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Researchers have used Easter Island Moai replicas to show how they might have been “walked” to where they are displayed.

VIDEO

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losing my mind at this amazing story from r/dndmemes some people’s dnd adventures are just. So Fucking Cool

here’s the link and the story, it’s Amazing

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One day to go. $219 worth of ebooks for $25 and you are supporting Refugees. (Over $60,000 raised already.) It's on Humble Bundle.

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I'm going for gold, lads, lasses, and other gendered classes!

Do you like visual novels? Do you like stories about the fey? Do you like your entertainment as EDUTAINMENT?

IF SO, BOY HOWDY DO I HAVE A VISUAL NOVEL PROJECT FOR YOU.

The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe) is a lore-rich and choice-driven romantic visual novel inspired by Irish mythology. Play as an Irish tenant farmer from the mid-19th century, whose path becomes inexplicably entwined with fairy affairs after getting robbed by the roadside and lured into the mythic and war-torn world of Tír na nÓg: A once unified land, now divided into the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Will you escape with your stolen belongings? Or does fate have something else in mind?

OKAY, BUT WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR YOU, SEEKER OF SEROTONIN?

6 wonderful romantic/PLATONIC options (each love interest can be pursued entirely platonically)

a visual novel whose philosophy is less on anxiety-inducing, arbitrary choices to get a good or bad ending, but instead focuses on if you, the player, are interacting with a character in a healthy or unhealthy manner, leading to player freedom and choice

intelligent and reflective writing that is reflected within character moments and dialogue

and MORE! (so much more!)

WHERE CAN I FIND MORE OUT ABOUT THIS GAME?

Here is the bio link, which has links for the indie developers' social media accounts (Tumblr, Twitter, Discord Server) along with the link to their official website, which has a deep dive into every main NPC and the philosophy of the game. The demo is out now and free on both Steam and Itch.io

(As an official statement: I am in no way employed or affiliated with Moirai Myths and I was not approached in any way to make this post. This is me being a feral fan on main, blazing this post)

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Okay, let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, there was a prose translation of the Pearl Poet’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was wonderfully charming and lyrical and perfect for use in a high school, and so a clever English teacher (as one did in the 70s) made a scan of the book for her students, saved it as a pdf, and printed copies off for her students every year. In true teacher tradition, she shared the file with her colleagues, and so for many years the students of the high school all studied Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from the same (very badly scanned) version of this wonderful prose translation.

In time, a new teacher became head of the English Department, and while he agreed that the prose translation was very wonderful he felt that the quality of the scan was much less so. Also in true teacher tradition, he then spent hours typing up the scan into a word processor, with a few typos here and there and a few places where he was genuinely just guessing wildly at what the scan actually said. This completed word document was much cleaner and easier for the students to read, and so of course he shared it with his colleagues, including his very new wide-eyed faculty member who was teaching British Literature for the first time (this was me).

As teachers sometimes do, he moved on for greener (ie, better paying) pastures, leaving behind the word document, but not the original pdf scan. This of course meant that as I was attempting to verify whether a weird word was a typo or a genuine artifact of the original translation, I had no other version to compare it to. Being a good card-holding gen zillenial I of course turned to google, making good use of the super secret plagiarism-checking teacher technique “Quotation Marks”, with an astonishing result:

By which I mean literally one result.

For my purposes, this was precisely what I needed: a very clean and crisp scan that allowed me to make corrections to my typed edition: a happily ever after, amen.

But beware, for deep within my soul a terrible Monster was stirring. Bane of procrastinators everywhere, my Curiosity had found a likely looking rabbit hole. See, this wonderfully clear and crisp scan was lacking in two rather important pieces of identifying information: the title of the book from which the scan was taken, and the name of the translator. The only identifying features were the section title “Precursors” (and no, that is not the title of the book, believe me I looked) and this little leaf-like motif by the page numbers:

(Remember the leaf. This will be important later.)

We shall not dwell at length on the hours of internet research that ensued—how the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, grading abandoned in shadows half-lit by the the blue glow of the computer screen—how google search after search racked up, until an email warning of “unusual activity on your account” flashed into momentary existence before being consigned immediately and with some prejudice to the digital void—how one third of the way through a “comprehensive but not exhaustive” list of Sir Gawain translators despair crept in until I was left in utter darkness, screen black and eyes staring dully at the wall.

Above all, let us not admit to the fact that such an afternoon occurred not once, not twice, but three times.

Suffice to say, many hours had been spent in fruitless pursuit before a new thought crept in: if this book was so mysterious, so obscure as to defeat the modern search engine, perhaps the answer lay not in the technologies of today, but the wisdom of the past. Fingers trembling, I pulled up the last blast email that had been sent to current and former faculty and staff, and began to compose an email to the timeless and indomitable woman who had taught English to me when I was a student, and who had, after nearly fifty years, retired from teaching just before I returned to my alma mater.

After staring at the email for approximately five or so minutes, I winced, pressed send, and let my plea sail out into the void. I cannot adequately describe for you the instinctive reverence I possess towards this teacher; suffice to say that Ms English was and is a woman of remarkable character, as much a legend as an institution as a woman of flesh and blood whose enduring influence inspired countless students. There is not a student taught by Ms. English who does not have a story to tell about her, and her decline in her last years of teaching and eventual retirement in the face of COVID was the end of an era. She still remembers me, and every couple months one of her contemporaries and dear friends who still works as a guidance counsellor stops me in the hall to tell me that Ms. English says hello and that she is thrilled that I am teaching here—thrilled that I am teaching honors students—thrilled that I am now teaching the AP students. “Tell her I said hello back,” I always say, and smile.

Ms. English is a legend, and one does not expect legends to respond to you immediately. Who knows when a woman of her generation would next think to check her email? Who knows if she would remember?

The day after I sent the email I got this response:

My friends, I was shaken. I was stunned. Imagine asking God a question and he turns to you and says, “Hold on one moment, let me check with my predecessor.”

The idea that even Ms. English had inherited this mysterious translation had never even occurred to me as a possibility, not when Ms. English had been a faculty member since the early days of the school. How wonderful, I thought to myself. What a great thing, that this translation is so obscure and mysterious that it defeats even Ms. English.

A few days later, Ms. English emailed me again:

(I had, in fact searched through both the English office and the Annex—a dark, weirdly shaped concrete storage area containing a great deal of dust and many aging copies of various books—a few days prior. I had no luck, sadly.)

At last, though, I had a title and a description! I returned to my internet search, only to find to my dismay that there was no book that exactly matched the title. I found THE BRITISH TRADITION: POETRY, PROSE, AND DRAMA (which was not black and the table of contents I found did not include Sir Gawain) and THE ENGLISH TRADITION, a super early edition of the Prentice Hall textbooks we use today, which did have a black cover but there were absolutely zero images I could find of the table of contents or the interior and so I had no way of determining if it was the correct book short of laying out an unfortunate amount of cold hard cash for a potential dead end.

So I sighed, and relinquished my dreams of solving the mystery. Perhaps someday 30 years from now, I thought, I’ll be wandering through one of those mysterious bookshops filled with out of print books and I’ll pick up a book and there will be the translation, found out last!

So I sighed, and told the whole story to my colleagues for a laugh. I sent screenshots of Ms. English’s emails to my siblings who were also taught by her. I told the story to my Dad over dinner as my Great Adventure of the Week.

…my friends. I come by my rabbit-hole curiosity honestly, but my Dad is of a different generation of computer literacy and knows a few Deep Secrets that I have never learned. He asked me the title that Ms. English gave me, pulled up some mysterious catalogue site, and within ten minutes found a title card. There are apparently two copies available in libraries worldwide, one in Philadelphia and the other in British Columbia. I said, “sure, Dad,” and went upstairs. He texted me a link. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and looked at the description.

Huh, I thought. Four volumes, just like Ms. English said. I wonder…

Armed with a slightly different title and a publisher, I looked up “The English Tradition: Fiction macmillan” and the first entry is an eBay sale that had picture of the interior and LO AND BEHOLD:

THE LEAF. LOOK AT THE LEAF.

My dad found it! He found the book!!

Except for one teensy tiny problem which is that the cover of the book is uh a very bright green and not at all black like Ms. English said. Alas, it was a case of mistaken identity, because The English Tradition: Poetry does have a black cover, although it is the fiction volume which contains Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

And so having found the book at last, I have decided to purchase it for the sum of $8, that ever after the origins of this translation may once more be known.

In this year of 2022 this adventure took place, as this post bears witness, the end, amen.

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can you infodump to me? (i love you) is this overwhelming? (i love you) is this the right texture? (i love you) is it ok to touch you? (i love you) do you want the subtitles on? (i love you) do you want to go somewhere less noisy? (i love you)

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Everyone should be able to express their small and mean opinions to someone who won't clutch their pearls about it. Being a bitch is a human right

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Void cat but space, with moon for eyes~

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Humans and our insane biology

My 2nd entry to humans are space orcs.

So, I've always seen in movies that the intergalactic version of healing is via cryopads or filling an entire space tube with some sort of liquid and just chucking the entire person inside to heal for an indefinite amount of time depending on the severity of their injury.

Now, humans don't have the luxury of that. I can sorta theorized that the medical stuff the aliens use would include the use of nanites or galactic medicinal herbs that would speed up the healing process, bumping up a supposedly 10 years of physical rehabilitation and recovery to a few months at most and to those who get the quality herbs, then a few weeks.

Seeing as Earth would be seen as a deathworld, a term I've been seeing for planets that hold life forms but is seen as a hostile planet to other other galactic race, they would be baffled by the slowness of our healing process.

They might think, "Their planet is harsh so their healing process must be very fast". And they're half correct with that assumption. Even the most ill of humans can fight back on a lot of health issues even with minimal medical support.

Infection? Increased white blood cells and even developing a fever to kill this micro invaders via increased body temperature. The body not getting oxygen? Body falls into tachypnea or breathing too fast to get more oxygen. Any feelings of danger? Adrenaline pumps out to give you an extra boost of energy for fight or flight purposes. Injury leading to a cut somewhere on our skin? Have the platelet go over there and cover the cut and have the white blood cells round up the bacteria that could've entered. Hungry with no food? Let me use this fat tissue as energy.

Alien: You mean you heal slowly or very fast depending on your injury?! What if your body can't heal itself or what if you're too weak to do the healing?! *panicking from the stress since humans are technically considered as Eternal Younglings given that they're the fastest to die from their short lifespan*

Human: That's when we go to the hospital. Our version of your healing technology.

Alien: Oh, thank the stars. So how long do you stay in your cryopad if you have a deep injury?

Human: Depends on how deep. If it's just a small cut or a small bruise then we don't go to the hospital. But if the injury is super deep or an organ is not functioning well or we're bleeding from the inside, then we have doctors who put us to sleep with this chemical called anesthesia and they operate on the cut and fix the messed up organs.

Alien: *concerned alien noises* Doctors are like healers, yes? How do they exactly 'fix' you?

Human: So, they inject us with this anesthesia, wait for us to fall asleep, then cut their way through our muscle, fats, and tissues before seeing the organs, maybe cutting up a bit of it to send to the labs or fixing it up. I don't really know the exact details since I'm just your plain worker.

Alien: Child, 'healers' who cut up patients are called as kiarvetj, killers! *exasperated, panicky actions* How... how often did you say that you Terrans go to this hospital again?

Human: Oh, I'm not sure for the rest of my kind but for those who are healthy enough like me who can function and not collapse or vomit blood or get in an accident, then pretty much never. Besides, even if I want to know if I'm sick of something, the price to have myself be medically checked is too much. So I just make do with herbs and stuff.

Alien: I think I'm going to have a word with the UIC (Unified Intergalactic Council) about this... AGAIN!

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So it seems, via virtue of me owning a sewing machine and knowing how to use it, I’ve somehow accidentally ended up as the tailor for my co-workers (hemming pants for $5 a pair.)

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Listen. Listen. No one is ever going to be a better Bob Cratchit than Kermit the Frog.

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