SciJediApprentice @bananabella - Tumblr Blog

Next up someone is going to claim that the Narnia series isn't kids books.

Kids books is probably not the best way to word it, you can enjoy them at every age, including your childhood, as you get older you may find new truths in them, but they're still good for any age.

jellyfishforest135

Rest in peace Sam Neill. Thank you for the awe and wonder you brought to us.

ink-the-artist

the long awaited sequel

ink-the-artist

teaboot

what annoys me about explaining evolution to people who don’t think it’s real is that everyone’s idea of how it works seems to be from this

Whereas the reality is far more like

teaboot

Was not expecting this many of you to resonate with Millennium Death Plinko

sufficientlylargen

One of these days the horse is gonna come out of pinko with opposable thumbs, and then we're all in trouble.

space-puppy

I love Teal'c SO MUCH because he's the most badass, inscrutable member of SG1 with the RBF to match, but he's so gentle and sweet with children, protects his friends with his life, does that cute little bow/smile thing when he respects someone, not to mention his freindship with Sam; taking Jonas under his wing, his endless respect for Hammond and Bra'tac, he LOVES Star Wars, HATES fishing, would die for any member of SG1, he's baddie turned goodie who never forgets the atrocities he committed but is equally committed to bringing more GOOD than BAD to the world, turned secret softie.

Teal'c is the character of all time.

stitchthisfiona

Today in niche genres of joke that I can never get enough of and will probably still be secretly thinking about four years later

cleolinda

lotus0kid

pomme-poire-peche

lotus0kid

sashaforthewin

ahedderick

Lost Princess

Woke up this morning thinking about Princess Willamina. A sensible, brave, adventurous young lady from continental Europe around 800 years ago - who you will not have heard of. She was the protagonist in a l-o-n-g series of bedtime stories I told my daughter when she was very young. In fact, until today, nobody but my daughter and I had ever heard of her.

I was near tears about it, because - even I had almost forgotten her. Appalling. She was a great human being. Eight to ten years old, lived in a peaceful kingdom, had loving parents. Her daily activities were (surprisingly) similar to things that we do here on the farm, such as gathering nuts in the fall or visiting a lake. Although! an enchanted bear showed up when she was gathering chestnuts, and there were some merfolk in the lake. She was an amalgamation of everything I would have wanted for my own childhood and everything I wanted my 3 - 5 year old daughter to be growing toward.

All Hail Princess Willamina. Our lives were better because you were in them.

ahedderick

Ok, here is the ONLY FRAGMENT of this saga that ever got written down. IT'S NOT A COMPLETE STORY! But you are allowed to make up more yourself.

The princess has a nice life with a loving mother and father, but she gets a bit tired of all the royal rules and all the sameness and decided to set off on an adventure. She carefully packs some bread, cheese, and three lovely apples in a knapsack along with a pot of walnut dye, a sensible plain dress, and some plain sturdy boots. She sneaks off alone, dyes her blond hair with walnut dye, and changes into her other clothes. The princess dress gets carefully packed away, the sturdy boots get pulled on, and off goes Willamina over the wall via the branches of a low-hanging tree. She has dyed her hands and a bit of the back of her neck brown, as well, but she sets out very optimistically for adventure.

It’s a lovely morning and Willamina starts off along a little-used road away from the castle. Before long she comes across a runaway horse. It has a saddle pad but no saddle, and the reins are trailing. She approaches it cautiously but it seems friendly enough; she leads it until she finds a downed tree the right size for her to use to mount. She hikes up her skirt, which is kind of embarrassing, and they ride along companionably enough. When they come to a village and ride into the square, someone asks her quite loudly why she is riding a stolen horse. A group of not-entirely-friendly grownups crowd around, and the situation goes downhill until Willamina stands up very tall and regal and tells the man in charge that she found the horse loose on the road, thank you very much, and she has every intention of returning him to his owner. The real owner of the horse comes hustling over, very relieved to see his horse again. Willamina can tell he’s the owner by the way the horse pricks up his ears and greets his master happily. She accepts his thanks with a gracious nod and the crowd melts away. It is midday by now, and Willamina goes to the shady side of the smithy and has a bite of bread and cheese, with some cool water from the well, to settle herself down.

Some of the ladies of the village, led by one rather bossy woman named Mella, come over to the shady bench by the smithy where Willamina is resting and bluntly ask where she is headed and why a young girl is out by herself. She has been thinking about her brown-stained hands and quickly comes up with a good story to explain both things. She tells the ladies that she has been apprenticed to a dye-maker who lives nearby, and she is on her way to begin her 5 years of apprenticeship. “Oh, you must mean Old Maude,” exclaimed one of the friendlier women, “she could use some help at her age!” They give her directions to Maude’s cottage in the woods, two miles away, and Willamina gets underway immediately. She hikes most of the two miles and then takes a break at a particularly lovely spot in the woods. It is shady and there is a beautiful spring bubbling up. A thrush sings from a nearby bush, as if he is singing just for her. She takes a while to appreciate the peace and quiet, because there is always something happening at the castle. The thrush sounds prettier to her at that moment than the best royal musicians. Then she continues on her way to Old Maude’s house.

When she approaches Old Maude’s tiny thatched cottage she decided she better tell her who she truly is, because it wouldn’t be fair to fib about being an apprentice. Then she gets quite nervous about the fact that she is dressed as simply as a farm girl, stained brown from walnut husk dye, and smelling a bit like horse. Maude comes to the door, surprised to see a visitor. Willamina stands straight and tall and tells Maude who she is and how she came to be there. Maude’s hands are stained, too, so deeply that they might never come clean, but she is a wise and kind old woman, and she knows the truth when she hears it. “Come in, your highness,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. Willamina enters the cottage and looks around in delight. The alls are lined with drawers, small and large, and the drawers are full of all the things Maude uses to make dyes. Walnut husks and onion skin, flower petals and dried berries. Each one adds a scent to the air, and Willamina takes a deep, happy breath. There is a pot cooking on the fire in the big, stone hearth, but it contains a stew for Maude’s dinner, not dyes. The dye pots and ladles are hanging on a beam on one side of the chimney and the cooking things, fewer in number, hang on the other side. “No good mixing up the pots,” Maude explains, “it’d do your stomach no good at all to get a dose of goldenrod dye!” There are also bunches of herbs hanging from the beams to dry, and a string of onions and garlic. They sit together on a bench, and Maude picks up her knitting and proposes that they trade stories. She will tell Willamina one story about dye-making or peasant life for every one that Willamina tells her about the king, the queen, or the goings-on at the castle. Willamina thinks about all the commotion of the castle; the feasts and parades, the foreign ambassadors with their unusual clothes and accents, even the big cathedral where they worship on Sundays. She looks around Maude’s small, quiet home, where the half-grown kitten playing on the hearth is the only entertainment. She knows she can trade Maude some good stories! And so they pass the afternoon.

All afternoon they sat and told stories. Willamina told Maude about the ambassador from Kressland, and the eye-popping plumes he wore on his hat. They were so long, and swept behind him so far, that his hat got pulled entirely off his head when the feathers got caught in a closing door. He had been furious, even though the hat was not much harmed, and her father the King had had to soothe his ruffled feelings and feathers while Willamina held both her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggles. She had admired those feathers mightily herself, and was thrilled when the king and queen gave her one as a Christmas present. She tried to tell Maude about the gorgeous colors, and how the long feather had a shiny, blue ‘eye’ at the tip, but she wasn’t sure Maude believed it. Maude told her about digging roots in the spring to make a special tea, with the birds in the woods singing their spring songs so loud you wanted to hold your hands over your ears, and boiling onion skins just-so to make a powerful yellow dye. That dye could make the soft goats’ wool that was spun into yarn for the finest ladies as yellow as sunshine. Willamina thought about the princess dress in her pack, which was as soft and yellow as sunshine, and felt humble to realize how much work had gone into making it. She asked Maude to show her knitting, because seeing the yarn in Maude’s fingers turning inch by inch into a stocking was making her ever so curious. Maude gave her a skein of deep brown yarn, “the same color as your hands and your, ahem, hair,” and a funny wooden tool with a hole in the center and small nail-heads sticking out of the top.

teaboot

So like are you still a wannabe cop? Kinda crazy that you blew up again

[X]

sandersstudies

Me, Catholic, walking into a Protestant church with no depictions of Mary: where's my mom

ohdarnitripped-deactivated20220

Me, Protestant, walking into a Catholic church with many depictions of Mary: Ey look, it's Mary... ey look, it's Mary again... ey look, it's Mary again... ey look

sandersstudies

shamebats

The (European) sun is a deadly laser, stay safe everyone

the-haiku-bot

The (European)

sun is a deadly laser,

stay safe everyone

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

nat-20s

extremely funny to me that Kermit the Frog is the only main overlap character between Sesame Street and The Muppets. imagine your day job is hanging out in a community of lovely people that genuinely just want to help kids learn and care about everyone so so much and then your night job is the reason that you have to stay up to date on your rabies AND tetanus vaccine

nat-20s

at noon the giant you're hanging out with is Big Bird! a wonderful fellow who likes reading stories and singing and telling fun facts! at midnight there's a giant named Sweetums who makes you feel like you're being hunted for sport

nat-20s

Ernie, trying to maybe come out to Kermit: well you know Kermit, me and Bert-

Bert: Bert and I

Ernie: Bert and I, we've been best friends forever, but we're also something else too!

Kermit, who every goddamn night has to tell Beaker and Bunsen to keep it professional, deal with Statler and Waldorf's bullshit, AND update his organizational chart on Dr. Teeth and the Electric Polycule: that's really great to hear fellas, happy for you two! :)

stellacartography

Grover, alarmed at having spilled some finger paint on Kermit's flipper: I am so sorry, Kermit. Please forgive me.

Kermit, who deals with a multitude of bodily fluids on his person and all over the theatre every evening, who is unintentionally trampled by large monsters as they exit the stage, and quite intentionally has his little froggy bones launched into a wall most nights by Miss Piggy: It's ok, Grover. I'm a frog. I love baths.

comicgeekscomicgeek

On Sesame Street: Oh, no, Telly is watching too much television!

The Muppet Show Theater, that night: Gonzo attempts to explain his latest fetish at length.

vonlipwig

developing the hots for ryan gosling because of project hail mary is so fucking embarrassing I swear to god. that is a conventionally attractive man. a noted hollywood heartthrob. he's even blond, are you kidding me? did he win people magazine's sexiest man alive? I don't know. I'm not going to check but it wouldn't surprise me at this point. it's such a mainstream taste. such a clichéd celebrity crush. like oh I fancy ryan gosling and my favourite drink is coca-cola and my favourite snack is ready salted crisps. jesus christ. 'b-b-but i only like him when he's in a science pun tshirt and playing a dorky-awkward loner type!' doesn't matter. he's still ryan 'ken from barbie' gosling. it's so trite. I feel like the weird nerd girl in a teen coming-of-age romcom falling for the super popular jock. don't I know that I have a reputation to uphold here? cringe.

fandomsandfairytales

This post is the spiritual successor to that post about David Corenswet:

eclecticopposition

what is THE worst thing you've ever drank. all liquids acceptable. please tell me what it was, bonus points for why

carby

Hey whoa hi. Hello. I am looking directly into your ear canal. What do you mean you drank a tube of virus concentrate.

whyamiherewhosummonedme

So, I was working in a lab, right? My job in the lab was preparing a pure, concentrated enough sample of virus. This is tricky since, y'know, viruses require hosts to replicate, but you then need to get the host cells (and the pieces of the host cells that died!) out of the sample while still keeping the viruses. Once I'd finished and the samples had been sent to the database for analysis as well as a second one sent to be frozen for future reference, there was still some left over that needed to be disposed of.

I, knowing that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, waited carefully for the lab director to be deep in conversation with someone else on the other side of the laboratory. And then I took my chance.

Test tubes, as it turns out, are really bad as shot glasses. Their shape turns any liquid inside into a stream, so you really can't knock it back quickly - it takes a couple seconds. Additionally, the best way I can describe the taste of virus concentrate was "sterile rot". A very unique kind of bad! Made worse by the test tube's inefficiency as a shot glass.

(by the way we were studying bacteriophages, not animal viruses. these viruses are too specialized on attacking prokaryotes to even recognize our cells as targets at all, according to studies.)

(but also like. if the viruses managed to successfully switch hosts and killed me with a violent infection, itd still be worth it.)

(for science.)

violetthunderstorm

You have a fitting blog title

nico-the-overlord

this post is getting 50k easy

marlinspirkhall

questcequecestqueca

She played bass on 10,000 songs, including the most-played track of the twentieth century. She was paid $55 per session. Her name never appeared on the albums.

Gold Star Studios, Los Angeles, 1964. A woman in a cardigan walks past the receptionist, a Fender Precision bass in her hand like a briefcase. She doesn’t sign autographs. She signs a timesheet.

Her name is Carol Kaye. In three hours, she will record what will become the most-played track of the twentieth century. She’ll pocket fifty-five dollars and head to another studio, on the other side of town, for the next session.

The record label will never put her name on the album.

Between 1957 and 1973, Carol Kaye took part in roughly 10,000 recording sessions. Not as the featured artist, not as a guest, but as a hired hand. She was part of an anonymous collective nicknamed The Wrecking Crew—elite studio musicians who actually played the instruments on your favorite records while the famous bands posed for promotional photos.

The work was relentless. Three albums before the day was over. Stale coffee in paper cups. No rehearsal. The charts arrived minutes before the tape rolled. If you couldn’t read a chart and nail the take in two tries, you didn’t get called for the next session.

Carol could do it on the first try.

She started playing guitar in grimy bars at fourteen because her family couldn’t pay the electric bill. Music wasn’t a romantic dream for her. It was survival. It was a job—factory work with better acoustics and lower pay.

But she was faster and sharper than almost everyone else. She corrected charts in pencil while the producer was still explaining what he wanted. In one session in 1968, she told a famous producer his arrangement sounded like a dying dog. She chose her own line. They kept her version.

That descending bass line that drives the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”? Carol Kaye. The propulsive groove of “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’”? Carol Kaye. The acoustic-guitar intro to “La Bamba”? Carol Kaye. The iconic theme from Mission: Impossible? Carol Kaye.

She invented techniques on the spot, out of sheer necessity. When the bass sound was too muddy for AM radio, she stuck felt under the strings and used a hard pick instead of her fingers. The tone cut through the static like a blade. It became the sonic signature that defined 1960s pop.

Bassists spent years—decades—trying to crack the secret of the Beach Boys’ gear to get that sound. They were studying the wrong people. They should have been studying Carol.

She received no royalties. No residuals. No gold-record ceremony. No credit on the album sleeves. When “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” hit number one, Carol was already back in a studio cutting a soap jingle.

The biggest bands mimed her bass lines on TV variety shows. New York marketing departments decided a mom in classic clothes didn’t fit the rebellious-youth image they were selling. So they simply left her name off the album credits.

For thirty years, almost no one cared. The truth only began to surface in the late 1990s, when music researchers found the same union contract numbers on thousands of hit records. The very documents meant to preserve studio musicians’ anonymity betrayed them.

Think about it. Every time you heard “Good Vibrations,” “River Deep – Mountain High,” the Righteous Brothers, Nancy Sinatra, or Sonny and Cher, you were hearing Carol Kaye. She composed the soundtrack of an entire generation’s youth.

And yet the records still say nothing. She’s now over eighty. She wrote instructional books. She trained countless bassists. She is finally starting to be recognized by music historians who uncovered the truth about The Wrecking Crew.

But she never got what she deserved: her name on those albums. Credit for the music that defined an era. Recognition that those bass lines everyone associates with the “Beach Boys” were, in fact, Carol Kaye’s.

Fifty-five dollars a session. Ten thousand sessions. The most-played track of the twentieth century.

And the world didn’t know her name.

clevermanka

She was admitted to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2025 but refused, fuck yeah, Carol. Her official website is incredible.

spontaneousmusicalnumber

In The Road to El Dorado there is only really one inexplicable thing within the plot. Miguel and Tulio plausibly bluff their way through or slip out of most situations. However, I’d never figured out why the volcano actually stops erupting when Tulio commands it.

The conclusion I finally came up with is that the actual gods were watching their big entrance go down, and thought “oh, this’ll be hilarious”

sweetvantass

theres a lot of evidence throughout the movie to say that the armadillo (whose name is bibo) is a god.

they first find him in the jungle, where an armadillo has no business being

they find the entrance to the city, while being followed by him

he is present when the volcano starts to erupt (previous concept art also showed him in the background actually stopping the eruption)

miguel and tulio sucked ass at the ball game, so they used Bibo as a ball. He ricocheted himself all over the place and defied physics to get into the hoop every time

they come up with the flood plan to stop cortez when bibo pushed a glass over in front of them

famouslysleepy

YOUR TELLING ME THEY USED GOD AS A BASKETBALL?

basuralindo

So I just simultaneously did, and possibly didn't lose my job today :)

Very much did in the sense that I literally do not know where my job is at the moment. But, for the time being I haven't been let go because nobody else including the store owner knows where it is either.

So, I don't wanna risk doxxing myself by posting pictures but goddamn am I tempted because this is not a believable event. This is a cartoon problem. For looneytoons.

But yeah, so, I work(ed?) at a kiosk selling boba tea, right? Freestanding kiosk in the mall with full water and electrical hookups and multiple fridges and sinks and a mini kitchen and the works. Fully functional tea shop. Very important to note that it was there last night, The work chat was discussing another issue last night at closing time. I'll get back to this.

It's been showing signs of being on the way out with how business is being handled lately and I've been considering other options, which is probably why I'm not as torn up about this as I should be, but maybe it just hasn't set in yet, but that's not the point. The point is there's been a lot of shit breaking and not being replaced and nobody mentioning anything about it until I walk into work in the morning and have to figure out why shit like the fucking cash register isn't there today. So I'm kinda used to having to ask questions about big things that nobody bothered to update me on. I was out for two weeks recovering from a surgery, so I came to work this morning assuming there'd be some kind of bullshit, yeah?

So, the question I had to ask the chat this morning was:

Not a text I ever thought I'd have to send in sincerity, but there it is. Because what I found instead was a fenced off patch of discolored tiles and a few holes in the floor where my entire place of employment used to be.

And the answer? Nobody knows! It was there last night when the mall closed, and every single trace of the structure and all its contents including drink making supplies and our safe and cashbox was gone when it opened again. And when I say nobody knows, I mean everyone from last night's closers to the actual (former?) owner of the store jad no fucking clue about this until getting that text from me this morning. For once I am actually the first to know. 🎉.

So. I guess I didn't so much lose my job as had it stolen. Not by AI, but good old fashioned hands-on human beings picking it up and carrying it away somehow. All mall security would tell me was that they were instructed not to tell me anything and have us contact our management. Who also don't know anything. And later on I came across some construction workers around the gravesite of the kiosk discussing filling in the holes, asked them about it, and was told that they "weren't at liberty to say".

So, not only is my job gone in the most literal physical sense of the word, but it was taken in some kind of super secret kiosk extraction in the dead of night without any warning or witnesses and nobody is allowed to speak of it. The store owner said she was gonna figure it out 10 hours ago and still no word back.

I don't know what else to say aside from I've been laughing all day and I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining Schrodinger's Unemployment to the benefits office.

basuralindo

Update that is not an update because I'm basically certain this isn't what actually happened:

My mother in law thinks the FBI took it.

Not any of the other stores around the state. Just the one little kiosk.

Why? Because she loves a conspiracy and is just a little bit extra.

Also because she was around for the massive crackdown on Yakuza-owned businesses in Waikiki (in her homestate) that did actually involve the FBI seizing stores (no confirmation of making kiosks cleanly disappear in the middle of the night though).

Still no word from my job on what's actually going on, but the most likely theory so far is that maybe the kiosk was on lease and got repossessed? The mystery continues

(also shout out to the person who proposed Carmen Sandiego)

basuralindo

ACTUAL (partial) UPDATE:

According to the owner, based on what she's been able to find out, the kiosk was not removed legally and they're starting a potentially long process of legal action. I hope she gets to sue the shit out of whoever did it but for now at least I know for sure I'm unemployed.

Really hoping for more details in terms of who/why/how, so I'll keep updating if I learn anything.

For now the summary is: An unnamed entity that is most likely mall management (on account of mall security cooperating with them) stole an entire kiosk and all the contents including money and machinery with barely a trace in the middle of the night grinch-style, with zero warning or explanation, and ensured the silence of both security and the construction crew, in an action that was definitely preplanned and illegal, and as far as I know nobody knows its whereabouts.

So now I'm officially out of a job. Because my workplace was literally stolen in the night.

basuralindo

Actually fuck it let's share some photos cause I wouldn't be inclined to believe this myself. It's not like anyone can stalk me at my job now and I'm not gonna have to see any coworkers that might find my tumblr.

Enjoy the unintentionally funniest text I've ever sent in my life