LVL 39; Yes, I am an elder and have been around A Long Time.
I'm in the Late-diagnosed Autism basket,
I cuss a lot, I'm a homebody,
I love to make art and create things,
I love reading (mostly smut these days),
I have a husband, a wife, a partner, 2 kids, 2 cats, 3 dogs, and an axolotl!
Finished the Fungi SAL that I’ve been working on since last year. Feels good to have it complete. The ghost fungus on the last page has glow-in-the-dark thread.
It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghosts—skeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredient—the cannabis—was donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Mary’s brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club—the first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
This sucker for adventure feels its way through the world!
With thousands of chemical receptors and millions of texture receptors packed into each sucker, the giant Pacific octopus has a real sense for exploration.
Our aquarium biologist, René, shares a unique bond with the amazing animals in his care. Delve into one of our most-viewed YouTube videos to learn how René engages with our giant Pacific octopus using target training and other unconventional enrichments like a sea-cret morning salsa music routine! 💃🏻
There’s wonder in ocean life and caring for it helps us all!
I've seen a few comments now like "but without chatGPT I don't know what to make for dinner" or "but character.ai is vital to my mental health" and those are not arguments for genAI. They're signs that you need to sort yourself out.
An adult human being should be able to decide what to have for dinner. Yes, some days it's rough and you don't wanna, but the point is, you can do it. And if you can't, you can learn. Hell, make post-it notes with dinner options, stick them on a dart board, and on days when you really can't decide, throw a dart.
You'd really rather put these decisions in the hands of an AI? As in, a company? And you don't see the issues with that? You don't see how easy that makes it for companies to manipulate you, influence your choices and your spending and your entire life?
And if your mental health relies on talking to a robot about your issues "because it listens and cares" - no, it doesn't. It can't listen. It can't care. It's lying to you. It's parroting phrases said by other people in similar contexts. It's an elaborate predictive text machine.
And again, you're just giving all of this information about yourself to a company. A company that wants to make money and likely has no compunctions about selling your data. You're trusting a software run by a company. And you don't think that'll be used to manipulate you? I've got a bridge to sell you.
What you need is actual human connection with other humans. And if you don't know how to connect with other humans then it's time to learn. Start by caring about other people. Take a genuine interest in them. Listen to them. That's how you connect. Not by treating others as entities to dump all your issues on or monologue at about your boring life. Sure, character.ai will put up with that and humour you, but there's literally nothing genuine about it and you will never ever learn to make actual friends.
Relying on genAI for any of this means you'll never learn, in fact you'll get worse, and if genAI ever goes away or you find yourself without access to a computer/phone/internet or the people running chatGPT or character.ai take down the website or put it behind a paywall, you'll be completely adrift. You are handing control of your life over to a piece of software run by a business. Instead of developing skills and independence you're just handing control over to someone else, someone who by the way does not care about you, someone who's only here to make money.
"But some people need--" to stop infantilising themselves, to start taking responsibility and control of their own life, to realise that they have agency and power, to learn that agency and control are not the same as blame and guilt and that someone trying to help them reclaim control is not trying to blame them for their situation.
People, yes even people with your exact diagnosis or background or medical history, were living and making decisions and dealing with their issues and going to therapy and learning and coping for millennia prior to 2022. As in, before genAI was even an option. You can do it. Trust me.
shit like this: https://whatshouldihavefordinner.com/what-should-i-have-for-dinner/
existed long before AI. if you're suffering from decision fatigue flip a coin, don't talk to a water-wasting, energy-hogging, plagiarism-powered machine intended to steal your data.
It: Welcome to Derry is the horror show all about how the US Government fucks over the indigenous people and 1950’s racism is on full blast, oh and Pennywise is there too
It’s very important to the themes of the show that Derry is NOT in the South.
The constant refrain of “we aren’t the South” or “we don’t tolerate racism like the South” is used by many characters when speaking to the Hanlon’s, especially after a racist Derry citizen appears.
Not because Derry isn’t racist (see: segregated bars, racist mayor, racist police, the death sentence that is a mixed race couple), but that it encapsulates just how much racism is let slide.
“We can’t be racist! We fought the South in the Civil War!” Aka you should stop throwing a fit about us being bigoted, because that clashes with our narrative.
On a meta level, you see that with how many fans of the show reacted to Pennywise making racist remarks in this last episode.
“He kills indiscriminately!”
First off, him viewing humans as food is a bigotry all on its own.
Second, of course he’s racist; the dude loves the taste of fear and bigotry causes (and is partially created by) fear! For hundreds of years, this monster has experience the past, present, and future aroma of bigotry enticing fear and vice versa. It’s probably like a constant barrage of kitchen smells to him!
Third, this not even the first time he’s been a bigot in the It Cinematic Universe; remember how he shamed Richie for being a closeted gay man?
Pennywise, much like the rest of Derry, is all about the flair of being unique. “This isn’t the United States, this is Derry”… but in reality, it’s the same kind of evil dressed up and hidden under a facade of an appropriated land/personage/history
the thing so many people don't understand is that the reason wikipedia is generally not accepted as a source has nothing to do with accuracy. wikipedia is (generally) extremely accurate! the reason wikipedia isn't allowed as a source for school is because it's a summary of other sources. wikipedia has correct information, but it gets that information from OTHER places, which are either primary or secondary sources, which lends them credibility that wikipedia technically lacks.
so yes, wikipedia is a GREAT resource to learn new things! but if you want in depth, specific, and creditable sources, don't use wikipedia! use wikipedia's cited sources!!
invizigothx. (2026, January 30). first rule of Cite Club: tell everyone where you learned about Cite Club [Text post]. Tumblr. https://www.tumblr.com/invizigothx/807189844216446977/first-rule-of-cite-club-tell-everyone-where-you?source=share
It appears that boredom lies behind the most creative ideas. That's why quarantine has produced some of the most entertaining activities. One of them is the Getty Museum challenge, that so many of you have already seen in our previous article here.
These are art in themselves, in a some of them point out what lockdown was like for us, they’re expressed themselves in a really cool way. But I think these are going to be talked about in the future.
something about rainbows and glitter. @smthnglttrnrnbw - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
jacobvanloon
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
germansingergirl
izzy806
