hey

I like omgcp, and some other stuff. mostly omgcp tho...

[wearemercs]

Original Tweet

[official-lucifers-child]

not to be gay but oh my gods. oh my fucking gods oh fuck

[enberlight]

The people who sanded historical armor down to their silver base metals are aesthetic criminals

[evelynstarshine]

fun fact: The middle ages was obsessed with bright, garish colours. Armour we think of as silver, grey or black was probably bright yellow and pink with green slashes.

[deathlyfandoms]

There also needs to be a button for “this is the 5000th time I’ve read your fic because I’m having a horrible day and this is the only thing in the world that always brings me happiness.”

[my-nameless-bliss]

good news: there is!

[whitepeopletwitter]

[carnival-phantasm]

It’s more of a pussy out kind of year

[sirduke]

[thymechaos]

sick of how the old prophecies always leave out key details tbh. they’re like Yea Þere Will Come Þe Yeare Of Pusseye Outte but never add (Because Ye Shall Nevere Leave Yon Abode For Feare Of Þe Ravaging Plague) it’s such bullshit.

[vkelleyart]

Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

ILKER KOCAHAN's Archinect profile

Ilker Kocahan holds a bachelor’s degree in Industrial Design with a minor in architecture from the University of Marmara, Faculty of Fine A

[vkelleyart]

UPDATE TO THIS STORY! I would have posted this sooner, but quarantine has had the unexpected effect of zapping all my alone-time...

As luck would have it, I saw Ilker one last time before my area received the mandate to start social distancing. I came into the Starbucks to work on the “Simon Is On the Ground” comic while waiting to pick up my kid from day care, and there he was, happily chatting with the Starbucks manager, who gifted him with a Starbucks hat while I ordered my tea.

A week had passed since our first meeting, so I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me. Lo and behold, as I turned the corner, I caught his eye, and he waved at me. This time, I asked if I might sit with him, and he warmly offered the seat beside him.

While I settled in, he told me that his project was being delayed and that he was going to leave the area and fly home before COVID-19 could make it impossible to travel. The hat was for his wife, whose only understanding of Starbucks was that Ilker really liked the coffee.

As one might expect, we immediately fell into another conversation about art, except this time, I eagerly abandoned my work to hear him talk.

And friends, did I ever get a master class.

He pulled up a painting on his phone which he’d sold for $800. It was a life drawing in ink and watercolor of a woman in a demure gesture, barely detailed and colored in but for her rose-tinted lips and the shadow cast across her neck. He said he felt sad that he’d sold it because he really loved how it came out.

“This is no detailed like yours,” he said, comparing his painting to my panel of Simon and Baz. “Mine is simple. But in a few strokes, I can capture the life of the lady.”

He took his napkin, turned it over, and pulled a pen out of his chest pocket. “Look there,” he said, pointing to a man sitting a few tables away. He began to scribble away on the napkin, lines and lines and more lines. “You see,” he murmured as he ran his pen over the napkin, “I can, with speed, capture the man. I don’t have hours to ask him to sit. I must let go of the planning.”

In seconds, the man across the room took shape on the napkin in a series of confident if also messy lines. It was incredible to watch.

I could instantly see what he meant. He had not produced a photorealistic version of this person on the napkin. But he had captured the man’s essence. The aura of a real person sitting contemplatively with his coffee while reading the Washington Post. I could feel the life of the drawing radiate from the paper.

(When he was done, to my horror, he crumpled up the napkin.)

I shyly mentioned that I’ve been working hard on my own gesture drawing, but had a long way to go, so he asked to see my sketchbook.

I mean... is there even a word in the English language to describe the combination of dread and embarrassment that precedes showing an art master your crap-ass sketchbook that no one sees but you? I didn’t know what to do with myself as he sat there and flipped through the pages.

Eventually, he nodded approvingly and said, “Okay! Is good. But this is sketchbook like every other.” He gestured at the page. “Where are you?”

I was lost for how to respond, but lucky for me, he’s a talkative guy seemingly incapable of awkward silences.

“The world needs to see you in the lines,” he explained. “Someone can look at my work and know, ‘that painting is from Ilker Kocahan.’ You need to draw more and more so that when people look at your drawings, they will know: this work is Venessa’s work.” Then he shrugged and said, “And who knows. I will maybe see you in two years at this Starbucks, and by then, your drawings will be truly yours.”

I’ve shared this story with some close friends who took mild offense on my behalf at his observations, but I really think it took sitting there watching him draw to understand exactly what he was talking about.

Ilker Kocahan has no imposter syndrome. He is supremely confident in every possible way where his art is concerned. The lines that flowed from his pen were fueled by his soul, not his brain. I didn’t think artists like him existed anymore until I was sitting there looking over his shoulder while he scribbled a man into existence, like it was nothing. When I asked if he plots out the perspective on his building sketches in advance, he shook his head no and doodled this on my cake pop wrapper while he rambled on about the components he likes to include in his architecture concepts:

(Don’t worry. I kept it.)

So when he talked about “finding me” in my sketches, I really think he could sense—by the light scratch of the pencil, the trace evidence on the paper of my erasing and failed attempts—my own lack of confidence, my second guessing and self-doubt. My desire to be as good as other artists instead of my desire to express myself.

And in that sense, everything he was saying about my sketchbook was correct. He urged me to get off the iPad as often as possible. To sketch with ink, which is riskier because you can’t erase it, and in that way, give myself no choice but to commit to the lines.

The conversation turned to lighter things after that. He’s apparently an extremely talented basketball player who loves hanging out with his wife and kids. His daughters are both designers. He thinks quirky viral videos are the best thing about the internet. (I agreed.) He’s weak for New York pizza.

Eventually, he bought me a refill for my tea and asked if I would meet him again in a couple of days so he could talk to me about my artwork and help me with my sketching. He even added me as a Facebook friend. When I left the Starbucks to pick up Colin, I was so excited and overwhelmed and grateful to the universe for bringing me into his acquaintance, I texted everyone in my family about it.

But as fate would have it, that night, the local government released its mandate regarding social distancing. He’s likely in Belarus right now with his wife.

I won’t lie and say I’m not devastated that I lost the chance to be his student for an afternoon. But the impression these coffee shop chats left on me was profound. I think about it all the time. For one who struggles with feeling like the artist version of Pinocchio waiting around for permission to be a real boy, it makes all the difference in the world to linger in the huge, unstoppable energy of someone who lives without an inner critic.

I hope I get to see him again after the quarantine is over. I’d love to see if I can fulfill Ilker’s prophecy and meet back at that Starbucks in two years with a different sketchbook in tow. One that I can hand over knowing without doubt or trepidation that anyone looking for me in the work need look no further than the bold stroke of my hand.

Taken the last time we chatted:

[vkelleyart]

[UPDATE:] I am absolutely gobsmacked and grateful at the way this post has resonated with so many folks on Tumblr, artists and otherwise. Some have asked whether Ilker and I have kept in touch, and yes, we have! He occasionally messages pictures of building designs he’s working on or happy family photos (which I assume he’s sending en masse to his friends list) and I basically gush in return. I’ll also occasionally drop a line to check in; he knows I’m still working on my inking and sketch work. He remains so very encouraging and kind. He wishes me “happy art days.”

That said, you can imagine how my heart sank when last night he sent a message out to his Facebook friends letting us know he contracted Coronavirus and has been hospitalized. He’s been ill for two weeks now.

I asked for his consent to share this with friends in case it could inspire some good vibes, and he agreed. If you felt moved by his wisdom and kindness in the above posts and feel inclined to send a healing thought his way today, I would be grateful. While I believe his constitution is strong thanks to his being so active, this virus doesn’t discriminate, and the world needs humans like Ilker Kocahan right now. (Or at least, I do.)

Thanks, and I promise to report back with any news. ❤️

[vkelleyart]

As promised, I have an update on Ilker’s condition!

I am happy to report that he is back home from the hospital as of this week and reportedly feeling better. He said he feels extremely lucky and credited his healthy/happy lifestyle for his resilience via text message. I quote: 

“No smoking No Drunk Basketball Good food Family life enjoying And happy character” 

While he was in the hospital he generously texted me photos of little notes he’d scrawled on paper napkins of his vitals (temperature, blood pressure, blood O2 levels) since I had asked him to keep me posted. Of all the notes he sent, this one was the most interesting, as it shows they’ve been making patients sleep in a prone position with some kind of ventilation over the face, presumably to leverage gravity in opening up the lungs?

Anyway, I’m so grateful to everyone who sent well wishes and look forward to passing along those kind messages to him after this. Thank you, thank you for those good vibes.  ❤️

I hope that if and when I ever come down with something scary like COVID, I can handle it with as much grace as this guy right here:

[zimms]

when ransom and holster start working at the start up, they're in different departments and their breaks never coincide. then about a year in, one of ransom's coworkers tries to introduce him to "this really tall dude. he's loud and he's funny; you'll love him". and it turns out that the entire office has been trying to get them together for weeks.

[satellitestomps]

when people tell you their theories about your fic

[slightlycrunchy]

Y’all for real, always comment your theories. It may sway us in that direction😂😂

[cravefoodie]

With the holidays coming up I wanted to let you guys know something amazing that the app Ibotta is doing. Right now they are offering a free Thanksgiving meal. How it works: 1. Download the app here: Click Here

2. Look for the banner above that states “FREE Thanksgiving Dinner” & click it.

3. You can just enter the email you signed up with and they’ll load the offers into your account. You will then just “click” each coupon so they are ready to redeem. There are a lot of other offers also for free above also that are available to get for free that are not included in the Thanksgiving deal so make sure to clip them also.

4. What you do is go to Walmart (or do pickup) and buy all these items, make sure you get the exact items above. Buy them. Go back to the app and scan the receipt. It’ll put all the money into your account. You can cash out at $20 for instant Paypal money back. Adding all the food above - you hit the $20 automatically. So everything above is COMPLETELY FREE and you get your money back within minutes of scanning the receipt and cashing out.

The big thing I want to stress is right now so many people are struggling. Even if you don’t need it, get it, redeem all the offers, and DONATE IT. If you have a friend struggling, give it to them. Donate it to your local food bank. Someone needs this. You get a ton of stuff for completely free and it can give you a simple Thanksgiving meal. As you see above you can even get a turkey. 2020 has been a terrible year for many families, many need the extra help, so please think about donating the food if anything.

If you have any questions please let me know I am here to help: https://cravefoodie.com/ask

Few tips: If you are not seeing some of the free offers I posted, some are NOT in the “Thanksgiving” deal. As in you need to go through the offers and look for the extra free ones that I found. Some are just in the normal offers, so make sure to search through the app (Walmart section) to get the rest of the free stuff. It’ll have a little “free” banner on each item that you can add.

Reblog this so we can help as many people as possible!

[crying-over-really-dumb-things]

[whatsupbeanie]

I’ve wanted to do Beanie animations for a long time and wanted to have a go at animating an old favourite beret comic! I’m excited but also nervous to share it, I really hope you like it. Would love to do this more often and do some fun videos for YouTube as well.

[zooeydeschanel]

“How many times in your life have you been excluded from something important or talked over or ignored because you’re the only woman in the room?”

[rocker-doctor]

One of my favorite stories:

My mom was working as a lawyer when she was pregnant with my twin siblings. Late in her third trimester she had a court date. She asked the judge if it could be postponed due to her pregnancy but he refused saying she was “making a ridiculous excuse.” So she squeezed into the biggest maternity suit she could find and went to the courthouse. When she stood up in front of the judge, 8 months pregnant with twins and clearly in no condition to be standing for an extended period, the blood drained from his face. He tried to backtrack saying she could sit down, but being my mom, she chose to stand and glare at him for the whole damn hearing. He found in her client’s favor.

[snipertrifle]

They renovated the office bathroom to be ‘eco friendly’ and replaced paper towels with a blower.  And got rid of all trash cans and other receptacles.  Yup, even the little bins inside the stall.  I and other women complained loudly, and were told that there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

So I took my used pads and threw them in the trash in the kitchenette area without being shy about it.  The men were grossed out.  Other women in the office were shocked, and were like ‘aren’t you ashamed to do that?  I just smuggled them home in my purse”

And I was like “I’m not ashamed.  The company should be ashamed to make me do this.”

We had bins in all the stalls the next day.

[appropriately-inappropriate]

Incidentally, a refusal to provide adequate sanitary bins contravenes workplace health and safety laws regarding the handling of biohazardous waste.

Which, of course, blood is. Feel free to point that out if it comes up.

[everythingfox]

“His favorite place is his bed.”

(Source)

[drybonescanharm]

Bitch same.

[tiktoksthataregood-ish]

[never-forget-viva-la-pluto]

That final face was the best

[thank-you-for-the-vampire-money]

We need to thank the Navajo a nation! They all got out and voted with no cars and few polling places- their population was enough to swing BOTH Arizona and New Mexico

[galsinspace]

This is Navajo organiser Allie Young and her "voting squad" on the way to the polls. They rode 10 miles to vote early!

[promisetoloveyouforevermore]

this goes so hard

[cookie-sheet-toboggan]

i love it thanks

[kristiemewisstan]

[hedwig-dordt]

I think that I’ve never * truely * understood what it means to scream at/on/from the top of one’s lungs before

[narwhalsarefalling]

MY TA SHOT SOMEONE IN THE FOOT AND THE PROFESSOR WAS SO FUCKING QUICK LMAOOO

[narwhalsarefalling]

some context 

1. my TA, Ralph, shot his girlfriend’s abusive ex in the foot

2. abusive ex was also a sex offender

3. he shot him when ex came buy to pick some stuff up from girlfriend and tried to take some of Ralph’s items as well

4. ex is stable and alive in a hospital

5. i didn’t do assignment 8 so i am very happy

[narwhalsarefalling]

some more Facts About Ralph

he is whiter then snow. this man is pure 100% american redneck in everything but the politics. this is intimidating if you dont know him because he owns like 3 different guns but also has animated discussions about “how his sister should be able to get married” when you bring up lgbt rights. his sister isnt even gay or trans or anything, he just thinks that LGBT rights also means that the lady should propose when she wants to. hes a little confused but he got the spirit. upon finding out that i am queer he said, word for word “THATS FUCKING RADICAL HOMIE” 

in the first week of school he snorted a line of pepper in the cafeteria and threw up.

the only other crime hes committed before was accidently dropping a weight from his balcony and cracking the sidewalk. which is technically destruction of public property but the judge basically laughed at him and have him 10 hours of community service

this man once walked me home when i stayed late at the lab and talked to me animatedly about breeding brine shrimp for different lab purposes. absolutely captivated by this discussion. i trust him with my life

[hello-giggles-yahoopartner-blog]

There’s a reason Mia’s dad was killed off in “The Princess Diaries” movies — and it’s because of Dame Julie Andrews

If you grew up in the 2000s, chances are you definitely wished your long-lost grandmother would suddenly arrive in town and reveal you were secretly a princess in an adorable little European country called Genovia. The dream. The 2001 film The Princess Diaries and its 2004 sequel had us all wishing we were Mia Thermopolis.

But anyone who has read the brilliant book series by Meg Cabot knows that there are some serious differences between The Princess Diaries book and the films; namely, in the books Mia’s dad is alive and a major character. So why did Disney decide to kill him off for the films? According to Cabot, it was because of Dame Julie Andrews.

The celebrated author recently revealed to Entertainment Weekly that she was surprised when Disney told her they wanted to write out one of her main characters. That is, until she heard why.

“[Mia’s father] plays a big role in the books,” She explained to EW. “I was like, ‘Oh, oh, my God, what did he do [for Disney to kill him off]?’ And they said, ‘Well, we have this actress, who’s a really big actress, that we want to play the grandmother. And we wanna make her role much bigger, and kinda raise the stakes, and give her a lot more lines, and we think we can give her a lotta the dad lines.’ And I was like, ‘Well who’s the actress?’ And they were like, ‘Julie Andrews.’ I was like, ‘Oh my God, kill the dad.’ I was like, it’s Julie Andrews, sure.”

[gogoadaggio]

“oh my god kill the dad”