GossamerOrigins

2) Many vapes contain diacetyl, which, when inhaled causes popcorn lung, or scarring of the lung

3) Ultrafine particles, when being inhaled, can be lodged in the trachea (not good!)

4) Ultrafine particles can also constrict the arteries in the lungs potentially causing A HEART ATTACK

Masks are available at all NYPD precincts, and public library branches across the five boroughs, including all Brooklyn Public Library and Queens Public Library locations

OP: Why couldn’t traditional Chinese Yinpiao银票/silver drafts be forged if they were merely slips of paper? (cr大明宝钞，渐越)

Traditional Chinese yinpiao/silver drafts were paper vouchers issued by private banks starting from the Song Dynasty(960–1279). People could exchange these slips for physical silver at bank branches across the country.

Silver drafts were made in multiple copies with matching serrated seal edges. One copy went to the customer and others stayed at the bank. All edges had to fit perfectly together to withdraw silver. The unique split edge marks were almost impossible to copy.

This mechanism is known as qifeng骑缝 (split-joint seal) in China. It first originated in the Western Zhou Dynasty (1046–771 BC). The Rites of Zhou records that contracts were written on bamboo or wooden slips in duplicate. Notches and marks were carved in the middle before splitting the slips, with each party keeping one half. The two halves would be matched by their notches for verification.

During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods (770–221 BC), this idea evolved into hufu虎符/tiger tally tokens. A military tally was split into two pieces with identical inscriptions carved along the split edge. Troops could only be deployed if the patterns and characters on both halves perfectly aligned, serving as a metal version of the split-joint anti-counterfeiting system.

The technology matured in the Tang Dynasty (618–907). Government documents and private contracts commonly used split-joint seals stamped across the dividing line. The Chinese character "hetong合同" (contract) was written across the middle before the paper was torn apart, so the complete characters would only appear when the two halves were put together. This split-coupon system was later adopted for Song Dynasty (960–1279) jiaozi paper money and yinpiao/silver drafts of the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368–1912).

Official Song dynasty paper money (Jiaozi交子) was abolished in 1107. Private silver drafts issued by Qing-era piaohao票行 (ancient exchange banks) vanished completely in 1951, hit hard by modern banks and currency reforms. Nowadays silver drafts no longer circulate as currency. Their collectible value depends on their rarity and physical condition.

First they were called "chirographs", but later the word "indenture" (in its earliest meaning as just a legal document of any kind between two people) came to be used, originating from the practice of a contract being written twice on a single piece of parchment and then cut in half with serrated edges (as in dent, "teeth" -> indents -> indenture) in order for each party to take one half, so they could later piece them together and verify that there had been no forgery -- same as the Chinese silver drafts!

(Charter of the Clerecía de Ledesma, 1252, showing the serrated indents at the top -- presumably they are cutting rather than tearing because they're using parchment, which I expect is much harder to tear than wood-pulp paper like the Chinese were using)

At age 26, you don't even know yet how different you are from most people. Your unexamined assumption is that everyone works as hard as you do to get through a regular day. When moments arise that provide evidence to the contrary, you chalk it up to the fact that you care more than other people. And while it's true that you are an exceptionally dedicated person, that's not what makes it hard. Your brain is what makes it hard, but you don't know that.

On a macro level you try to hide the effort it takes to interpret other people's behavior and to downplay the fact that you are always, at least a little bit, thinking about hockey. On a micro level your brain is working overtime to process every bit of sensory information it receives, and you aren't even aware it's happening. You have low latent inhibition, although you've never heard that term. It means the ability to tune out irrelevant sensory information, such as the sensation of clothing on your skin. You've learned to live with it, and the tag in your shirt doesn't bother you exactly, but you're unaware of how many resources your brain is using to make it not bother you. You're unaware of how many resources it's using to sort out the barrage of sights and sounds present in the most mundane of settings. You're unaware how hard it's working just to push through the most basic tasks of figuring out that the car stereo is too loud and the air conditioning is too cold, not the other way around, and when you sometimes turn down the volume because you don't like the air blowing in your face, that's just something to laugh off.

You do like the cold. You've always loved the ice. As a child you loved the way it seemed to generate its own breeze and the way your skin stuck to it, and even though people told you to stop so you learned to stop, secretly you still love it as an adult, that sensation of peeling yourself free and the way your skin stretches. You love every sensation of the rink. It's like it's clearing the cobwebs from your brain. Your gear feels like a cocoon. In another life you wouldn't have liked the feeling of sweat but you're too used to it now to notice. Your brain works hard to tune it out. A hot shower after a game is almost as good as sex.

You love sex. Sex, like hockey, is one of the only times the voice in your head is quiet. You don't like sex with the right type of person, but you've finally accepted that it's something you can't change. You carried that weight for a long time, the shame of feeling good when you weren't supposed to. Now there's a relief like you've never known, allowing yourself to feel good about having sex with a man. You sink into the sensations. They take you over.

You love the sensation of your boyfriend's stubble, that gentle scrape that feels like beautiful sparks in your brain. You rub your face all over it on purpose over and over until your skin is red. Your mom asks you about it. She touches the inflamed places, and her fingertips do not feel good. Your brain works hard to come up with an excuse. It's a reaction to new shaving cream. You lie so much for someone who's not very good at it.

You love it when your boyfriend lays all his weight on you. You love it when he hugs you tightly, and you keep demanding he hold you tighter. He teases you about wanting to be crushed. He doesn't want to hurt you. Once when you were seven years old you squeezed your way in between your mattress and your box spring because you loved the weight covering every inch of your body. Your mom didn't like that, she actually screamed when she found you, so you didn't do it again.

You like smells. You like the smell of your dad's cooking, maybe even more than the taste. You like the smell of sunscreen and boat fuel. You used to breathe in deep at gas stations until your parents told you it was bad for you. You like the smell of your boyfriend's sweat. You like the smell of your own sweat, but you wouldn't ever admit it, because you know that's weird. You like the smell of semen and you know that's even weirder. It's pungent and makes you gag, but you like to gag; you like the strain in your throat and the tears in your eyes. You used to suck a dildo and pretend it was the dick of that man you weren't supposed to love having sex with. You don't do it anymore because it's never as good as the real thing and it doesn't settle your mind the right way.

So there's your sense organs, your eyes and nose and ears and tongue and skin, but there's also your vestibular system (you've always loved getting dizzy) and there's also proprioception (you don't know that word but you love to lift heavy things and you love to push and pull and when you were a kid you used to stomp your feet really hard on asphalt to feel it ricochet up your bones), and there's the difference between hot and cold, between pressure and pain, and there's the sense of time (witness how a sixty-second shift on the ice can feel like twenty minutes but a three-hour game passes in a blink), and your brain is working harder than an average brain on all of these things, powering you through the day, using up so many resources, and you

are so

fucking

tired, sometimes, but you believe it's because you are hard worker. (You are. It's true.)

And on days where your brain has worked overtime, and it's running out of things to give, the system begins to malfunction. You don't know that's what's happening. All you know is the lights in the locker room are too bright and your teammates are louder than usual, and the sweat is bothering you after all, and fuck do these guys stink, and the shower is too hot and feels like tiny needles. In an unconscious effort to limit input you walk with your head down so you only see the floor. You don't hear it right away when people speak to you because your ability to process speech has been drained to almost nothing. When someone does succeed in getting your attention, your response is sluggish, your facial expressions jerky as you try to pull up the socially acceptable one. You learned a long, long time ago that hugging your knees to your chest and rocking back and forth was not okay even though it smoothed out the wrinkles in your head, so the option doesn't even cross your mind now, in your mid-twenties. You are not that different from everyone else, you just care more, and you're not happy with how you played tonight. No one can understand what it's like to be you, but that's because you're the best. It's a lonely place to be.

You need your boyfriend. You need him to hold you tightly. He has the power to squeeze every bad feeling right out of you. You want to lay your head on his chest and feel the rumble of his voice. He is hours away from you right now and you won't see him for a few more weeks.

With tremendous effort, monumental effort, you finish out the night and make it home without anyone noticing something's wrong with you.

1. yes

2. i know of another role he played but I couldn't name the character

3. no

4. who is that

Because Ilya is his mother’s son.

Opening up about Irina is like peeling back flesh to expose bone. It’s admitting his own fears. He sees so much of his mother in himself, and it terrifies him.

And this moment is Ilya finally giving Shane that honesty he asked for — to tell him about the one person in his family who he loved and loved him back — but it’s also a warning with a hidden plea.

ok so first of all lets start with the t rex. her very first moment is the goat leg ending up on the car, but we can see in the next shot that she is very capable of swallowing the goat whole. so how did that leg get there? given evidence that t. rexes were likely social creatures, i like to imagine that the leg on the car was more “here you go have part of my meal because you’re small” for the humans

next is her communication. i want to look at one specific thing, which was actually the thing that prompted the post

to me, that certainly looks like eye pinning. eye pinning is a behavior in birds that signals high stimulation. here’s what it looks like in a bird

it can be positive or negative, but in this case it’s probably not negative, because there’s nothing forcing the rex to stay there. if she wanted to leave the situation she could hit the bricks

the continual roaring also sort of suggests play behavior to me. there’s not really any sense in making a shitload of noise at your prey (unless you’re trying to scare them out of cover, but we know she doesn’t need to do that because we see she’s strong enough to just break into the car) so, especially because they keep screaming, that reads way more like “im making noises and they’re making noises back ^w^” then it does as trying to intimidate prey for some reason

play behavior also makes sense because we know, canonically, she’s crazy understimulated. alan grant says as much when he mentions that they aren’t feeding her in a way that promotes hunting behavior. the way she noses at the jeep and spins it really just looks more like curious interaction than anything, as well as all the chasing people she does

next, the raptors. their really famous scene is the kitchen, but first let’s establish some facts about them. we know from muldoon and what we’re shown that:

- they’re smart enough to use one of their own as a distraction for flanking maneuvers

- they’re good at problem solving enough to wait until the electric fences are turned off to systematically test them for vulnerabilities

- they’re absurdly fast. “60 mph on open ground” fast

- they are absolutely not in a big enough enclosure

- they’re not fed in a way that promotes hunting behavior either

so when you put all this information together and then look at the kitchen scene, i don’t believe for even one second that the “hide behind the counter” routine is fooling those two raptors for any time at all. that entire sequence of loudly scrambling around the kitchen while something that can keep pace with a cheetah pretends it can’t catch you? yeah that makes WAY more sense as play behavior than it does hunting, especially since we see numerous times that there are many things on the island easier to catch and eat than a bunch of skinny humans (this goes for the rex, too!)

the bit with the noises is also true here. more true, if anything. muldoon tells us the raptors are ambush predators, so why on earth would they get into a hunting ground and then risk scaring their prey off with the loud barking calls? “hi we’re here come out and play” is a much more sensible use of a call loud enough to hurt a human’s ears from across a room in that situation