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Suddenly struck with a need to explain to you how boat pronouns work (I work in the marine industry).
When you're talking about the design of the boat, you say "it".
When the boat is still being built, your say "it".
When the boat is nearing completion, you can say "it" or "she".
When the boat is floating in the water you probably say "she", unless there is still a lot of work to be done (e.g. no engine yet) then you say "it".
When the boat is officially launched and operating, you say "she". If you continue to say "it" at this point you are not incorrect but suspiciously untraditional. You are not playing the game.
If you are referring to a boat you don't really know anything about you may say "it" ("there's a big boat, it's coming this way"). But if you know its name, it's probably "she" ("there's the Waverley, she's on her way to Greenock").
If you are talking about boats in general, you say "it" ("when a boat is hit by a wave it heels over")
If you speak about a boat in complimentary terms, it's "she" ("she's a grand boat"). If you are being disparaging it may be it, but not necessarily ("it's as ugly as sin", "she's a grotty old tub").
If she has a boy's name, she's still she. "Boy James", "King Edward", "Sir David Attenborough"? The pronoun is she.
If it's a dumb barge (no engine), you say it. But if it's a rowing boat (no engine), you say she.
I hope this has cleared things up so that you may not be in danger of misgendering floating objects.
Hit "view post" and lost it
Our senator has decided to put sanctions on Canada over the wildfire smoke and im not certain what thats supposed to ... do.
You think... perhaps this is satire! Nope!
U.S. Senator Bernie Moreno is threatening legislative action against Canada over the wildfire smoke choking the Midwest.
Hey like...
...what if ohio was normal?
I keep seeing this shit all over today, from Trump and others, and I just keep thinking--burned into the back of my eyelids, I dream about it, is this twenty-second video clip I saw when LA was on fire last year. I was born in Anaheim, so the fires hit me hard. I saw video after video of my home on fire, I was checking base with a dozen Californian friends every day because nobody was sure where they were going to end up, and in the midst of this wailing horror, where I would wake and sleep and both would feel much the same, came this video.
It was a hillside, viewed across a gully. The recorder was on one ridge, looking out over the hills. It was late at night, and that mattered not at all, because the picture was ablaze with light. There was so much fire.
Fire's noisy, you know, if you haven't seen the recordings coming out in their hundreds from that nightmare. Fire roars, it screams as it devours all the oxygen it can get to and makes it into more of itself, so at first I couldn't hear the airplane. When it appeared, engine roaring, very low over the ridge, there was only a moment to understand what it even was before it dropped its payload of water on the burning hillside, and all at once the picture went out. The fire went out. The screaming brightness was replaced with gentler dark. In an instant.
The airplane was one of the Canadian Super Scoopers, piloted by a Canadian fire pilot of incredible skill--you know what kind of mastery it takes, to fly a plane that size, that low to the ground, at night, in a place where it's being buffeted by horrific and uneven fire-spawned updrafts and turbulence, carrying a payload of over fourteen thousand pounds of water, and then to dump that weight and still be able to fly straight instead of being suddenly slammed around by the weight change? And this was a person who with others like him had come to California to fight a fire that had nothing to do with them, for no reason other than human fucking decency.
When I saw the video the first time I burst into sobs. I have cried more than once thinking of it since, feeling again that incredible relief as the light went out. My home was on fire. I couldn't be there to do anything about it; it doesn't belong to me anymore. And here came brave strangers to save it.
I just can't stop thinking about it today.
It's important to note that Chekhov's Gun was not originally about foreshadowing, but a piece of advice to playwrights about how every element in a play should have narrative relevance. The corollary to Chekhov's Gun is that if a gun mounted on the wall in act 1 is never used at all in the entirety of the play, then it should be omitted from the play entirely.
also very true
"Passingly, I think that this might always have been inevitable, that perhaps she had always known it but had wanted to hold on for me, for as long as she could."
-Our Wives Under the Sea
sits on my own blog like it’s the edge of a lake wistfully
skips a stone over a few posts
So like an hour ago I just lear🪨︵︵ned that— what the fuck was that. Someone just skipped a rock across my post did you see that
Once I was doing fieldwork with someone from Europe and said “careful, there’s a rattlesnake over there.” And she rushed over like I’d said there was a quetzal.
I said “Ma’am please, we’re three hours from a hospital!” and she said
1.) I don’t understand how that can be
2.) But I’ve never done fieldwork from a car before (!!!) so I’ll take your word for it.
3.) Did you just call me ma’am? Like a cowboy?
We drove through the Los Angeles megacity together — and at one point were stuck in traffic.
“Heeeey”, she said, like someone gently broaching a topic I should have noticed, “Why does the lane next to us have diamond shaped symbols on it?”
That is! A subtle and friendly way of asking why we’re sitting in traffic when there’s a carpool lane Right There! I laughed and pulled into the lane and started driving.
Unfortunately. That isn’t what she was implying, she was genuinely asking. So we were stuck in traffic, she asked about what was clearly a breakdown or emergency access lane, and I laughed and started driving in it. She was Alarmed.
“Hello! Excuse me! We can’t drive in this lane! No one else is driving in this lane!!”
“Oh! I should have said — this lane is for people with more than one person in their car.”
“That is RIDICULOUS. You are lying. You are lying about what this lane is for and we’ll get arrested! (ma’am it’s fine but if it weren’t it would be more of a “ticket” situation) we’ll get a “ticket”! (Ma’am again it’s fine but were it not I alone would get the ticket) because that IS NOT the purpose of this lane. That is a RIDICULOUS lie.”
“I’m sorry, I should have said — I thought you were being subtle about my oversight. Please observe the carpool sign.”
“I don’t know what a carpool is and I don’t believe you.”
“How about you look at all the cars stuck in traffic and see how many have more than one driver, and if there are at least five I’ll get back into the traffic jam.”
“FINE!”
<a pause>
(With dawning horror) “none of these cars have more than one person in them.”
“I know.”
“None of these cars have more than one person!!”
“If you weren’t here I’d be right there with them.”
“OK but there was no train to where we needed to go.”
“There’s no train to where they needed to go either.”
“HOW.”
Later that day:
“I know McDonalds and Burger King sell Burgers, but what does Wendy’s sell?”
“Burgers”
“And Sonic?”
“Burgers.”
“Jack in the Box?”
“Burgers.”
“In’n’Out?”
“Look, It’s burgers all the way down.”
She hopped off a plane, went camping on Catalina with her husband and his lab, and then I showed her a rattlesnake, dragged her through heavy brush, took her (food) shopping in Beverly Hills, illustrated American car dependency and love of burger, and threatened to shoot someone trying to break into our hotel room. (I did not have a gun) She speed-ran the US American experience in eight days.
I really haven’t had to pretend to have a gun that many times!
We were staying in a cheap hotel, she was coming out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Someone shoulder-slammed the hotel door and popped the lock open and started fumbling with the security chain. I snarled “GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR, I HAVE A GUN.” and the person left.
She was WAY way WAY more concerned about me traveling with a gun (ma’am I do not have a gun) why would I SAY I had a gun if I couldn’t back it up? (Ma’am to get him to stop trying to break in) But why would he THINK I had a gun? How would that even work? Please tell her where I keep the gun. (Ma’am I promise there is no gun.)
The debate continued through my call to the front desk and our packing and being protectively escorted to our car by a young man who I could absolutely take in a fight. (“What is she mad about?” “I told the guy I had a gun.” “Smart! Maybe you should get one if you’re gonna travel like this!” “Haha yeah” “So why is she mad?” “She thinks I have a gun.” “WHY WOULD SHE LIE ABOUT HAVING A GUN?!?!”)
It doesn’t help that my day to day commitment to the bit is HIGH so it’s reasonable to assume that I’m not always being totally honest.
That European woman has the survival instincts of a newborn
I told my little nephew that I'd wave at his airplane when it flew over my house today, and he very calmly and politely explained that it wouldn't be possible to see me due to the limitations of human vision. I said he just had to squint real hard, and he took a deep breath and went into the toddler version of "see, what you're not understanding–"
I LOVE your rebel Padme au and all the potential for angst and funny moments within it!
thank you! today i give you silly, tomorrow who knows
(links // tip jar!)
I got a job at a gas station across from a casino and a guy keeps coming in to buy whole cartons of cigarettes and talks in the third person calling himself "snake eyes pete" and every time I tell him his total hes like "tell ya what if old Pete rolls a snake eyes why dont you give it to him for free?" and he rolls the same set of loaded dice on the counter and it does not matter how many times he rolls snake eyes I will not give him the cartons for free he gets so mad
Snakeyes Pete is from Toronto he gave me a button once that said "Canadians have the best luck" and i said i thought that was the Irish and he said "I fucking hate the irish" and i said okay
she's platonic about it but in my opinion, stratt 100% treats grace as her dead wife. she keeps a tacky fox trinket in her coat pocket. there's a framed photo of him in her study . he's grinning goofily in it (bc he's a dork). new guy like: is that her husband? / no, dumbass, it's dr. ryland grace, 1/3 of the hail mary mission. / oh, fuck. were they... ? / yeah, it's unclear. black-and-white montages of grace messing around in high-level meetings play every time stratt contemplates committing more environmental crimes. she looks up at the night sky and vaguely wonders if he's enjoying his space ramen. that's her dead wife. she killed him.
glad to see we're all on the same page
Throws this at u
Metahuman with super healing powers whose entire job is that once a week they go to a nearby hospital and are put into a medically induced coma for 24 hours while all their organs and blood are harvested, and kept there until they've healed up again.
They get paid a small stipend by the Heroes Council for this, and they live off that.
No crime fighting, no obvious heroics, and they only took a Super Identity because it's technically hero's council policy. Nobody's ever seen them in a cape.
Every so often the Heroes council will release an official report to the public, and there'll be another bunch of news articles wondering how some unknown super calling themselves 'Meat Factory' somehow consistently holds the record for most lives saved across the city.
It is essential to my vision that they are not at all sanctimonious about this.
Like, they regularly act like they're getting away with something. They joke about how they get to earn money in their sleep. They show up to their hospital visits in deliberately ridiculous disguises, on the excuse that they need to 'protect their identity'.
Part of their employment contract is that they get served the same post-operation vanilla ice cream that they normally hand out on the childrens' ward. Also a sticker. Their overnight bag is covered in stickers.
Okay, Meat Factory is awesome and hilarious, but if they're being harvested for and regenerating absolutely everything, may I suggest an alternative super name: Theseus.
body paintings by Karen Turner
Dreaming of a dead person