Do you guys fuck with my new earrings
trying on a metaphor
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@dwobbit
Do you guys fuck with my new earrings
on the yamim noraim
this is conceptually yoinked from a very thoughtful acquaintance on facebook, who posted a series of thoughts in relation to the sort of Usual YK Posts you see in lefty-progressive jewish spaces, and some conversations i had with friends about this post. the original argument centered around three common (and not completely untrue) narratives or truisms we see in the lead up to yk, presented and then offered up for dissection:
teshuvah doesn't mean atonement - it means (re)turning [to the correct path]
chet doesn't mean sin - it means missing the mark (with corollary: judaism doesn't really have a concept of sin; that's a transposition of christian ideas onto a totally different religious framework)
the root verb yira (as in yamim noraim) doesn't actually mean fear - it means something more like awe.
obviously because i work on the impact biblical translation has across cultures and historical contexts, a post that encourages us to more seriously interrogate these truisms about biblical translation is going to do it for me. i found this post really useful to think with, and i encourage us to move past these 101-level ideas into a more 201-level conversation. the original poster in question had proposed counternarratives or counter-questions, which I am going to summarize below with a little of my own sauce (& also sauce from discussions i've had with friends i've had as a result) on top.
sometimes, you have done harm. does softening the idea of repentance stop you from actually confronting what you need to atone for? one of my friends mentioned the fact that the rabbi at a [suburban, prosperous, progressive] synagogue encouraged people to physically prostrate themselves, and no one liked that idea at all... are we making things that are big, scary, and overwhelming so palatable that we've entrenched ourselves against change? that we've entrenched ourselves against actually confronting our pride, and actually confronting our personal ability to cause harm to others? what does it mean to repent for the harms we have perpetrated against others, the harms we have stood aside and witnessed—at the beginning of every new year, and at the beginning of this new year?
yes, the modern, anglophone concept of "sin" owes FAR more to christianity than it does to judaism, and yes, it's good to de-christianize our understandings of religion. HOWEVER. that is still a framing that centers christianity as the default religion, and we can do better. let's take one step past that framing, together. so sin means something different in judaism, because it doesn't have the christian connotations of damnation and earning forgiveness. so: tell me. what does it mean? what does sin mean, in our context, in our tradition? what does it mean to consider our individual and communal transgressions against our community's laws, against our country's laws, against what we know to be right—at the beginning of every new year, and at the beginning of this new year?
the word yira means both fear AND awe, in various measures depending on context. it's not one or the other, it's both. yes, it feels more warmhearted to focus more on awe, on the altered state many of us enter into fasting on yom kippur. but fear has a place in that awe, too. the high holidays celebrate the beginning of a new cycle of the year AND the unavoidable death that awaits us all. ritualizing grief is important. ritualizing mortality is important. ritualizing fear is, actually, critical. the emotions we feel on yom kippur in the face of g-d and our community are a dress rehearsal that lets us experience them without flinching when they appear in our real lives. that can be holy, too. what purpose does softening our ability to confront fear, to confront death serve—at the beginning of every new year, and at the beginning of this year?
g'mar chatima tovah.
we’ve gone from the yee haw agenda to the ye olde thot programme
Ah yes, those slutty slutty Landsknecht shorts:
The bare-legged / hot-pants look was fairly common, since the whole point about being a Landsknecht (or Reislaufer, their Swiss equivalent) was to look outrageous.
Most period illustrations of Landsknechts are black-and-white woodcuts…
…though in 1905 a book called „Geschichte des Kostüms“ - History of Costume - assembled a bunch of black-and-whites and added colour.
If they look excessively gaudy, they’re not, because these next prints were coloured in-period by an artist called Erhard Schön, and it’s fair to assume he was representing what he saw.
In short - or in shorts - those reenactor costumes are spot on. :->
Something mentioned nowhere in this post that I have just learned from googling: these guys were not Ye Olde Medieval Dandies. They were 15th-16th century mercenaries. Pretty hardcore, too. They were exempt from sumptuary laws (ie the rules that said you couldn’t wear certain colours or cloth or styles) and apparently their response to that was technicolour thotpants.
I was complaining earlier about costuming in both “historical” settings and in fantasy/scifi. This is exactly what I mean when I say a knowledge of actual history would enrich the conceptual creative palette for things like “hardcore mercenary outfits.”
Art by Chloe’s arts
We just knew.
As a reminder, this is what she looks like:
Also I hope everyone knows that Miette was fostered before she was adopted, and her foster mom loved that little kitten so much and always hoped she’d gone to a good home. this tweet got so popular that she recognized Miette and reached out to her current mom, and was able to share previously unseen baby pictures
You mean, she saw Miette was kicked like the football and did nothing to help put Mother in jail for a thousand years? I am appalled.
her!!!
Baby Miette!!!
Babe wake up new Miette lore just dropped
IT’S MIETTE!!!!
I saw this and I thought Tumblr might enjoy it
You've heard of the engineer chocolate guy now get ready for anatomically accurate sugar guy
my hottest take
Counter point, those machines can make me a peach sprite.
guys did you know the tech in that nefangled machine revolutionized preemie healthcare
yeah the guy who invented them made incredibly precise infusion pumps (as opposed to gravity fed ivs) which not only meant they could give medications to teeny tiny babies safely, it's also used for insulin pumps and portable dialysis machines. the key element is that it's a peristaltic pump so the liquid stays in sterile tubing for safety
(unholy drink cloaca uses it to dispense precise amounts of flavored sugar syrup)
imagine dealing w an international crisis involving precious artifacts and someone is like ‘don’t worry I know a guy’ and it’s a dorky connecticut college professor named henry who slips into his slutsona and suddenly he’s capable of saving the world w the power of his whip & fedora
you don’t know where the guy is. you don’t know where the guy is going. but you do know he’s on the case w a 98% success rate and his tits are out
I said what I said!
#this man gets uncomfortable and overwhelmed when 20 y/o college girls hit on him #but take off his glasses #put on his fedora #and this man is ready to find Atlantis in three to eight business days (via @sansakenobi)
It’s impossible to argue with anything above.
previous tags are on point: #hat ON archeology APPLIED tits OUT
1$ flea market score. Tiny glass 1960s perfume bottles. I love them.
Can you swap their heads ?
omg you can
Their meeting was foretold in the ancient texts
Wtf is that thing
Wompoo fruit dove (Ptilinopus magnificus)
via @worldmage-girl
#ma'am is that your child next to you or is it an errant piece of dryer lint
last night i dreamt tumblr added like a billion buttons to the mobile app so instead of this
we got this
and everyone just rolled with it but sometimes the wide naruto got too wide and blocked off all the other buttons and people would just post "got naruto'd again :/" and the only way to reset him was to log out and log back in
It is with the heaviest of hearts that I bring you sad news today. Murphy, the eagle who incubated a rock (and later raised a foster eaglet after his rock "hatched"), passed away at age 33 (almost a decade longer than long-lived wild eagles!). A tornado hit his local area. It's believed he sustained blunt force head trauma, likely from spooking during the high winds, as his cage and fellow eagles were unharmed.
Murphy is survived by his foster son, Baby 23-126, who was successfully released into the wild, and a second foster eaglet he was still caring for; this eaglet is expected to be able to be released as well.
I know a lot of people on Tumblr enjoyed seeing his story, and I know we will remember him fondly.
If you were touched by his story and have the means to do so, you can donate to his home, or adopt one of their birds! https://www.worldbirdsanctuary.org/
The WBS is near and dear to my heart, and it's thanks to them that Murphy made it 33 years old and was able to successfully foster 2 eaglets.
Because it is the anniversary of his death, I wanted to share a small story about my grandfather.
Before I knew that I was intersex, I identified as a trans man. And I went the way any trans man has to go if he wants to transition in my country. My parents thankfully were supportive but I was afraid to tell my grandparents. My grandparents were German and lived/were raised during the third reich. While both of them never said or acted in a way that suggested that they had fascist views (my grandfather was until he died part of a leftwing political party), but there still was this fear in me. "They are old, they grew up surrounded by abhorrent beliefs...". And then there was my aunt. Who would constantly claim that my grandfather was homophobic.
The problem was, back then, there were no openly out gay people in our area, so I never got the chance to see my grandfather interact with someone who was queer. So I just believed her. Because she was so insistent on it. And because it confirmed my fears and my brain loves to be constantly afraid.
But I knew I wanted to come out. I had to, eventually, because I had stopped my estrogen treatment (back then, I did not know that I got that because I was intersex) and went on testosterone instead and first physical changes began to show. We all lived in one big house, so my grandparents would eventually notice.
I was so afraid that my father at some point offered to talk to his parents. I waited outside in the hallway that led to their kitchen and listened.
My father explained, easy to understand, that I was going to transition from female to male because I felt terrible in my body. My grandfather asked, "Is that why the child* is so depressed all this time?" I had been in and out of multiple clinics for manic depression at that point. My father gave a yes. And my grandmother made the incredibly selfish comment, "Can't that wait until I am dead?"
Before I even got time to be upset, my grandfather slammed his fist down on the table. I had never seen or heard him do anything like that before. He was a very calm and collected man who preferred to leave the room before he got too angry. "No, it can't wait. The child gets to get well now. And if that is what is going to help, then it needs to be done."
From that day on, he never used my deadname again or used the wrong pronouns for me. Sometimes, he would stop in a sentence to think and remind himself, but he did always address me correctly.
He celebrated with me when my name was legally changed. He built the bed frame for me and my boyfriend's bed when we moved in together, just like he had built the first adult sized bedframe for me when I outgrew my small bed. He drove my boyfriend to his chemo sessions because my grandfather also had cancer and knew how terrifying it was to go alone.
Did he fully understand what it means to be intersex? To transition? No. But he understood that one of his loved ones was suffering and that he could help to alleviate that pain. And so he did.
He taught me calligraphy. He taught me how to sew. He taught me bookbinding. He gave me many gifts.
But the biggest gift he gave me was, that when someone hated me for what I am, I could stomach it. Because this man was willing to unlearn the bigotry he had been taught for decades so he could love me for who I am.
*in my grandpa's dialect it was normal to refer to children as just 'the child' (genderless)
Why are there like 5 daily chores where if you skip them for 2 days your life becomes a time based psychological thriller after
this week in I Am Very Smart: having enough money to go to the opera, museums and concerts correlates with having enough money for food, shelter and basic health needs
They controlled for socioeconomic factors though! The people who conducted this study knew that people with lots of money to attend the opera were also more likely to be able to afford basic necessities, so they controlled for it in their analysis. The fun thing about statistics is that you can control for different confounding factors so you can look at the effects of one independent variable (opera or whatever) on the dependent variable (mortality). Part of being critical of potential biases is actually reading the article and knowing what to look for.
In addition to that very good point about controlling for socioeconomic factors, the article says a single museum or concert per year makes a difference. Most cities have free community concerts (some even have free opera performances!) and museums that are either free, pay-what-you-want, or at least have specific days/times during which they are free or at a significantly reduced cost. Many libraries (which are free) provide free museum passes to card holders. In fact, the article quotes a museum worker who works at a free art museum in Baltimore.
If you actually read the article you would also read that educators are excited about this study because it provides evidence that the arts should be made more accessible financially - by restoring arts programs in the public schools, for example.
My dear @jamiebythesea I hope you don’t mind but your tags are important I don’t want them to disappear
Kein Problem
Leonid Pasternak (Ukrainian, 1862–1945) - The Torments of Creative Work
oh leonid, we're really in it now
Leonid, you really understand it.
Save me Leonid, from my empty Word document
Leonid what should I do about the emails
Babe are you okay? you reblogged Leonid Pasternak's Torments of Creative Work again
Leonid Pasternak is the best! My favorite of his is The Night Before The Exam (1895).
My man Leonid continues to be relatable
This might be the funniest reply I’ve ever seen in my life
I AM WHEEZING
PLEASE STOP REBLOGGING THIS OMFG
NEVER