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Game Changer & Make Some Noise

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Today's Document

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@craftylily
I am reading an interview with a historian that set out to weave the type of textiles that was sold to plantations for use by enslaved people using period appropriate looms.
But because I knew nothing about weaving, everything had to be explained to me, down to the most basic tacit knowledge: things that an eight-year-old girl in 1828 would have known, because when she was not winding yarn around a quill to help her mother, she was working on the familyâs loom herself...
The great challenge of our work as scholarsâat least, those who are interested in historical reconstruction or the histories of any craft traditionâis that almost none of what we want to know is written downâbecause it didnât have to be and it didnât need to be articulated. So to be in a situation where expert weavers had to talk to me like I was a child was one of the best things that happened to me in the course of my research for this book.
âBut I had found a set of instructions in the archives of one of New England's leading manufacturers of low-end woollen cloth for enslaved w
For my textile, weaving, historic textile, history enthusiasts
The interviewer is also a weaver!
SW: ... Thatâs really awesome. Youâve taught this class now for two semesters. What have you learned from your students?
SR: Their expertise as makers has clued me into historical experiences most scholars have glossed right over. A 1930s Federal Writers Project interview with a formerly enslaved octogenarian might reference a grandmotherâs sewing prowess, but then a student will say, No, you canât just skim over by that! Do you know how many hand stitches it takes to do the seam of a dress? If youâve never handsewn a skirt (and I havenât), you might need to be reminded of the labor involved. One student reproduced a 19th-century skirt as her final project, and it was all about the stitches. Their reading of primary sources picked up on things that I missed.
And this took me in new directions in my own research. You might remember a discussion of sewing labor in the final chapter of Plantation Goods and the implication of a clothâs width for a womanâs work routine. If you know how to cut the pieces for a shirt from a 32-inch-wide piece of fabric, it is going to mess everything up when youâre given a bolt of 28-inch-wide cloth. I had seen letters from slaveholders in the 1830s and 1840s complaining about the narrowness of the cloth and how enslaved women didnât âunderstandâ these fabrics. This wasnât transparent to me as a historian. Only with students talking about the expertise involved in cutting cloth into the components of a garment did I realize what a difference it made when, say, a New England weaver was haphazard and turned out fabric four inches narrower than the usual variety. That error would reverberate in the lives of people 1,000 miles away who might face extreme forms of violence because they couldnât meet their daily production quotas. Or they might experience other kinds of privationâa lack of rags for postpartum women, for exampleâbecause a wider fabric left scraps while a narrower one did not.
The first time she learned of the ghost was from the realtor. They had been very upfront about it, just like they had made it very clear that it being haunted was the only reason this stately Victorian home was anywhere near her budget. So she had taken it, of course she had. It was a sweet house, a family home. No manor or mansion by any definition of the word, but built before the time that people were concerned with saving space. It was stately, but in disrepair, and most definitely, absolutely, undoubtedly haunted.
It shouldn't really have surprised anyone that he did not move on when he died. He had been the butler of the house when the family had lived there, had become its custodian during their absence, and what was the purpose of a custodian if not to wait with the house for the return of its owners? Except they never returned.
The first time she felt the ghost was when she went to clean the place up. Which is why she came back with a sensible supply of ibuprofen the next time. It was very hard to get anything done with impending migraines stabbing at her temples. The bone chilling cold that seemed to seep from the walls was harder to keep at bay, but she did not hold it against him. If she had been trapped in this place she would be kicking up more fuss than the occasional cold spot. Besides, it was a good incentive to keep busy. It's impossible to be cold while scrubbing a floor. By the time she had gotten around to restoring the fireplaces to their original marble with paint stripper and a scraper, she didnât even feel chilly anymore.
They might have abandoned the house, but he hadn't. He had kept it tidy, well aired out, and in good repair, decade after decade. Over half a century. What was a century more? It was a good house, a fine house. It did not need âdevelopingâ, it did not need these people with grey paint and eggshell paper. They should have left the finials and weathervane in place.
The first time she heard the ghost was while looking for the kitchen door. There were bits and pieces missing of the house, her house. Someone, at some point, must have taken that door off its hinges, in a vain attempt to approach open-plan living. It was nowhere to be found, but she would find it, if only that terrible rattling and wailing would stop. It did stop, once she found the ladder that had dropped down from the attic. The attic the realtor had told her was completely inaccessible. The attic filled with ornaments and antique doorknobs, a battered weathervane, and a panelled kitchen door.
Restore... That was a quaint word. Not at all like âremodelâ or âmoderniseâ. There were a lot of words he had never heard before, he had not bothered to listen for a long time. Such a cheerful, appreciative voice.
The first time she saw the ghost was while poring over a sample book, fretting over the few scraps off wallpaper she had found behind a patched-up baseboard. The colours were too faded to make out and she did not want to get it wrong. Victorian reproductions were expensive, and the leaves and the feathers looked so much alike. She had nothing but a corner of paper to go on and she stared and stared and stared, until a hand reached out of nowhere, and turned the page to the maroon one. She barely breathed, she put the scrap of paper on the page, a perfect corner of the pattern, and smiled.
It was a fine house, a beloved house. And people came there again, not to buy and destroy it, to visit. There were people who said they wanted to buy it, people with broad smiles and greedy eyes. But that would not happen now. They were always sent away.
But the first time she met the ghost was on a pale autumn morning, stumbling from the car to the front door with her arms full bolts of damask for the curtains. She had just begun to wonder how she'd reach her keys when the fine oak door swung open, all stately hospitality, and on its doorstep, standing respectfully aside, was the same tall, well groomed man, clad all in black. He bowed and stepped aside, speaking in a hollow voice warmed by respect and satisfaction:
âWelcome home, ma'am.â
I love how whenever ATLA recognizes Sokka is smart enough to solve a problem but itâd be too fast they just stick him in some kind of situation. Like he COULDâVE stopped jet from drowning a town so they tied him up and dumped him in a forest. He COULDâVE figured out what that spirits deal was so they lost him in the spirit world for 24 hours.
One time they just stuck him in a hole in the ground for a whole episode.
This is how writers should deal with characters who are too smart for the arc instead of making them suddenly dumber for no apparent reason.
If you frequently find yourself in random situations while your friends happen to be experiencing problems maybe you, too, are too smart for the narrative.
My favorite is that Sokka absolutely would've just navigated them out of the desert, so they had to put him on acid the entire time.
How every business sounds these days.
Shut it off.
Her name was Judy-Lynn del Rey. And she became the most powerful editor in science fiction history.
Born in 1943 with achondroplastic dwarfism, Judy-Lynn grew up devouring science fiction in New York City's public libraries. At a time when the genre was dismissed as pulp fiction for teenage boys, she saw something else entirely: the future of storytelling.
She started at the bottomâan office assistant at Galaxy, the most prestigious science fiction magazine of the 1960s. Within four years, she was managing editor.
Then Ballantine Books came calling.
When she arrived at Ballantine in 1973, science fiction and fantasy were afterthoughts in publishing. Fantasy in particular was considered unsellableâunless you were Tolkien. Judy-Lynn thought that was nonsense.
Her first major move was audacious: she cut ties with one of Ballantine's bestselling authors, John Norman, whose "Gor" novels were popular but notoriously misogynistic. It was a risk. She didn't care.
Then came the gamble that changed everything.
In 1976, someone brought her an opportunity: the novelization rights to an upcoming space movie by a young director named George Lucas. Hollywood thought the film would bomb. Studio executives were skeptical. Most publishers passed.
Judy-Lynn said yes.
The Star Wars novelization sold 4.5 million copies before the movie even premiered.
She would later call herself the "Mama of Star Wars."
In 1977, she launched Del Rey Booksâher own imprint, with her husband Lester editing fantasy while she oversaw everything else. Their first original novel was Terry Brooks's The Sword of Shannara. It became a phenomenon.
She didn't stop there.
Remember The Princess Bride? The original 1973 novel had flopped. It was headed for obscurity. Judy-Lynn rescued it, reissuing it in 1977 with a striking gate-fold cover and an aggressive marketing campaign. Without her intervention, there might never have been a movie.
She published the Star Trek Log series. She championed Stephen R. Donaldson's Thomas Covenant trilogyâconvincing Ballantine to release all three books on the same day from a completely unknown author. Unprecedented.
She published Anne McCaffrey's The White Dragonâthe first science fiction novel ever to hit #1 on the New York Times bestseller list.
And she did all of this while competitors called her imprint "Death-Rey Books"âbecause she was utterly dominant.
Between 1977 and 1990, Del Rey Books had 65 titles reach bestseller lists. That was more than every other science fiction and fantasy publisher combined.
Arthur C. Clarke called her "the most brilliant editor I ever encountered."
Philip K. Dick went further: "The greatest editor since Maxwell Perkins"âthe legendary editor of Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
But here's what burns: the science fiction community never nominated her for a Hugo Award while she was alive. Not once. The men who ran the industry praised her in private and overlooked her in public.
In October 1985, Judy-Lynn suffered a brain hemorrhage. She died four months later, at 42.
Only then did the Hugo committee vote to give her the Best Professional Editor award.
Her husband Lester refused to accept it.
He said Judy-Lynn would have objectedâthat it was given only because she had just died. That it came too late.
He was right.
Judy-Lynn del Rey transformed science fiction from a niche hobby into a cultural force. She made fantasy into a mainstream publishing category. She bet on Star Wars when no one else would. She saved The Princess Bride from oblivion. She published the first #1 New York Times science fiction bestseller.
She did all of this standing 4'1" tall in an industry run by men who underestimated her at every turn.
The next time you pick up a fantasy novel, or watch a Star Wars movie, or quote The Princess Brideâ
Now you know who made it possible.
context (via @mellorocket)
doubly funny that I saw a compilation of all the corporate accounts like "aw thanks elmo, we're doing well" meanwhile all the flesh and blood real human people are extremely not okay
Okay but Elmo had actually the best and sweetest response to all this trauma dumping:
And then all the other Sesame Street character accounts joined in:
And now Iâm thinking maybe weâre gonna be okay⊠đ
(Comment compilation from this Twitter)
I kinda feel for the poor person running Elmo's Twitter.
"So, boss... I may have messed up."
"What did you do, Ray?"
"Well, I made a post for Elmo saying 'Hi, how's everybody doing?'"
"I mean, that's kind of what we pay you for."
"Yeah, but.... <sigh> it turns out pretty much everyone is hanging on by a thread, badly enough that they needed to tell Elmo."
"Oh."
"God help me, boss, I think Elmo needs to be there for them."
"Get the others."
this is the energy that jim henson would be proud of.
and important addition
Source: instagram
Always reblog this. Elmo and his friends will be there in your times of trial and doubt, to help you through your torment
getting my labs done today i was thinking about years ago when i went to the doctor and i was like 'i've been to another doctor already but he wouldn't listen to me. something's wrong. i've never been this tired in all my life. i know i'm in college and i know i have depression but this is different. please you have to try something.'
so the doctor (back then) ordered labs and it turned out my vitamin d level was like 5 or 7 and i've never seen a doctor so elated about lab results in my entire life. she said, 'it's never. vitamin d. but it is this time. we can fix this. you're going to feel better.'
she was literally like
Do we count this as a passive rickroll?
link to post
A very important addition from Rian Johnson himself
Itâs crazy how often I see kids be self-motivated to be helpful. I say âhey would somebody like to help me move these boxes?â and especially kids ages about 8-12 jump up quickly.
One of the teenagers came up to me during rehearsal and asked for the keys to the costume shop so he could clean it â unprompted. When I came to find him heâd cleared a messy corner that had intimidated me for months.
Even really little kids ages 1-3 will pick up something you dropped, carry and transfer items with you, and offer relevant items to you.
I would like to state this: The only reason that this 'goes away' in adults is severe overwork. This is the natural impulse of humans, it's just that kids haven't been a: Trained out of it or B: Ground down so they have no energy left.
âITâS A SWORD, ITâS NOT MEANT TO BE SAFE.â My favourite scene from The Hogfather. ___ See how this comic was made here.
an obviously stolen copy of this crossed my dash last week, and i wanted to reblog the real thing. tracking down an image that originates in social media is a bit of hassle, but i am the citation fairy (sort of), and this is her quest. and she had to do whatever it took on this one. that only turned out to be less than 10 minutes, but she was prepared to put in a few hours. the hogfather lit the spark of her creation, and this is his night.
Thank you, citation fairy!
Government: We want kids to have a safe time on the internet!
Kids: Oh so youâre going to make it illegal for gambling to be advertised to kids and make stricter guidelines on what data the companies can take? You are going to focus on how the algorithms make it addictive for social media and therefore make it difficult to stop using it?
Government: No, youâre gonna get banned, why would we regulate that? Come on guys think of the children :( forget about all the kids we are fucking over and removing their online safe spaces!!! think of the kids :((((
As I've said elsewhere (In response to social media moral panics where I live):
If you're going to take away kids' smartphones, then give them back the streets.
The fact that neither elected government representatives, nor "Industry Leaders," are even discussing that option leads me to suspect that they're less interested in child safety than in expanding their authoritarian reach.
Quoted tags:
#the fact that children are using social media so much that it's harming them is a sign of a larger issue (đ This!!!)
#namely how lonely and disconnected everyone is
#it's even harder if you can't transport yourself (đSpeaking as a motorized wheelchair user who doesn't drive, and lives in a city with hardly any pedestrian infrastructure: "Yeah, I know.")
Evan Edinger, an American ex-pat who's been living in Britain for the last 13 years, recently made a ~30 minute video about trying to use public transport in and around the New Jersey suburb where he grew up. He (as an able-bodied, relatively fit, young man) could make it work, even if a trip that would have taken an hour, tops, if he'd gone in his own car, took an entire day -- most of that waiting around for the next bus to arrive.
I watched his impromptu documentary, and saw something that would have been impossible for me... Because the buses tended to drop him off on the side of the road where there were no sidewalks, and no curb cuts. He was able to step off the curb, jaywalk, and jog across the street through oncoming traffic, and step up onto the curb on the other side of the street. I, as a wheelchair user, would not be able to do any of that -- nor would a kid.
He did make the point that simply making the effort to use the bus system brightened his mood because it relieved the social isolation of riding alone in a private bubble of a car: getting a chance to say "Hello," and "thank you" to the bus driver, say "hi" to fellow passengers, and simply be sitting next to them in the same space.
...Which just goes to show how deep the problem of social isolation is for everyone in our societies.
I donât care if you make fun of Catholicism as long as itâs accurate! The best humour has its roots in the truth.
âYou can be mean to me but there are RULES about itâ is the most Catholic thing Iâve ever seen.
I walked into that one