Wrong: Ada Lovelace invented computer science and immediately tried to use it to cheat at gambling because she was Lord Byron's daughter.
Right: Ada Lovelace invented computer science and immediately tried to use it to cheat at gambling because that was the closest you could get in 1850 to being a Super Mario 64 speedrunner.
Well, yeah. That's why she received the unusual education which laid the foundation for her later discoveries in the first place. Her mother, Lady Byron, firmly believed three things:
It was her responsibility as a mother to ensure that Ada didn't turn out like her father;
Fundamentally, the thing that was wrong with Lord Byron is that he was a poet; and
The opposite of poetry is math.
Ada Lovelace's biography handily illustrates how well this theory worked out in practice.
I collaborated with the Human Artistry Project to make this strip alongside other web cartoonists to make the point that “Stealing isn’t Innovation” when it comes to A.I. usage. It seems to be doing numbers on instagram and elsewhere, so you may also read it here, tumblr.
May the discourse that ensues be long and unhelpful.
The fact that “dolls having a tea party” has stuck around in the public consciousness is fascinating to me.
Like, back in the Old Days that would be a way that women would actually socialize. So if a girl had a doll tea party, she was imitating her mom / other contemporary women.
But these days contemporary women don’t have tea parties. So now, the idea of “dolls having a tea party” is an echo of an extinct behavior, only repeated and referenced because it used to be so prevalent.
So a Barbie in a big hat themed for a tea party is a bit like if they made Transformers that turned into stagecoaches and horse-drawn buggies.
Bugs Bunny accidentally transformed the word nimrod into a synonym for idiot because nobody got a joke where he sarcastically compared Elmer Fudd to the Biblical figure Nimrod, a mighty hunter.
He also solidified the idea of rabbits loving carrots when carrots actually carry very little nutritional value for rabbits. The funniest part of that is that the original joke was a reference to a Clark Gable film where Gable munches on a carrot, it was never meant to imply that rabbits love carrots. The Clark Gable reference would’ve been obvious to audiences in the 40s but it has been pretty much lost to time.
This is part 2 of Shane's fiasco involving, yoga, technology, and his husband. You can read Part 1 here. It can be read as a standalone though!
Shane is definitely freaking out. Like, he’s currently debating whether to open the driver’s side door and tuck and roll out of it. It is so not fine.
The day had started out so nice. He’d picked Yuna up for lunch, after she phoned him that her car had a flat. They’d gone to her favorite place, a little brasserie with farm-to-table offerings and a nice wine list; classy, but not stuffy. Shane even let himself be a little wild. He ordered the mussels with a saffron cream sauce, even mopped up the leftover sauce with hunks of crusty French bread. He’d texted a picture of it to Ilya, even though Ilya was 30,000 feet up in the air and somewhere over Calgary, on his way to Banff for Troy’s bachelor party. Stupid, really, to miss someone who hadn’t been gone a full day yet.
“Thank you for lunch today, honey,” Yuna smiles, squeezing his shoulder from the passenger seat as he drives back to his parents house. Shane’s already dreading how to fill the remainder of the afternoon. Maybe his dad has a new puzzle. Maybe he can convince Yuna to go over the Reebok contract.
“Of course, Mom.”
Yuna glances at him sideways, a soft knowing smile on her lips. “Ilya’s flight should be landing soon, I think. WestJet’s really nice. The last time I flew with them, the plane was brand new.”
Shane knows what she’s doing. Whenever he or Ilya fly without the other, they’re nervous wrecks, have been since Tampa.
Suddenly there’s a ping, and a little badge appears across the touch screen in his car. The message icon flashes next to his husband’s name. Shane exhales, maybe the first full one since last night.
“That’ll be him, do you mind?” he asks.
The number of text message notifications keeps going up. Ilya texts Shane like he talks, in a stream-of-consciousness canine sort of way.
Yuna smiles. “Not at all.”
Shane clicks the voice recognition button on the steering wheel. “Play all text messages from Ilya.”
His car’s robotic humanoid voice, pitchy and staccato, begins to read.
“Ilya said: just landed. Will call you when I get to the hotel.”
“New message: I already miss you sweetheart.”
“New message: Will be thinking about you all day.”
Yuna places her hand over her heart, mouths the word ‘aww.’ Shane swallows and blinks rapidly, looking out the window. Goddamn his sweet, angel of a husband.
“New message: I think you broke my dick last night.”
Shane’s stomach lurches. Oh no.
“New message: Fuck, how are you so flexible? Drooling face emoji.”
“New message: What do you call it again? Plow pose?”
Yuna’s face is frozen. Her expression is not unlike that of a taxidermied animal, an eternal combination of grimace and terror.
“New message: Next time I want to film it.”
Shane scrambles for the voice recognition button again. “Stop! Stop reading messages!” Today, however, his 10-year-old Land Rover decides to mutiny. The button jams.
“New message: You left actual footprints on the wall. I did not see them until this morning. Do not worry. I will clean when I get back.”
Those mussels are dangerously close to coming back up. Shane is going to be sick.
“New message: You need your rest today. Bet you can barely sit down. Eggplant emoji. Peach emoji.”
Shane’s face twists in horror. It’s like watching an opponent hurtling toward you on the ice. A complete out of body experience. Nothing to do but brace for impact and pray its over fast.
“New message: Love you, malysh.”
“New message: “Have fun with Yuna, tell her I send my love. End of messages.”
For a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of air whooshing outside the car on the highway. Shane grips the steering wheel tightly. Maybe he’ll be lucky. Maybe his mom won’t breathe a word about this ever again-
“Can you show me how to get my car to read out texts?”
disclaimer: @cecilyv and I know this is unrealistic, we had fun with it anyway.
The summer Ilya wins the Cup, he gets calls from everyone – sponsors, journalists, magazine editors, ad agencies. Old teammates. Old friends. His fucking brother. Can’t be bothered with most; let his agent decide most of them. The only one he pays attention to is when someone from ESPN calls about doing their body issue (he did, personally, hang up on his brother; the push of a button on his cell is not nearly as satisfying as the click of an old phone, like his father has hanging on the wall in his kitchen. Still felt good though).
Tells his agent to say yes to ESPN. Of course he wants to do it, ham for the camera, show off a little. A lot. He works hard for this body, this life, why not? Plus, it’s good for his image.
Can’t wait to hear what Hollander says. Wishes the shoot lined up with his Cup day. Can almost hear his outrage from here.
Comes back early from Russia, trying to ignore everything his father says as he packs up, walks out the door. Shoot is a good distraction. Luckily, they plan it for when he’s fully bulked up, in peak preseason form. Would never do this after January when he can’t keep weight on. Hockey butt is necessary for this.
Gets ribbed for it in the locker room when the issue hits the stands. Comes in to find the cover image plastered to his locker, like he’s a pinup girl. He just sniffs, “You all wish you looked this good.”
He doesn’t hear from Hollander.
Two years later, he does not expect to open the magazine and find Hollander on display for anyone, for everyone, to see. It is shocking — grabs his phone to text, but is distracted by Shane. So much skin. And that smirk, the small smile he knows so well. Can’t help but rub one out, careful to keep the pages clean. Pristine. Puts the phone down without texting because that’s just embarrassing.
He keeps the magazine, though. Puts in the drawer next to his bed, prays that Sveta never gets too curious. He does not tell him.
The year they’re married and win the Cup for the Centaurs they get approached again. They say yes, again. Obviously.
“Ask us now because we are for older demographic” Ilya sighs. “Am old man.” They’re eating at the Hollander’s, Sunday dinner every week they can. The moment the conversation started, David retreated to the kitchen to clean up. Yuna took a large swallow of wine.
“You’re barely 30.”
He googles on his phone to find his original photoshoot with ESPN, scrolls through it. “I was so young. So hot.” Can’t stop the small whine in his voice.
Shane looks at him over the rim of his glasses. “You’re still young and hot. And, who exactly are you trying to impress, anyway?”
“My husband,” he says promptly.
Which earns him a snort from Shane. “Good answer.”
Yuna looks at him over the dinner table and looks like she’s having a revelation in real time. “You’re why Shane agreed to do the shoot. The first time, I mean. I could never figure it out.”
“Uh,” he says. Glances at Shane, who is looking at the terms of the contract with more attention than they deserve. The tips of his ears are red. And, huh. “Wait, really?” he asks.
“It was good exposure,” Shane mumbles.
He snorts. “You were definitely exposed,” he agrees.
That brings Shane’s head up. “You saw it?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Shane. Everyone saw this. Marleau saw this.”
Shane flushes a dull red, and it’s adorable, and he has to kiss him about it. But nicely, because his mother-in-law is sitting across the table from them.
The conversation moves on to other things. To the post season. To the book club Yuna belongs to, and how they have terrible taste in books, but she likes the people so she keeps going anyway. To the petty inter-office spat David has been roped into against his will, or interest.
In the car on the way home though, he scrolls back to his photo shoot with ESPN while Shane drives, sneaking glances his way.
“You okay?”
He nods, squeezing Shane’s knee. Looks back at his phone. He had been young. Innocent. Also hot. But mostly young. Goes looking for Shane's. It is more familiar than his own. He's looked at it more. Remembers wanting to call Shane, and not doing it. Probably still has the magazine somewhere; doesn’t remember ever throwing it away. Can’t imagine wanting to.
Later, when they are at home, he thinks, why not? Disappears into the room they call the study; neither one of them uses it for much except storing the things they can’t think of a better place to put. Shane’s actual files are kept in the library, and are organized within an inch of their life, and he thinks if anyone ever needs to ask them for their insurance records from 2009, Shane will be able to put his hands on them in 30 seconds. He loves him a stupid amount.
He is not like Shane, and it takes him longer to find the right box. Long enough that Shane comes to find him, find out why he has not come to bed yet.
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking around at the chaos Ilya has created in his search. It’s fine. He’ll tidy it tomorrow. Or tonight, depending on the judgment in Shane’s eyebrows.
He holds out the magazine before he can think better of it. They don’t have many secrets left. It always goes better for them when they don’t try and pretend.
Shane takes it, mystified. Then looks down at it. Blinks. “You kept it? Why?”
He rolls his eyes, and unfolds himself from the floor, does not think about the way his knee cracked when he did. “You are naked in it. Obviously I kept it.” Doesn’t say, I had no other pictures of you. I wanted something.
“I am not naked.” Unlike Ilya, Shane had been serious, posed not to titillate or as joke, but to show off the muscles he worked so hard to build, the body he crafted, sculpted and cared for. Ate his gross bird food for. Still, body issue. The photographer had gotten him stripped down, holding a toque in front of him, teasing at what was not shown underneath.
“Can see your happy trail, yes? Close enough.”
“Did you—?“ Shane stares at him and Ilya quirks his eyebrow. “I can’t believe you--”
“Really, Hollander?”
“Okay, no — I totally believe you…”
“You could put on a better live show now,” waves his arm magnanimously. “A private one, too.”
“Do you deserve a private show?”
“I have been a very good boy,” he says, batting his lashes.
“Oh, have you?”
Ilya slides to his knees. He would do anything for this man. “I can show you again, if you need a refresher?”
----------------------
Yuna and Farah negotiate the terms of the photoshoot. He mostly tunes it out. He trusts them, and he trusts Shane, and Shane is more likely to say no to something than he is anyway. He’ll pay attention when someone puts something in front of him to sign.
The team keeps offering suggestions for what they could do. “You could pose on a zamboni,” Hazy tells them.
He flicks his fingers. “Boring. Has been done.”
“Or maybe don’t desecrate the ice?” From Bood.
“Just make sure there’s some PG-13 photos I can use on our socials,” Harris requests. “But share the outtakes?” He raises an eyebrow at Harris, who looks unapologetic. “For team building.”
The photographer wants them playing naked on the ice, catching candid shots. Shane vetoes that. “I like my bits.” Looks pointedly at Ilya. “I like your bits. I’m not interested in flirting with frostbite. Also,” he adds more practically, “I don’t really want to get hit with a puck without any padding.”
Which is a fair point, he doesn’t either, but, “You think my aim is so bad?”
But they do agree to posing for the traditional face off on the ice with suggestively-placed hockey sticks. It is indescribably weird to skate out to center ice without a jersey, or pads, or well anything. He's done a lot of things naked; hockey is not actually one of them.
“How is your ass bigger than mine?” Shane whines, when they look over the photographer’s shoulder to see the first shots. Shane had spent the last three weeks in the gym, diligently checking on the V-cut of his abs; Ilya had, too, but also went to the bar with the boys.
Ilya slaps it. “Is fries. And vodka. And beer.”
Shane snows him when they get back on the ice, sliding to stop within inches of him. Ilya glares at him and the photographer cackles with glee. Knows he got the shot.
“Thought you liked my bits, Hollander?”
"Thought you said freezing your bits off didn't happen to Russians."
“Am married to soft Canadian now, remember?”
Shane’s eyes drop to his wedding ring, and he smiles that small, tiny smile that only Ilya ever gets. Then he remembers where they are, clears his throat and chirps back, “Like you don’t get in the ice bath after every game.”
“Not when going to see you.”
He eyes Ilya speculatively, like he hasn't seen everything Ilya's got on offer a thousand times over. Like he didn't sign up for a lifetime of it. They're both wearing complicated modesty socks that had taken a ridiculously long time to figure out how to get into. He understands the purpose in theory, but also they both routinely shower and change with 20 other guys, and have done since well before puberty. He's not sure he's got any modesty left.
Still the modesty sock won't be modest much longer if Shane keeps looking at him. He clears his throat and knocks the puck past Shane, automatically chasing for the goal.
Thinks again about the cottage, about maybe building a gym with a fake rink so they can do this -- alone. Without spectators. Really be competitive about it.
Wonders what it would be like to take all that tension on the ice -- be honest, it is best kind of foreplay – and then actually fuck Shane up against the boards. Wonders if he'd ever be able to set foot on the ice again without remembering it. Getting hard.
Decides he really, really doesn't care.
They use the interview to promote the Foundation. Yuna reviews the proofs of the article and the photos on her computer, sitting on their couch. If you had told him eight years ago when he won his first Cup that this is something he would have he would never have believed it. Had barely let himself see the shape of what he wanted then, much less imagined he could actually get it.
“The photos are ….” she pauses delicately.
“Like porn,” he agrees. Tilts his head to look at them better. “High quality porn.”
“Right,” she says faintly. And Yuna Hollander is not a faint hearted woman; he has seen the underwear ads Shane did. He looks at the photos again. They are suggestive. Not really porn, but porn-adjacent. He would have jerked off to them as a fifteen year old. Or 22-year-old. Is happy he has the real thing, now.
“We are whores,” Ilya tells her cheerfully, “for good cause.”
“Not a whore,” Shane argues. “More like, um—“
Ilya raises his eyebrow and waits to see what Shane comes up with.
“Maybe, like being a stripper? We’re not actually fucking anyone.”
Ilya snorts. “So lap dance for Foundation. Sure. No sex in the champagne room.”
This census was not written by and is not endorsed or sponsored by or affiliated with @staff in any way whatsoever. Your personal data will not be gathered by this census beyond your responses to the polls. Participating in the census is voluntary, but strongly encouraged.
Thank you for your exhaustive work collating the various snapping birch/crashout lore posts, they're immeasurably helpful
Wishing you the best🧡
Aww, thank you so much! I’m only a tiny percentage into the snapping birch extras (by the incredible @polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup), but I’m trying to keep chipping away at them.
(You can find the master post for the snapping birch extras here)
@triassictriserratops is doing the child star crash out summer au and the Sochi outing au, so full credit to them for their incredible work and letting me steal their formatting
It's the Royal Academy of Art Young Artist's Summer Show. One of my favourite exhibitions of the year. Like. Not only are the older kids insanely talented, the younger ones' artist statements will just punch you right in the face.
ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME. YOU CANNOT TURN THE CLOCK BACK NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO. YOU HAVE TO BUILD THE FUTURE.
I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE SCARED OR MISS THE PAST, YOU CANNOT, LOGICALLY, GO BACK TO THE PAST. DO NOT OVERINDULGE IN PERSONAL, ARTISTIC, POLITICAL OR IDEOLOGICAL NOSTALGIA. YOU HAVE TO BUILD THE FUTURE.
THE FUTURE IS THE ONLY THING WE HAVE. THIS IS NOT EVEN AN APHORISM. IT IS HOW LINEAL TIME WORKS.
this video deserves at least three views per viewer, because there is no following both the belly dance and the added text at the same time while still giving either one the attention it needs for full appreciation, but watching only one or the other will miss more than half of the artistic intentions here
Shane and Rose coming out date (but let’s double the gay!)
The second (and last) time Shane and Rose try to have sex with each other is in fact a disaster. Shane can’t stay hard. Topping just really doesn’t do anything for him, and combined with the weird definitely not heartbreak ache in his chest and the wrongness that’s chilled his spine since their clothes came off, it’s bad enough that he starts to feel the telltale soreness in his throat that has always preceded frustrated tears.
At the same time, Rose has pulled Shane’s head down to her shoulder so he won’t notice how far away her eyes are as she frowns at the ceiling and tries desperately to will her body to orgasm. It’s getting further away though, frozen over with the dread that she’s going to have to finally face the thought she’s been carefully not thinking since a game of strip spin the bottle at a party in theater school. I’m gay, she thinks, and immediately goes still and tense. She nudges Shane and feels so guilty as she tells him “I think I’m actually not in the mood tonight.” It’s cowardly, and he looks miserable when he pulls away. God, she must’ve been doing such a terrible job at pretending to be into it. Well, she’s certainly been able to feel that he hasn’t been having a good time.
“Sorry, babe,” she says. She wants to soften it further with an excuse about being tired, but the thought of lying to Shane makes her nauseous. He’s been so sweet to her, and she really does like him so much. He’s hilarious, and when she talks he listens and actually understands her, and he’s objectively gorgeous. But she can’t convince herself she wants to fuck him. His face is an odd combination of relief and apology. Fuck. He thinks it’s his fault, that he’s been the one to upset her, and she won’t have that, so she asks, “Can we just cuddle for a while?”
Shane’s arms feel awkward as he wraps Rose up in them, but she’s put on her T-shirt and a spare pair of his boxers, and he’s done the same so it’s at least better than before. He feels sick with guilt that he’s put that nervous expression on her face. Who is he to be making Rose Fucking Landry self-conscious? For the first time, he feels the urge to tell someone else…that he’s gay. Because that’s what’s causing the problem. He loves watching her face move through its thousand expressions, breathing in the gentle scent of her shampoo when he kisses the top of her head (so much that he does it now, even with the weirdness lingering), and the way she always gives his waist one quick extra squeeze before she lets go of a hug.
But as he lays in bed with her, he has to admit that all of those nice feelings he gets with Rose are a lot more like how he feels about Jackie Pike than… than Ilya. Shane’s throat aches again, and with Rose asleep, he lets the tears come until he’s too tired to keep himself awake.
The next morning, Rose asks Shane to get dinner with her just the two of them, and then proceeds to spend every moment waiting for resets thinking through how to go about coming out to her boyfriend. Because the selfish thing is, she wants to find some combination of words that lets her keep him after. Despite the necessary death of their romantic relationship, Rose knows Shane Hollander is a person she could grow to love very deeply, and she wants to. It’ll be a hard sell. She’s really not worried about him saying anything mean or being gross about it, but she thinks he’d be justified in feeling hurt and wanting as clean a break as possible.
When they sit down at their table, he’s so cute, looking at her in the candlelight with his warm eyes and wide smile that she just has to tell him so. It flusters him adorably, and then she ends up rambling something about Miles and jealousy that flusters him worse when she realizes she’s sending horribly mixed signals for someone about to tell her boyfriend they have to break up because she’s probably a lesbian.
“I’m sorry, I’m going about this the wrong way,” she tells him.
Shane is absolutely certain he is about to be dumped, and once again feels that terrible surge of dread and relief washed down with guilt. It needs to end, isn’t fair to her, and she should be the one to do the dumping, but a part of him still wishes she wouldn’t. Even knowing they’ll never be able to make each other happy like this, he’s already mourning the loss of their easy conversations and her easy affection. But then she says, “I’m really sorry about last night. I know I was being weird and not really…doing it for you?” His stomach goes cold and Shane feels like the worst person in the world. Is she really apologizing to him? As though she should have been doing better? That awful self conscious look is back on her face, and Shane needs to come clean. He’s so immediately anxious he thinks he might start hyperventilating or breaking out in hives but there’s no way he can live with the shame of letting Rose put the blame on herself.
“I think I’m gay,” they blurt out, their voices overlapping choppily.
There’s a moment of mutual stunned silence, before Rose, unsurprisingly, recovers first. A peal of delighted laughter rings out as she briefly collapses back against the booth in relief. When she sits up again, Shane is looking at her with an entirely different tangle of emotion from last night, but he does look like he’s going to cry again. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hands, and beams when he squeezes back. “Shane Hollander, we are going to be best friends. Starting now.”
Hayden Headcanon: he's relieved for a few reasons when Shane asks for the trade to the Centaurs. The first, obviously, is that he's away from the Voyageurs/Metros. The second is he's with a team that's safe and actually seems to be a BETTER match for him, hockey wise*. The third is something he's only shared with Jackie: it means he can retire next season when his contract is up without feeling guilty for leaving Shane alone on a team that only ever valued him for his hockey skills.
He'd been prepared to play hockey as long as you could as long as he was on the same line as Shane, because he wasn't going to leave his best friend alone. Jackie understood and was fully on board with this, but after Shane moves to Ottawa Hayden is ready to take his final form: Stay At Home Dad, #1 Wife Guy. He's so ready for carpool duty and making cupcakes for the school bake sale. Jackie is ready to accept the job at the Irina Foundation that Yuna has been offering for years.
Ilya is not ready to be jealous of Stay At Home Dad Hayden Pike 😅
*as always I maintain the initial transition to the Centaurs is a shock for Shane and it takes him awhile to get acclimated. But once he does, it's like he's unlocked Game+ Mode and is playing god-tier hockey better than he ever has before.
This is the 'what happens to Hayden after Shane leaves' idea. I AM SAT.
Hayden would love giving Jackie the chance to work outside the home again. He'd love extra time with the kids.
BUT HE WOULD LIVE TO OUT-WAG ILYA FUCKING ROZANOV.
Picture it: Jackie meets Harris through her work on the Foundation. She is offered a position on Ottawa's media team. (You know Harris will need the help once the team starts killing it.)
Hayden is just dropping off a coffee for Jackie or something, grabs her lunch, and figures he might as well grab one of those disgusting salads Shane complains he likes but that are only really good fresh so he doesn't get a chance to run out and grab one on long practice days. And Ilya says something stupid just on reflex, about Jackie not being a player so Hayden doesn't have to "be former 15th best Metro and now best Centaur WAG."
Nevermind that Harris and Jackie would instantly shoot Ilya's WAG talk down, they wouldn't take him seriously. Or that Troy and Shane and then probably everyone else would argue that Harris and Jackie ABSOLUTELY deserve some WAG-equivalent care and attention, player or not.
The point is, the idea would come to Hayden like a bolt of lightning: "Well, Shane doesn't got anybody else bringing him his favorite lunch. Guess I'll fill in on WAG duties for him."
And he proceeds to WAG the shit out of Jackie, and occasionally Shane, AND ILYA IS INCENSED WTF PIKE NO YOU ARE NOT ON WAG DUTY IS MY DUTY GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY HUSBAND WITH YOUR SLUTTY SALADS AND-
Shane would be mortified. Everyone else would thinks it's the most fun they've ever had.
Lisa and Cassie eventually invite Hayden to the WAG chat, because they also like to ragebait Ilya (out of love) from time to time. Ilya eventually finds out that Hayden is actually pulling DOUBLE WAG duties, for both him and Shane, and he doesn't know how he feels about it LOL
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