starseneyes
Stars in Her Eyes
Look for the girl with the stars in her eyes. She looks up. She looks beyond. She looks within.
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My Eldest is a budding little artist, and they are multi-talented. Today, they did a little doodling during their parent/teacher conference to pass the time.
At the end, they presented me with their treasure. It's Aziraphale! I am so touched.
Yes, I asked kiddo for a matching Crowley. 🤣 They are a set, after all!
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This is kinda my mantra right now: "Worry about things you can affect, not the things you can't".
I messaged @always-coffee just the other day to say I was trying to focus on the things I could change in my life, not those I couldn't.
My life is chaos 99% of the time. I feel like I’m the housekeeper coming in after the wild and crazy party who has to restore and repair everything without getting to participate in any of the madness that caused the mess—good or bad.
I love my life. It has simply never been a boring one.
So, while I can't stop the insanity from raging, I'll try to focus on what I can control and let the rest go.
Can't be THAT bad a plan, right?
Hello, Mr. Gaiman.
What do you think of Netflix reapetedly cancelling actual good fantasy shows and mass produce another dumb pieces of garbage with poorly written characters and a weak plot without any message which either nobody watches or a bunch of people watch and conclude they're worthless anyway. They clearly don't care about fine cinematography. I wouldn't want that to happen to any of your shows, don't you fear it?
Kind regards, have a great time.
Not really. You make the best thing you can, hope it finds its audience, and keep going. Worry about things you can affect, not things you can't.
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This stuff has always excited me. My first grade teacher had me over for sleepovers (it was a different time) and was the first to let me look through a telescope. I was in awe.
From then on, I was fascinated with space, NASA, and even wanted to go to Space Camp as a kid.
This is wicked cool, and I went MAD when I saw they got Voyager 1 talking without gibberish, again. So cool!!
Y'all, the world is sleeping on what NASA just pulled off with Voyager 1
The probe has been sending gibberish science data back to Earth, and scientists feared it was just the probe finally dying. You know, after working for 50 GODDAMN YEARS and LEAVING THE GODDAMN SOLAR SYSTEM and STILL CHURNING OUT GODDAMN DATA.
So they analyzed the gibberish and realized that in it was a total readout of EVERYTHING ON THE PROBE. Data, the programming, hardware specs and status, everything. They realized that one of the chips was malfunctioning.
So what do you do when your probe is 22 Billion km away and needs a fix? Why, you just REPROGRAM THAT ENTIRE GODDAMN THING. Told it to avoid the bad chip, store the data elsewhere.
Sent the new code on April 18th. Got a response on April 20th - yeah, it's so far away that it took that long just to transmit.
And the probe is working again.
From a programmer's perspective, that may be the most fucking impressive thing I have ever heard.
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When it all gets to be too much...
I’ve always put pen to page, fingers to keyboard when the world gets to be a bit too much. Lately, it feels like it’s spiraling at speeds unseen by the human eye. Well, it’s pretty much doing that anyway, but lately I feel it.
I grew up in chaos. The only constant was the knowledge that very soon something was going to go wrong, something would be blamed on me, or that something would add another brick to my chest, weighing me down.
I never thought that good things would happen.
So, when good things happen, I am elated. I’m surprised! I savor every second.
Because most of my weeks are like this one—working late into the night, trying to maintain an impossible balance, and feeling like the supports have given while I was busy stretching so far beyond their reach I failed to look down and notice them buckling.
So, in a little bit, I’m going to write.
I’ve been slowly working on a short story that’s dark and twisted and frightening... yet full of hope. It’s kinda my thing.
Because, through all the stuff of life, that’s what’s kept me going—hope.
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This machine kills AI
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"You Deserve Nice Things"
A friend told me that this week. And my brain short-circuited. I flashed back to all the things that I heard growing up, all the shortcomings, all the mistakes, all the insufficiencies.
Understanding a phrase and internalizing it are two entirely different things.
I cognitively understand that as a generally decent human who tries her best to share love and kindness with those around her, it's not a bad thing to occasionally welcome something nice into my life.
But seeking it is an entirely different thing. Wanting nice things I can somewhat handle. But to go out there and wrap my hands around something nice I fancy and make it mine?
That's where my brain short circuits and I'm a child, again, hearing that I am selfish and weak and all the things I crafted into the core of my being.
I'm selfish. I'm asking too much. I'm inconsiderate. Why should a child need help with their homework? Rachel, at age 9, you really shouldn't need any help at all! What's wrong with you?
So, I take a deep breath when someone says something like, "You deserve nice things" and I try to believe it. Because the scripts written in our youth are the hardest ones to rewrite.
It’s not the simple act of erasure and replacement, but a constant white-out that doesn’t take and needs another layer, and another, and another.
Why share all this? Because, I know I’m not the only one out here rewriting scripts, reprogramming the bits and pieces that were set by those we were supposed to trust who ended up feeding our deepest insecurities until they defined us.
You, love, are not defined by your past.
You are not defined by what happened to you.
You are not defined by someone else’s version of you.
I know how hard it is to rewrite those scripts, but you are not alone. We’re doing this together. Each of us taking those old lines and rubbing them out, layering over them, replacing them over and over until maybe we start to believe the good instead of the bad.
Maybe we’ll start to listen more to our voices instead of others’. And maybe... maybe... we’ll live life a little more alive.
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I told my mother I was afraid of the dark so I could have a nightlight by my bed. I turned the shade so I could read and then flipped it back when I heard her coming down the hall. 🤣
Happy member of the Nightime Book Gremlin Society!
“phones are disrupting natural sleep cycles” I mean true but also bold of you to assume I had one before the tech boom lol catch me out here reading chapter books by the light of my light up pens in the third grade
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The thing I love about the Good Omens fandom (because I'm a very late addition) is how I haven't seen a single person have a negative reaction to this news.
Every person I've seen has said, "Of course!" without hesitation. And I think that's rather beautiful.
A friend told me about the Kickstarter with less than 48 hours left. We were broke in a bad way, but Matthew and I decided that we should have something to look forward to, and I backed at the lowest level possible.
I'm still in awe that I'll be getting this graphic novel. Waiting a bit? Like everyone else has said—more than worth it.
Honored to be among y'all. Truly.
Important update on the Good Omens graphic novel: publication is being pushed back from Summer 2024 to Spring 2025. We have outlined the reasoning and timelines more fully over on our Kickstarter.
We understand any delay will be disappointing, but during this time we will be continuing to work as hard as we can to ensure all elements from the campaign are worthy of Aziraphale and Crowley's tale, and worth the wait for readers.
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Two Seconds of a Cartoon Dog Made Me Cry
Spoilers Ahead for Bluey: The Sign.
Yes, that’s right. I have a very personal thing to say about a bloody cartoon dog that had me crying on the couch and my Eldest clutching my arm while I silently wept.
Did I mention there are spoilers for Bluey: The Sign? Okay, let’s cry together.
The entire episode was pretty special, of course. Matthew often says that Bluey is the show that makes him feel seen as a parent. But there were two seconds that sent me into a flood of tears.
Let me first remind you about Brandy—Chili’s sister. Last time we saw Brandy, she was visiting her nieces for the first time in years. We found out it was difficult for her to be around the kids because... Brandy couldn’t get pregnant.
As an infertility warrior, that episode always struck a familiar and painful cord. I had a lot of trouble being around pregnant friends or friends with kids while we were in the hardest parts of our battle.
Years of shots, surgeries, procedures, medications, and tests. Everything revolved around calendars and timelines. And still... no baby.
Yes, we now have three incredible kids. But I also knew the reality that many of my infertility warrior friends never conceived. I remember when I accepted that painful reality as my truth.
So when I saw Brandy on that television screen wishing for what she knew she couldn’t have, I felt all the familiar pangs. I remember when that was me.
Then, we watched The Sign. And as the Heelers and friends gather together for a special occasion, we see Brandy walking in... holding her very pregnant belly.
And, oh, how I cried. Because I remember that part, too. I still stare at my three incredible children with awe. Intrauterine Inception babies, all. Miracles of science and love, all.
I never expected Brandy to get her heart’s desire.
I remember when it was me... screaming within for the chance to raise a child. I remember accepting it would never happen. And I remember a few months after that acceptance when I saw my first positive pregnancy test after years of negatives.
And when my family saw Brandy walking with her beautiful pregnant belly, all three kids started cheering for Brandy. "She’s pregnant! She’s pregnant!" Because my kids understand that’s not the end to every infertility warrior’s story.
So even though she’s a bloody cartoon dog, I raise a glass tonight to Brandy. I’m so happy for you, girl.
#Bluey Spoilers#The Sign#Bluey#Bluey Cartoon#Bluey Brandy#Infertility#TW Infertility#CW Infertility#Spoilers#Bluey The Sign
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"Your life should not be a museum". Oh, that hits.
I bear the weight of all the unused, saved things I'm supposed to carry on from my mother's side. But when my Dad asked what I wanted of his when he passed, I told him all I wanted was the dictionary.
I lived with Daddy during Uni, and whenever we heard a world on television we didn't know, we pulled out the dictionary.
It's a large number with a worn and torn red dust jacket that we leave on anyway. It adds character!
Its use is part of why I love it. He gave it to me on the spot. So I wouldn't have to wait for him to be gone to use it, again.
So, loves, echoing the above. We weren't meant to live behind display cases and within wall hangings. Life is messy. And that's okay.
Reminds me of one of my FAVORITE books from childhood, The Velveteen Rabbit.
"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
Live, loves. Be real. Life is beautiful when you live it.
A brief moment of rationality from the bird place.
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#ai#artificial intelligence#climate change#environmental disaster#environment#water usage#chatgpt#ai tools
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It's come to my attention that Angry Robot has decided to employ AI in its sorting/selecting process for its open submission call later this month (April). You can read their blog post here.
While it is not generative AI, it does seem to jump wholeheartedly into the AI fray with gusto. This is...unfortunate.
While they do have an email address you can use, their verbiage makes it very clear that you will have a much longer wait time, should you opt to go that route. (It's also my understanding that they do not reply to all authors and no timeframe for a response is given. So, nebulous waiting? Ugh.)
I have two major problems with all this.
Why would I send something I poured my soul into, only to have it analyzed by a LLM? It's the flipside of, "If a human can't be bothered to write it, I cannot be bothered to read it."
For someone who might be *new* to publishing and not understand things, it feels rather predatory. There *is* an email address for submissions, if someone doesn't want to participate. But they're very clear that responses there will take a MUCH longer time. A baby writer might feel pressured or anxious and not really understand the implications.
While I understand this is an effort to respond to authors faster (or, uh, at all -- because they don't respond to everyone, even to indicate they're passing), it should not be tolerated. This is very disappointing.
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Don't we all live in a submarine? A yellow submarine?
Does this count as finding a walrus at your door?
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Answers in the Aces
Today is International Asexuality Day! And in recognizing what today is, I realized that I've never really shared my story on a public forum.
So, *deep breath*, here we go.
I only put the pieces together in the past few years. Before, I didn't have a name for it.
I grew up Agnostic, but by teenagerhood my family was full-on in the Conservative Christian Church at the height of the Purity Movement—a movement that was so damaging for so many people.
On my wedding morning, I told a member of my family, "I'm not sure I can have sex tonight." Their eyes widened as they looked at me, and they uttered a single sentence in response, "But it's your duty."
Duty. As though I had no agency or right of refusal. That is how they saw it.
Thankfully, Matthew didn't. We did not have sex on our wedding night or during our entire honeymoon.
His respect for me and my autonomy has always been one of the most incredible things considering we were both raised in the same mindset—a husband should have sex when he wants and a wife should not refuse.
But I couldn't live that way. And, thankfully, neither could he.
Matthew didn't need to understand what was going on with me to respect me. This was huge, especially since I wasn't hearing it anywhere else in my life.
Our church even had month-long sex challenges. Yes, that's right. Sex challenges. Singles were encouraged to abstain for a month and married couples were supposed to have sex every night.
I felt like something was broken inside of me because I definitely didn't want to have sex every night. If I feel any inclination towards sex, it's usually associated with hormone fluctuations rather than attraction.
I simply don't feel sexual attraction. And I thought that there was something very wrong with me.
But there was nothing wrong with me.
Within the church, folks would talk about things I could do to "get your libido up"—everything from certain foods to skin patches. It was always about "fixing" me.
But nothing needed to be fixed.
I'm simply me. I tend to say I'm a demisexual with a hard Ace lean.
I don't feel sexual attraction, but I do have bursts of hormones that make me more receptive, and I have zero interest in directing those energies toward anyone but my lovely husband. And that's it.
And I will forever be grateful for Matthew. Even before we had a name for it, he chose me over the mindset we were both raised in. Yes, I should have recognized and respected my own autonomy, but I was so afraid of being broken that I didn't.
I wish more people in my position had such a loving and understanding partner who made space for them to find their way.
So, my Ace siblings, it's our day! And I am so thankful for each and every one of you.
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Via @danacea at Bluesky.
#AI#Artificial Intelligence#“Artificial intelligence”#Artists#Real Art by Real People#AI is Plagiarism#AI has no soul
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Museum Kids
I grew up in a bygone era—when school field trips were plentiful and adventurous. My mother worked 80 hour weeks on film sets, including Fraturday schedules. So, she lacked the time and energy to take us places like that.
School took us all over. Aquariums. Historical forts. Islands protected from human involvement. State Zoos. Amusement Parks. Disney World. Museums. State Fairs. And this was public school in the 90's!
My kids have the benefit of a mother and father with (relatively) normal hours who are teamed up to raise them. I love museums, so I started taking them in infancy. Not just to Children's Museums... but to art museums. And, guess what? They love them.
I remember the first time I took all three to Norfolk alone to visit the Chrysler Museum of Art. My Littlest was not quite 2, and the twins were nearing 5. I remember gripping their hands, hoping it was a good idea.
At one point, my Middle child released my hand and ran away from me. I panicked, a moment. He is Autistic and prone to wandering. But, he ran only a few feet and planted himself in front of a frame on the wall. In a room full of paintings, he found the only Degas.
"That's beautiful," he breathed as he stood and marveled.
So, rather than chide him for running off, I told him a bit about the painting and artist. He listened, took my hand back in his, and we kept exploring.
This week, the Littles and Matthew (school teacher) are on Spring Break. It's tough for me because I still have to work while they are all home, but I shift my schedule so we can take outtings in the afternoon together.
Today, we visited that same museum for the first time in a bit. The children (now ages 6, 9 and 9) were enthused, especially taken by the Venetian Glass exhibit after we've been watching the show Blown Away.
The twins fell in love with a piece of art that allowed them to see one another instead of their own reflection, and decided together they wanted to stage this pose. Don't worry, they aren't touching the glass, but holding their hands close enough to complete the illusion.
Neither saw their own reflection... only each other. And as twins who each came from a different Fallopian tube and then affixed to the opposite positions (front and back) of my uterus, the mirroring seemed beautifully appropriate.
But the best moment for me was standing in the Modern Art wing with my Littlest looking at a massive piece on the wall covered in Mardis Gras beads and lots of color.
6yo: Mama? Do they have any Picasso?
Me: They've had Picasso exhibits before, but I don't think they have any right now.
A woman walking by overheard me and gave me a quizzical look. She pointed behind me and uttered a single word: "Picasso".
There was a massive Picasso right behind me. After laughing at myself, the Littlest posed in front of it for a photo.
The children made little drawings to add to the collection on the wall, and we journeyed through so many beautiful pieces of art.
My Middle leaned against my arm as we walked, whispering the meanings he saw. Littlest cheered at the rainbow room of glass. And Eldest looked for everything that was new between our last visit and this one.
On the way out of town, we stopped at Doumars for grilled cheeses and ice cream for the Littles, then at Zeke's for poké bowls for the grownups.
It was a lovely afternoon. And I sit here in such awe that my Littles are museum kids. I hope they grow up to be museum grownups! One can hope, right?
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