#that is woefully inefficient

[master-gatherer]

I have

So many thoughts

On the Master's blood harvesting plant

[speshies]

i went to the swimming pool to practice my breaststroke, alone, and there were so many bugs in the pool i was fishing them out by hand and making sure the ones that were still alive got to a dry spot on the ground. this might sound pathetic to you but to me it’s just another epic day of my awesome life. i have sex every day

[txttletale]

How are British politics currently worse than American politics? /gen

labour (our opposition party) has spent the last five years enacting a thorough and total purge of any vaguely left-wing or grassroots elements and is now totally dominated by hard-righters. their response to the tories' horrific persecution of trans people and migrants is to say that the tories are being inefficient and that labour can do the same thing better. their diversities and equalities minister is meeting with hate groups. they are openly committed to austerity.

obviously i hate genocide joe and given the chance would not vote for him. but the 'vote biden people' can point to real, actual policy wins of the biden administration that are better than trump policies. now, ofc again, i am a communist and i think these are woefully inadequate and do not, in fact, stack up against perpetrating a genocide. but the fact is that labour party supporters can't even do that because kier starmer's policies are literally exactly the same as the tories--this is a core part of his pitch! imagine if joe biden said that project 2025 was bad because it was impractical and he had much better and more efficient ideas about how to accomplish those goals--that's essentially what the uk is dealing with lol.

[saddock-haddock]

Humans are a plague which breeds and pollutes.

That's what your taught on homeworld. No mercy is to be given to sapiens of Terra Firma. The only good human is a dead one. Again and again this message is told, again and again through it, actions that safeguard the homeworld are enacted. Ships bearing their red cross are destroyed. Commerce ships are commandeered and any resistance quelled through total annihilation. The is little to no martial discipline amoungst these apes. On several occasion what appeared to be medical equipment to treat mammals has been brandished at me and my fellows. But they were no match for our arsnel. We took over their base on Xero Gamma, dispatching their mechanical transporters and burning their rooting vegetation. Our campaign to keep our systems clean of their pollution was a success.

On one occasion however a pod escaped and engage hyperdrive before photon torpodoes could neutralise it. A fleeing enemy will likely note the advesary it faces outclasses it, and as such is unlikely to return. A much needed lesson to stop the outbreak and keep our system safe.

There was no activity to be found in our system for a whole lightyear. We brought our successful findings to the higher order, who warned against pursuit of the polluters. We thought nothing of it.

We were wrong.

Homeworld sits next to the Starheart of a twenty planetary orbit, the beaken of our supremacy in our system.

We did not know war had come till eighteen, nineteen and twenty went quiet. The first combat humans I encountered were in sector seven of planet sixteen. These are not the same creatures as before. They are violence incarnate. They use mechanical and chemical weaponry, whilst woefully inefficient compared to our plasma rifles, the results haunt me to this hour. Metal projectiles do no simply fire superheated plasma through a target, they shatter and SHRED THE TARGET, ripping apart the inside before exit. One weilded a sharp pole, my etynomicon informs me this called a... Bastard Sword. It cut down 15 of our finest before succumning to phaser fire. This technique of...[searching for term] blade work is rare amoung the sapiens. However I have recieved reports of one human reworking our technology to create a plasma blade. My stoneheart trembles from the footage salvaged by inteligence. Audio files synced to visual indicate a blaring of war sounds...[loading] death metal. A type of... music from this particular sapien. Their strength rivals our Kullo, and their fellow sapiens cheer at their presence on the battlefield. Intelligence states that to their fellow sapiens, this individual is know as... [loading term] Hellwalker.

[acti-veg]

Sorry if you've been asked thia before, but it is actually true that farmed animals only/mostly eat parts of plants that are inedible to humans?

An estimated 86% of grain fed to farmed animals is considered inedible for humans, but even that remaining 14% could be used to feed millions of humans instead of animals. Keep in mind that the tiger 86% isn’t just waste that animals then turn into food, is made up of crops like alfalfa and hay, which is inedible for us but is grown to feed farmed animals instead of a crop that is intended for human consumption.

This calculation doesn't even factor in the inefficiency of devoting large swathes of arable land to graze farmed animals, either. At present a full 1/3 of the planet’s land surface and 2/3 of available agricultural land is used for farming animals. It also doesn't factor in the opportunity cost of crops being specifically selected because they produce waste, inedible byproducts, or are just inedible to us as a plant but are profitable to sell as animal feed.

Even discounting inedible grains entirely, it is estimated that 1kg of meat requires at least 2.8kg of human-edible crops. The issue is that farmed animals consume significantly more calories to get them to slaughter weight than they will ever produce in meat, meaning that they are actually detracting from the global food supply. Chicken meat production consumes energy in a 4:1 ratio to protein output; beef cattle 54:1, lamb 50:1, pork 17:1, turkey 13:1 and milk 17:1, according to the ecologist’s analysis of U.S. Department of Agriculture statistics.

The fact of the matter is that there is just no way to farm these animals at scale and have it be anywhere near as efficient as eating plants directly, whether you measure that according to land use, water use, energy cost, input vs output, edible protein per acre of arable land - animal agriculture is woefully inefficient by just about every metric. We all at least pretend to object to factory farming, but this massive inefficiency is there even with factory farming, which is so cruel precisely because it is more efficient than the other available options.

In a world where 828 million people go hungry every day, feeding so much of our agricultural output to farmed animals instead of humans is not just an efficiency issue, it is an a humanitarian issue. We can talk all day about cutting food waste, and that absolutely should be a priority, but it doesn't address the root of then problem when so much of the waste happens before the product even gets to the seller, never mind the consumer.

[centrally-unplanned]

Something getting lost in the discourse about the overturning of Chevron Deference is that it was paired with another big blow to federal regulatory enforcement, SEC vs Jarkesy. Essentially it rules that SEC civil penalties cannot be applied by administrative decision, but instead must go through a jury trial. The problem of course is that jury trials (and US trials more generally) are stupid and woefully inefficient in this area, and you would need gigantic increases in judiciary funding and administrative infrastructure to actually execute regulatory enforcement that way. That isn't actually going to happen, so in practice SEC laws will just be unenforced.

How widely this bar applies in unclear - the majority reasonings separates out precedent OSHA violations for example, so not all administrative penalties will fall under this. But it could be widely applied - I would expect people experiencing fines of all stripes to challenge them in court over the next years and only then will the contours be determined. Right now "is this thing *actually* illegal" for a whole host of things is essentially unclear.

[freakshowtwopointoh]

Prelude - Next to Normal Chapter 1

Instrumental

| next >

Marie Moreau did not have time for deviations from her schedule. What with balancing a double major in Musical Theater and Mechanical Engineering, plus two jobs - every minute counted. Which meant it felt like she spent half her time bemoaning other people’s inefficiencies -- like the bus to the grocery store that was routinely behind schedule anywhere from two to twenty minutes. She hoisted the large paper bag back onto her hip before making her way into her small but cheery dorm room, five minutes later than she would have liked.

“Are you a bunny?” Emma, her roommate and closest friend, questioned in lieu of a greeting. “Or are you trying to fend off the inevitable deterioration of your eyeballs?” Despite knowing Marie’s proclivity for food that didn’t taste like it came out of a toaster oven, she never failed to tease her about her ‘rabbit food’.

“Excuse you, my grandmother didn’t need glasses until she was seventy.” she retorted, snatching the two bags of baby carrots from the smaller blonde girl and put one into the mini fridge. “They’re good! And they keep me from becoming a zombie after 3pm.” She ripped open the other bag, popping one into her mouth. Unlike the jokes most students make, sleeping well and eating at least some fruits and vegetables is part of how she doesn’t entirely fall apart. It’s just unfortunate that their school mandated meal plan had woefully limited selections in the nutritional department.

“You know what keeps me from being a zombie?” Emma laughed, holding up the six pack of Monster energy drinks she’d requested. “Sugar and caffeine.” 

“Touche. Those things taste awful and yet are the only thing to get me through finals week.” Not everything they say about college is an exaggeration - finals week at G.I.T. is a special kind of hell, especially for the engineers. Last semester, she’d canceled her voice lessons and her shifts at Jitter Bean to focus on studying. Camping out in one of the private study rooms, she worked her way through an entire notebook just for practice problems, and she and Emma would trade off quizzing each other. And her hard work paid off - she still had a screenshot of her straight A’s that she kept on her phone as motivation.

“Some of the new flavors are tolerable.” Emma remarked, perching on the edge of Marie’s desk. She sighed, having long since stopped trying to get the blonde to sit in the chairs. But ignoring Marie’s glares had become something of a specialty of Emma’s, managing to be just adorable enough to earn forgiveness from the older girl.

“I don’t have new flavor kind of money. That’s a whole extra dollar.” She said playfully, putting away the rest of their groceries. And while Emma looked mildly admonished, it was a massive improvement from a few months ago. When Marie first let slip about her history, Emma had overcompensated for a while. She would flush red whenever she caught herself complaining about her parents or invited Marie to something she couldn’t afford. But by the third or fourth time of Marie insisting she wasn’t offended (and a few awkward moments of her own which she’d rather not recount), Emma stopped apologizing.

“Sometimes, joy is worth an extra dollar.” The blonde pointed out, gesturing with the black and neon green can.

“And that’s why I buy carrots.” Marie said matter-of-factly, folding the paper bags up for future use. You never know when you’ll need it. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, unbidden. She smiled to herself as she tucked the bags in their place under her dresser.

“See, you are a rabbit!” Emma announced jovially, only to get one of their many colorful throw pillows thrown at her head. Adorableness doesn’t save her from everything. Marie began gathering her things, stuffing her work shirt into her bag and situating her headphones over her locs. She turned to the blonde as she pulled on her jacket, the slippery lining of the trench coat sliding over her toned arms.

“I gotta go. I’ve got -”

“The room booked for your rehearsal. Like always. See you after work!” Emma said cheerfully, popping a carrot into her mouth in spite of her complaints.

“You know I’d never miss Golden Girls night.” Marie said, smiling and snagging a few more carrots to go and ruffling Emma’s hair on her way out.

“Thank you for being a friend!” The blonde sang out as the door closed behind Marie. She squared her shoulders and zipped up her jacket before heading on her way to the music building.

Despite the differences between the two of them, Marie wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything. They were thrown together by luck last semester - courtesy of the university’s automatic roommate selection. She’d been skeptical when she saw dance major and night owl on the compatibility form, but Emma drew Marie out of her shell in a way that never felt forced or overbearing. They even have a secret signal for when they need to leave a party or event as fast as possible. She’s also taken it upon herself to ‘educate’ Marie on the various movies and television shows she loves. Mondays were Golden Girls, Thursdays were movie nights. Emma did have to quickly get used to Marie’s need for routine and desire to plan ahead - Emma is the kind of person to announce that the most important event is happening about five minutes before they would have to go. 

The ten minute walk from her dormitory to the arts building was another part of her routine she’d learned to cherish. It’s one of the few times where she can be alone without feeling lonely. She kept up a brusque pace nonetheless, her combat boots crunching shallow sheets of ice on the pavement. The brick buildings of the other dormitories and gray expanses of parking lots blurred together as she made her way through the familiar campus sidewalks. She began running over the different pieces she’s currently working on with her voice coach. Marie’s been working with the same coach since her mom died. She’s an older Russian woman with a traditional attitude, she loved Marie’s mom, and in turn, Marie herself. Taking voice lessons online felt a little impersonal, but it’s not like she could afford any of the coaches around here. And all things considered, Mrs.Petrov was kind enough, and she knew Marie’s voice inside and out.

She sighed in exasperation when she walked up to the practice room and found the door still shut tight. It seemed like every single week, this girl with a too-tight ponytail and a voice that leans a bit too nasally pushes her voice lessons five minutes over at least. Marie’s standing by the door, tapping her fingers impatiently against her arm. Finally, the girl (Christine? Justine? Who cares) left with her private tutor and Marie was able to get started. She walked brusquely into the room, the accompanying track already prepared on her phone. She let out a long breath, taking in the unassuming white room, featuring only a piano, a speaker, and a music stand.

She forced the irritation down, rolling her shoulders back a few times to focus her mind. She has 25 minutes to herself, to just be. Well, 22 now. Warming up is almost meditative for her, as she puts all other feelings aside to focus on her technique and pitch. Hums and tongue twisters roll off her tongue like second nature, and she lets her eyes flutter closed. It feels like a way to honor her mother, in her own small way - as a child, she hated warming up or practicing on anything she didn’t like singing. All she wanted to do was sing pop and R&B - some of the girls at school had fawned over how she sang just like Beyonce and she had never felt cooler. Time and time again her mother would patiently explain to her the importance of protecting her voice and the benefits of working her vocal chords, while she forced herself not to roll her eyes. Her mother was kind, but not a pushover - there was no amount of whining or pleading that could get her or Annabeth out of the bevy of drills their mother knew.

Marie shook the memories away - it gets even harder to keep her parents off her mind as she inches closer to another anniversary. Her counselor would remind her she can’t schedule her feelings, and she should allow herself to feel and grieve when it comes up. But sometimes, you have 22 minutes to yourself before you have to stand for hours making coffee for college students, and you’d like to actually get some real practice in. Her barista job was the worse of the two, which is why she casually suggested to Emma they do their girls nights after her shifts there. Nothing gets you through making the most obnoxious coffee monstrosities like the promise of comfy pants, shitty booze, and fun television. Adjusting her long locs into a loose ponytail, she begins working on her current recital piece, some irritating opera piece that (if she remembers the translated lyrics correctly) is about your lover dying of the plague. Or something. What it actually means is that she’s going to have the German lyrics running through her head through her entire shift at Jitter Bean. 

Most people would never understand the way it felt for her to finally get to let loose and sing. Even Emma didn’t quite get it - she might be a dancer, but she was driven by familial duty, not passion. And those who didn’t know her would say it was only for her mother, that she made music out of some misguided obligation to her late parents. Her mother may have introduced her to music, but it was more a part of her than anything or anyone else. It ran deeper than DNA, deeper than duty, it was like the need to breathe. More often than not, she was stopping herself from singing or humming along to the music playing or the song stuck in her head. 

She left the music room exactly as the clock turned over (because she’s courteous - unlike Ponytail), pulling her work shirt over her top. Somehow, the fabric of this shirt is both slippery and scratchy, the microfibers catching on her nails. Whatever I’ve got to do to get to Annabeth. She reminded herself. And besides, being a barista wasn’t the worst job in the world. She punched in her employee ID, starting her shift.

Into the fray. She braced herself, pulling the cap down over her hair and readjusting her name tag. And despite her coworker spilling an entire pitcher of iced coffee down her front, and the three professors that came in and backed up the line making small talk, it wasn’t a terrible shift. One of the interim professors brought in her baby, a chubby-cheeked infant with a babbling giggle that filled the cafe with joy, which improved her day immeasurably. Still, a wave of relief washed over her when she was finally able to clock out, the sunset giving the campus a pinky-orange glow. 

She opened the door to her dorm, only to be greeted by the smell of weed, nail polish, and popcorn. “Welcome home!” Emma called out, cotton balls wedged between her toes as she attempted to finish painting them a neon shade of pink.

“Sorry, Ems, I gotta shower before we can start. I changed shirts but I still smell like stale coffee.” She said, still slightly irritated, taking her coat off and hanging it up in the closet as she spoke.

“Butterfingers at it again?” Emma asked, her eyes trained on the job at hand. With surgeon-like precision, she brought the brush to her nail, only to drip a glob of the polish onto her leg. “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, wiping the pink goop with her sock.

Marie suppressed a grimace - there are cotton balls right there! “Uh, yeah, Mike lost an entire pitcher down my shirt.” She said distractedly, still mildly concerned by her roommate’s choice of rag. She just shook her head in bemusement, snagging her shower caddy on her way to the communal bathroom. She stood in the hot water, letting it run off her shoulders as she let her mind wander. Auditions for the spring musical are arriving fast, and while she’s not deluded enough to think that she’d be the first freshman to get a lead, she does know that auditioning every year improves her chances drastically. She’ll have to pick her audition song carefully - the theater program has a reputation of being particularly judgmental about what number you choose to audition with.

But that was a problem for later. Once dry, she grabbed her dad’s old tee shirt and her sweats, shaking the water from her shower cap before putting it back in the caddy with her shoes.  And snuggled into Emma’s bed, the familiar theme song began to play, and Marie let herself relax. Life was good.

----

Jordan Li preferred to arrive early, no matter where they were going. She thinks it has something to do with her father’s inability to ever arrive on time. There’s always an excuse - each one slightly less believable than the one before. Besides, since she started working at the mechanics down the road, they realized how much smoother an introduction can go when she doesn’t have to apologize right away. There’s a few older folks who seemed to have taken a liking to them, and they’re always pleased to make small talk about their grandkids or dogs before she has to get started underneath their car. One of her favorites was an older gentleman named John, who had interesting taste in cars and a sweet disposition. He walked into the shop as the clock ticked over to 1 p.m.

“Ah, if it isn’t Miss Jordan today! I was telling your counterpart about the neighbor’s dog who destroyed the missus’ garden. I’ve never seen a cuter ball of chaos.” He chuckled to himself, already fumbling with his phone to pull out the picture he’d shown them the other day. He was enough of a regular to notice that there are “two” Jordans who work there but didn’t realize they were the same person. She never had the heart to tell him the truth. Besides, she likes hearing his stories twice over. 

“Hello, Mr.Henderson! I hope she’s able to salvage them - I know she loves her flowers. How have you been?” Brushing imaginary dirt from her hands, she reaches out to shake his hand firmly. Like a grandfather she never had, he barely treats the two sides of them any differently.

“Doin well, ma’am. And you?” He slowly makes his way to the small waiting area, his cane making a satisfying sound against the concrete floor. And she can’t deny the comforting sense of validation when he calls her ma’am - as antiquated as it is.

“Can’t complain. What am I looking at for you today?” She turned to him, despite knowing exactly what he needed. 

“I think the brake pads on my old Datsun are wearing a little thin. Mr.Jordan said he put in an order?” She chuckled, smiling as she pretended to check the computer. It was already pulled up - another benefit of being early.

“Oh, I see that here. It looks like Mark left the package out for me - he knew you’d be here.” They began unpacking the pads before looking back up to see John settling into the chair he always sat in - a maroon cushioned armchair that looked almost out of place in the shop. “You make yourself at home, and I’ll get right to it, sir.” She smiled again before getting to work. 

And god, does she love working there. Their father is actually almost proud that his “son” works as a mechanic (See, now that is a respectable job for a young man. Did you hear your cousin is a barista now?), but that doesn’t matter as much as they thought it would. It just feels good to work with their hands, to fix something for someone else. That was the idea of going into engineering anyways. At sixteen, it felt like the answer to all her problems. Prestige for her parents, money for their hobbies, and good work for their conscience. Now, it feels like another cage. Half her peers are remarkably chill about the concept of working for defense contractors - which is a fancy way of saying building weapons. But the worst part was how... clinically it was discussed. He’d get halfway through a conversation with a recruiter at the career fair before realizing she’d just given her resume to a subsidiary of Lockheed Martin. 

She finished up with John, and tidied up before making the short drive back to campus. She should be able to get to the engineering building five minutes before her office hours are supposed to start. She doesn’t miss much about Rochester, but they do miss the country roads. They’d just drive, as long as she could, blasting MF DOOM or the shitty fucking American Idiot CD that their cousin “forgot” at her house when Jordan’s parents tried to ban scary music. (This music is corrupting my son, Kayla! This .... just isn’t good for a young man’s mind!). She’d whined and complained to Ruby for days until she came over to visit for dinner one night. She remembers waiting eagerly until her parents went to bed, snatching the CD from where she’d stashed it, and popping it into his disc player - also courtesy of Ruby. They listened to it so many times he memorized where all the skips were. 

She might be an engineer by trade (or will be - once she’s finally out of this hellhole) but music is what makes life worth living. And not just listening to music, but making it. She used to say they loved math because it felt like solving a puzzle. But that was before she started making music. Something just clicks when they get the bridge right or work out a kink in the melody. It was a stroke of luck that their friends also wanted to make music - Luke was the first one to bring up the idea of a band, because of course he was. And Cate came up with the name - Replaced at 9. Her, Jordan, and Luke had all discovered their abilities around that age - with varying degrees of success and heartache. But it’s Jordan who basically writes all the songs - staying up late pouring over Garage Band, or taking electives on music production. There’s this feeling she gets when they finally get the sound they’re going for. It’s like all these pieces finally come together and create the story she was aiming for. They tried explaining this once but Andre just laughed at her and called her a sap. But they can’t help it - she’s been listening to this kind of music for so long, she wants to finally put their ideas to record.

When she was fifteen, a friend from summer camp burned a Paramore album and a My Chemical Romance album onto a series of blank CDs. The two teenagers gleefully took the camp’s collection of sharpies and labeled them Mozart and Jazz Classics, complete with flowers and hearts. That alone would have been enough to write this memory into her soul forever. But later that night, they were staring off at the girls cabin, leaning against each other in the kind of way that made their heart race.

“I wish I was a girl sometimes.” They whispered, twisting their hands together while staring off into the distance. Jordan froze.

“I turn into a girl sometimes.” She whispered back. And before she could convince herself it was a bad idea, she shifted, her body shrinking against her friend. Their eyes went wide, looking Jordan up and down. Her heart was in her throat, and she looked down at her lap.  “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to brag or anything, it’s kind of a curse. My parents hate it.” She said awkwardly, fiddling with her fingers. She didn’t want to switch back - she didn’t know why yet, but sometimes, being in this body just felt like home. After another moment or so, their friend relaxed again, leaning back against Jordan as if nothing had changed.

“I mean, my parents hate it too. That I want to, I mean. When I was a kid... I told them once, and my dad got real mad. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about....” She gestured at Jordan’s new body. Then she paused. “Do you... like it? Like, if their opinion didn’t matter, what would you...” She trailed off. Jordan considered lying. 

“If I could do what I wanted? I don’t know, I like.... I like being both, I think. That probably sounds insane.”

“Nah, I think that makes sense, kinda. I mean, as much as me wanting to be a girl forever.”

“If you could be, what would your name be?” Jordan asked. She had never heard of someone else wanting something like she did. Boys weren’t supposed to like or want anything feminine. Her parents had convinced her that this form was something to be ashamed of. That they had to over-perform masculinity to compensate for this secret shame. But maybe... maybe there was another way.

“Iris.” She said quietly but immediately - This was something she had thought about.

“Well, Iris, I hope one day we can live lives we can be proud of.” They said, staring off into the stars. 

They found her on instagram last year - celebrating her first day on estrogen, no less. He wished he knew what to say to her - how to explain what that moment meant. But he’d just kept scrolling, trying not to dwell on the way Iris seemed to glow with happiness. Happiness they weren’t sure they could ever find. He slid his car easily into his favorite spot outside the engineering building, shifted, and made her way inside. Ten minutes early - perfect.

And yes, her friends found it mildly irritating that he beat them everywhere, but it’s not her fault that Andre has an inability to go anywhere without forgetting something at home. And if she’s honest, she likes to take the extra few minutes to herself. They’ll arrive to band practice early, taking the time to practice a bassline or complex guitar riff. Or, in the case of her T.A. work, she can make a dent in the slog of emails before the underclassmen begin to pile in. Although it usually takes another 15 minutes or so before the bravest of the students will actually approach them to ask questions.

She never really understood why people were so intimidated by them, but Andre says they give off an intense vibe or whatever. There’s a few students who have gotten somewhat comfortable just... asking for help. Which is what she’s paid to do. But each of the four semesters that Jordan’s been working as Brink’s T.A, the professor has had to give various announcements to his students, reminding them to actually talk to Jordan first instead of emailing Brink every time they’re confused. But the worst are the freshmen who will email her during office hours from two tables over. She watched as this one awkward kid with a buzzcut and glasses pretended to be working vigorously while continuously refreshing his email on his phone. Taking a look at her email, she saw the telltale ‘Office Hours Homework Help’ subject line at the top of her inbox. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. They weren’t about to email someone who was sitting less than 30 feet away. They made direct eye contact with him and quirked their eyebrow, uninterested in dancing around the issue. 

“Yo, you still reading the intro to that textbook or do you wanna come over here and I can take a look?” They said, not unkindly. It took him a second to register that Jordan was speaking to him, but he nodded quickly, awkwardly wrangling his books and papers into his bag before shuffling over to Jordan’s table.

It’s not like they are entirely anti-social or mean - they just cut to the chase in a way that makes timid people uncomfortable. At least, that’s what she tells herself. But a well-placed compliment on the student’s band shirt and an easy-going smile was enough to put this kid at ease. Thank God, because he seemed to have slept through half of Calc I and all of Calc II. Jordan mustered up every ounce of their patience, slowly walking him through the partial derivatives he was stuck on.

“Ok, so here,” They said, pointing to a line in his work. “This derivative is actually x2, so you’ve got an extra 4 here.” The kid’s glasses made his eyes look even more owlish as he blinked up at them. 

“But I thought the derivative of y is 1?” He said, his browline furrowed, and they had to hide their irritation. Everyone learns at a different pace. Brink’s voice echoed in their mind, reminding them to keep calm and stay kind.

“It is, but this is a partial derivative in terms of x, so the y is treated as a constant instead of a variable.” He nodded, scribbling something down in the margins of his paper, but it was clear he didn’t quite understand what Jordan meant. Whatever - they aren’t here to teach this kid calc, they’re here to help him with his physics. To be fair, physics is like 85% calculus, but still. They have to stay on task. The rest of office hours pass without interruption, just a few more students with straightforward questions. It wasn’t long before they were pulling her silken turquoise jacket on, slinging their bag over her shoulder, and making their way home in the orange light of the sunset. Life was good.

| next >

[onecornerface]

The inadequacy of non-legalization to address the overdose crisis

I’m writing a paper arguing that only drug legalization—the regulation of an accessible drug supply—has a decent chance to drastically and quickly reduce the overdose rates, at least in countries like the United States and Canada that are facing overdose crisis conditions.

Part of my argument consists in reasons to think legalization can succeed. But here I’ll discuss another part of my argument—reasons to think alternatives must fail. Legalization has a plausible mechanism for drastically & quickly reducing overdose rates, whereas all alternatives lack a plausible mechanism for doing so.

Even reformist proposals, such as decriminalization (of drug use & possession) and drug-checking (like fentanyl test-strips and centralized drug-checking services), are extremely limited in their ability to reduce death rates among the most high-risk drug users. Decriminalization is better than full prohibition, since there are no good justifications to arrest people for drug use, and it may reduce overdoses slightly through some indirect routes—but it does not address the drug supply. Drug-checking can also slightly reduce overdose and other drug hazards as well, by empowering people to manage the drug supply slightly better than they otherwise could. But it is woefully inefficient, limiting its ability to respond to the crisis at scale. I’ll describe this further on.

The source of the problem: Imperfect Prohibition One might notice that if the government ever succeeds in cracking down on all (or nearly all) the illicit drug supply, then there will be nothing left to overdose on—problem solved. So it may appear that this is a reason to continue the crackdowns against the production, trafficking, and distribution of drugs—to seek perfect prohibition.

However, this is the wrong level of analysis, appealing to an inappropriate idealization. In realistic non-ideal conditions (especially in modern countries facing an entrenched drug crisis), perfect prohibition is unattainable, and attempts to reach it will instead result in imperfect prohibition, which is the worst outcome. First, in relevant contexts, the government will most likely never succeed in eliminating all or nearly all the drug supply. Second, if an illicit market continues in operation, then it will likely continue to have extremely hazardous qualities such as high potency, volatility of dose, unmeasurableness, and frequent shifts in composition. I’ll sketch out some reasons why both of these claims are likely. And their conjunction entails that, in the absence of legalization, we will continue to have imperfect prohibition which makes the drug supply worse.

[rimon-limon]

Solarpunk Aesthetic Week: Worldbuilding Thoughts Part Two, Electric Boogaloo

(Worldbuilding is my strong suit, I will definitely have a lot of these!)

In a solarpunk future, people should be able to rely less on money to get what they need! But if currency remains a thing then my leftist dad told me about a concept called global minimum wage (I think) where everyone gets an unconditional steady income, of say.. 20$ an hour per 12 hours of the day becoming 240$ per day. If we're not doing much with money, can't hurt to give lots of it to everyone, yeah?

Besides that, I was thinking about carbon-neutral skyscrapers. Our current method of steel and fiberglass is woefully inefficient in that regard, but in terms of space, building upwards is incredibly efficient. Ideally we would strike a balance with carbon-neutral, long-lasting materials that are good and sturdy!

Oh, and clear solar panels to be put in windows? Imagine stained glass religious reliefs generating power, whole 'glass' buildings becoming beacons of energetic output, self-sufficient houses full of light..

Languages! Languages in the air, signs in so many different alphabets, songs and laughter and family said in so many words but still understood and respected.

Sign language would be commonplace! Mischievous students signing to each other after their mentor told them to hush, parents signing over their sleeping baby, divers speaking merrily to each other while tens of feet down in the deep and expressing their awe for nature. Hearing-impaired folk would be able to move through society with ease and understanding.

BRAILLE LABELS. On stuff in stores, on signs, textured curbs to catch a cane.. but really on stuff especially. You know how hard it is to shop while blind? Everything is identical. It's awful.

Community decisions are decided by council, and anyone who wishes to join the council meetings can. Even children! Especially children. Their voices are heard and respected, because they live in our communities too.

If someone is truly acting harmful and cruel to others, and does hurt people, at majority community vote they are removed from greater society and put in a rehabilitation commune with therapists and social workers to assist them on the right path. With love, not hate and mistreatment.

Has anyone heard of dementia villages? A whole village for those elderly suffering with dementia, constructed for the purpose of their autonomy. Communes would not necessarily become as such and they may not be as necessary- for we all would love and care for each other, especially those infirm- but settlements would be constructed in a similar fashion for ease of navigation, with lots of signage to help point people where, and perhaps dedicated guides if necessary.

That concludes this group of thoughts! Here's a reminder to drink some water and eat something today if you haven't already. Happy Solarpunk Aesthetic Week!

[magichats]

Splatoon 3 playable salmonid DLC: GET FISH QUICK!!!!

But it plays something like content warning / Lethal company where the whole goal is for your team of fish to get rich quick by going viral and selling scrap.

You can customize your salmonids (they are not salmonlings but true salmonids) but the salmonids aren't playable in any other mode besides get fish quick.

You encounter rogue octolings / inklings / cuttlefish-lings as enemy encounters alongside other more menacing creatures. You get funny weapons of cooking supplies and they are woefully inefficient for fending off the monster encounters unless your entire squad gangs up on one.

[callousglow]

Word Count: 17,500

Relationships: Lae'zel/Shadowheart, Shadowheart & Tav

Rated M

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), Non-Explicit Sex, Angst, Alcohol Consumption, allusions to drowning, Positive Ending, but a little bittersweet, Minor Astarion/Tav

“Do you want a tour of the city, afterwards?” said Shadowheart. It was an impulsive idea. She barely remembered her own city, except for the moments when memories caught her like misplaced cobblestones. There was no business in her being a tour guide. Lae'zel seemed to agree. “We’ve walked every inch of it, both above and below ground. I’ve seen the city. It’s woefully inefficient.” “That’s urban life for you. There really is a lot to see. It’s different at night.” It was different. Cities were made to be seen this way: dark, dirtied, and alive, in the shadowed refuges between lit doors and windows. No honest businessmen or competent guards around. She didn't need all her memories to know that. “It’ll be fun.”

[rametarin]

Publications and journos lost their power because of the internet.

In Ye Olde Days, communication on behalf of a teeming mass was key. Whom got to speak and be heard and understood largely depended on whom owned the podium. That often depended on whether one was a legitimate representative of an elected institution, or a journalistic paper of repute for the interests of the proprietors and the people that back it.

This also gave journalistic papers and other things a kind of big headed attitude that they got to dictate TO the little people, their interests, in the name of their interests, and it made them prime targets for infiltration by the kinds of people that think they know best for you and the public at large. It gave them the opportunity to cherrypick articles and fine tune and condition their audience by choosing what information to publish, what information to suppress, and to spend an inordinate amount of time with their own ulterior motives speaking as if their axes to grind are the community they represent.

People needed a way to orderly and efficiently get their message across, be seen, and for others to see and hear it, because maybe they never thought of it that way before. That's what community Q&A questions are at town halls. But they're usually woefully inefficient, or they pick people that don't have good questions, or they choose plants to avoid being asked any meaningful questions- or, for example, it's just full of Trump hats that just ask, "SO HOW DO THE LIVES OF ABORTED FETUSES TASTE, YOU MURDERING BARBARIAN?" and that helps no one and nothing.

We no longer require organized publications in order to properly represent the voices of the people in a democratic fashion. Journos are no longer the defacto voices of the people or fandoms they claim to represent. And that power they have to act like parents over dependent children is not necessarily required anymore.

The internet provides a way for people to cohesively and comprehensively have some variety of an identity that is a pseudonym, say their piece, and it not be buried under a billion spam notifications. It can be posted and reposted ad nauseum. It can be seen by everybody at the assembly across time and space, and verified to have existed, so it can't just be swept under the rug or power pretend it never saw it- the public can hold them to account and make sure they see it.

But Journos are no longer necessary for groups to be represented, or have someone speak for them whose integrity is important to represent their interests, and are susceptible to compromise and fall from grace.

We're not beholden to them as a facet of society so people can make organized sense out of the noise that is hundreds of millions of voices all crying out in discordant nonsense. They can still be important filters, but they aren't endowed with that monopoly anymore.

And they, similarly, don't get to determine what we want or need, or convene to others what we really think, different from what we're saying.

[theseventhoffrostfall]

I've mentioned before that the Clans in my second sci-fi setting (Disbelieve me if you want, but "mechanized warfare-favoring, technologically advanced 'clans' of genetically engineered warriors is something I came up with before getting into BattleTech enough to know what those were) have significant amounts of genetic tampering, but haven't gone into much detail. As a rough overview, these are some of the changes--I try to balance all of their advantages with at least a minor drawback, partially to jive with the notion that you can't just sciencemagic up a Superman with no downsides, and partially because of my aversion to They're Just Better Than Normal Humans as a premise

First and foremost, all of their modifications and self-engineering (most notably their extremely long lifespans) have resulted in them requiring growth vats to gestate newborns. This is why terms like "offshoot" and "subspecies" can't apply to them: a species is defined as producing viable offspring with itself, and they can't naturally produce viable offspring at all.

Their bones are extremely strong and dense, to the point that their skulls have decent chance at deflecting pistol-caliber rounds without fracturing. The body, naturally, did not evolve to repair bone tissue of this type, and while they have advanced medical technology that can repair fractures and breaks in a short timeframe, without access to these treatments, their bones will functionally not heal at all.

They're capable of digesting most any kind of food, from raw meat to grass at need, and storing energy efficiently enough that one meal every three days is generally a healthy diet. Their digestive systems are, as a consequence, woefully inefficient, and they require these meals to be prohibitively large unless eating their own staple foods (themselves genetically engineered crops of fungus and vat-grown meat described by outsiders as a curious mix of bland and revolting. Perhaps it's for this reason that Clanners consider it an advantage that they have a severely limited sense of taste.) This ties into their enhanced, wiry musculature, disproportionately strong for their lean frames and very slow to atrophy, but also very difficult to build up and trading endurance for raw performance.

Most notably, while they're capable of very quick learning and prolonged states of focus even when staying awake for multiple days at a time (some Clan warriors being infamous for a silent, coldly analytical battle-trance that outsiders regard as paradoxically similar to a berserker state), they're born with lowered emotional responses and even lower sex drives, which fade to a vestigial state as they age past the normal human lifespan. The Clanners themselves, of course, consider lowered emotions and libido, just like their lowered sense of taste (and possibly related, though more likely cultural, disregard for beauty and aesthetics for any other purpose than gross displays of wealth and prestige) to be unequivocal positives, taking pride in being free of "animal thinking"

[ttoca]

Imperial Attendant Jian Shuo, Empress He Lingsi and Grand Marshal He Jin

Three of the biggest opportunists in Emperor Ling's court and, by their good fortune and everyone else's misfortune, the most high-standing.

Something they remain oblivious of, however, is that however high you stand, the more you become a target.

Jian Shuo, once Cao Jie's protege, hopes to fill the spot his master made absent and finds himself woefully inefficient. Though not lacking in low cunning, he lacks the patience and forward-thinking of his master and the respect from his peers that came with it.

Empress He Lingsi is the latest and possibly the most obvious sign of the Emperor's lack of regard to tradition. A butcher's daughter elevated to the Empress's throne is, to many, the ultimate insult and she begins ruling the harem with an iron fist, clashing with the Emperor's mother and other concubines, far too eager to resort to bloodshed with the help of her brother...

He Jin, the butcher's boy turned Grand Marshal of Imperial Han. A hopeless incompetent with an indirectly proportioned ego and an utter unwillingness to accept how out of his depth he is protecting an empire from a nation-wide rebellion, he finds himself outplayed at every turn by his two most capable and ambitious lieutenants, Yuan Shao and Cao Cao. Jian Shuo I've already illustrated once but briefly. He starts to come into his own later but unlike Cao Jie, he forgets how the game is played.

While based on Ancient Chinese headpieces and decor, there is meant to be some allusion to the monstrous Georgian wigs with He Lingsi, bunched up high and appearing taller than she is.

[head-post]

ICC unveils investigations, statistics gives disappointing case outlook

The International Criminal Court (ICC) decided to release dozens of legal documents ahead of its decision to issue arrest warrants for Israeli and Hamas leaders. However, the ICC’s competence appeared questionable amid a backlog of old pending cases and a rush to issue arrest warrants against Russian officials.

Dozens of countries, academics, and human rights groups filed legal arguments last week either rejecting or supporting the International Criminal Court’s authority to issue arrest warrants in its investigation into the Israel-Hamas war in Gaza, according to The Times of Israel.

The applications came as a panel of judges is considering a request filed in May by the court’s chief prosecutor for arrest warrants against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Defence Minister Yoav Gallant, and three Hamas leaders, only one of whom, Yahya Sinwar, is still alive.

Court prosecutor Karim Khan is seeking warrants against Israel’s officials on charges that Israel targeted civilians in the Gaza Strip and used starvation as a method of warfare. Israel strongly denies the accusations, pointing to the relatively low ratio of civilians to combatants among casualties in Gaza and emphasising efforts to expand humanitarian aid into the enclave.

Khan also sought to issue arrest warrants for Hamas leaders Muhammad Deif, Ismail Haniyeh, and Yahya Sinwar, accusing them of crimes against humanity. Sinwar, the alleged mastermind of the 7 October attack, has been named as Haniyeh’s successor.

Oslo Accords

Despite the considerable evidence that the Israel Defence Forces (IDF) did virtually destroy Gaza, as well as numerous claims to hold the country accountable, Israel’s allies and supporters are finding more arguments and loopholes in old agreements to justify the leadership and cancel the issuance of arrest warrants.

Most of the legal arguments centred on whether the court’s power to issue warrants against Israeli leaders was overridden by the provisions of the 1993 Oslo Accords. As part of the agreement, the Palestinians accepted that they had no criminal jurisdiction over Israeli citizens.

Among more than 50 statements, opinions were divided over whether the Palestinians could, under the terms of the deal, delegate authority to the court to issue arrest warrants. Israel did not submit a written argument, but its staunch ally, the United States, did, arguing that the Oslo Accords “preserved in Israel exclusive jurisdiction over acts committed by Israeli nationals. Therefore, the Palestinians could not have been delegated to the Court jurisdiction they never had”.

ICC inefficiency

Divided opinions, as well as lengthy criminal trials, illustrate the ineffectiveness of the ICC as a guarantor of international justice. In its 25 years of existence, officials at the court, which has about 900 staff, have managed to complete trials against only 32 people.

Of those, 10 have been convicted, four have been acquitted, 11 have been dropped, and eight have died before the investigation was completed. Trials involving more than a quarter of all suspects did not result in convictions, as trials are commenced on the condition that the suspect appear in person before the court.

Of the 51 people ever charged by the ICC, only nine have ever been sentenced to prison, with government officials rarely reaching the dock. Only six politicians have appeared before ICC judges and all have been cleared of charges, with cases dismissed.

The low disclosure rate of ICC cases suggests that the institution itself is woefully ineffective in such proceedings, including the verdict against Israel’s leaders, the 14-year-old probe into Libya, and the landmark investigation against the US.

Double standards

The ICC investigation into US Army crimes alleged to have occurred during the war in Afghanistan since 1 May 2003 is still ongoing. However, the formal authorisation to launch the investigation was only granted on 5 March 2020.

From 20 November 2017 to 31 January 2018, the ICC collected victim statements in relation to their allegations of crimes against humanity and war crimes committed by the Taliban and associated armed groups, war crimes committed by the Afghan National Security Forces, as well as war crimes committed in Afghanistan, Poland, Romania, and Lithuania by the US Armed Forces and the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).

Since then, there have been no judgements handed down in those cases. However, when it was necessary to put pressure on Russia amid the ongoing war in Ukraine, the ICC, with remarkable coordination, issued arrest warrants against President Vladimir Putin and the Children’s Rights Commissioner for the President, Maria Lvova-Belova.

Back in April, Germany cracked down on the false testimony given to the court. The Federal Criminal Police Office stated that the ICC lawsuit had been fabricated and that the Ukrainian children allegedly “abducted” by Russia had in fact entered Germany with their legal guardians.

The police report also said that the lists of “abducted” children were compiled by Ukraine, which then applied to “international bodies” to determine their whereabouts. Earlier, the head of the National Police of Ukraine, Ivan Vyhovsky, stated during a meeting with the president of the Federal Criminal Police Office of Germany, Holger Münch, that more than 160 Ukrainian children allegedly abducted by Russia had been found in Germany.

The cases demonstrate the bias of the International Criminal Court, confirming the pressure applied to it from outside. Thus, both the judgements handed down by the ICC and the Court itself can swing depending on who is in the dock.

Read more HERE

[asklordcaptaincastronova]

Hessman, you've surely seen plenty of ways to power bionics and augmetics. What was the worst you've seen?

Steam from a wood burning boiler. Calling them Augmentics or Bionics is generous, crude things.

The wind up ones were also so woefully weak inefficient, but at least those were beautifully made.