pure chaos ngl

One of those collages was SO. GOOD.

The composition was flawless. It had so much texture and character. SO much personality. Genuinely a capital p Piece that I’d want a print of or something, made out of a single magazine page. The way he put it together was so clever I was jealous I’d have never thought of something like it.

and the comment he posted was “Yeah I’ve never done this before, haha. I hope I did it right, it was fun.”

DID IT RIGHT? BUDDY YOU EXCELLED. And the worst part is after hearing about the professor of this class he does not seem to really interact with his students or encourage them at all. I have no way of knowing who this collage savant is. If he’s an art major or is studying something completely different. I don’t know if he’ll ever try anything like this again and I don’t know if anyone will convey to him just how exceptional his attempt was! And it’s driving me crazy! I’d at least have hope if the freaking teacher CARED AT ALL!!!

Let's go to Lagos

The Doctor has buddies now

Hair-growing effect is kind of goofy

However there is definitely a sinister bend to the Barber. Especially given the whole "harvesting stories from hostages" thing.

Window stories are cool

Return of the mysterious person who the Doctor knows but not us with Abena

Remember: it's never Susan

The chance of the Rth Doctor appearing are small but never zero

Sometimes you do have to laugh at the guy pretending to be The Legendary Guy. Much better than doing The Legendary Guy how it is normally done.

Gods are real now though, in a "made from human stories" way

Cool folklore usage in this one

We also get Belinda information although not from Belinda. How long has the Doctor been following her?

The Doctor can blow up a story-ship in six words. Impressive!

The ultimate metaphor of the Barber is clearly how the creations of labouring artists are controlled by corportations, who can then continue to use and benefit from the product of said labour without the original creators

The bit where the Doctor gets mad at Omo feels a little out of place. "Man I hope the Doctor will show up and help" is a sentiment share by many people the Doctor has helped

Has Belinda really known the Doctor long enough for hugs? Problems of eight-episode series strike again.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

#but in the wake of her going off the deep end people have twisted that into#''she was always a hateful bigot and hp was actually a nefarious attempt to corrupt children into sharing her bigotry''

#and like#no#she was once a well-meaning fairly progressive normie who just didn't think too hard about her own background assumptions about the world#and then she got famous and then she got older and she got radicalized by people who targeted her on purpose because she had#enough money and cultural caché to turn into real influence

#and she was completely unprepared to defend her worldview from people who were telling her that her knee-jerk reaction was always right#and anyone who said otherwise was not only a jerk but also a dangerous villain who wanted to hurt her and other innocent women and girls

#and y'all are not nearly as immune to those tactics as a lot of you think you are

#fuck the ghoul that jkr has become but the story of how she got here is not the story of a crypto-fascist who made it into mainstream#it is the cautionary tale of a normal decent person who fell down a bad rabbithole and got swallowed up by a hate movement

#re-writing history so you can pretend she was always evil won't protect you from sharing her fate

#you have to put in the effort to interrogate your own biases and your own knee-jerk disgust reactions#you have to take a minute every so often to step back and CHECK if you have ended up in an echo chamber bubble and touch grass a little

#because radicalization doesn't happen overnight and it can happen to any of us#it's very easy to let yourself believe that you're Correct and anyone who disagrees with you is Obviously Evil

#you have to force yourself to double-check that notion from time to time and to hang onto EXACTLY what it is that makes the other side wron#you can't just say ''well they're conservatives so obviously they're evil'' because that is how you wind up at ''these men are hurting youn#''girls by PRETENDING to be women in order to take advantage of the protections feminists have spent decades fighting for! and we shouldn't#''even be surprised really - men are awful after all. all they do is TAKE from women and PREY ON young girls. we all know this from our own#''bad experiences with men. and we were right to hate them for it! you see!!'' and whoops now you're a fucking terf

He is my favorite astronaut for any number of reasons, but he’s also one of my favorite visual artists.

Like, look at this stuff????

It’s all so expressive and textured and colorful! He literally painted his own experience on the moon! And that's just really fucking cool to me!

Just look at this! This is one of my absolute favorite emotions of all time. Is Anyone Out There? is like the ultimate reaction image. Any time I have an existential crisis, this is how I picture myself.

And then there's this one:

The Fantasy

For all of the six Apollo missions to land on the moon, there was no spare time. Every second of their time on the surface was budgeted to perfection: sleeping, eating, putting on the suits, entering and exiting the LEM, rock collection, setting up longterm experiments to transmit data back to Earth, everything. These timetables usually got screwed over by something, but for the most part the astronauts stuck to them.

The crew of Apollo 12 (Pete Conrad, Al Bean, and Dick Gordon) had other plans. Conrad and Bean had snuck a small camera with a timer into the LEM to take a couple pictures together on the moon throughout the mission. They had hidden the key for the timer in one of the rock collection bags, with the idea being to grab the key soon after landing, take some fun photos here and there, and then sneak the camera back to Earth to develop them. They had practiced where they would hide the key and how to get it out from under the collected rocks back on Earth dozens of times.

But when they got to the moon, the key was nowhere to be found. Al Bean spent precious time digging through the collection bags before he called it off. The camera had been pushing their luck anyways, he couldn't afford to spend anymore time not on the mission objectives. Conrad and Bean continued the mission as per the NASA plan while Dick Gordon orbited overhead.

Fast forward to the very end of the mission. Bean and Conrad are doing last checks of the LEM before they enter for the last time and depart from the moon. As Bean is stowing one of the collection bags, the camera key falls out. The unofficially planned photo time has come and gone, and he tosses the key over his shoulder to rest forever on the surface of the moon.

This painting, The Fantasy, is that moment. There have never been three people on the moon at the same time, there was never an unofficial photo shoot on the moon, this picture could never have happened.

"The most experienced astronaut was designated commander, in charge of all aspects of the mission, including flying the lunar module. Prudent thinking suggested that the next-most-experienced crew member be assigned to take care of the command module, since it was our only way back home. Pete had flown two Gemini flights, the second with Dick as his crewmate. This left the least experienced - me - to accompany the commander on the lunar surface.

"I was the rookie. I had not flown at all; yet I got the prize assignment. But not once during the three years of training which preceded our mission did Dick say that it wasn't fair and that he wished he could walk on the moon, too. I do not have his unwavering discipline or strength of character.

Almost made me cry right now.

It’s rare to finish a Doctor Who story and you think, “That felt personal.” Not in that it was aimed at you, but rather that the story meant something to its writer. This isn’t to say that Doctor Who doesn’t utilise morals or messaging. Russell T Davies has given us a healthy dose of messaging in both of his eras. What’s less common, however, is when the story feels like a personal expression from an individual’s lived experience. It’s rare to find such individualistic stories which also work. Robert Holmes delivered a muddled take on paying taxes with “The Sunmakers.” Chris Chibnall explored his own experience with adoption with the self-insert Timeless Child storyline. But here, with “The Story and the Engine,” writer Inua Ellams satisfies both the desire to tell a personal story and the need to deliver some solid Doctor Who. And deliver he did.

The story of Inua Ellams’ hiring as a writer is like one of those old Hollywood stories. He contacted Davies only to discover that both Davies and Gatwa had previously expressed an interest in working with the poet and playwright. It was as if he were fated to write for Doctor Who. Perhaps it felt too good to be true, because Ellams wrote this story like it was his one chance to leave his mark. Because of this, we see a lot of elements from Ellams’ work within the episode. His play “Barber Shop Chronicles” explores the home-away-from-home aspect of barber shops in African cities. He even uses the same anecdote about Yo-Yo Ma’s trip through Botswana. Because of this, Ellams’ DNA is woven throughout the story, and yet it never loses its identity as a Doctor Who story.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God’s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

I remember Big Audrey, who leaned into it, who took up rugby and wiped the floor with everyone, who had four children with a man half her size who adored her. Who drank beer by the pint and many of them. Who always had a laugh and almost always had a healing broken nose, who taught little five year old Dunk - who barely came up to her hip - how to waltz.

I often remember Big Audrey when I argue online with narrow-minded idiots who try to tell me that a skeleton never lies, that you can always tell a male from a female because of the massive bones, the muscle attachment points, the sheer strength displayed.

Then I remember you can't argue with ignorance.

lovely commentary. Big

Audrey sounds lovely.

I know that a lot of trans men are scared of being hate crimed and beaten for being trans and while this is a valid fear and also an experience that many trans men have, it can also be a wildly disproportionate anxiety. a huge advantage to being a trans man is that when I go out in public, if I act apathetic and am vaguely confident in the space I take up, and my masculinity likely won't get questioned despite me having curves and tits and long hair. I can go swimming with a binder and a shirt and I might get some looks, but I'll mostly still be safe. it is reasonably easy for trans men to hide the parts of their body that don't fit the general public's idea of a male body.

trans women don't have it this easy. there is no equivalent to "just be emotionless and confident" for them, instead there are thousands upon thousands of idiosyncrasies that they have to conform to and most of those directly contradict one another. hate crimes against trans women, especially trans women of color, are exponentially higher than any other group. and without surgery there is no real way for a trans woman to hide the parts of herself that the general public deems masculine, and therefore (consciously or not), a threat.

the surgeries I want will cost me $10k-$20k out of pocket if I get lucky, and if I don't it might cost upwards of $30k-$50k for both top and bottom surgery. and by "getting lucky" I mean being able to pass off top surgery as a medical necessity to my insurance company. and even if that doesn't happen, the most expensive ftm top surgery I have heard of has been $20k.

the surgeries my girlfriend wants will cost her no less than $80k, and honestly it will likely be upwards of $100k. and there is an incredibly fucking slim chance that insurance will cover any of it, because feminization surgeries are all deemed cosmetic, and most insurances don't cover those. and there's so many surgeries, facial reconstruction on top of top surgery and bottom surgery.