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Mike Driver
todays bird

JBB: An Artblog!
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
styofa doing anything

Kiana Khansmith
ojovivo
DEAR READER

tannertan36
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Peter Solarz

blake kathryn
trying on a metaphor
tumblr dot com
d e v o n

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
h
we're not kids anymore.

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@aerialarea
Lincolnshire Wolds
martin_birks
When I was in uni my housemates had a baby, and we taught them some sign language so they could communicate before all their mouth parts were coordinated yet. None of us knew Auslan but two of us were familiar with the signs that the State Emergency Services used in the field so we worked with those.
The kid learned to request a drink, which is great, because that's like the #1 most important thing for a baby to be able to request, but instead of learning any of the other signs they just used modified versions of the drink sign to ask for all kinds of things. They couldn't actually make the proper drink sign (it requires some level of hand control) and used a modified wave, so they ended up with a whole bunch of subtly different waves to ask for stuff. Which was pretty fun in public because strangers would coo over this adorable baby who kept waving at them when, in practice, the baby wanted their ice cream.
Our kid used the "milk" sign for any and every liquid, including Lake Huron. We went to Mackinac when they were a toddler, they looked over the edge of the ferry and got so hyped up yelling "wa-juice! Wa-juice!" (Everything was either water or juice at this point in their life) and signing about it. Didn't know what to make of the waves.
My friend's baby also learned some simplified baby AUSLAN and he would sign GIVE at whatever he wanted. Your lunch. Passing birds. The book he just handed you. Just at you, when he wanted attention. The time he demanded *the wind* was perplexing.
I used to have a baby in my class who, any time we had a car go by the classroom window, would watch it go by and then look at me expectantly and start signing "more? more? more?" and pointing at the window. It was adorable, and sweet that he thought I was that powerful, but unfortunately I couldn't make more cars go by for him.
Why does no one talk about the fact that babies can communicate way earlier than when their mouth is developed enough to speak? I didn't even know this was possible! This sounds like accessing a consciousness before the release date. Listening to the thoughts of a brain that's not done cooking yet. Now you can watch how a human brain interprets the environment even earlier in its life, through the eyes of even more underdeveloped senses. Fascinating.
I taught my baby sign language. He was fascinated with fish so we visited the local aquarium frequently. The sign for fish is to make your hand wiggle like a fish swimming. He would stand by the window and sign "fish" so enthusiastically his whole body would wiggle. People thought it was cute he was waving at the fish. No, dear souls, he was naming the fish.
The garden falls asleep - Jessica Lisse , 2024
French , b. 1990 -
Acrylic on paper , 37 × 26 in. 94 × 66 cm .
the second eel at the end in its little cuck shelter 💜
eel deets from @whitefangthefightingwolf
WOW I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS MY FAVORITE TELEVISION SERIES OF ALL TIME (it's not out yet)
Oh, I am in.
WANT. :)
i’m really sorry about my behavior. you see, growing up, my family- *remembers blaming all my problems on other people is really annoying and unhealthy* i mean. i am responsible for all the evils of this world and i bear sins like the sky bears the stars
Parwich, Derbyshire Dales
dpc_photography_
Steve as a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative mirroring Bucky as the Winter Soldier, TWS ends with the fall of both S.H.I.E.L.D. &= HYDRA, thereby allowing Steve and Bucky to reclaim their identities.
Just watched Adam Conover (of Adam Ruins Everything) make such a solid point that I think we should spread far and wide. Yes, having AI write your emails is lazy, sure, but people love being lazy. We need to really emphasize that sending AI emails (or using AI responses on social media, or publishing AI flyers, or or or) is rude.
It's rude. You're making someone take their time to read something you couldn't bother to write. You're telling them they were so unimportant you couldn't be bothered to actually take the time to say something yourself. And frankly, you're lying about it while you're at it.
It's rude.
The above is doubly true if the content of the email is something that will be important to the person receiving - especially something that affects them negatively. They see that this thing that affected them so much didn't matter enough to you to write it yourself. I was a bystander to such a thing not long ago and it was just awful.
RUDE!!! that is so very much it.
If I may offer the lecturer's perspective on this idea:
Currently, it's marking season for us in the UK. I have an exam board in four hours, in fact, which is where we all go over every profile of every student on our courses, see what results they've achieved, and work out their "decision" - if all is well, the decision is to let them continue the course, or the final degree grade calculated if they're in final year. If it hasn't gone well, the decision is about whether they get to rework the pieces that failed, resit exams, repeat the whole year, or be required to withdraw.
And, as has been the case for the last two years, the profiles are now littered with plagiarism investigations. Every one of those - every single one - will have come in as an assignment that the lecturer received, and started reading, and then with a sinking feeling thought "This isn't your work." Every one had to go to an academic misconduct hearing. Every one is an enormous draw on time and resources, including the emotional reserves of the lecturer.
And I know that's not the main issue! I know in the grand scheme of things, our feelings aren't the most important part of this equation! But as we're talking about rudeness, let me explain:
Firstly, the work itself. You begin reading, you see it's AI. Contractually, we have to read it anyway, and give feedback on why it's shit, and what makes it bad, and that is absolutely fucking soul destroying. Most students who use AI are doing so because they've managed to train their brains to find reading something boring abhorrent, and they want to skip that part; but a ChatGPT-generated report is bland, vague, and utterly devoid of any passion, insight or personality. In short, it's boring. You simply passed your boredom on to us.
Secondly, regardless of your personal feelings about the assignment, it at least had a purpose. It was there to stretch you, and make you think about the topic so you could learn about it, and to test that learning so we can all make sure you have actually learned what you need to. But the slop you handed in, that I now have to mark? What's the point? Literally what is the fucking point of me marking it? You didn't even write it. None of the feedback I'm obligated to give means anything to you. I'm marking ChatGPT, and it can't read.
Which means, not only is it fucking boring, it's actively pointless. Ask anyone in the world what a boring but pointless obligatory task does to your mood. Imagine that.
Thirdly, the misconduct hearing. Because listen, again, the lecturer's feelings here are, once again, not the main point. Students who cheat like this aren't doing so because life is hunky dory. They're stressed and overwhelmed and struggling, and they think they've found a magic way out, and so being pulled into a misconduct hearing - where the best they can hope for is to have to redo the whole piece for a capped mark, on top of all the rest of the work they have (functionally, a bonus assignment), and the worst is expulsion - is a mental breakdown-inducing experience. That, obviously, is the biggest issue.
But, the lecturers know all that, which means we know what we're triggering if we do report it. I cannot tell you how upsetting it is to receive a slop assignment, realise what it is, and then have to make the call to report it. I know damn well how upsetting that's going to be for you. I know how stressful and painful that's going to be. I know this might mean you're going to be thrown out of university. In some cases, I know it means you will be.
I know I could look the other way to spare you that
And oh, that gets tempting. When things are really bad for you, and I see you struggling, and this is your third strike; fuck me but it's tempting to pretend that I can't tell.
I cannot do that.
Which brings me to number four: the soul-bleachingly fucking horrible ordeal that is the misconduct hearing itself. Most people are non-confrontational; I'm no exception. I also simply do not enjoy a sobbing, panicking student sitting in front of me, telling me about how stressed and scared they are and how they're terrified they're going to fail. But that's how these things go.
Our most recent example is an international Masters student. I don't know the particulars for him; but I do know it's not uncommon in his part of the world for families to go into obscene debt, often to loan sharks, to send their kids to UK universities. Failure means more than just academia for him. Having to sit through him turning white and quietly begging us to give him another chance before he left in tears he tried to hide from us was, obviously, much worse for him than us; but it was honestly traumatic. Even now, two weeks later, I can't get it out of my head. There's nothing we can do; but, I feel guilty anyway. I could have looked the other way.
(It wouldn't have passed anyway. It was terrible. But at least he'd probably be allowed a resit - we're still waiting on the outcome of this one, but he may well be withdrawn)
To bring this back to the point of the post:
I know my feelings aren't really the ones that matter here. I do know that. But, every time a student chooses to use AI to write an assignment, all that is what happens behind the scenes. My job nosedives into being shit. Whether it's reading the boring slop, having to write pointless feedback, or making the upsetting decisions to report it when I know what the consequences will be and then having to deal with the guilt, my job that I love suddenly becomes shit. And that, actually, among the many other things it is, is fucking rude.
love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...
you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.
you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.
When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.
"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.
"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.
"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.
"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"
"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"
Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."
That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.
"Until next time."
He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.
"Until next time," he repeats back.
In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.
(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)
none of the gifts come with a note.
one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.
the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.
-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.
The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.
"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."
You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.
-Dearest husband,
Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.
Your patient and thoughtful wife
A second letter arrives within the week.
-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?
The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.
-Dearest, sweetest husband,
A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your last name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.
Your less than patient and less than adoring wife
The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.
tortured wife,
I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.
your loving husband
( <= green bean
( <= chili pepper
. <= blueberry
=3 <= broccoli
● <= orange
. <= pea
• <= plum
<3< <= strawberry
<==}< <= carrot
~<O{ <= beetroot
°o8~ <= grapes
Ó <= apple
88- <= raspberry
c'ɔ <= bell pepper
cc’ɔɔ <= pumpkin
-8 <= cherries
☆{ } <= pineapple
¶\__________ <= garden hose (to water all the plants)
alright everyone good work gardening today. Let's all head inside and get some lemonade now
|■| <= lemonade
For those who came before
new organs coming out soon
medium intestine
gallkidneys
inferior vena cava
table of contents
semi-colon
die-r (opposite of liver)
pancreas 2
regenbogenblicke-archiv
baldige Organneuerscheinungen:
Mitteldarm
Gallenniere
Hohlvene (schlecht in der Schule)
Inhaltsverzeichnis
Semikolon
Sterber (Gegenteil von Leber)
Bauchzweicheldrüse
SHE THINKS HER LAUGH IS A SONG SO SHE SINGS BACK