Tumgik
#when the wikipedia article says
somfte · 2 years
Text
Me on International Talk Like A Pirate Day, September 19th, 2006: "Yarrr, ahoy matey!"
Me on International Talk Like A Pirate Day, September 19th, 2022: "When a king brands us pirates, he doesn't mean to make us adversaries. He doesn't mean to make us criminals. He means to make us monsters."
4K notes · View notes
Text
Tumblr media
she is THE time machine <3
21 notes · View notes
panvani · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
Definitely one of the funniest artistic movements in terms of doing this
7 notes · View notes
bereft-of-frogs · 2 years
Text
Ngl the main reason I finally deleted TikTok wasn’t just because of the time suck and how it was ruining my attention span or making me feel shitty about myself/everything
But because I saw possibly the worst take to date on Ukraine and that was just the straw of stupidity that broke the camels back
It has been haunting me for two days
30 notes · View notes
readymades2002 · 2 years
Text
the way people go to bat for siken on this site is unreal
23 notes · View notes
iconac · 8 months
Note
15.) What were they like as a child in their crèche?
Tumblr media
quiet & unsmiling, but attentive. stretching out and out and out in the force like it were a limb to feel things out with, occasionally distressing other children who were not yet acclimated to others interacting with their newly discovered power. as a firrerreo they had grown up in a crèche, hidden away for safety out of cultural habit, so it took some time for them to adjust to the jedi's crèche as one not needing safeguarding, and the other children as just peers and not as those in need of protecting. [ there were several instances where an older jedi would come in to find the whole creche asleep but rye, who would be watching over the other children like a guard. it often took some insistence and the occasional display of jedi prowess to coax them to sleep with the others. ]
they cared for their peers, though. drying eyes and runny noses of those younger and unused to being without their families, comforting them with song and game and treats 'stolen' from older jedi. leading the other younglings in a line, ensuring everyone's hands were linked so no one got left behind. [ these actions were, in their own way, a display of a deep yearning for home. ] they were also incredibly curious and prone to 'escaping' when they believed the other children to be well-protected, exploring the halls and hiding from good-humored jedi who pretended not to notice them [ and it would not be long until other younglings began to follow them, small exploration teams of small jedi trekking through the home of the order as if it were uncharted wilderness. ]
despite their quiet nature they were by no means passive. they were incredibly stubborn, and their frustration come with snapping teeth and a fiery edge that would bleed out into the force. the crèchemasters would be quick to stymie this behavior as much as they could manage, as rye tended to have an area-of-affect to those around them. and when they did open their mouth, it was almost always to ask a question. and every answer given would lead to three more questions. their desire to see / feel / know was boundless [ this was one of the many things that drew them to kreia, and kreia to them in turn ] and in those early years in the order, it was seen as a bright spark rather than an all-consuming abyss.
Tumblr media
jedi hc asks.
6 notes · View notes
ante--meridiem · 2 years
Text
Socialised successfully today!
18 notes · View notes
donuts4evry1 · 1 year
Text
Not to point out other Vietnamese words that people tend to mispronounce, but I often hear “Banh Mi” (Pronounced something like “Bahn Me”) pronounced “bon me”
I know people are trying their best because Viet is a terrible, terrible language but it does always surprise me a little bit lol
2 notes · View notes
alloutofgoddesses · 1 year
Text
I’m writing a paper on my familial history and 1) Thank you McDowell family for having such a clear line through history with people who are well-known 2) The career options were farmer, soldier, or minister, but mainly farmer.
2 notes · View notes
dyaz-stories · 1 year
Text
.
5 notes · View notes
butchratchettruther · 2 years
Text
Thinking about that specific genre of discourse that is an affront to english literature
2 notes · View notes
umabloomer · 7 months
Text
I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.
On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 
Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 
I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 
When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 
A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.
I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 
Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 
This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.
I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 
I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 
Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago. 
8K notes · View notes
kenyatta · 1 year
Quote
I once had ChatGPT insist that a particular composer wrote music for a game, even going so far as to list particular songs from the soundtrack that they were supposedly responsible for, and it helpfully provided hallucinatory citations when I asked for them (a broken link on the game publisher's website and a link to Wikipedia, which did not in fact support its assertion either now or at any point in the article's history). Nor could I find anywhere else on the internet where someone even mistakenly believed that that composer had worked on the game. ChatGPT lies not because it's regurgitating falsehoods that it found on the internet - it lies because it invents new falsehoods on its own. It's not just trained on stuff on the internet that's wrong; it's trained to be confidently wrong in general. It doesn't know what facts are, it just knows how to produce things that are shaped like facts and shove them in fact-shaped holes. I personally wasted 30 minutes of my life fact-checking/"not believing everything it says", when it confidently told me something surprising. My horizons were not broadened by exposing me to "different worldviews". This was unequivocally a negative experience for me.
comment on a MetaFilter post about AI: "My goal is to be helpful, harmless, and honest."
15K notes · View notes
nohoperadio · 2 months
Text
Often when I'm reading the Wikipedia article about some zoological group, there'll be a sentence near the start that says something like "[group] varies in size from [smallest species in group] to [largest species in group]". I always immediately click on the largest species. I love to see a huge version of a thing, it's usually some crazy monster that looks sick as hell, it's always worth seeing and I have a great time.
And then I say to myself, come on now, you don't want to be someone who's just interested in the big ones, see what the smallest one looks like. So with a sense of grim duty, I click. It's not even that small usually, most small things aren't like that little frog wrapped around someone's pinkie, they maybe look a bit like the juvenile version of a more median-sized species perhaps. But I nod appreciatively and I say out loud, "Gee yeah, that is a small one of those", and then go back to the main article I started at.
Now both links are purple. No one can accuse me of being narrow-minded or unjust, and I can read my article in peace.
2K notes · View notes
pipariperho · 1 year
Text
I've been listening Pawn of Proph/ecy by David Ed/dings lately and not sure if it is the reader or the story but so fat it isn't all that memorable. Like there's shitton of characters and I can barely keep track of them buy I only care about Silk, there's hints for the mystery of who the MC's relatives are/were but it is not all that interesting and when the MC tries to ask about his past one of the only persons with answers is like little boys should keep their mouths shut and go to bed all the damn time. Just something about the story makes it meh to me.
0 notes
welpnotagain · 1 year
Text
am a bit bewildered by myself. idk how exactly, i know why, but i'm now reading about how to not be a menace for wiki editors because i tried to tell them a source on an article was kinda shit and i got a very kind and generic copy-pasted message from an apparently very committed, kind wiki editor so now I feel the need to like try harder
1 note · View note