Fucking kills me how diet culture has ruined bread. Bread! One of the oldest and most universal foods on earth! The thing that connects us to each other and to our ancestors whose names and faces are lost to history! And some dipshits decided that it’s “so bad for you” because they’re scared of carbs and love shaming fat people.
Having ur main emotional response be crying is so embarrassing like ill be trying to explain why im mad or ill try having a serious convo abt smthn that upsets me and ill start crying like a baby and i have to like turn around and go “i am not crying 4 pity or to emotionally manipulate u im crying cuz im a little bitch, give me a sec”
Damn this post rlly struck a cord with u guys hello mfs who cry easily i love all of you and care you
Y’all my mom told me for my entire childhood that when I cried as a response to things I was being manipulative. It took me YEARS of expensive therapy to realize I am just a lil bitch.
suggestions for gender neutral version of mom/dad? something less formal than just ‘parent’
please note that while progenitor, guardian, spawnpoint etc are all respected titles, they are more the equivalent of mother/father than an affectionate nickname you would scream through the house multiple times a day. gimme something we can use people
I just tried to combine the words and got “dom” and i cant-
but wait, if we reverse ‘dom’ you get ‘mod’. I suggest we use ‘moderator’ as a gender neutral version of mom/dad
Admin and op would work makes them sound powerful and in charge of everything
Admin (respectful) Op (derogatory)
i was going to add something else to this but instead i got to thinking and i was like huh. what could you use.
in most languages the word for ‘mother’ usually starts with an M, because phonetically [m] is one of the easiest sounds for a newborn to make when they start babbling, and mothers tend to be the one most around the child. so in my mind that crosses M off the list, because it’s automatically associated with a feminine figure
similarly, ‘father’ tends to start with D, T, P, or B. (phonetically these sounds are very close together; [p, b] and [d, t] are all only different because of being voiced or unvoiced.) these are also phonetically easy letters and ones kids pick up on earlier.
now the hard sounds for kids are the following: [ɹ, d͡ʒ, tʃ, θ, ð] or in normal speak: the English R, the “j” or “dge” sound in “judge,” the “th” sound in “thigh” and the “th” sound in “the.” and we don’t want kids unable to say their parent’s name for years, so those are also off the list.
additionally, it’s easiest for young kids to just repeat the same sound twice rather than figuring out the tongue gymnastics of putting different sounds together, which is why kids will say Ma-Ma or Da-Da and not Ma-Mo or Da-Po. and we’ll want to stick with low back vowels like “ah” and avoid ones like the hard “i” or “ee.”
so what does that leave us? when we want a sound kids can learn easily and early but don’t want to just put a funky spin on “mama” or “dada”?
my suggestions: G, K, W, L. i personally lean towards W and L. they’re called liquids, since they’re the consonants that kind of aren’t consonants, and kids (and ESL learners) will tend to swap out the English R for a W or L until they can learn the R.
if i ever have a child, they’ll start calling me Wawa. then when they get older, they’ll call me Wala, or maybe even Wally.
and then, once they’re finally phonetically developed, they can call me by my true title as their nonbinary guardian for their 18+ years:
Waluigi.
Okay, but on an actually serious note, Baba is used in several different languages, but the meaning changes between mother, father, or grandparent. However, it is not used in English afaik, so it could be a good English option.
Funny thing is: CD Projekt and their sub-divisions are all super great to most people who work with them. They’re famously generous and kind, giving out sweets and food and bonuses regularly.
If any game should get this article treatment it’s Naughty Dog.
this is gonna be one of those rare things i (1) reblog on main and not my shitpost blog and (2) leave a comment on
if you have never worked a media job you literally cannot serve up a “but they’re so NICE and give TREATS” opinion — my studio only occasionally asks us to work a saturday and it’s usually voluntary, we’re fed, and paid our day rate, and i am still exhausted come monday. and that’s after a standard 8-9 hour work week.
hauling 10, 12, 14, 16 hour days, doing so repeatedly, doing so with no end in sight is beyond exhausting. i have been adjacent to an entire group of my friends going through endless crunch — a death march, as its referred to — and it was emotionally and physically devastating on them.
and that feeling doesn’t end when the product is shipped. you are expected to come back to work on monday, you get some platitudes from your leadership (the ineffectiveness of which put you in the crunch position in the first place, so their words only make everyone feel worse) and you are expected to perform. but you can’t. you need to recover. for days, for weeks, for months.
or have we already forgotten the kotaku article about bioware?
i stopped seeing my friends for months when this happened to them. and when i did see them, they weren’t themselves. they were crying all the time. when i worked these kinds of hours under this kind of pressure at my marketing job, i was crying all the time. you spend all of sunday dreading monday. you stop going to sleep until you’re too exhausted to funciton, because going to sleep means you wake up to go and do the thing you’re dreading.
i think people outside of arts careers, specifically media arts careers, think that we go into this for the thrill of creating and that’s it, we can subsist off of that. full offense, but you’re incorrect.
it’s just a fucking job. entertaining people is not worth the kind of burnout crunch puts people through. there is nothing romantic about that. media workers are there to do a job and crunch is nothing but a failure of management that makes games and tv shows and movies worse. no one does good work when they’re tired.
i can’t stop anyone from playing this game but boy howdy i will never shut up about the labor abuses that went into making it.
In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”
good news everyone. crows no longer need instructions to build tools and have started building them from memory, as well as passing the knowledge onto future generations of crows. oops!
better news everyone. crows have learned to construct these tools from unrelated items! they no longer need to follow the original blueprint they were given and are able to improvise using their surroundings.
