âEmbroidered Snowy Stepsâ â The only footprints that wonât melt

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@mana-vortex
âEmbroidered Snowy Stepsâ â The only footprints that wonât melt

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The weird thing with billionaires hoarding all the money to the point were it feels like there's not enough left for anyone else is that they're on the verge of breaking the system.
And when I say system I don't mean the economy or whatever, I mean the system of money being accepted tokens of a value concept.
Them holding all the money is like as if they want to play football with us but they're taking the ball, and locking the gates to the pitch, and hoping that we'll keep playing football with them. It's reaching a point where we can't help but realise that we're not actually even playing football, we're just standing on the outside of a small, locked pitch, with the food and everything on our side, while they sit locked inside with the ball. They'll say we can play football with them for three seconds and in exchange we must bring them more food than they could ever eat food. But like, why would we bother with the and their game that no one else is allowed play?
The rich are on the verge of breaking the social agreement that is money so badly that, if they do it juuuust right, it will make them both the emperor and the boy who says that he has no cloths.
Dude I haven't a fucking clue what to tag this with never mind what audience it's for. I'm not even sure it's coherent
I've scheduled this to reblog one year after I posted it a 1.20am on a Thursday. Not sure why. I'm very tired
when u touch an unaware cat and they make that small surprised sound reblog if u agree
As per my last clay tablet,
CCing Ibbi-Ilabrat on this one just to make sure weâre all on the same page!
âThe sesame is visibly dyingâ makes me lose it every time. My sesame #mysesame
Love when my cat flings himself into the air after a toy, but he has no style. Straight up ragdoll physics.
One day i want to take a video of Yardstick straight-up hurling himself into the void. Cats have no conception that there is a future. There is just now and the jingly toy.
Your catâs name is Yardstick?
He has three feet.

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CEOs such a deeply unserious concept. Hi I'm the guy whose job it is to decide how much money everyone gets and I just so happened to decide I should get two squilliam dollars and you should get a penny and a half. I know I did a good job because math please don't double check.
We also figured outâthe hard wayâthat the ancients probably cut each layer of linen to the proper shape before gluing them together. For our first linothorax, we glued together 15 layers of linen to form a one centimeter-thick slab, and then tried to cut out the required shape. Large shears were defeated; bolt cutters failed. The only way we were ultimately able to cut the laminated linen slab was with an electric saw equipped with a blade for cutting metal. At least this confirmed our suspicion that linen armor would have been extremely tough. We also found out that linen stiffened with rabbit glue strikes dogs as in irresistibly tasty rabbit-flavored chew toy, and that our Labrador retriever should not be left alone with our research project.
I love this in every way possible. What is it from? Where can I read more?
The pitfalls of experimental archaeology and puppies.
link to source:
âUnraveling the Linothorax Mystery, or how Linen Armor Came to Dominate our Lives.â
https://jhupress.wordpress.com/2013/04/24/unraveling-the-linothorax-mystery-or-how-linen-armor-came-to-dominate-our-lives/
holy shit read the article. itâs short but wild
We found that even more of a threat than rain was oneâs own sweat on a hot day. So, yes, it does need waterproofing, both inside and out. We did a number of experiments along those lines, and found that rubbing a block of beeswax over all sides of the armor provided nice waterproofing. It also makes the armor smell nice! When you wear it for a couple hours, your own body heat softens the glue a bit and makes it conform to your body shape, so it is much more comfortable to wear than rigid types of armor. Our reconstructions weighed about 10 poundsâabout one third the weight of bronze armor that would provide the same degree of protection.
Honey i gotta go to war⊠not to smell my bee armor or hang with the boys or anything no.. uhh we need to uh do war things?
#i've definitely read this before and i've probably reblogged it before but like.#no one in this thread is mentioning that they actually shot someone with an actual arrow in this armor.#they were like 'we've got to test this in practice' and instead of getting a mannequin or something they had an actual person wear it.
They what?
from the article:
While all of this mayhem (both scientifically controlled and free-form) convinced us that our linothorax was ancient-battlefield-ready, we still felt compelled to try a real-life scenario, so Scott donned the armor and Greg shot him. And while we had confidence in our armor, our relief was still considerable when the arrowhead stuck and lodged in the armorâs outer layers, a safe distance away from flesh.
a good life-size mannequin is expensive but i guarantee it would've cost way less than they were spending on all that linen.
Academics are just like that.
northern hemisphere babes we made it to the longest night of the year. we made it. for the next 6 months, every day will give us a little more daylight than the last. let's go. take my hand. climb out of the darkness with me
southern hemisphere babes, they're stealing our fucking daylight!
generative AI literally makes me feel like a boomer. people start talking about how it can be good to help you brainstorm ideas and iâm like oh youâre letting a computer do the hard work and thinking for you???
There are many difficult things that were replaced with technology, and it wasn't a bad thing. Washing machine replaces washing clothes by hand. Nothing wrong with that. Spinning wheel replaces drop spindle. Nothing wrong with that.
Generative AI replaces thinking. The ability to think for yourself will always be important. People that want to control and oppress you want to limit your ability to think for yourself as much as possible, but continuing to practice it allows you to resist them.
"This tool replaces thinking," is a technology problem we (humans) have faced before. It's a snark that I've seen pro-AI contenders take as well: I bet these same people would have complained about calculators! And books!
Well. They did, at the time.Â
We have records from centuries -- even millennia back -- of scholars at the time complaining that these new-fangled "books" were turning their students lazy; why, they can barely recite any poems in their entirety any more! And there are people still alive today who remember life before widely available calculators, and some of them complained -- then and now -- that bringing them into schools dealt a ruinous blow to math education, and now these young people don't even know how to use a slide-rule.
And the thing is:
They weren't wrong.
The human brain can, when called on, perform incredible feats of memorization. Bards and skalds of old could memorize and recite poems and epics that were thousands of lines long. This is a skill that is largely lost to most of the population. It's not needed any more, and so it is not practiced.
There is a definite generational gap, between the people who were trained on slide-rules and reckoning and the generation that was taught on calculators. There came a year, when that first generation grew up and entered the workforce, when you suddenly started encountering grown adults who could not do math -- not even the very basic arithmetic needed to count down from one hundred. I would go into a shop, buy an item for sixteen dollars, give the cashier a twenty and a one because I want a fiver back, and have them stare at the money in incomprehension -- what do? They don't know how to subtract sixteen from twenty-one. They don't know how to calculate a fifteen-percent tip. They did not exercise the parts of their brain that handle this, because they always had a calculator to do it for them.
Nowadays, newer point-of-sale machines compensate for this; they will automatically calculate and dispense the change, no subtraction necessary on the part of the operator. Nowadays everyone carries a phone, and every phone carries a calculator, so if you need to do these calculations, the tool is right there. As more and more transactions go electronic and card, and cash fades further and further out of daily life, these situations happen less and less; it's not a problem that most people can't do math (until it is.)
The people who complained that these tools-that-replace-thinking would reduce the ability of the broad population to exercise these cognitive skills weren't wrong. It's simply that, as the pace of life changed, the environment changed so that in day-to-day life these skills were largely unnecessary.
So.
Isn't this, ChatGPT and Generative AI, just the latest in a long series of tool-replaces-thought that has, broadly, worked out well for us? What's different about this?
Well, two things are different.
1) In the previous instances of tool-replaces-thinking, the cognitive skill that it replaced was a discrete and, on a day-to-day basis, unnecessary outlay of energy. Most people don't need to memorize thousands of lines of poetry, or anything else for that matter. Most people don't need to do more than cursory levels of math on a day to day basis.Â
This, however, is different. The cognitive skill that is being obsoleted here is more than "how to write essay" or "identify what is the capital of Rhode Island." It encompasses the entire field of being able to generate new thoughts; of being able to consider and analyze new information; of being able to follow logical trains to their conclusions; of being able to order your thoughts to construct rational arguments; or indeed of being able to express yourself in any structured way. These cognitive tools are not occasional use; they are every day, all the time.Â
2) In the previous instances of tool-replaces-thinking, the tool was good at what it did.
Calculators may have replaced reckoning, but calculators are also pretty good at what they do. The calculator will, as long as you give the right input, give the right answer. ChatGPT cannot be relied on to do this. ChatGPT will tell you, confidently and unhesitantly and dangerously, that 2+2=5, and it will not care that it is wrong.
Books may have replaced memorization, and books certainly could be wrong; but a fact, once in a book, is pretty stable and steady. There is not a risk that the Guy Who Owns All The Encylopedias might wake up one day and decide -- to pick a purely hypothetical example -- that the Gulf of Mexico is called something else, and suddenly all the encyclopedias say that.
Generative AI fails on both these counts. It fails on every count. It's inaccurate, it's unethical, it's unreliable, it's wrong.
---
I remember some time ago seeing someone say (it was a video about medieval footwear, actually) that "humans have a great energy-saving system: if we can be lazy about something, we are."
This is not a ethical judgment about humans; this is how life works. Animals -- including humans -- will not do something the hard way if they can do it the easy way; this basic principle of conservation of resources is universal and morally neutral. Cognition is biologically expensive, and though our environment is not what it once was, every person still goes through every day choosing what is valuable enough to expend resources on and what is not.
Because of this, I don't know if there is any solution, here. I think pushing back against the downhill flush of the-easy-way-out is a battle both uphill and against the tide.
So I'll just close with this warning, instead:Â
Generative AI is a tool that cannot be trusted. Do not use it to replace thought.
The cognitive skill that is being obsoleted here is [âŠ] the entire field of being able to generate new thoughts; of being able to consider and analyze new information; of being able to follow logical trains to their conclusions; of being able to order your thoughts to construct rational arguments; or indeed of being able to express yourself in any structured way. These cognitive tools are not occasional use; they are every day, all the time. âmikkeneko
Generative AI is a tool that cannot be trusted. Do not use it to replace thought. âmikkeneko

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TIL that the reason lead levels in childrenâs blood have dropped 85% in the past thirty years is because of an unknown scientist who fought car companies to end leaded gasoline. He also removed it from paint, suggested its removal from pipes, and campaigned for the removal of lead solder from cans.
via ift.tt
Yep. It also correlates extremely strongly with an increasing decrease of violent crime. One of the symptoms of low level constant lead exposure is increased aggression and volatility.Â
âUnknown scientistâ? That was Clair Cameron Patterson.
Gas companies are still so mad at him heâs âunknown scientistâ, know his name
Daily reminder that health and safety standards like these are what politicians mean when they talk about âderegulation.â
Patterson died 5 December 1995.
Petition to make his date of death a Tumblr holiday celebrated by talking about cool shit the gas and petroleum industries donât want us to know about, and fighting to continue his work.
Happy Clair Cameron Patterson day!
Oh, hey, itâs almost Clair Cameron Patterson day!
oh my god ITâS TRUE
also much as i hate to mention the solo movie when chewie introduced han to the wookie they found in the mines his first reaction was to pat hans head like you would when you meet a new dog
To further the analogy of Han is the Dog, According to various canon sources, a Standard Human in the Star Wars universe has a life expectancy of roughly 100-120 years. A Wookie has a life expectancy of around 400 years. So, caring for Han for Hanâs whole life is a commitment of less than a quarter of Chewieâs life. Itâs like having a dog that lives to 20-22. A long term companion, but one you know youâre probably going to outlive.
When they kill your dog
oh my god
you have to be able to defend people who are receiving unjust treatment even if they annoy you even if you personally find them extremely annoying you still have to be able to stand up and say "well thats fucked up"
the moral willpower required for "i hate their guts but my personal ethical standard is no xyz and i cannot set the precedent of making an exception for them" is imennse but important work
the purest form of serotonin is when a cat looks at u and u go like âwhat?â and it meows at u
like, that is a very unspecific response I still have no idea what you want but I applaud how adorably you meowed all the same, well done
This post led me to reminisce on the nature of catâs meowing, and I have a funny story
I befriended a feral cat once who had spent her life in the forest without human interaction. I was worried about her because she had a paw damaged from an old injury and was emaciated but obviously nursing kittens that were hidden away somewhere. It took me weeks of putting out food and sitting across the yard every evening for her to trust me even a little and when she decided we were friends and she expected dinner every night she started coming to my door and trying to call for me in the evening, but she didnât meow. Why would she? Cats only meow naturally as kittens when their vocal chords/ears arenât fully developed, adult cats communicate with vocalizations that arenât audible to humans. She probably tried making noises I couldnât hear to call me but ended up sticking to the one I always responded to- a horrible yowling growl that she had made at me when we first encountered each other in the forest. Except once we were friends she would make this noise while purring and rubbing affectionately against a nearby tree or the porch railing (because she didnât want to touch me yet). This understandably freaked my family members out but I was touched that she had taken the time to find a way to basically yell FUCK OFF in an affectionate way.
Fast forward to when she finally trusts me enough to bring her hidden kittens out of the forest to me, long story short I gained their trust and put them in this big pen, that I had previously used to keep chickens in, so theyâd be safe and to keep her from having another litter. Except she was already secretly pregnant again! (Fix your pets, guys, they make SO many babies) and ended up having her new babies in this pen. I kept my distance, sitting on the outside once they were born until she seemed comfortable enough to let me come inside. The kittens were a bit wild, hissing viscously at me as soon as they opened their eyes, but they warmed up to me. There were four of them and soon they all wanted to be the center of attention during the twice daily play sessions. Iâd be playing with one and another would meow insistently behind me and Iâd immediately answer them and give them love, teaching them that humans could be friends that answer their needs- making them adoptable once they were weaned. Mama cat (Artie) would just watch me play with them, and I guess she was doing some thinking because one day when they were about a month old I was playing with them and one meowed behind me. I was confused because I hadnât realized there was a kitten behind me and when I turned, there wasnât. The only cat there was Artie looking at me really intensely. I turned back around to the kittens and I heard the meow again, I turned back to Artie and responded in the way I always did with the kittens âyes baby?â And she meowed again in an exact imitation of her kittens! After that she would.not.shut.up. It was like she had cracked some kind of code, meowing for attention and snacks and just to say hi. Her two older kittens, the ones sheâd had in the forest, had never meowed at me either but started to once they saw how I responded to their mom. and I find it endlessly fascinating because before that it had never occurred to me that cats only meow at humans because they were taught by other cats to keep meowing past kittenhood because thatâs the best way to get a humanâs attention.
Imagine befriending some weird giant with the wrong number of legs that you met in the forest who seems nice enough but doesnât seem to be able to hear you, until your friend explains that all they can understand is fuck off! And Iâm a baby give me love!

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im readinge the book with mama
exposed as a fraud with mama
I saw a sign at a nearby village advertising a "veillĂ©e", a storytelling evening, which sounded intriguing, so I went out of curiosityâit turned out to be an old lady who had arranged a circle of chairs in her garden and prepared drinks, and who wanted to tell folk tales and stories from her youth. Apparently she was telling someone at the market the other day that she missed the ritual of the "veillĂ©e" from pre-television days, when people would gather in the evening and tell stories, and the people she was talking to were like, well let's do a veillĂ©e! And then she put up the sign.
About 15 people came, and she sat down and started telling us storiesâI loved the way she made everything sound like it had happened just yesterday and she was there, even tales she'd got from her grandmother, and the way she continually assumed we knew all the people she mentioned, and everyone spontaneously played along; she'd be like "And Martin, the bonesetterâyou know Martin," (everyone nodsâof course, Martin) "We never liked him much" and everyone nodded harder, our collective distaste for Martin now a shared cultural heritage of our tiny microcosm. She started with telling us the story of the communal bread oven in the village. The original oven was destroyed during the Revolution; people used to pay to use the local aristocrat's oven, but of course around 1789 both the aristocrat and his oven were disposed of in a glorious blaze of liberty, equality, and complete lack of foresight.
Then the villagers felt really daft for having destroyed a perfectly serviceable oven that they could have now started using for free. "But you know what things were like during the revolution." (Everyone nodded sagelyâwho among us hasn't demolished our one and only source of bread-baking equipment in a fit of revolutionary zeal?)
The village didn't have a bread oven for decades, people travelled to another village to make bread; and then in the 19th century the village council finally voted to build a new oven. It was a communal endeavour, everyone pitched in with some stones or tools or labour, and the oven was builtâbut it collapsed immediately after the construction was finished. Consternation. Not to be deterred, people re-built the oven, with even more effort and careâand the second one also collapsed.
People realised that something was amiss, and the village council convened. After a lot of serious discussion, during which no one so much as mentioned the possibility of a structural flaw, people reached the only logical conclusion: the drac had sabotaged their oven. Twice. (The drac, in these parts, is the son of the devil.) The logic here, I suppose, was that no one but the devil's own child would dare to stand between French people and their bread.
The next step was even more obvious: they passed around a hat to raise money, assuming the devilâs son was after a cash donation. But (and I'm skipping a few twists and turns of the story here) the son of the devil did not want money, he wanted half of every batch of bread, for as long as the village oven stood. Consternation.
People simply could not afford to give away half of their bread, and were about to abandon the idea of having their own oven altogetherâbut then Saint Peter came to the rescue. (In case you didn't know, Saint Peter happens to regularly visit this one tiny village in the French countryside to check that its inhabitants are doing okay and are not encountering oven issues.) Saint Peter reminded them of one precious piece of information they had overlooked: holy water burns the devil.
People re-built the oven, for the third time. The son of the devil returned, to destroy it and/or claim his half of the first batchâbut on that day, the villagers had organised a grand communal spring cleaning, dousing every street and alley in the village with copious amounts of holy water. The poor drac simply could not access the oven; every possible path scorched his feet for reasons he couldn't quite explain. So he was standing there, smouldering gently and wondering what was going on, when some passing tramp seemed to take pity on him, pointed at his satchel and told him to turn himself into a rat and jump in there, and the tramp would carry him where he wished to go. The devil's son, probably a bit frazzled at this point, agreed without much thought, became a rat and jumped in the satchel, and of course that's the point when everyone in the village sprang from the shadows, wielding sticks, shovels, pans, and started beating the devil's son senseless. (Old lady, calmly: "You could hear his bones crack.") So the son of Satan slithered back to Hell and never returned to destroy the village oven againâand the spring cleaning tradition endured; the streets were washed with holy water once a year after that, both to commemorate this glorious day of civic resistance when the village absolutely bodied the devil's offspring and to maintain basic oven safety standards. (Old lady: "But we don't bother anymore⊠That's too bad.")
She told us five stories, most of them artfully blending actual local events or anecdotes from her youth with folk tale elements, it was so delightful. She thanked us for coming and said she'd love to do this again sometime. I went home reflecting that listening to an old lady happily tell stories of dubious historical veracity involving the Revolution, property damage, demonic mischief and baffling municipal decision-making is literally my ideal Saturday night activity.