Fuck it *makes stickers of all my danganronpa ships*

i feel like a lot of the 'i hate kids' crowd would be more tolerant if they understood that due to a kid's limited experience of the world that 4 hour flight might just be the longest they've ever had to sit still for or that trapped finger might literally be the most pain they've ever felt in their short life or they might not have ever seen a person with pink hair ever so of course they want to touch it or nobody's told them yet that they can't run around the museum and they only just learned cheetahs are the fastest animals so of course they want to put that to the test. how were they supposed to know etc etc.

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

they should invent friends that do not live so fucking far

when making a character remember! are they a FAG?

Fucked up beyond belief

Actually would suck in real life (and ideally in the story too)

Gay

seriously have been thinking about this all night long. call me autistic but the fact that 90% of workplaces the point is not to get your work done and then be done doing it but to instead perform an elaborate social dance in which you find something to do even when you're done doing everything you need to do in order to show your fellow workers that you, too, are Working . because you are at Work . disgusting why cant we all agree that if there is no work immediately to be done. we just dont do anything

like a fool i have always forgiven the dc metro system every time it fucks me over because the stupid sexy 70s brutalist aesthetic is just too swag i am sorry

Sometimes i feel like younger queer kids are getting a bit to bold with openly talking to people they don’t know In The Context Of:

More than once i have had a younger/same age queer person come up to me in public settings and say something about “finding other gays” or clearly clocking me as nonbinary and I’m like :)))))))) hey buddy I’m here with my conservative parents can you fucking not out me :))))))))

Just say you like my outfit or hair and move on, fuck even tell me you like my shoelaces. Don’t call me gay and limp your wrist at me when you don’t even know me? Especially when there’s a bunch of ppl around?

"Now let's go get Tigger", said Pooh.

happy new years, mickey mouse is officially a public domain character in the united states. i imagine he had a fun little celebration for it

im so fucking sad

hey sorry your boyfriend fell into the public library book donation bin. yeah he’s being used to fund vital community programs and support services. yeah beanbag chairs too. if you pay your overdue fines we’ll give him back though

I hate Justin McElroy for validating my lifelong fear of invisible ocean creatures in my pool with the ‘glass shark’ bit, because now every time I am in ANY body of water I have to act like I’m not afraid of Glass Shark so it can’t smell my very real fear

sorry idk but the way the world is so fast and the people in it still want it to be faster is sooo annoying to me. people groaning while standing in line for 3 minutes people being mad the train ride is gonna take 2 hours people complaining that the bus is a few minutes late people being angry that construction work is taking months even though it used to take decades. don't you see the world is already so so so fast in every single aspect can't you understand that being mad will do nothing and just make your mood worse. enjoy the moments of stillness you're given. just stand in line and look at the people around you. sit on the train and watch the scenery. you'll get there.

Think I just found @amtrak-official's favorite wrestler

One of the developers of Omori recently shared their experiences in this thread about the treatment they had to go through during the development of the game. They're going through a rough patch at the moment. If you liked Omori, I think you should help Melon Kid out if you can!!

It's disheartening to hear that someone on a team was mistreated. Games are a beautiful medium, but the people who make those games come first. We've all got to work hard to ensure better environments for devs, and that starts with making sure they can get back on their feet!