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Bones to Spock:

(Me: “Mood”)

Bones, continuing:

Spock, raising his eyebrow as if to say ‘bitch you kidding me,,, you think I don’t have a warm feeling???’:

Bones, knowing exactly what he means:

Me:

(Star Trek S2: E25 “Bread and Circuses”

AKA another episode where the plot makes no sense but Spock is hella gay for Kirk)

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Internet is now MUCH better.  Should I even return to this site?

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Mostly going silent

All,

I’ve moved somewhere where the internet bandwidth really isn’t good enough to enjoy Tumblr, to the extent that I still enjoyed it now anyway.  Pictures don’t load properly, video is impossible, etc.  So, I won’t really be on here much.  If you really want to stay in touch another way, try messaging me--I might be able to do that. 

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Leave me alone, Google, I wanna see arguments in SUPPORT of the Earth being flat!

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Lord of the Rings was published in the fifties, and largely written in the forties. Tolkien’s opinions on society and morality and technology are at some points genuinely more conservative than what I’m comfortable with. And yet, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that Tolkien actually deconstructs most of the clichéd fantasy tropes he supposedly originates. Some examples.

The long-lost heir is not the hero, he’s a side character who deliberately uses himself as a decoy.

The real hero actually fails in his quest, his goodness and determination and willpower utterly fail in the face of evil, and the world is saved by a series seemingly unrelated good deeds.

The central conflict is not between destroying the world and preserving it. An age of the world will come to an end, and many great and beautiful things will perish, whether the heroes win or lose. The past may have been glorious, but preserving it is impossible, and returning to it is impossible, time has passed and the world has moved on. The king returns, but the elves are gone and magic fades from the very substance of Middle Earth. The goal is not to preserve the status quo, the goal is the chance to rebuild something on the ruins.

Killing the main villain seems to instantly solve the problem, eradicate all enemies and fix the world, except it doesn’t, not wholly, since the scouring of the Shire still has to happen.

Also, the hero gets no real reward, and what he gets, he cannot really enjoy. He is hurt by his ordeal, and never fully recovers.

There is a team of heroes, a classic adventuring party, except the Fellowship is together for less one sixth of the series. The Fellowship is intact from the Council of Elrond to Gandalf’s death, four chapters. The remaining eight are together until Boromir’s death, an additional six chapters. This is nothing compared to LOTR’s length of sixty-one chapters, if I count correctly.

Tolkien is not classic high fantasy. If you actually think about it, there is very little magic. The hobbits’ stealth is not magical, most elven wonders are not unambigously magical, wizards are extremely rare, and even Gandalf hardly uses magic if you compare him to the average DnD wizard. Most magic is indistinguishable from craft, there is no clear difference between a magic armor and a very good armor, between magic bread and very good bread, between magical healing and competent first-aid plus a few kind words.

TLDR: Stop praising recent fantasy for deconstructing Tolkien if they’re “deconstructing” something Tolkien has never actually constructed.

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Me: rolling around in my wheelchair inside a store taking a bunch of photos

Customer: “Can I ask what you’re taking pictures of?”

Me: “I’m documenting my ADA violations case.”

Customer: “What violations?”

Me: Points out five violations I can see from where we are. Explains how to see patterns of ADA violations.

Customer: (in a hostile tone) “Well it can’t be *that* bad. I mean, *you* got in here.”

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AO3 won the 2019 Hugo Award for Best Related Work!

Here’s the speech given by Naomi Novik when the award was accepted:

All fanwork, from fanfic to vids to fanart to podfic, centers the idea that art happens not in isolation but in community. And that is true of the AO3 itself. We’re up here accepting, but only on behalf of literally thousands of volunteers and millions of users, all of whom have come together and built this thriving home for fandom, a nonprofit and non-commercial community space built entirely by volunteer labor and user donations, on the principle that we needed a place of our own that was not out to exploit its users but to serve them.

Even if I listed every founder, every builder, every tireless support staff member and translator and tag wrangler, if I named every last donor, all our hard work and contributions would mean nothing without the work of the fan creators who share their work freely with other fans, and the fans who read their stories and view their art and comment and share bookmarks and give kudos to encourage them and nourish the community in their turn.

This Hugo will be joining the traveling exhibition that goes to each Worldcon, because it belongs to all of us. I would like to ask that we raise the lights and for all of you who feel a part of our community stand up for a moment and share in this with us.

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i see some people in the notes of the hate-beer post saying “oh have you tried THIS one?” or “oh no you’ve only ever met shitty beer, there is good beer you must try” 

but listen. my dude. listen.

i don’t even like cider, okay? I’ve tried it and it’s not as horrible as beer, but certainly not something I would ever drink on purpose.

there is absolutely no chance of me liking any beer in the world, and of this I am certain.

so there.

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We Stan Facts👏🏻

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Signal boosting my favorite Sherlock Holmes story

... because I’m pretty sure most people skip this one. Because it IS called “The Yellow Face.” And it was written by a British dude in 1893. So there are a couple of… very reasonable assumptions you could make about the content. But I’m telling you that humanity can be wholesome and pure, so hang around, it’s story time.

We open with Holmes and Watson, who are just sort of wandering around London in silence, “as befits two men who know each other intimately.” (awww). And when they get back to 221B, they’ve got a new client waiting. 

Mr. Grant Munro is one of those mid-thirties guys who looks a lot younger. It turns out he’s married an American widow from Georgia and she’s started acting really REALLY weird. 

Like, she’s sneaking out in the middle of the night without saying where she’s going. Withdrawing a lot of money from the joint bank account, not saying why. Pretending *not* to know a strange Scottish woman who’s new in town. One day this guy gives into temptation and follows her. She goes to a random cottage that she’s secretly renting, in a town called Norbury. He has no idea what is going on, but he comes back to visit this cottage a few times after that, and every he walks past it, he sees a strange expressionless yellow-white face at the window. It ducks out of sight whenever he looks too long. 

Anyway, Holmes glances over at Watson, says thank you and that he’ll look into it. When the client leaves, he shakes his head, “There’s blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken.” 

Holmes’ theory is that the American widow’s first husband is still alive, and he’s blackmailing her. Or (second option) the first husband like, went insane or something, and the mysterious Scottish woman has worked out the situation, and she’s the one doing the blackmailing.

Homes & Watson and Grant Munro “solve” the case by basically just sneaking into the cottage when they’re not expected. And they find - 

A little, four-year-old African-American girl. In a mask and long white evening gloves.

Holmes goes and takes off the mask first thing, but the little girl is fine, just laughing and smiling at all the confused people. Watson “burst[s] out laughing, out of sympathy for her merriment.” 

But Grant Munro looks at his wife, who’s just run into the room, and says, “My God! What can be the meaning of this!” 

His wife’s backstory comes out. See, her first husband was African-American (she’s got his picture in her locket, Watson calls him “strikingly handsome and intelligent looking”) and the little girl is their daughter. (”Dark or fair, she is my own dear girlie and her mother’s pet!”) She didn’t think that a second husband would sign off on a multiracial daughter, so she’s been letting the Scottish nurse raise her - until she just cracked, missed her little girl too much, and had to have her near, even if it meant doing dumb things like giving her a mask and evening gloves so they wouldn’t accidentally start a rumor about an African-American girl living in the neighborhood. 

And then - actually, I’m just going to go to Arthur Conan Doyle (and Watson) for this last part:

It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards the door.

“We can talk it over more comfortably at home,” said he. “I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being.” 

Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out.

“I think,” said he, “that we shall be of more use in London than in Norbury.” 

Not another word did he say of the case until late into the night, when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.

“Watson,” says he. “If it should ever strike you that I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper ‘Norbury’ in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.” 

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Captain America would kick Wonder Woman's ass just sayin

As someone who loves my son Steve Rogers, I have to say that he could never kick Diana’s ass, like literally, and also he would never do that, because Steve Rogers would grow up idolising the mysterious hero from WW1, and would probably swoon if he got to meet her, would call her “ Your Majesty” unironically, until Diana has to literally punch him to make him stop, and even then, he’d call her “Ma'am” with the utmost respect, and also he’d follow her to Hell and back without blinking.

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a softer spider-verse

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I admire people who do exercise with no music like you are putting your body in pain while being alone with your thoughts… that´s double torture

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Also, Gabarone (the capital of Botswana) is more temperate than you might think.  Like, not New York or London, but similar to the US south w/o the humidity.  As a big guy, *I* wouldn’t want to wear that level of leather, but it’s not as bad as you might think.

Can you imagine the heat?? Badass af

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I swear, Tumblr always makes me feel old.

I was born the year of TRON.  (Not Tron Legacy, or any other weird sequel thing.  The original.)

fuck astrology your new personality is one of the disney film that was released the year you were born

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I think something not often talked about with chronic illness/pain is the sense of dread/doom. Like I’m not talking anxiety, although it is similar. 

It’s when there is something so wrong with your body that your brain goes “this isn’t right” “oh I already know that” “wait this really isn’t right” “shush I know that” over and over again and you’re just left with this sense that something is wrong.

Not to mention how hard it is to figure out what’s a gut feeling/intuition/warning bells or whats a flare or bad moment. If I dig down and my deepest feelings are pain/discomfort, what do I trust? A pain-addled brain?