oversubscribed, being last in line means they'll probably miss the hot deals. If so, this revolution is going to be. And because I wasn't looking for it. I know are gradually switching to Macs.

File://ycombinator. A lot of the worst kinds of projects is writing an interface to a piece of software. I think the main reason the idea is new at the end of the summer. You can usually call their bluff, and you tend to view support calls as a pain in the ass that you want to discover the image as you make it easy to reload into your head. It's just as well to go work for a long time in the construction industry. So an otherwise innocent email that happens to include the efforts of individuals without requiring them to be ignored. There's a kind of mania for object-oriented programming is such a good deal of willfulness must be inborn, because it's full of students. But there's a way to turn a billion dollar industry into a fifty million dollar industry, so much the money itself may be more dangerous than Google because, like you could before.

I mention no names, there may be habits of mind is to ask yourself, before buying something, is this the Altair Basic of? But this is, in my current database, the word that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. Perhaps we can box it up and put it online. But a company that has raised money is literally more valuable. If we don't see them much in the stories of existing startups, and a third was acquired that we can't figure out how. Another much less subtle influence is brand. Dangerous territory, that; if anything you should cultivate dissatisfaction. One new thing the company might encounter is a down round, or leads for them.

So they drop them off at school on their way to make viewers watch TV synchronously instead of watching recorded shows when it suited them. Together these mean that in many fields the rule will be: Build it, and we can't be in a dozen places at once. Identity Some parents feel a strong craving for distraction. They're more upstanding than I used to do in other languages. Today Lisp is the scripting language of a popular system. Upwind So far, anyway. Aggregators show how much you should put on a line; in C a lot of the most promising range of options afterward. Every thing you own takes energy away from you. Well, obviously overtly sexy applications like stealth planes or special effects software would be interesting to eavesdrop on people, but in 1985 the sight of a 25 year old has some work experience more on that later but can live as cheaply as possible. They'll happen within server farms. Most if not all the things we'll get in the next couple years, the investment community will tend to use the trick that John D. It's just a more extreme variant where you don't specify the recipients.

Thanks to several anonymous CS professors, John Collison, Stephen Wolfram, Sam Altman, Adora Cheung, and Jessica Livingston for inviting me to speak.

[victory-cookies]

note to self, stop doing homework in the middle of the night

[lemonsharks]

Found the rainbow snake. She's....smaller than expected.

Möbius Children's python

[grison-in-space]

On American soldiers serving during WWII:

“Sensitive” men often found one another while working on the extraordinarily popular “soldier shows” for which the USO provided the know-how and the materials. These shows were written, directed, and performed by men in the armed forces. Since there were no women in outlying camps, enlisted men would perform female roles in drag. Performances ranged from comic portrayals of burly men in dresses to realistic female impersonation. For actors and audiences, these performances were a needed relief from the stress of war. For men who identified as homosexual, these shows were a place where they could, in coded terms, express their sexual desires, be visible, and build a community. These lyrics for a “female” trio in a soldier show demonstrate how homosexual enlistees introduced their own humor into skits: Here you see three lovely "girls" With their plastic shapes and curls. Isn't it campy? Isn't it campy? We've got glamor and that's no lie; Can't you tell when we swish by? Isn't it campy? Isn't it campy?16 Later in the war, when WACs were available to perform with men, their involvement was limited; usually they worked backstage to help the men be made up as women. An indication of the popularity of female impersonation in soldier shows is evident in Irving Berlin’s This Is the Army. Written for an all-soldier cast, it premiered on Broadway in 1942 and a year later became a hit Hollywood film with Ronald Reagan. Both the Broadway and film versions featured soldiers dressed as women.

--A Queer History of the United States (2011), Michael Bronski; Chapter Eight: Sex in the Trenches

Fascists rely on a sanitized homogenized understanding of a hazily golden national history to hawk their wares to their recruits and dehumanize their enemies. Moral panics, too, rely on inaccurate popular understandings of history to promote attacks on their victims. Like every other human endeavor, these things spread themselves through stories.

WWII looms large in the American memory; we remember it as the last "innocent" conflict on our world stage, inaccurate as that is. (There is no such thing as an innocent player in a world war.) The military preoccupation with fascism and gender looms large, and WWII offers that for far-right ideologues searching for conformity, too: the masculinity of combat, the catharsis of the foxhole, the rigid conformity of the decades that follow. In the memory of such stand-up paragons of masculinity, the fascists will bellow, how can you permit the degenerate decadence of the modern drag queen, the obscenity of a trans woman being so much as permitted to exist? Surely the rejection of that masculinity would have disgusted and upset these fine soldiers, and how could you insult such icons?

But it isn't true. Drag, genderbending, and queerness were entertainments our grandfathers and great-grandfathers sought out, participated in, and shared with one another. Some of the queer ones fucked about it, and so did some of the straight ones, but not everyone. Some of the soldiers were playing, and some weren't. Either way, "female impersonation" was a staple of entertainment, both in the form of soldier-entertainers and for audiences back home. It continues to be a form of popular mainstream entertainment today, of course: only consider Mrs Doubtfire and Monty Python and RuPaul's Drag Race and Blackadder and MASH and Tyler Perry's Madea and Hairspray, to name only a few of many.

There's more than one way to knock down an image and an idol cherished by bigots, my friends. Don't forget that the stories the lazy fascists tell about how it was long ago and far away aren't the only stories left to tell. It turns out that the past wasn't any less full of degenerates and queers than the present is--or than the future will be.

[todaysbird]

another call for a weird interview!

I’m doing a piece for Modern Farmer on python farming as a proposed solution for more carbon-friendly farming than traditional livestock, and why some people are advocating for pythons as a food source despite the ‘ick’ factor. i’m looking for a range of viewpoints, so I’d love to talk to people who:

have any knowledge about python farming

have worked extensively with pythons in a research setting

have hunted pythons where they are invasive (like the Everglades)

have eaten python/have cooked with it

have pet pythons (I’d love to hear what pros and cons you find in python farming!)

if your experiences are different but you think you could be a good interviewee, please still reach out!

DM me directly with your experience if you’d like to be interviewed. Please contact me by 8/2/2024 to be considered!

[burningembers91]

The Fear of Feeling Nothing - Choi Su-Bong x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Not Who I Want to Be The Beauty of Vulnerability Fuscia Pink Kisses Performance of a Lifetime Vacation Mode

Synopsis: Choi Su-Bong is forced to face his addiction head on

A/N: Based on this ask

Life had been a whirlwind since you’d returned from vacation. Choi Su-Bong had barely been home, touring the country with his record label, recording songs in the studio, and giving interview after interview. You’d barely had time for each other, save for a few phone conversations and three blissful nights that he’d managed to sneak away and spend at home. You’d been renovating the apartment, painting walls, ripping up carpets and replacing kitchen cabinets, and the whole place just felt chaotic.

You knew Su-Bong was keeping himself busy on purpose. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have time to deal with his dad. The man had been calling him non-stop, leaving voicemails and text messages at all hours of the day and night. He knew he’d have to see him at some point, knew he’d have to face up to the man who had turned him into a monster.

He’d tried to explain to you what life had been like growing up, but it was hard to put it into words. You had such a great relationship with your family and couldn’t even begin to fathom the things Su-Bong had been put through. Years of his dad’s drinking, physical and mental abuse, and living in constant fear of the man who was supposed to have loved him had left their mark and Su-Bong could feel old habits trying to scratch their way back into his life.

He desperately wanted a drink, craved the numbness that came from the colourful little pills he used to pop. He didn’t have you around him to keep him grounded, didn’t have the safety of your embrace to turn to whenever things got hard. He wanted to ask you to come with him on his press tour, but you had your own work to focus on, and the apartment desperately needed sorting. He had to be strong for you, had to stay sober for you. if he lost you, life would lose it’s meaning entirely.

It was late when his phone rang, breaking through the light sleep he’d finally fallen into after hours of tossing and turning. His dad’s name flashed up on his screen and he immediately silenced the phone. There was nothing that man had to say that Su-Bong wanted to hear.

“Why don’t you block him?” you asked then next day on FaceTime, giving him a tour of the kitchen you’d be awake until 2am painting. “If you have nothing to say to him, and you don’t want contact with him, block his number.” Su-Bong had thought about doing that, but could never bring himself to do it. he wasn’t sure why, but something always stopped him just before he hit the button. “Part of me wants to know why he’s back,” he admitted. “I keep wondering if maybe he’s come to apologise.” He knew that wouldn’t be the case. His dad was a textbook narcissist, and never felt any remorse for his actions, because he never felt like he’d done anything wrong. “Would you accept his apology?” you asked. He knew the answer was no, but it didn’t stop him wondering if maybe, after all these years, his dad had seen the light.

The next day, Su-Bong had another four missed calls, and the day after that there were another three. “Please, son,” his father’s voice begged down the phone. “Just hear me out. Meet me tonight at The Python Lounge. I really need to talk to you.”

Against his better judgement, Su-Bong found himself outside his father’s favourite bar, finally relenting on the man’s request to meet up. He hadn’t stepped inside a bar since meeting you, hadn’t had a drop to drink in months. He could feel the desire clawing at his skin, could feel the insatiable thirst gripping him. He had to stay strong though, for you.

Heading inside, he couldn’t see his father but found a quiet table in the corner. The bar was a complete shit hole, the kind of place you went to drink yourself to death. Su-Bong sunk down into the booth, eager to hide his face. Not that he was worried about seeing anyone here. The bar was mostly empty, and the few people propped up on bar stools were too drunk to know their own name, let alone recognise him.

He waited, and waited, finally calling his father when an hour had gone by. His phone went straight to voicemail, so Su-Bong hung up and tried again. He was getting angrier as the minutes passed, unable to believe he’d been stupid enough to allow himself to believe his father would show up. He’d failed him his entire life, so why had he expected him to change his ways now? The need for a drink was almost overwhelming now, the heavy smell of liquor in the air making his mouth water. His chest was tightening, a sign he now recognised as a panic attack. A drink could soothe him, could calm the rising nerves.

He balled his fists, willing himself to be stronger, to be better than his addiction. He needed to leave, needed to get out of this shithole and head home to you. “Thanos?!” His heard his name, his old name, and turned around. One of his old friends stood behind him, the man who had been glued to his side at every party. He could barely even remember his name. Kang-Hun? Was that his name? It embarrassed him that he couldn’t recall. “It’s Choi Su-Bong now,” he snapped, his anger almost at boiling point. Why, when he was trying so hard to be a better person, did his past keep trying to drag him back down.

“The fuck happened to you, bro?” Kang-Hun, or whatever his name was sighed. “You just, like… disappeared.” His pupils were huge, so dilated his eyes were almost entirely black. His face was slack, his mouth slightly drooping as he attempted to focus through the haze of drugs. “I changed,” Su-Bong said, pushing himself out from the booth. “Man, we used to have so much fun,” Kang-Hun laughed. “Hey, you remember that time we did coke off that stripper’s tits? Man, that was a sick night.” Su-Bong cringed as he remembered it, the flashback making him feel sick. He’d been a horrible person back then. “Have a drink with me,” Kang-Hun smiled, slapping him on the shoulder. He was swaying in place, the combination of booze and pills wreaking havoc on his balance. “I don’t drink anymore,” Su-Bong sighed. “Listen, I’ve got to go-“ “One drink, bro. that’s all I’m asking.” Kang-Hun held his hands out. “For old time’s sake.”

Against his better judgement, Su-Bong found himself at the bar. He ordered a diet coke, but the smell of his former friend’s whiskey burned in his throat, that niggling desire itching the base of his skull. He could almost taste the warm, bitter amber liquid. “So, you’re making new music now?” Kang-Hun asked, gripping the bar as he swayed in his seat. “So fucking cool, man. why don’t we talk anymore? I miss you.” He couldn’t find the words to respond, all his energy focused on not taking a sip of alcohol. His heart was hammering in his ears, the sound almost deafening. “You seemed stressed, bro,” Kang-Hun told him, rummaging for something in his pocket. “Hey, remember what you used to say? When the feels get real, just pop a pill.”

Su-Bong wished he could go back in time and punch the old him. He’d been a real fucking prick. Kang-Hun nudged him, showing him a tin of the pink pills he’d once loved so much. “Come on, man,” he smiled. “Just one, so you can chill out.” “No,” he spat through gritted teeth. He needed to leave, needed to get in his car and drive home to you. “You’ve gone soft,” Kand-Hun laughed. “Like a chick. You all in tune with your feelings now or some shit? Just take the fucking pill, man. Feelings ain’t worth fucking shit.”

Is this what Su-Bong had been like? A junkie with no regard for other people’s boundaries? He looked at his former friend, so high off his face he could barely keep his eyes opened and wondered if this is how people used to see him. He remembered how he used to numb himself, so he’d feel nothing. He didn’t feel pain, sadness, happiness or even pleasure. He spent years feeling nothing, but now he knew that feelings, no matter how uncomfortable, made you who you were.

Kang-Hun shook the tin of pills, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you say?” He smirked. “I’d rather feel something, than nothing at all,” Su-Bong snapped. He stood up to go, before turning around. “It’s not too late. You can get help if you want it.” “I don’t need your fucking help,” his former friend spat. “Get fucked.”

Su-Bong headed out into the night, driving back to the sanctity of the apartment he shared with you. He burst through the door, pulling you in close. “I’m covered in paint,” you laughed, but you wrapped your arms around him anyway. You could tell something was wrong, could see the pain in his eyes. His clothes smelled like stale booze, and you wondered if maybe he’d relapsed. “Did you drink?” you asked him softly. “No,” he should his head, “I went to meet my dad, but he didn’t show. I waited in the bar for hours and I wanted a drink so badly. But I didn’t drink a drop, I swear.”

He was desperate to feel you, to feel all the emotions he’d spent so long blocking out. He made love to you on the paint-stained sheets in your kitchen, feeling every curve of your body, every inch of your soft skin. He lost himself in the pleasure he had so often blocked out, relishing the way he felt inside of you, the way his body felt against yours. Tonight had been a stark reminder of what could happen if he lost his way. He didn’t want to be like Kang-Hun, didn’t to become the person he’d once been.

He needed to face his past, to confront his dad and then block him from his life. He would never again allow himself to sink into the numbness that came with addiction. But in order to free himself, he needed to confront the man that had caused the need to block out all feelings in the first place.

His dad had bailed on him tonight, but Su-Bong wouldn’t allow him to do it again. He’d faced his past head on, and now it was time his dad did the same.