i (type 1 diabetic) was explaining autoimmune diseases to someone and she was like ohh right so yours is the good kind of diabetes where you didn't do it to yourself. to which i objected that's not how type 2 works either. and she said well that's the fat old people disease. and i was like you can't say that, a) not how it works and b) extremely rude. and her defense was her grandparents have type 2 and "did it to themselves" and since they're fat old people she reserves the right to hate on them. i understand hating shitty grandparents but YOU are the shitty one here to hate on them for their medical conditions and weight rather than literally anything else. hello?!
anyway type 2 diabetics i'm sorry about the world. everyone* be kind to type 2s or else
*note to type 1 diabetics especially we need to be better at solidarity and not cling to being the "good ones" at type 2s' expense. what the fuck is a good kind of diabetes anyway
also worth saying diabetes is a complex reaction to a not-yet-fully-understood set of factors and environmental pressures and genetics and it's reductive and fatphobic to say fat=diabetes BUT EVEN SO no matter if someone did incontrovertibly "give themself diabetes" that's not a free pass for dehumanization. shut upppp
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Could I suggest a picture of Dawntreader Texas Calboy? He is a beautiful male calico cat who is a chimera. He's also somewhat controversial among some cat fancy associations since he is a male cat with female colors, and some people are strangely transphobic towards him, despite him being a cat? There was even a rule implemented to keep him from competing in a cat show. If you look up his name, he made a few news articles.
Yeah you're right about beautiful I'm squeezing him until he pops!!!!! I love this guy I think I'm going to make an edit real quickly Calboy I love you I'm so sorry people are calling you a freak??????
He's adorable and I love him. An intersex icon for sure π₯°
As a sidenote: I'm one of those weird Cat Show People, and one of my partners and I show her cats in CFA. And I first want to say I think that my fellow CFA exhibitors and the organization itself have acted horribly towards this cat and his owner. Even though he has a genetic abnormality, even if he is not allowed to compete, this kind of patronizing and rude behavior is pervasive in the culture of CFA, by virtue of this being a pedigree cat organization and therefore mostly dominated by boomers with time and money (I have it on decent authority from some acquaintances that things like leadership boards attract the most insane kind of white people), and the organization as a whole is not incentivised to do anything about it.
That said, I'm also not entirely happy with how this story has circulated, because it leaves out the information important to understanding the actual problem (especially in the article below, which I believe is the most widespread on the issue):
Dawntreader Texas Calboy was born to be a champion. But he was also born with female colors. Now a political debate has broken out amongst c
From what I understand, Dawntreader Texas Calboy was being shown in Championship (his facebook states he reached Grand Championship status, which is no small feat). The article does not explain this, but Championship in CFA is the category for intact adult cats, and generally includes cats which, if found to be up to breed standard, will be bred to produce more purebred cats, and therefore acts as an endorsement of that particular cat's genetic makeup. While the article above does not specify, it is my assumption tha Texas Calboy is banned from competition in Championship specifically. If he were to be neutered, he could be entered into Household Pet, which is the competitive class for which any fixed, non-aggressive cat is eligible.
I show in Household Pet, and it is traditionally a class accepting and celebratory of cats with strange abnormalities. It's perhaps considered less prestigious by some snobs, but Household Pet entrants are eligible for the same types of awards as pedigree classes, including Grand points (meaning the cat has defeated a certain percentage of cats in its class across at least 3 judges) and national awards. It's the class meant to celebrate cats for simply being cats; I've seen all sorts from a pedigreed Maine Coon with crossed eyes to a shelter cat with severe leg deformities, and often, in my experience, judges take great pleasure in judging HHP because they can use whatever criteria they want instead of referring to a standard template. It's fun and a wonderful way to showcase cats as a pet animal and encourage adoption (shelters will sometimes enter adoptable cats into HHP for PR). It's a lot of fun to participate in and to watch.
But I also have an assumption as to why CFA made the call they did. CFA is known to be the stricter of the two large international show organizations (TICA being its laxer sibling), and generally its focus is on what's called "preservation breeding". Preservation breeding has a twofold aim: breeding the healthiest cat possible as close to the standards of its breed as possible, and avoiding experimental breeding. This often means that it is extremely difficult to get new breeds accepted at CFA and that CFA has a precedent of disqualifying cats with genetic mutations from competing as a pedigree cat (especially in the intact Championship category).
While I have plenty of criticisms about the kinds of breeds CFA finds acceptable sometimes (it's far from infallible - don't get me started on Scottish Folds, and peke-faced Persians are on thin fucking ice), but in general the organization prioritizes the long term health of a cat breed. Munchkins, for example, are not permitted to show in the pedigree classes because their looks are caused by dwarfism. The Canadian Sphynx was removed from the approved breed list for several years due to health concerns before being reinstated. While a number of pedigree breeds are the result of genetic mutation (the Canadian Sphynx, rex cats, the American Wirehair, and the Lykoi are all results of natural, genetic coat mutations), CFA has rigorous standards for breeds seeking recognition and these primarily concern the long term health of the breed.
CFA goes out of its way to discourage experimental breeding, and this is a good thing - experimental breeding encourages interest in strange-looking or unique traits in a cat without care for its well-being, and creates demand for backyard breeding and a worse longevity outlook for the cat - and as a result can be quite harsh to cats with genetic differences because pedigreed Champions are seen as a breeding endorsement, and breeding without regard for genetic abnormalities is how you get the current state of betta fish. Breeding a chimera would be seen as experimental, and CFA explicitly doesn't want to encourage or endorse doing so.
I just wanted to add context the article didn't, but cannot stress enough that how this cat was treated was wrong and indicative of how society at large treats intersex and nonconforming folks every day. CFA's decision may be precautionary, and even reasonable where an animal is involved, but it brings out the worst in CFA's membership and reinforces a lot of the biases many of us in the organization wish to push back against. The article above mentions that the breeder's son is autistic, and that she sees people in CFA treat her cat the way she sees her son treated in everyday life. That has to be heartbreaking for someone who loves cats the way she loves people, for two of her closest to share the same struggles. I don't entirely disagree with CFA's DQ of Texas Calboy, but I do consider it a canary in the coal mine when it comes to how internal CFA culture needs to change. Animals may not be people, and it's important to distinguish that, but when cat fanciers have no qualms saying such things about a cat, I've no doubt they'd have just as few in saying them to a human. And that's the real issue here.
Photo of me with Sisyphus as cat tax for reading this far - we're accepting his 6th place ribbon in this judge's ring at a show in January.
If I go spend 20 dollars at a restaurant we wouldnβt call it a micro-transaction, but if I spent the same amount of money in a video game then it is a micro-transaction?
Itβs a bullshit term to try and normalize nickel and dimming people
It's such a weird relic, that term. If I recall correctly, it originated with independent creators attempting to figure out monetization schemes that would work for small websites. Scott McCloud used to propose this idea as a way to fund webcomics outside of the old systems of syndication or advertising revenue. Webcomic artists could sell each page of their comic for a fee as low as a couple of cents, and make a profit on sheer volume.
Then they made their way to video games. And it used to be that they presented a reasonably comprehensible bargain:
You get to play a full-featured videogame for free, in return for which the game will occasionally advertise a premium cosmetic or unlock of some kind, for prices like $.99 or a couple of dollars. This was considered slightly annoying, especially in the mobile gaming space, but the trade-off was clear. Free game, paid optional content for less than the price of a cup of coffee.
The absolute maximal price you'd pay for a League of Legends skin was about $30, and those skins were considered an absolutely outrageous expense for totally dedicated League of Legends lifers, and were expected to be the absolute peak of technical possible quality. And those were still mocked as ridiculous expenses for weirdos, the sort of thing that no normal or average player should ever be expected to blow money on.
Bethesda was mocked for MONTHS for trying to sell $2.50 horse armor cosmetics in Oblivion. Microtransactions? In a premium product? In a sixty dollar game? Absolutely unacceptable! That was a breaking of the bargain!
But Bethesda's transgression was the thin end of a wedge. More and more of those post-launch monetizations started creeping into premium products, and by sheer erosion, by sheer slow grinding normalization, they started to multiply and the prices started to creep up and up and up, and day 1 DLC became normal, and ultimate and premium editions and super ultimate exclusive digital deluxe collector's editions and battle passes and lootboxes and... yeah.
It used to be a... not amazing, but at least a reasonably fair bargain. A transparent bargain. You get to play a game for free, and the price you pay instead is the soft pressure of microtransactionsβactually micro transactionsβbeing advertised to you.
But the line has to go up. The number needs to get bigger. The center could not hold.
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My mom likes to tell me about how when I was a little kid riding public transport with her I'd always smile and giggle and chat with weird old ladies who smelled like cat pee and homeless folks and strangers dressed in bizarre outfits but any time a tidy and respectable businessman in a suit and tie waved at me I'd immediately clam up, and she takes a great deal of pride in my supposed inherentability to clock personalities but the truth is I do vaguely remember those bus rides, and it was never about the clothes or the hair or the smell, but more because everyone "strange" asked interesting questions and listened to what I had to say and seemed to think about what I said while the neat and tidy and rigid folks only ever acted like they were going through the motions, which was boring as hell and also pretty annoying
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The secret to always having things go according to plan is to have multiple mutually exclusive plans which between them encompass the entire space of possible outcomes. That way, no matter what happens, it will be according to a plan.
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There is a young American man in France. His mother has passed away. He has few friends, and works the thankless job of a bus boy in a prestigious restaurant, but dreams of becoming a chef despite having very little skill.
He returns one night to his humble apartment, which is known to have vermin, and comes across a rat, which he could easily kill or set loose on the street.
But the rat- it is special. It seems to speak to him. Promises him every little thing he desires- talent, fame, and fortune. Recognition and esteem like he has only ever seen from afar; fine company like the wealthy men and women whose scraps he picks at over the sink.
Put me on your head, the rat says. Put me on your head and think of nothing.
It is strange at first, yes. Strange to feel another take control of his life and live it better than he ever could. To see miraculous things created with his own two hands, to feel his feet move in graceful and fantastic ways with a confidence he has never had.
But the rat delivers as he had promised: he receives promotions, notoriety, admiration. He is noticed. Envied. Every day is a waking dream, rubbing elbows with beautiful women and handsome men and influential personalities who lavish him with praise. It is addictive, this lifestyle- never mind that he is only ever truly conscious of it as a passenger of in own brain.
It is when he has reached heights few can ever conceive, with all that the rat had ever promised- a beautiful wife in a beautiful house with all the world in his palm, in possession of all the wealth and success a man could ever want, that the rat says that it is leaving.
Leaving? The rat cannot leave. Everything he is, the rat has provided.
"I have delivered on our bargain", the rat says. "I have brought to you all that you have ever dreamed. What more could you desire? I must live my own life, now."
The man is furious. He is terrified. He destroys the rat, in all of the ways that a rat can be destroyed, until nothing is left of it but a fine smear of marinara sauce.
He returns to the restaurant the next day moving like the shell of something hollowed-out and brittle. He cooks well- his fingers remember the movements, his eyes recognize the patterns, his mouth knows without his asking what orders to speak and what platitudes make patrons smile pleasantly with their straight white teeth.
He retains the talents of the rat. The charm of the rat. All the worldly pleasures the rat had provided him.
Still, it seems, he is little more than a vessel for the talents of the rat.
