NASA
titsay
Today's Document
Andulka
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
bliss lane
Cosmic Funnies
No title available
KIROKAZE
EXPECTATIONS
art blog(derogatory)
oozey mess
YOU ARE THE REASON
noise dept.
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
cherry valley forever
izzy's playlists!
taylor price
#extradirty
🪼
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Iceland
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from United States
@plantwithanxiety
NASA just dropped the closest image ever taken of Jupiter
@hamletthedane’s tags: #Vincent Van Gogh is crying somewhere in the after and I’m crying just thinking about that#you knew!! you saw the patterns!! there is a whole planet painted in the oils from your brush!!#TIL that the craft Juno went as close as 4000km from Jupiter’s weather surface#for context: the craft was closer to Jupiter than NYC is to LA#which is space terms is like. basically being on the planet#holy shit
trees are very 🥺 because sometimes i’ll stand under the shade of a tree and look up at it and it’ll sway its branches about in the wind and i’m like oh my God i’m alive and YOU’RE alive. we are alive together and made up of the same starry stuff and standing right next to each other in this moment on this earth. do u feel it when i reach out and press my hand to your trunk? can you hear me? i think you’re so neat. and then the sunlight filters through its leaves just so and that lovely green color leaves me dazzled. it’s just very nice to be an alive thing next to a different sort of alive thing
“It’s just very nice to be an alive thing next to a different sort of alive thing” I’m in love
Viktor Lyapkalo Artwork: 'Blowing bubbles' & 'Evening' Painted 9 years apart.
Same woman
Yooo I went and looked up the Artist responsible for these masterpieces and holy shit did this guy love Big Women:
[nudity under the cut]
I wrote a eulogy
"I wrote a eulogy for my best friend last week. Then I read it to him. At the pub. On a Tuesday."
He was alive, holding a pint, looking at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I have.
I'm Mick. I'm 70. The man across the table was Barry. Seventy-two. Best mate for 46 years. Met on a building site in 1979. He dropped a plank on my foot. I called him something unrepeatable. He bought me a pint after the shift. Haven't gone a week without talking since.
Three months ago we went to a funeral. Bloke we'd worked with. Cancer. The eulogies were beautiful - people saying what he meant to them, things they'd clearly never said to his face. And all I could think was, he can't hear any of this.
Every beautiful sentence. Every "he changed my life." Said to a room of crying people and a box of wood.
I turned to Barry. Whispered, "What a waste."
Drove home. Couldn't sleep. Because I realised, if Barry died tomorrow, I'd stand up and say extraordinary things about this man. Things I've never said in 46 years. And he'd be in the box, missing all of it.
So I wrote them down. Took a week. Harder than expected - not finding the words, but admitting I had them.
Rang him. "Tuesday. The Crown. Need to read you something."
"Have you joined a book club?"
"Just come."
Same corner table. Pint of bitter. Crisps. I pulled out the paper. He saw my hands shake.
"Mick. What's this?"
"Your eulogy. I'm reading it now because I'm not wasting it on a day you can't hear it."
"Have you gone mad?"
"Probably. Shut up and listen."
I read it. In a pub. To a man very much alive and very much uncomfortable.
I told him about the plank and how it was the best injury of my life. About the night he drove forty minutes in rain to help change a tyre. About how he rang every day for three months after my divorce and never once asked "Are you alright?" - just talked about football and weather, because he knew I didn't need a question. I needed a voice.
I told him he was the funniest man I'd ever known and his jokes were terrible and both things were true. That he'd been a better father than he thinks. That his wife's a saint and he knows it. That I'd have been a worse man without him.
He didn't look at me. Stared at his pint. Jaw tight. Doing that thing men do when the feelings arrive and they'd rather swallow glass than show it.
When I finished, long silence. Then he picked up his pint, took a sip, and said,
"You're paying for the next round. And the one after."
That was his answer. Perfect. Because Barry doesn't say "I love you too." He says "you're buying."
But in the car park, he hugged me. Not the quick back-pat. A real one. Thirty seconds. Neither let go first.
And he said quietly into my shoulder, "Don't read that again at the real one. I want new material."
Who would you write a eulogy for - while they're still here?
Don't wait. The flowers can't hear. The box doesn't laugh. Say it now. At the pub. Over a bad cup of tea. You'll feel ridiculous.
They'll look uncomfortable. It'll be the most important thing you've ever done.
Read them the speech while they can still hug you in the car park.”
.
My local animal shelter (BARCS) just got an influx of 369 birds from a shitass pet store, which is a truly terrifying number of parrots to have inside a building. BUT: there's a donation drive going on right now where you can vote for a pet's face to go on a beer can for their annual BARCStoberfest. Every single vote is a dollar towards animal rescue!!!
You can vote for your favorites such as Tylenol, El Wiwi Gordito, and Cheese here on their website!
It's the last day of the Barcstober contest! 10 more hours until the polls close.
Cheese and Coco(a) have pulled in a respectable 261 dollars together for bird representation. Tylenol (the people's princess) still holds a steady lead against wealthy-donor-backed Elmer. And El Wiwi Gordito has emerged as a true dark horse, pulling into 7th place with over 600 votes. Very thankful for everyone who has donated to my local animal shelter--keep up the good work!!
To the glistening eastern sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant. To the great western wood, King Edmund the Just. To the radiant southern sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear northern sky, I give you King Peter the Magnificent.
Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. May your wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens.
An amazing art by CrazyTom.
P.S. Art is published with permission of the author. Please, do not repost!
Unusual but sympathetic paper:
Language Matters: What Not to Say to Patients with Long COVID, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and Other Complex Chronic Disorders
https://www.mdpi.com/1660-4601/22/2/275
that is the face of a man worried he will be next
Good news, he was not next! In fact, she accepted him as her mate, he learned the crane mating dance and now every year, he artificially inseminates her with crane semen to expand the very endangered crane population. True story.
Sorry, he WHAT? Imagine being this man's boss and having to sit him down like. Listen. Brian. We need you to fuck the bird. You have to act like you're excited about it.
crane husband.....
this is the diametric opposite of all those awful swan wife stories and i love it.
(WalWaPo makes you jump through like three separate hoops before you can read the article, so I will share some of the highlights:
Walnut was born in a species-recovery breeding program in the 1980′s. The program had crane chicks hand-raised by human volunteers, and at that time they did not fully understand the measures necessary make sure that the chicks do not imprint on humans and retain their identity as cranes.
As a result, her keepers believe, Walnut does not recognize other cranes as members of her own species.
It has not been proven that Walnut killed her previous suitors; however, there is a persistent rumor in the white-naped-crane-conservation community that she did.
Because this species is highly endangered, and the gene pool of the captive population is small, it’s pretty important for the survival of her species that Walnut A) mate, and B) not kill a bunch of other cranes.
The actual name of the keeper is Chris Crowe.
They both arrived at the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute in 2004.
Walnut immediately began paying special attention to Chris--and ignoring the eligible male crane in a nearby enclosure.
Walnut initiated their courtship, performing the opening moves of a mating dance.
Chris realized that if he reciprocated the mating dance, it might be possible to artificially inseminate Walnut with her participation and consent. (The process normally involves restraining the bird.)
It worked!
Chris and Walnut have had five children, who were raised by other crane couples at the facility--sometimes the biological dad and his mate--both because it’s unclear whether Walnut would accept the chicks as her own, and because Chris is not equipped to be a Crane Dad.
However, the Institute provides her with artificial eggs to sit on, and Chris takes his turn looking after them. (This would not work with real eggs because he can’t sit on them properly, but Walnut seems to feel that he is on the job if he just stands over them.)
Chris accepts that he is pretty much married to this bird. White-naped cranes live to be about 60, and they mate for life, so he knows he can’t retire while Walnut is alive. (At the time of the article, Walnut was 36, and Chris 42.)
Legit cannot pick the funniest part of this
she has not been PROVEN to have killed her exes, but there is a PERSISTENT RUMOR (really officers she's simply DEVASTATED, she sobs, wearing a new feather boa unfortunately resembling her most recent deceased husband)
His name is Chris CROWE. (Mrs. Walnut Crane-Crowe?)
the mental images of a whole human man learning and performing the crane mating dance, and "sitting" on artificial eggs so she thinks he's performing his duties as a husband and father (and apparently OBJECTS if he does not?)
"chris, buddy, you gotta marry the possibly-murderous crane lady for the GOOD OF THE SPECIES." (alternately: "chris, my man! good news! we found you a very interested lady! She's 36, she's very spirited and independent, she holds a very important and rare status in her society! ...Is there a downside? WELL...")
chris sits any potential human partners down, like "my love, you must understand before we wed,,, i am already... Attached" (camera drifts wistfully to the above photo) "Lady Walnut and I have an,, Understanding... the relationship is open, but very committed"
just had to explain this post to my father bc he thought my stifled laughter was a signal of illness.
well done, everyone, good game. hit the showers.
Not only is he 'married' to walnut, this has apparently happened SEVERAL times, so he has MULTIPLE crane wives, none of which know about any of his other crane wives. This man is, for some unknown reason, irresistible to cranes
the “this content has been removed for violating Tumblr’s Community Guidelines” notice really adds a lot of flavor to this post and somehow makes it MORE obscene than whatever that actually was
World Heritage Post
I regret being the bearer of bad news, but I thought it should be shared that Walnut passed away in January of this year (2024). There's a lot of mixed info about the lifespan of cranes (due to people misunderstanding what a median is...) but the average for most species I know of is 20-30 years (in the wild if nothing eats them/they don't die young), and 30-45 in captivity, with the oldest known white-naped crane having loved to be 46. Given that she was 42, this old gal did good, and I'm certain she will be missed by folks here.
Via @korvys (Twitter)
I’m glad humans evolved to Boop the Snoot for Good Luck.
glowing as though holy
Balto in new york has it too<33333
I think the purest form of love is just wanting someone to notice life with you. "taste this. look at that. hear this song." again and again. until you can't imagine noticing life without them.
IS MOON DAY!!! MOOOOON DAY!!!! THE DAY OF MOOOOON! HAPPY MOON DAY 🌝 (we landed on the moon today in 1969)
theres bikes around the city you can rent but you have to use an app that needs your drivers license. theres buses that drive right to your destination, but if you dont have change you need the app. you can wash your car here if you sign into the app. you can go to the bathroom here you just have to unlock it with the app that needs your location on. you can order at this restaurant if you scan the code and download the app. im losing my freaking mind
you should have seen me a couple of years ago!
i feel like there is a sleep in me that needs to be slept but each time i sleep i don't sleep that sleep
GBBO: “A s’more is basically just an Italian merengue sandwiched between two ganache-covered digestives”
Americans:
in case anyone in wondering, this is Paul Hollywood's idea of a s'more
You know what, their absolute inability to grasp Mexican foods makes more sense every day
Nodding my head in support of the Americans despite having no clue what a s’more is.
Okay, American immigrant to the UK here to explain all the mistakes from Paul Hollywood happening here: there is one fundamentally American ingredient required to make a s'more correctly but which is basically not available anywhere at all in the UK, and that is graham crackers. A plain digestive biscuit close-ish, but still a very different beast.
From Wikipedia: A graham cracker is a sweet flavored cracker made with graham flour.
The next ingredient (which is also extremely traditionally American but slightly more variable) is typically Hershey's chocolate, but you could probably swap this out in the UK with any plain chocolate bar.
Last ingredient is big marshmallows, the kind you do the chubby bunny challenge with, like the size of your thumb and twice as thick.
A proper s'more, the most traditional possible variety, involves to graham cracker squares, two slab segments of Hershey's chocolate, and one to two marshmallows depending on your preference for filling and gooeyness. You put a slab of chocolate on one of the graham cracker squares. Your marshmallows should be toasted, usually over a campfire but if you're doing them at home over a gas stove burner is fine, but the fire part is critical. You can toast them to whatever degree you like, some people like them nice and golden brown but still kind of firm in the middle, me personally? I want that bitch to CATCH ON FIRE, I want it gooey and sticky as hell in the middle, crispy and burnt on the outside. Slap that motherfucker on your graham cracker and chocolate square, top with the other one so your marshmallow and chocolate are sandwiched together by graham cracker on the outside. You do this with your freshly toasted marshmallow because ideally it will be hot enough to start to melt the chocolate so it sticks to the marshmallow and the graham cracker and, combined with the gooey marshmallow, it keeps the whole thing together, and for that reason some people will let them sit for a hot second to let the melting process happen (especially if like me you have chocolate on BOTH graham cracker squares, not just one, because you're a sugar fiend), but if you are a young child you do not have that degree of patience and you eat that shit immediately, unmelted chocolate and all. Consume your summer camp delight like a tiny club sandwich, get gooey sticky marshmallow and chocolate all over your hands, and enjoy.
Important note: this is a kids treat. It is a traditional summer camping trip dessert. It should be something any ten year old with adult supervision and access to the ingredients can make (and make a mess of). They're called s'mores because kids always "want s'more". If you are using a blowtorch, chocolate biscuits, and merengue, you are so far beyond the bounds of s'more-hood that you have thoroughly lost the plot. If you offered Paul Hollywood's concoction to an American child and called it a s'more, they'd tell you flat out that not only is it not a s'more, it looks dumb and you didn't do it right because it's not gooey.
the point is the mess. the point is getting to make a food, at age seven, whose two basic food groups are 'sugar' and 'fire'. the other point is that this food item is so crumbly, chaotic, sticky, on fire, and prone to being dropped (outside, in the dark, while you are surrounded by other children who are also sticky and on fire) that your supervisors cannot accurately monitor how many smores you personally have consumed. the point is also that you may get away with a smore that is five blocks of chocolate and two marshmallows if you move fast and let nothing stop you.
if you haven't accidentally yet unrepentantly eaten a chunk of twigs or dirt or a bug that got enmeshed in the creative process around smore number 3st, you are too old to have any legitimate input into what makes a smore.
There's 2 other points that I think are important.
The first is that you don't pull the marshmallow off the roasting stick and somehow put it on the chocolate. Your staging area will look something like this, with the graham crackers and chocolate already set out (though not usually on the fire like this, for us it was always someone's lap or a picnic table or something)
And when your marshmallow has reached appropriate roasting perfection, you use the graham crackers to slide it off the stick.
and ideally, as a CHILD you are using a literal stick. Like you walked around and spent time looking for The Perfect Stick off the ground while the adults set up the fire. It has to be thin enough the marshmallow will fit, sturdy enough that it won't bow, long enough that you won't burn yourself roasting your marshmallow. And preferably doesn't have a lot of bark that's sloughing off, OR so much bar sloughing off you can peel it all back and get to the clean stick under it. If you're smart, you might stick the tip into the fire first to "wash" it/burn off anything that was still lingering, but. well, most kids don't.
When you bite in, the marshmallow and chocolate SHOULD ooze out all over you. If you don't kinda look like this eating it, you've probably done it wrong:
The description of the marshmallows as being either brown on the outside but still firm on the inside or fully melted but burned on the outside is missing the true art: fully molten in the middle, without the black burns. Not to say OP is wrong for preferring the burn! But there is a technique for perfection and it goes like this:
You find a spot, not above all the logs where everyone sticks their marshmallows by default, but at the heart of the fire. Ideally between a couple logs already glowing gold. Something like here:
Below the leaping flame. Near the logs. There's probably only one or two spots good enough for this on any given fire, but that's okay because everyone else is up above. They will get their marshmallows faster. They will be either firm or burned or both. That's not your goal.
Rotate the marshmallow slowly. Ideally come in at an angle so the part closest to the flame is the side, not the tip. The spot closest to the fire is the spot that turns a crispy golden brown, and you want that everywhere, on the tip and around the circle.
You keep going, slowly turning, for several minutes. Several people will rotate in and out of the higher sections, getting their fast delight. Eventually, your marshmallow will start sagging badly, risking falling. Maybe it does fall and got start over. But eventually it will be golden brown all over, and so liquid it no longer clings to the stick. It is ready, finally.
You say "who hasn't gotten one yet?" And deposit it onto their waiting graham crackers and chocolate. You've made an excellent marshmallow. It isn't for you. Get another while you're over by the bags and go back to the heart of the fire.
That's your evening. One, slow, perfect marshmallow at a time, given to whomever still wants s'more. You're making art for children to stuff into their mouths cheerfully. You're watching the movement of the fire and the heat of the logs, like you would if you were maintaining it — maybe you would be, maybe you were the one who built it — but right now that's not the goal. Let someone else put more logs on, while you take only the one stick and find the best spot for it to live.
You will, eventually, finish a marshmallow and find that nobody moves to accept it. Maybe they're all eating right now, or maybe they've gone through so many they're hesitating. Eat your masterpiece then. Enjoy it, the hardest and most perfect result from a fun and beautiful moment. Go back in for another, until you've run out of marshmallows and the fire is too low or until even you are done with s'mores, until you have made enough.
"We don't want a gooey mess" pfft even the artistry studied at the feet of my father is inherently a gooey mess. That's the whole point!
Every word of every addition to this post is both 100% true and Pulitzer Prize winning writing.
the kids are calling them "stone fruits." they start off small—think cherries. then they're hooked and they need a quick fix, they get peaches, maybe some nectarines. it's all they can think about. before you know it, they're trying the really hard stuff—apricots, plums. once they taste a mango there's no going back.
every day i am thankful to ancient humans for the domestication of the cat. fucking genius idea. agriculture was a good one too btw but you really outdid yourselves with the cat thing
