I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
Here's a link to the EFF page that contains this information:
The ad identifier - aka “IDFA” on iOS, or “AAID” on Android - is the key that enables most third-party tracking on mobile devices. Disabling
On Android
With the release of Android 12, Google began allowing users to delete their ad ID permanently. On devices that have this feature enabled, you can open the Settings app and navigate to Privacy > Ads. Tap “Delete advertising ID,” then tap it again on the next page to confirm. This will prevent any app on your phone from accessing it in the future.
On iOS
To see which apps you have previously granted access to, go to Settings > Privacy > Tracking. You can set the “Allow apps to Request to Track” switch to the “off” position (the slider is to the left and the background is gray). This will prevent apps from asking to track in the future. If you have granted apps permission to track you in the past, this will prompt you to ask those apps to stop tracking as well. You also have the option to grant or revoke tracking access on a per-app basis.
Apple has its own targeted advertising system, separate from the third-party tracking it enables with IDFA. To disable it, navigate to Settings > Privacy > Apple Advertising. Set the “Personalized Ads” switch to the “off” position to disable Apple’s ad targeting.
okay so, guy at work, who i find out afterwards is famous at this place for being a sex pest, comes up and starts with what i also learn is his favorite opener to conversations where he’s going to be a sex pest, namely: “Do you know where the term ‘blow job’ comes from?”
and here he made his first fatal error. his moment of hubristic sex pesting. because of course i know where the term blow job comes from, i love learning about sex and the history of sexual terms! i know so much about oral sex that i could write a book on it!
his second error: approaching a little autistic freak with what he intended to be an uncomfortable sex question that would make me feel weird and gross. Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I Have Never Misjudged A Man’s Intentions So Incredibly In My Life. because i did not realize he was trying to harass me. because i love talking about sex facts, albeit not usually at work. unless. someone prompts me. my coworkers are the kind of people who are generally online enough to know terms, but not exactly what they mean, and they realized they could ask me a while back and get good answers without the resulting awkwardness because i do not experience shame. i am primed to answer questions like the one he has proposed.
So I Answered It.
and well, really, what happened is that I began answering it, then realized the answer required a bit more context. I mean, you can’t just say “oh, well, the term first appears in writing in the 1940s” without first explaining that ‘blow’ by itself already had sexual connotations for centuries, and then, really, are we talking about the origin of the term or the origin of the act. and well we have a ton of literature and art depicting fellatio throughout human history, did you know a lot of it was men performing it on other men? oh, that reminds me, there are a multitude of latin words for oral sex performed on penises, and hold on let me quote you the entirety of catullus 16 from memory and explain it’s fascinating insights into the roman world of homosexuality-
i do not know how to turn any of this ^ off, by the way. i’m sure some people out there have a switch that disables their infodumping mid-speech. i do not. and i also didn’t realize he wasn’t looking for a real answer until my other coworker explained so hours later. he could not excuse himself from the conversation he started, and i made a conservative man at least 30 years older than me to listen to my catullus recitation. i will sodomize and facefuck you, indeed.
anyway, i think i got a bad grade in being sexually harassed. my pro tip is maybe don’t start with what a very autistic individual will misconstrue as you earnestly asking them to explain sex to you. the special interest shield will cause splashback damage.
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
Sending love to everyone who is just... tired. Life is a lot, and sometimes the answer to it all is to just be still and silent for a while. Give yourself space and grace.
Whether it’s decision fatigue, anxiety fatigue, information fatigue, routine fatigue, getting life back together fatigue, career fatigue, social fatigue, financial fatigue, or physical fatigue: take a moment to breathe and recharge. You deserve it.
whenever I see archeological remains of a human who suffered from a terrible disease that couldn’t be treated in their lifetime but could be fixed now, this wave of sorrow and mourning washes over me. a woman in the 14th century who spent her 35 years of life bent at the waist because of congenital scoliosis. a man from the 18th century who died because of a non cancerous mass on his jaw that made eating progressively more difficult. remains of a woman from the Neolithic who died in childbirth having evidence of peri-mortem trepanation on her skull.
and yet she survived to 35. and yet the physicians in his time tried to strengthen his jaw. and yet someone 4,000 years ago tried to save someone they loved from dying of preeclampsia/increased cranial pressure. we tried. we tried and we tried and we tried. we failed and we learned but we tried. that’s what makes humans so beautiful.
My mom sometimes talks about a child in her neighborhood who was born with hydrocephaly and died of it. His parents strove to keep him alive for years, but he ultimately passed after a long decline. No treatment available. No hope at all, and the parents knew it from his birth.
Several decades later my sister had an MRI, as a long shot, to try to figure out why she was sick and deteriorating with a number of symptoms that were close to being written off as anxiety. She was sent straight to the hospital for adult onset hydrocephaly. Two days later she had brain surgery to put a shunt down her neck into her stomach and drain the fluid out. (No, you cannot usually get brain surgery that fast. Yes, it was that urgent.) Recovery was long and squiggly but it happened.
I think of that boy every once in a while. The one who died. I have no doubt that treatments developed for people like him, and tested on people like him, saved my sister's life.
He never knew he made the world better. His condition was severe, he never knew much of anything, I don't think. I think if I ever track down a God or something like one, that'll be somewhere on my List of Wishes. To make sure people like him know that they helped.
I've been type 1 diabetic since I was about one and a half, and was incredibly sick. If my mother hadn't also been type 1 and recognized the signs I likely would have died.
I was born in 1982. Insulin was first given to a patient in 1922, and he survived. Before that, type 1 meant death, often very slow and agonizing. Before insulin, doctors advised a super strict "keto" diet to prolong life, and it could work for awhile - up to a year, I believe. But it was a miserable existence as the body was literally eating itself as the blood turned acidic until the patient eventually died.
60 years. Only 60 years before my birth did that procedure work for the first time. That's absolutely nothing given the span of human history and I think a lot about the people who died from it throughout time.
But yes, people tried. Healers and doctors of all sorts tried all manner of things to allow these (mostly!) kids to live. The fact that it was accomplished at all is nothing short of a miracle. The fact that I've been alive 42 years is fucking insane considering my body doesn't produce a hormone necessary for survival. If you think that doesn't blow me away on a regular basis you have another think coming. It's nothing short of a miracle.
Every medical advancement is. The amount of work that goes into it and the vast amount of luck necessary to get it right even when all the research and information is sound is just astonishing.
Thank you, humanity. Thank you ingenuity and determination to save lives and make them better. Thank you to every medical practitioner and medical researcher in existence now and through all of time. Thank you to all the people who died so I could live.
Diabetes is one of these illnesses that really throws medical history into perspective. It's so common, everyone knows someone who has it, people live pretty normal lives with it. And yet, a hundred years ago, it was an instant death sentence. And then we were able to treat people with insulin and yet - it was extremely disabling. The insulin was extracted from animal pancreas had severe side effects, even with how similar the hormones are, there is always an averse reaction to proteins from foreign species, especially during long-term treatment. Injections had to be given every few hours, at-home-tests were only available from the 70s onwards. Insulin pumps entered the market in the 80s. Genetically produced insulin - humanized insulin - was first available in the US in 1982, in many countries only around the year 2000.
In 1930, having diabetes type I would basically mean being hospital bound, being woken every few hours for regular injections.
In 1965, you'd be able to live at home and get by with a very strict diet and a few timed injections. You'd struggle with chronical side effects. Having children wasn't done - passing on your genes would be immoral, and it might not even be legal for you to marry.
In the year 2000, you'd have a device clipped to your belt that would measure your blood sugar and distribute insulin, you only need to change the needle a few times a day. You might even be allowed to join in P.E. class
In 2025, you stick on two patches that do the same thing. They're synchronized through your phone.
That wasn't fate. It's not natural development that made diabetes a common chronic illness. It was hundreds of people who cared. It was the people who created the keto diet. It was the people who came up with tests. The ones who went through different species, trying to figure out the closest analogon to human insulin. It was the people who fought in court to get genetically produced insulin approved for medical use. It was people who looked at a rare, incurable disease and said "but what if it wasn't?"
Back in the 1960s, my dad was one of the first 100 successful open-heart surgeries in the world. He needed it to fix a hole in his heart, a condition that up until then was basically "take him home and make him comfortable."
He's lived long enough that three of his grandkids have been born with the same condition, and he's been there to assist with the recovery after the laparoscopic version of the same surgery he had.
He has a scar from collarbone to waist that's as thick as my finger--thicker, in some places. My nieces and nephews have scars so tiny you could mistake them for being from a particularly bad cat scratch. And their recovery was measured in weeks, instead of months.
Medicine has improved so much, so fast, that he's lived to see the research done on him save his grandchildren.
She got the idea for the study while walking with her advisor at Stanford to discuss her thesis topic, and the paper she eventually published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology in 2014 is sharp enough that it should have ended the seated meeting on the day it came out.
She ran 4 experiments on 176 people. Same person tested twice. Once sitting, once walking. The creativity tasks were the standard ones psychologists have used for decades to measure how good a brain is at generating novel useful ideas.
81% of participants in the first experiment produced more creative ideas while walking than while sitting. In the second experiment, 88%. In the third, 100%. Every single person walked into a more creative version of themselves. On average, people generated 60% more novel useful ideas the moment their legs started moving.
The skeptical question is the obvious one. Maybe it was the fresh air. Maybe it was the scenery passing by. Maybe it was the change of environment doing the work, not the walking itself.
Oppezzo killed every one of those explanations with one experimental decision. She put people on a treadmill facing a blank wall. No scenery. No fresh air. No environmental change. Just legs moving in place while staring at white drywall. The 60% boost held.
Then she ran the experiment that closed the case completely. She took participants outside in two conditions. Half of them walked through a Stanford courtyard. The other half were pushed through the exact same courtyard in a wheelchair. Same outdoor stimulation. Same scenery passing at the same speed. The only difference was whether the legs were moving.
The walkers produced dramatically more novel high-quality ideas than the wheelchair group. The outdoors did almost nothing on its own. The walking did everything.
She also tested the opposite kind of thinking. Convergent thinking. The kind where there is one right answer and you have to narrow down to it. Word puzzles where 3 words share a hidden fourth word that connects them. The seated participants did slightly better on these. Walkers got slightly worse.
Walking is not a general intelligence enhancer. It does one specific thing. It opens up the divergent search inside your brain. The part that generates options. The part that produces unexpected connections. The part that takes a problem and finds five ways into it instead of one.
When you need to converge on the single right answer, sit down. When you need to find the answer in the first place, get up.
The mechanism is now well understood. Walking selectively activates what neuroscientists call the default mode network, the system inside your brain that runs when you are not consciously focused on anything. The DMN is where mind-wandering happens. Where memories cross-reference each other. Where ideas that have been sitting in separate folders inside your head finally bump into each other.
When you sit at a desk and force yourself to concentrate, you suppress the DMN. When you walk at a natural pace, the executive part of your brain gets just busy enough handling the walking that the DMN comes online and starts doing the work that focus was blocking.
The most useful finding in the entire paper is the one almost nobody quotes. The boost did not turn off the moment people stopped walking. Participants who walked first and then sat back down stayed elevated. Their next round of seated creativity work was still significantly better than people who had been sitting the whole time. The rest lingered for at least several minutes after the legs stopped moving.
You do not need to do creative work while walking. You need to walk before the creative work. The brain holds the state.
Lego's Q3 2025 earnings announcement, October 2025
So Lego just posted another monster quarter and everyone's doing the usual "timeless appeal of analog play in the digital age" garbage and like, no, the actual story is that Lego is a privately-held Danish family company that spent the 2000s nearly going bankrupt and came out of it having figured something out that almost nobody in consumer products has figured out, which is that your core IP is the manufacturing tolerance.
Here's what I mean. A Lego brick made in 1958 still clicks perfectly onto a Lego brick made last week. That is not a marketing claim, it's a manufacturing fact, and it's enforced by tolerances measured in like two thousandths of a millimeter — the stud diameter variance on a standard 2x4 brick is famously smaller than most medical device manufacturers hit on parts going inside human bodies. Which sounds like trivia until you realize it's the entire business model: every brick ever made is compatible with every brick that will ever be made, which means the installed base isn't a depreciating asset, it's an appreciating one, because every new set expands what you can do with the bricks already in your kid's bin (and your bin, and your dad's bin in the attic).
Now compare this to basically every other toy category. Hot Wheels from 1972 don't interface with Hot Wheels from 2024 in any meaningful way — they're both little cars, sure, but the track systems have changed, the scales have drifted, the accessories are incompatible. Barbie has gone through probably a dozen body molds. American Girl dolls from the 90s have different proportions than the current ones. The entire video game industry is structured around planned incompatibility — your Switch games don't work on Switch 2, your Xbox 360 discs mostly don't work on Series X. Incompatibility is the business model, it's how you get people to rebuy.
Lego said no. Lego said the brick from 1958 will fit the brick from 2058. And this is insane, if you think about it, because it means they have voluntarily foreclosed on the single most powerful lever in consumer products, which is forcing obsolescence. Every company that sells a durable good spends enormous amounts of R&D figuring out how to make this year's product not work with last year's product without pissing the customer off too much. Apple is a master at this, Microsoft is slightly worse at it, car companies have built entire industries on it (proprietary charging connectors, OBD-II access, right-to-repair fights). Lego just... doesn't do it.
What they get in return — and this is the thing the "timeless analog charm" people miss — is that the brick becomes infrastructure. A Lego brick is not really a toy. It's a piece of durable manufacturing infrastructure that gets distributed into hundreds of millions of homes worldwide, and every new set is basically an expansion pack for an operating system that already has universal install. Which means the network effects are doing most of the work. When a grandparent buys a Lego set for a kid, they're not buying "a toy" in the sense that a Mattel product is a toy — they're depositing compatible substrate into an accumulating household stockpile, and every deposit raises the marginal utility of the next deposit.
This is also why the IP licensing deals (Star Wars, Harry Potter, the recent Nintendo stuff) work for them in a way they work for basically nobody else. When Hasbro does a Star Wars license, they're making Star Wars figures that sit on a shelf. When Lego does a Star Wars license, they're making bricks in Star Wars configurations, which means even if the kid loses interest in Star Wars in six months, the bricks get absorbed into the general pool and keep producing value. The license is temporary, the substrate is permanent, and the substrate was already the valuable part.
The near-death experience in the early 2000s is the instructive piece here, because Lego almost lost this. They went on a diversification binge — theme parks, video games, clothing, Galidor (look it up, it's hilarious) — and they started loosening the tolerances on the actual bricks because the bricks were seen as a commodity and the "brand" was seen as the valuable part. Which is exactly backwards. Jørgen Vig Knudstorp comes in in 2004, basically says the bricks are the company, tightens tolerances back up, narrows the product line, and the company starts printing money again. The takeaway the business press drew was "focus on your core competency" which is such a domesticated reading of what actually happened — the actual lesson is "the boring manufacturing discipline IS the moat, and when you think the brand is the moat, you are about to destroy the company."
Which is interesting because right now there's a huge knockoff market — Mega Bloks, Chinese brands like Lepin (which got sued into oblivion), various others — and they make bricks that are almost compatible with Lego. Almost. And it turns out almost-compatible is actually worse than incompatible, because when a kid tries to fit a knockoff into a real Lego build and the stud is 0.03mm off, the whole structure gets wobbly, and the kid learns not to mix them. The tolerance is a credential. You can counterfeit the shape but you can't counterfeit sub-thousandth precision at scale without becoming, essentially, Lego.
Anyway, the Q3 number is like 13% up year-over-year in a consumer products environment where basically nothing is growing, and the analyst takes are all about "emotional connection" and "intergenerational brand equity" which — sure, fine, those are downstream effects. The upstream cause is that a Danish family spent fifty years obsessing over whether their plastic rectangles were within two thousandths of a millimeter of spec, and it turned out that was the whole game.
k but imagine Rocky wanting to learn about how humans became the apex predators of their planet so he has Grace “hunt” him in the biodome as an experiment and during it he thinks Grace isn’t trying or taking it seriously which is bad bad bad because this is for research purposes
only for Rocky to get more and more tired as the experiment goes on just to realize that Grace isn’t which makes him panic so he puts as much distance as he can between them and finds a (hopefully) safe spot to sleep and when he wakes up the human is crouching over him like “got youuu” and Rocky has never shrieked so damn loud before in his life
sooo this inspired me and then prev's tags did too:
so there's a mini fic under the cut I smashed out in like an hour. kinda low effort but whatever. might keep it going on ao3 with more little experiments
At some point, Grace of course realizes it's living in a zoo enclosure. Then comes a Discussion.
"Rocky."
Rocky is totally panicking - it told the xeno team to not let Grace know! Now Grace is going to be offended or mad about being a zoo animal! There's no way to sugarcoat this! - and screeching out apologies. It won't be able to withstand Grace being mad at it, because the last time Grace was mad at Rocky Grace ignored Rocky. IGNORED. The silent treatment had grated so bad on Rocky's nerves it felt like it was going to go insane.
"ROCKY! CHILL OUT!"
Rocky slows. Grace is still kneeling from where it had settled after first saying 'we need to talk' (worst words in the universe, by the way). Rocky doesn't get any closer, just fiddles nervously with its fingers.
"Rocky, look. This isn't- I'm not mad about it. Honest! I kinda…" It rubs the back of its 'neck' with a hand. "Kinda already figured it out a while ago."
Grace laughs, flashing its 'teeth'. "I mean, we'd do the same thing on Earth if this was all reversed. I get it! I'm an alien, I knew this was a possibility."
"Along with dissection," Rocky grumbles. "And starving to death. Does not mean good thing. Does not mean Grace happy about it."
"But I am! Look, Eridians are learning from me, right?"
Rocky hums a begrudging confirmation.
"Then I'm happy about it! You know me. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Plus, it could be worse."
That is true, all of it. Rocky sighs. "Okay. If Grace is sure Grace not mad at Rocky…"
"I'm sure, buddy. C'mere." Grace reaches forward and wraps Rocky in a 'hug'. Rocky accepts it, reciprocates, feeling the familiar noises of Grace's organs.
"Team will ask more questions," Rocky warns. "Want to do experiments on human behavior."
"Oho, boy. I'm looking forward to that."
And Grace isn't lying, and neither is Rocky: within days of the conversation, the xeno team is approaching Grace and asking many more questions about human biology, about enrichment. They already were, of course, but something seems to have emboldened them.
What everyone finds most ridiculous is human evolution, though.
"Sorry," Historian Lilith wheezes out. It's almost laughing too hard to keep going. "You're saying- you- humans just walk your prey to death? And you became the apex predators on your planet? How does that work?!"
Every other member of the team present is cackling, including Rocky: Grace alone stands sober, pouting in the way it does when it's offended.
"What's so unbelievable about that?! It's a very effective way to hunt!"
Rocky snorts. "Grace lying. No way walking is efficient! Ambush is better. Example!" And Rocky lunges for Grace, relishing the squeal and the scramble backwards. Then Grace stands up taller. "Okay! I'll show you. Who wants to get hunted?"
Everyone instantly steps back, leaving Rocky at the forefront. Figures. All that talk about how it's not realistic and yet they scatter at the idea of being the prey. Frankly, Rocky can't blame them - nobody wants to be hunted, after all, especially by an alien that breathes oxygen - but it raises a hand anyways. "I volunteer. Grace hunt me. Then we know truth once and for all."
The grin that split Grace's face somehow seems even creepier than usual. It goes off to prepare, murmuring about contacting the substitute teacher that takes over when Grace gets sick. Huh?
Rocky disregards that and prepares by simply making sure the atmosphere suit is fully ready. It knows Grace isn't really going to hurt it, but it has to reassure several members of the xeno team and Adrian, who's come to watch, of that fact. "Seriously? It's Grace. Grace won't hurt me. Grace can't even hurt me!" It starts to mutter about how ridiculous they're all being when someone points out that Grace could potentially break the atmosphere suit with the abundance of rocks in the enclosure, trapping Rocky in the deadly Solean-safe atmosphere, which stops Rocky dead.
It's Atmosphere Specialist Superman, well-known to be paranoid even at the best of times. Eridians have no 'faces' like Soleans, but Rocky deliberately rotates towards the idiot just to hammer in the absolute stupidity of what Superman just said, and then smacks Superman so hard several team members have to pull it off of the scientist. It's swearing and screeching the entire time, and it takes a few Earth hours to calm down properly.
The very idea of Grace deliberately hurting Rocky in such a way - when Rocky knows for a fact the scars from the Adrian Incident are still fully apparent to the Solean senses, when Grace spent months freaking out over every little sneeze or cough Rocky made when in the prototypes of the atmosphere suit - is preposterous. Grace would never ever hurt Rocky like that, would never do anything to expose Rocky to its atmosphere ever again even accidentally. They're both so very careful about it. Rocky is still steaming about Superman's insinuations when it walks inside Grace's enclosure.
Grace is waiting by the airlock. Rocky huffs. "Unfair. Go farther. Too close for start, cheater."
Grace holds up its hands in the almost-happy movement ("When I put my hands up like this, this means surrender.") and steps away a good distance. It's still smiling. "Not gonna matter, Rock," it calls. "I'm about to get you back for alllll those times you ambushed me on the trip here."
"Yeah, right!" Rocky shifts, preparing to run. "We see who is better predator."
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
"GO!"
Rocky bolts. The sand is hard to traverse, its arms slipping both from the xenonite covering and the loose grains, but it already knows it's a faster runner than Grace. And when it clicks to see where Grace is, Grace is so far behind it's laughable. Oh, this is gonna be easy.
Rocky reaches the edge of the biodome, a little worn out. Luckily, it just had a sleep cycle, so it won't need to sleep for another few Solean days. Grace is out of range. HA!
It meanders back closer until it can hear Grace, leisurely strolling along the beach. "What wrong, Grace? Too slow?" It calls out.
A ripple of laughter comes from Grace. "You'll be eating your words soon enough." It sticks its hands in its pockets.
Rocky snorts, and decides to continue to be a little shit. It goes back and darts around Grace, mocking it, staying juust far enough away where if Grace lunges Grace won't even be able to touch it. Grace does give chase eventually, but Rocky just carefully climbs up the cliff face. Damn, humans are stupid! Every time Rocky thinks they're not so bad, Grace does something like this. It's not even chasing Rocky! It's just slowly following.
The biodome cycles over to night, Rocky can tell by the click! of the flashlight Grace carries. It settles on top of the cliff, enjoying the sounds of Grace trying its damndest to climb the cliff. Technically it's well past the time Grace should be asleep, but they're both too stubborn to call quits and the xeno team isn't in a hurry to interrupt this glimpse into human evolution.
Rocky has to run again when Grace reaches the top of the cliff and starts to chase it again. This keeps going, Rocky running and mocking Grace, Grace just continuing on, unshakable. Rocky only starts to worry when night falls again and Grace is still able to catch up to it!
It yells to Grace, who's some distance behind. "Grace need sleep."
"Grace has slept." Grace shouts back. "Remember, I can wake up easily. I've been sleeping and eating regularly, I promise."
"Good!" Rocky lets itself feel some relief that Grace isn't neglecting its health for this experiment. Then it goes right back to insults. "Then Grace have no excuse to be so slow!" It makes a 'fart' noise in Grace's direction and scuttles off, laughing at the offended sound Grace makes.
Day comes again, and Rocky gets frustrated. What in the actual fuck?! Something's not right. Grace has been at this for two Earth days and nights now. If Grace was going to catch Rocky, shouldn't that have happened by now? Is Grace even taking this experiment seriously?
Well, Rocky does know Grace is taking it seriously, because Grace is doing it. Hasn't given up. Hasn't called it quits. So the only reason why the experiment is still going must be because this persistence way of hunting is, in fact, not effective, and Grace is just too stubborn to admit it! HA! Get wrecked, Grace.
Frustration turns to glee, which then curdles into nervousness as the day still goes on with no sign of Grace stopping the pursuit. They've both been running in circles: the biodome's not that big, all told, and Rocky can't access a quarter of it due to the fake ocean. And Rocky can feel a sleep cycle is imminent. It's exhausted. All the running it's been doing must have brought the sleep cycle on sooner. And Grace, last Rocky heard, still shows no sign of tiredness. Shit!
Rocky pushes itself just a little harder, until Grace is far beyond Rocky's range of hearing and Rocky is well hidden: Grace is still on top of the cliffs by the wall of the dome, while Rocky's down below nearer to the water. Then it finds a cave. It knows this cave in particular has a room beside it where the xeno team has been watching on the camera feeds and listening to this whole debacle.
"Must sleep," Rocky manages. "Can't keep going." It collapses, and the world vanishes. No worries. Grace won't catch up, and if it does, it won't think to look for Rocky here.
When Rocky wakes, it first hears a clamoring from the observation room. Many voices shouting over one another. It sends a spike of fear through Rocky, and it taps at the floor to hear better - and nearly has a cardiac failure then and there, screaming louder than it's ever screamed before in its life.
Grace is standing right. over. Rocky. Looming, really, and it's never sounded taller or more ominous.
"Hiiii."
Then Grace plunges down, wraps its arms around Rocky. "Gotcha!" It opens its mouth and presses it to Rocky's carapace, leaking all over it and pressing its tongue to the xenonite as if it's trying to eat Rocky.
Rocky shudders in disgust and cusses Grace out with every word it knows, smacking it lightly with an arm. "CREEPY! Scared Rocky, nearly kill Rocky with attacking heart! No no no bad Grace! BAD BAD BAD GRACE!"
Grace is laughing, sending vibrations through Rocky's body. "I told you," it says in that light singing kind of voice it likes to do. "I tooooold youuuu! Persistence predators, baby!"
"That no count! You wait until I fall… asleep…" A horrible idea begins to dawn on Rocky. "No." There's no way. There's no way. It's too awful to think of, and yet it's the only possibility.
"Well-" Grace settles back, crosses its legs underneath it and turns towards the window to the observation room: where, by the way, everyone's gone silent with their own realizations. "You guys didn't let me finish explaining earlier. See, a lot of prey animals on Earth are very fast, like Rocky here." It gives Rocky a noogie. "So humans evolved to be able to endure long stretches of exercise like this. We chase an animal, track it using its footprints or the direction it was going in usually, and then eventually the animal's so exhausted that it has to sleep, and that's when we attack and kill it for our food. So that's what I just did!" Grace flashes its teeth again. It's terrifyingly happy about all of this.
Meanwhile, Rocky quite literally cannot move from fear. Grace has sparked fear before: their first meeting, when Rocky had no clue what to expect but it certainly wasn't some squishy cold bag of meat that breathed oxygen of all things; over Adrian the planet, when the ship had been sent into an uncontrolled spin and Rocky had known what it would have to do to save Grace and Earth and Erid all at once even if it meant death; for a few moments when Rocky had been floating in its tomb, the original Eridian ship, and heard a cracking thumping sort of noise coming from space, right before it'd discovered that the noise was Grace coming to save it.
All of those instances were tiny bits of dust next to this type of fear. The revelation that Rocky's wonderful and clumsy friend could have, just now, very easily killed Rocky in Rocky's sleep and that its species did so regularly was the singular most horrifying concept anyone could ever have imagined. Grace probably had no idea that the Solean way of hunting was the stuff of the worst Eridian horror stories. Something that just kept going, kept chasing you until you were forced to sleep? Fucking WHY?! WHY did Rocky have to meet AND BRING HOME the ONE species it knew of that DID THAT?! WHY?!
"That-" it weakly starts - still feeling like it was about to, as the Soleans say, 'shit its pants' - "Very… nice, Grace. Thank for demonstration."
It crawls out from under Grace's arm. "Back soon," and lunges for the airlock. It needs… more than a little bit of processing time. That whole thing was fucking disturbing.
Grace just waves, oblivious to Rocky's internal turmoil. "See you later, Rocky!"
"Americanization" is a real phenomenon, and how non-Americans should be cautious of it is taught in different countries at school. It's taught in Greece and people from other countries told me their elementary or middle school teachers (using the American grades, to make it make sense to the majority on the site) talked to them about it.
It's common sense here, except for USians, so I'll analyze it a bit more for the dominant demographic here. In a globalized setting, the most dominant culture affects the others and sets the trends. The way our language works, how we think, our levels of politeness and intimacy, and our levels of respect. (flash news, they are going down 😂)
I don't want to imply that there is nothing good in the US. There are plenty of positives in the country. It's just that for the rest of the cultures online it's a constant daily fight to not forget our roots, with the degree US media and brands have permeated our lives. In Greece at least we watch more US American media than Greek media nowadays, and many of our shows are rip-offs of USian ones, with little adaptation to Greek reality and culture.
And to demonstrate the amount of this exposure, a 22-year-old Greek asked me the other day "if something happens we call 911, right?" This might have literally cost them their life, in a dangerous situation! Because all the movies and songs they consumed (not an unusual thing for the Greek youth) were what they knew. And I found a similar comment in this comment thread.
Lots of Americans in the notes failing to understand this post. It's not about not liking the US. It's not about you feeling ashamed or guilty for being American. It's not about you.
It's about American media drowning out native language media all over the world, and workplaces requiring the English language in your repertoire more and more. It's about proper translations and foreign language dubbing of films disappearing because "everyone speaks/should speak English anyway." All of this is leading to the deterioration of native speaker groups of languages worldwide.
In my country, Dutch language courses can't find enough people who want to study the language, while English language courses are overflowing with people who want to study the language. There is even widespread distaste for the Dutch language for being crude or sounding rough or what have you. That's our native language!!! That is our culture in its purest form!!! That is knowledge we inherit from our parents as they did from theirs!!! That is how we learned fairytales and folk stories and myths!!! That is the language that shapes our communication and our way of thinking!!! To hate your native language is to hate yourself at the deepest level.
And yet it's so normalised. Droves of foreigners living in the Netherlands will never learn a word of Dutch, because "everyone speaks English anyway." We are the world's leaders in non-native understanding of English, but it comes at a cost. A grave cost we will continue to pay.
If you're looking to support your non-American friends in any way that is not performatively shouting "I hate being an American" into the void, first of all, unlearn that hatred of yourself and your culture. You are of no help self-flagellating, and there is a difference between holding your country accountable for its issues, and denying yourself your culture because your country is doing and has done bad things.
(I am not going to get into arguments about whether or not US American culture exists. It does, and if you think differently you are welcome to change your mind.)
Secondly, learn about other countries. Learn a bit of Chinese. Take an interest in the Italian political system. Ask your friends about their countries' folklore. Watch documentaries about art from Nigeria. Absorb information that is not fed to you by American media.
And thirdly, quit expecting your non-American friends to communicate in a way that appeals to you. The French and Dutch will always seem rude to you because our way of communicating is far more direct than the way you communicate. People from other cultures may seem vague to you because their way of communicating is far more indirect, and you're not used to that either. Quit being frustrated when you don't get what we mean exactly. Quit assuming we mean the absolute worst thing you could imagine just because you didn't get what we meant the first time. Ask us to explain if you need us to, and learn to accept that we are different from you.
We are already adapting to your culture 100% of the time we are online. It's your responsibility to adapt to us, too. At least do your friends the courtesy of learning about and adapting to them.
We are already adapting to your culture 100% of the time we are online. It's your responsibility to adapt to us, too. At least do your friends the courtesy of learning about and adapting to them.
"Should parents read their daughter's texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?"
Earlier today, I served as the “young woman’s voice” in a panel of local experts at a Girl Scouts speaking event. One question for the panel was something to the effect of, “Should parents read their daughter’s texts or monitor her online activity for bad language and inappropriate content?”
I was surprised when the first panelist answered the question as if it were about cyberbullying. The adult audience nodded sagely as she spoke about the importance of protecting children online.
I reached for the microphone next. I said, “As far as reading your child’s texts or logging into their social media profiles, I would say 99.9% of the time, do not do that.”
Looks of total shock answered me. I actually saw heads jerk back in surprise. Even some of my fellow panelists blinked.
Everyone stared as I explained that going behind a child’s back in such a way severs the bond of trust with the parent. When I said, “This is the most effective way to ensure that your child never tells you anything,” it was like I’d delivered a revelation.
It’s easy to talk about the disconnect between the old and the young, but I don’t think I’d ever been so slapped in the face by the reality of it. It was clear that for most of the parents I spoke to, the idea of such actions as a violation had never occurred to them at all.
It alarms me how quickly adults forget that children are people.
Apparently people are rediscovering this post somehow and I think that’s pretty cool! Having experienced similar violations of trust in my youth, this is an important issue to me, so I want to add my personal story:
Around age 13, I tried to express to my mother that I thought I might have clinical depression, and she snapped at me “not to joke about things like that.” I stopped telling my mother when I felt depressed.
Around age 15, I caught my mother reading my diary. She confessed that any time she saw me write in my diary, she would sneak into my room and read it, because I only wrote when I was upset. I stopped keeping a diary.
Around age 18, I had an emotional breakdown while on vacation because I didn’t want to go to college. I ended up seeing a therapist for - surprise surprise - depression.
Around age 21, I spoke on this panel with my mother in the audience, and afterwards I mentioned the diary incident to her with respect to this particular Q&A. Her eyes welled up, and she said, “You know I read those because I was worried you were depressed and going to hurt yourself, right?”
TL;DR: When you invade your child’s privacy, you communicate three things:
You do not respect their rights as an individual.
You do not trust them to navigate problems or seek help on their own.
You probably haven’t been listening to them.
Information about almost every issue that you think you have to snoop for can probably be obtained by communicating with and listening to your child.
Part of me is really excited to see that the original post got 200 notes because holy crap 200 notes, and part of me is really saddened that something so negative has resonated with so many people.
I constantly delete things from my phone in fears it will be the wrong thing, whether I said it or not.
When I was 7, my parent’s gave me a diary, because writing was important. A few weeks later, they read it. I still don’t have a diary in fears of their gaze.
I told my mom about how I may be depressed (like I am literally suicidal) and she said that she’d push me onto the train tracks then we’d see how depressed I really was.
My privacy is not a right. It is not a privilege. Any privacy I do have I carved with my bare hands and hide it so that whwat isn’t known can never be searched.
My parents only ever snooped around in my online stuff and diaries once. It only took them ONE time when I was 15 and already dealing with one of the worst traumas a child could deal with for them to see the consequences and go “…..fuck let’s never do that again. We need them to trust us not to hurt them further. Going behind thier back is harming them further.”
I remember them sitting down with me, confessing to only doing it once, because the therapist i had at the time told them to. All it took was them seeing me shut down and refuse to do anything I enjoyed, like roleplaying with my Australian pin-pal I had at the time or creating artwork or sewing, for them to realize how badly this therapist had them fuck up.
Why did the therapist tell them to do it? “Children who go through traumatizing things will engage in risky behaviors, especially online. And need to be monitored.” Is literally what they told them.
After my shut down? Dad flat out told me to change all of my passwords and not give him or mom those passwords unless it was an emergency or some weirdo was creeping on me and I needed the backup. They apologized profusely for a fuck up a therapist told them to make. Yes they pulled me out of that therapy program after that because it caused more harm than good.
I am my parents careful child. Always the first to go to mom when something was wrong. It took me graduating highschool. Leaving for a summer and going back to my parents to trust them again. So a good 4 years is how long it took them to repair the trust damaged from that one incident.
They still deeply regret doing this. And I hope other people, especially kids these days, can have parents who will look a therapist spouting such bullshit to them in the eye and tell that therapist “i should report you for telling me to do something that will further traumatize my child. I refuse to do that, i trust that they will come to me if something is wrong”.
I was 19 when I finally had the trust built back uo with my parents and was able to tell mom “hey I feel like im dealing with depression and anxiety.” Where she confessed to me that she also deals with anxiety, CPTSD and depression.
And I wish more people had parents like mine that genuinely love and care for them, and regret any choice that harmed thier kid and worked toward repair rather than control. Because if I can luck out with parents who did just that and admitted to bring in the wrong when they were in the wrong, everyone deserves that from thier parents/caregivers too. And I’d gladly share my parents with everyone who needs such caregivers in thier lives if I could.
If you’re between 18-24 and your caregivers suck and still suck. Congrats i am your new big brother now. Let’s go to the nearest Cafe and get our favorite coffees and snacks and bond over our favorite video games.
Children who go through traumatizing things need to be given all the dignity and respect you can give them, not punished and stripped of autonomy by treating them like they’re untrustworthy and stupid.
A person going through trauma has a very fragile sense of dignity and self-worth; anything that makes them feel like a functional human is going to be the most pressing of their psychological needs and having it denied to them by the people who should be their greatest champions is a full-on secondary trauma.
They will seek out alternate sources and forms of agency the way a drowning person struggles to breathe, and that includes working around parental control and supervision (which becomes both an assertion of agency and an exercise of competence for them) as well as seeking validation from “disapproved” sources and even engaging in deliberately self-sabotaging behavior because even wrecking their life treats it as theirs.
Displays of parental mistrust, even the “benign” ones like an overly-cautious parent who’s just scared of the internet or stranger danger or whatever, have the effect of treating the child as an unworthy person, which is an assault on dignity and agency, and cast the parent as an enemy who the child needs to defeat in order to defend their sense of self-worth, and they can, will, and often do sabotage and destroy themselves to do so.
This is exacerbated when the parent’s motivation goes beyond environmental paranoia to a premise that their particular teen simply cannot be trusted. Whether that’s because the kid is actively “bad” or is hurt, traumatized, suffering from a mental illness, or otherwise viewed as “unfit” for agency, agency and trust are still a massive psychological need. There always needs to be space for trust, especially in the space of their private self that includes their journal, their reading material, and their private conversations.
Being a parent is probably the most terrifying thing in the world, but sometimes you need to be brave and do the really hard scary thing to keep from hurting them worse than any of their teenage bad ideas are likely to—including by driving them into worse ideas than they’d go to on their own because you’ve made destructive behavior the only exercise of autonomy they’re able to access.
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