I can't believe this is how I'm finding out that I got a scam forklift cert.
I took the cargo ops class at school but my teacher explained that it doesn't give a certification and I'd only be okay for ship's crane and the school forklifts. she said I could take an online exam and get my cert. I paid 60 bucks.
I'm googling and I'm seeing a lot of resources saying that the online programs cover the classroom part of the exam but not the in person practical aspect.
the back of the card even had fancy numbers on it. I couldn't have known that this isn't the one. this website sounded more official than certifyme.net, and there wasn't one with a .gov address.
so, I emailed OSHA, and they said that so long as I live and work in California, there's no such thing as forklift certification. I have to be told how to do it every time I get the job.
Update: I took a certification class in shipboard Material Handling Equipment at my federal job. *now* I'm forklift certified, but only on ships and piers and only for this company, but also rated to forklift explosives and hazardous materials. Also I'm a woman now.
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i accidentally clicked onto and off of the "explore" page very quickly, and in the second or so that the explore page was onscreen i saw a beautiful photoshopped image that may infact be nothing like how i saw it due to the speed at which it appeared and disappeared.... but still. what i saw was beautiful
I’m starting to realize we may not all be ready for Racism 102, aka “often times, you don’t think ‘I’m going to be racist,’ you just act on it.”
It does not matter what other reasons you have for being racist. It was still racist. White people lashing out on people of color when In Their Feelings About Something is still racism. White people objectifying people of color for WHATEVER reason is still racism.
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Some things about this post since getting quite a few notes:
1. If you see this post, highly recommend taking it as an opportunity to set a timer for 15 minutes and switch over to ACTIVITY YOU ENJOY. if after those 15 minutes, you want to go back to scrolling, that's okay!
2. Huge shout out to this popping up in my notifs often, bc I do go back to activity.
3. I think there are times where scrolling is fine. Right now, for example, I'm being connected to a machine for two hours to donate plasma and platelets. Yes this is a brag but it is also a time where scrolling is one of the few things I can do. (Though I will probably also read or watch something on phone lol)
being a self-taught artist with no formal training is having done art seriously since you were a young teenager and only finding out that you’re supposed to do warm up sketches every time you’re about to work on serious art when you’re fuckin twenty-five
when i was in undergrad, it was kind of mentioned in and offhand way that we should do warmups, but we were never shown what that meant. And, y’know, we were young so it didn’t matter so much.
Being older now and having an art job it’s…kind of essential.
So: a quick primer for those of you who are like ‘ok but how do i actually go about doing this warmup thing.’
1) you may be tempted to do ‘a warmup drawing’ which is just a drawing that will take longer than it needed to and probably be frustrating and kind of bad because you didn’t warm up first. It’s tempting but always a trick your brain is playing on you! Do not trust!
2) warmups will vary based on what feels good to you/what task you’re about to do/what motor skills you want to practice. That being said, some good standbys:
a) circles. Just a whole page of circles on whatever drawing surface you’re going to be using, whether that’s your tablet or your sketchbook or a drawing pad on an easel. For these circles you should make sure that you’re drawing from your shoulder and not your wrist. In fact, you want to be drawing from your shoulder rather than your wrist most of the time! forever! your wrist is delicate please preserve it!
In order to ensure that you’re drawing from your shoulder, when you’re holding your pencil or whatever drawing tool you’re using, the only part of your hand that should be touching the drawing surface is part of the last two fingers–some people prefer the finger tips, but I tend to favor the first knuckles. Either way, the fingers should really be ghosting over the surface, providing guidance rather than support.
I usually start with big circles and then go to smaller circles and lines of ellipses, and then try to fit circles and ellipses inside other shapes i’ve already drawn as a precision exercise, but i don’t do that unless i’m feeling loose
b) spirals! i don’t always do spirals, but if i’m stiff and the circles just aren’t cutting it, spirals are a good fall back. I start from the center and work outward, going both clockwise and counterclockwise until i feel comfortable with the whole range of motion. Some people really care about getting perfect spirals but for me it’s all about making sure i’m comfortable with how i’m moving so who really even cares about how the spirals look. Not me!
c) lines! straight lines! in parallel! i do a mix of vertical, horizontal, and diagonal. These are often more from the elbow than the shoulder, especially if I’m working on a smaller surface. For this exercise, I recommend holding the drawing tool perpendicular with the surface
d) connect the dots. This is a precision and accuracy exercise and takes two forms. The first is to draw two dots and then draw a straight line between them. The second is to draw three dots and draw the curve that connects them. This sounds a lot simpler than it is in practice. Take time to ghost over the line you plan to draw before actually committing to your line. (I don’t always remember where I picked up my warm up exercises, but I’m pretty sure I got this one from Scott Robertson. His how to draw and how to render books are very technical but also accessible and worth checking out)
e) cubes, spheres, cones, and cylinders. These help get your brain into a more volumetric space. I draw multiples of each, rotating the forms around, and I’ll often take the time to do some rough shading on at least a few of them
f) spidermans! This one is really good if you’re going to be storyboarding or working on dynamic poses. Just fill a page full of spidermans doing all sorts of acrobatics.
g) beans. I don’t do beans too much anymore, but I know a lot of people like it so I’m mentioning it here. Fill an area with different size bean shapes without lifting your pencil off the paper.
h) short medium and long line repetition. draw a short, medium, and long line on your page, and then draw directly on top of them 8 to 12 times, doing your best to exactly trace what you’ve already drawing. Repeat with a wavy line. I’m bad at this one, which means I probably need to do it more.
And there are lots more options too! Hit up youtube to see what other people recommend, put together your own go-to list, mix it up when you’re getting bored, etc.
This is a long list, I know, but I usually don’t take more than 10 to 15 minutes to warm up, and I can warm up one handed while I’m drinking coffee, so, multitasking hurrah.
Sometimes I’ll advance to a precision warmup and find that I haven’t loosened up enough yet; it’s totally ok to go back to an earlier exercise! Also, all of this has the added benefit of kind of ritualistically getting you into the drawing mode so even if I’m not feeling it before I start, by the time I’ve gotten to the end I’m usually Ready For Drawin’. Brain hacks.
so, yeah! that’s a lot of words, but! Warmups are important! Save your joints, take less advil, do better drawings!
Pleased to report that after a day of this i am not longer craving caper brine and my mouth is not dry as usual. There's some good suggestions in the notes too that I want to try.
-ancient roman posca: water, red or white wine vinegar, honey, salt, herbs (coriander, mint, thyme)
-switchel: water, ginger, vinegar, sweetener, lemon, salt
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i learned that actor Danny Trejo has the most on-screen deaths of anyone in Hollywood history, with 65. Followed by Christopher Lee (60), Lance Henriksen (51), Vincent Price (41), Dennis Hopper (41), Boris Karloff (41), and John Hurt (39). (x)
Also there’s the question of density vs quantity. If you make a hundred movies and die in 50, and someone else makes 30 movies and dies in 30, the first one has died more, but the second one has died more often per movie.
65/402 16% Danny Trejo
60/282 21% Christopher Lee
51/259 20% Lance Henriksen
41/211 19% Vincent Price
41/205 20% Dennis Hopper
41/204 20% Boris Karloff
39/209 19% John Hurt
33/117 28% Sean Bean
Ough that cpr story will haunt me. In the same vein, can I ask for cpr first kiss but it’s not sad?…
hehe funnily enough i've been yapping about cpr a bit today so
x
Pain hits Zoro nice and square in the chest, the only thing he can register, and it’s so white and depthless and total that it erases every scrap of thought in his head to leave nothing but a ringing, animal panic where his brain used to be.
The back of his head cracks hard enough taht for one long impossible moment he doesn’t know which way is up or down – all he can remember is the grin of some shitty asshole with some shitty Devil Fruit and the way the blow had caught him half in the ribs and half under the jaw, sending him flying before he could even plant his feet. He remembers thinking, stupidly, this is gonna hurt later.
Then there’s nothing… or not nothing, maybe? It’s a long, dark stretch of somewhere too far from the fight and too far from his own body, just pressure and distant shouting and the deck rocking under him. Voices cut through, one sharper than the rest and edged with something Zoro’s never heard and doesn’t like at all.
“Zoro!”
He tries to answer and gets nowhere – his chest feels too heavy and his limbs are somewhere else. There’s a roaring in his ears, like surf trapped inside a cave. The voice comes again, closer. “Oi, oi, Moss!”
Hands arrive on him, fast and searching, one at his shoulder and at his throat and then flat and hard against the centre of his chest. The contact is so immediate and sure that, even half gone, Zoro knows exactly who it is because nobody else ever touches him like that, furious and careful at the same time. He wants to say something nasty: he’s got a hundred options lined up somewhere in the dark but all of them fail to reach his mouth.
The deck rocks again. Or maybe that’s just his skull trying to remember how to be a head?
Another voice – Usopp, thin with panic. “Is he…”
“Shut up.” Definitely Sanji.
Zoro drifts enough that time loses shape and when he comes back the first thing he notices is that Sanji sounds wrong, breathing fast and shallow, like he’s trying hard not to sound afraid and failing on every level. Zoro can hear the quick, tight little inhales and the faint wet click at the back of his throat every time he swallows, and then all he can feel is fingers at his jaw. Zoro would object on principle, normally, but principle’s currently unavailable. The hand shifts under the back of his neck until the deck feels further away.
“C’mon,” Sanji hisses. It’s worse, somehow, than the shouting. “Come on, you stubborn asshole. Breathe.”
There’s a beat before that pressure’s back at Zoro’s chest again, harder. Sanji’s whole weight behind it, the heel of one hand stacked over the other as he moves with the steady and brutal rhythm of someone who knows exactly how much force a body can take before it breaks. Sanji says something under his breath that’s probably blasphemy in at least three universes and then his fingers find Zoro’s chin again, tilting and opening. Understanding arrives in fragments and yet somehow all at once, enough to make him want to surface properly and immediately, enough to make his sluggish body claw toward wakefulness with sudden, useless urgency.
He’s breathing. He’s pretty fucking sure he’s breathing. He’s almost sure he’s breathing this whole time, even. Maybe shallowly, maybe badly, sure, but… warm breath ghosts over his mouth and the next second, Sanji’s mouth is on his. It’s all business, all firm seal and pressed breath and Zoro gets lemon, first then smoke and the impossible, crushing awareness of another person’s mouth on his.
It should be awful, but it’s the single most electric thing that has ever happened to him in his whole fucking life. Air’s pushed into him and his body seizes on it automatically, chest expanding and lungs burning, nerves lighting up like someone’s gone and struck a match inside his spine. Sanji pulls back just enough to breathe and Zoro, finally, violently, comes the rest of the way awake.
He drags in a breath so sudden it hurts, getting his eyes open just enough to see how Sanji’s hair is out of place – there’s blood on his jaw and his blue eyes are huge. He looks furious and wrecked and so close Zoro can see the tiny crack in the dry skin at the corner of his lower lip, and Zoro can’t do anything but catch the front of Sanji’s shirt to yank him down.
Sanji makes a startled sound that disappears straight into Zoro’s mouth because this time it is a kiss, messy and guileless because Zoro doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, he just wants. Wants more of that taste, more of that heat, more of the way Sanji’s mouth feels against his. His brain is just white noise and concussion and the single screaming thought that Sanji’s kissing him back and nothing has ever felt this good in his entire miserable existence. He kisses like he’s starving, all teeth and tongue and desperation, licking into Sanji’s mouth on pure instinct to taste again, sucking on Sanji’s lower lip. A wrecked sound tears out of his throat before he can stop it, worsened by the way Sanji’s hand finally leaves Zoro’s shoulder to fist in his hair, hard. Fingers tangle in the green strands and tug Zoro’s head back at an angle that makes the kiss deeper and Zoro moans into it, the sound muffled and needy.
His free hand slides up under the edge of Sanji’s coat to find the hem of his shirt and push, palm landing on bare skin that’s hot and smooth, finding the dip of Sanji’s waist. He groans again, fingers spreading wide with trying touch every centimetre at once, dragging Sanji closer, hips lifting off the deck on pure instinct and –
oh.
Sanji’s knees slots neatly through and around Zoro’s thighs for balance and when Zoro grinds up the friction against the solid muscle of Sanji’s thigh punches the air out of his lungs. He does it again without thinking, rutting up in short, desperate rolls of his hips, chasing the pressure, the heat, the relief. The way Sanji makes a sound that Zoro wants to hear for the rest of time.
The hand in Zoro’s hair tightens, pulling just enough to hurt in the best way, the weight of the blonde settling heavier until the heat between their bodies spikes, until Zoro can feel the way Sanji fits so precisely against him, and then his hips snap forward again, too much and not enough. He’s never felt another body moving against his with so much intent, never tasted anyone like this and he drags Sanji down harder and closer, until he can feel the other man’s heat hammering against his own chest, can feel the way both their breathing hitches everytime he grinds up. He can’t stop making noises – these low, keening sounds that get swallowed up between them until Sanji’s free hand slides down Zoro’s chest, down to his hip and pulls, guiding Zoro’s rhythm, making the grind slower and deeper and more deliberate. Sanji’s thigh is solid and warm and there; everytime Zoro rocks up, Sanji moves down to meet him, perfectly controlled even as his mouth is anything but.
Zoro thinks, briefly and wildly, that he’s going to die. This is how he dies, rutting against Sanji’s thigh on a wrecked deck in the middle of a fucking battle while Sanji kisses him like he wants to eat him alive. His first kiss and it’s already the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
Sanji shudders, hips stuttering in their rhythm, grinding down harder for one perfect second and Zoro sees stars. Then – Sanji’s hand tightens in his hair and he jerks back, enough that the kiss breaks with a wet sound that goes straight to Zoro’s dick. A thin string of spit stretches between their swollen mouths for one obscene second before it snaps. Sanji’s lips are shiny and red and raw, pupils blown so wide the blue is almost gone. He’s panting.
“What the fuck?” He manages, breathless and hoarse.
Zoro looks up at him, vision swimming and lips tingling, fingers splayed against hot skin. He can’t make his brain work. Can’t make his mouth form words. All he can do is stare and want and bite down on the whine that wants to break free, the please that’s sitting on the back of his tongue.
“You tell me,” he forces, rough and stupid, probably. “You started it.”
Sanji gapes at him. There’s a flush moving high and fast across his face now, from throat to cheekbones, horrifically bright even under all the grime and battle debris. “I was doing CPR, you fucking idiot.”
“Looked like kissing.”
“It was resuscitation!”
Zoro’s mouth twitches. His hips twitch too, a tiny, involuntary roll up against Sanji’s thigh that makes both of them suck in a sharp breath, makes Sanji’s eyes flutter shut for one little heartbeat. “Felt like kissing.”
That earns him a look of such murderous embarrassment that it’d kill lesser men. Sanji opens his mouth, probably to say something mean and creative but he never gets the chance.
“Oh, whoa!” Usopp’s voice hits the moment like a thrown brick.
Both of them freeze, and Zoro turns his head just enough to see that, beyond the ring of broken railing and broken buildings and enemy bodies and discarded weapons, the rest of the crew’s waiting. Usopp’s eyes are huge behind his goggles and Chopper’s already halfway through vaulting a piece of wreckage towards them, face already cycling through six different shades of panic. Nami has her staff in one hand and both eyebrows somewhere firmly near her hairline, her mouth trembling like she’s trying very, very hard not to laugh.
For one awful, awful beat, nobody says anything and then Luffy points at them and grins. “You were kissing!”
Sanji gets off Zoro so fast he leaves a scorch mark on the deck, flame whipping up just as quickly as it dies.
“I was not –” Sanji snaps but clearly stops himself because, well. He very much was. His lips are still wet and his shirt’s rumpled and he looks debauched in a way that makes Zoro want to bite him.
Or maybe Sanji can bite him – he’s not fussy.
Usopp’s face goes through about six emotions in under a second, all of them humiliating as hell. “Dude,” he says to Zoro, aghast and also a little impressed. “You almost died and that’s what you did with it?”
Zoro, still on his back and still trying to remember whether or not his ribs are attached correctly, drags one forearm over his eyes because god knows if he has to look at any of them right now he’ll throw himself into the fucking sea. His mouth still tastes like Sanji. His hips still want to move. He bites at his own skin for a second, then exhales. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“It was CPR!” Sanji snaps.
Nami makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh but Chopper reaches them at last and drops to his knees beside Zoro, all doctor now despite the obvious scene, hooves already pressing at his shoulder and forehead and pulse points in brisk sequence. “Do not move!”
Sanji stands a few metres away and absolutely refuses to look at anybody, especially Zoro, which is interesting because Zoro can still feel the shape of his mouth and the grip of his hand and the way their bodies had been moving together like they were trying to crawl inside each other’s skin.
Chopper shines a light into his eyes. “Follow my finger.”
Zoro does, mostly: his attention keeps dragging sideways to Sanji, who has his arms folded now like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. He’s glaring out at the sea, ears red ad neck redder. When he finally glances at Zoro there’s a whole damn fight in that look – and an entirely different thing underneath that, hotter and more dangerous and much less easily survived. Zoro almost groans through his teeth.
“Can you stop eyefucking each other for, like, five minutes?” Nami drawls pleasantly. “We’re still technically in the middle of a battle zone.”
That breaks the moment enough for Chopper to get his hands on Zoro’s jaw and turn his face back toward the light. “Focus!”
Zoro focuses, mostly: his chest still feels weird, all lit up from the inside, too full of air and pain and the phantom press of Sanji’s body over his.
“Are you dizzy?”
“Sure.”
“Are you nauseous?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
Zoro thinks about it. “Got hit.”
Chopper nods, apparently satisfied that his brain’s probably still inside the skull where it belongs. “Don’t sit up yet.”
It’s a little too late: Zoro’s already pushing himself onto his elbows, gritting his teeth at the pain that flares down his side and through his shoulder.
Luffy, still grinning, crouches down by Zoro’s boots. “So, if any of us stops breathing Sanji’ll just… kiss us too?”
Sanji rounds on him, face thatching bright, bright red. “No!”
Robin’s smile deepens. “A shame. It seems effective.”
“It was a medical necessity!”
Zoro can’t help but laugh and, sure, it hurts like hell but it’s worth it for the way Sanji’s face goes crooked, just for a second. The cook looks like he might kill him with his bare hands and that, more than anything else so far, reassures Zoro that he’s probably going to live. The next few minutes become all practical chaos: Chopper takes command while Luffy and Usopp are sent to help secure the rest of the field and gather the wounded enemies that are still worth tying up. Robin calmly checks the horizon, the crew moving the way they always do.
Through all of it, Sanji hovers at the edge. He kicks a broken pike out of the way before anybody trips over it, lighting a cigarette before immediately crushing it under his heel with a curse that makes even Luffy blink. Eventually, Chopper gets enough bandaging done to be satisfied that Zoro’s injuries are, if not minor, at least survivable without immediate surgery. “You’re not dead,” he says sternly. “But you came very close to making me miserable.”
“Sorry.”
Chopper narrows his eyes, then pats his shoulder and hops away to tend to someone else. Zoro pushes himself up to sitting, slower this time, grimacing at how the deck swims before it rights itself. When he looks up Sanji’s still there, hands shoved in his pockets. HIs shoulders are still a little too rigid and Zoro can’t stop looking at the way the other man’s mouth is still swollen. Can’t stop remembering the way said mouth had felt wrapped around his tongue and the way Sanji had ground down against him like he wanted to feel every last centimetre of the swordsman.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Sanji mutters. His jaw tightens. “Don’t make a habit of that.”
Zoro looks up at him from the wrecked deck, bandaged and bruised. “You worried about me, Curls?”
Sanji’s eyes flash to his face as that blush comes back again, high and sudden, crawling down his neck to disappear under the collar of his shirt. “I was trying not to get stuck giving you chest compressions all afternoon. You’re heavy.”
Zoro lets that sit for a second, watching the way Sanji’s gaze drops to his mouth like he can’t help it, like they’re both counting down the minutes until they can be alone again. He feels his own smile come, heartendingly and disgustingly genuine. “Yeah? So you kiss everyone you think is dying like that?”
Sanji looks like hes genuinely considering kicking him back into unconsciousness, but instead he stalks closer to lean down close enough that Zoro can see the pulse at his throat. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Then he straightens and stomps off before Zoro can answer, coat flaring behind him.
Zoro sits there on the broken deck in the aftermath of battle, staring after him, lips still tingling, the taste of smoke and lemon and Sanji coating his tongue like something he’s never going to be able to wash out. His hand still remembers the heat of bare skin under that shirt and, for the first time since getting sent flying, the pain in his ribs feels like the least interesting thing that’s happened to him today.
People are talking about how reading Dungeon Meshi gives them an internal monologue Senshi for eating properly I think we all need to adopt an internal monologue Chilchuck at work. Like the boat is literally sinking and he's just watching it happen because he's on his lunch break.
#keep senshi in your heart to eat well #chilchuck in your heart to maintain boundaries #laios in your heart to stay passionate #marcille in your heart to speak your mind #and izutsumi to be kbity [X]
i think one of the best parts about being a teenager in the early to mid 2010s was that cigarettes were definitely not cool anymore and vapes hadn’t popularized yet so my lungs made it out of my peak impressionable years relatively unscathed
keep thinking about how I wrote in my dissertation about how every time a new form of public/social space emerges it's immediately popular with kids and teenagers who see it as a chance at freedom and then adults colonise it and kick them out. this happened with malls in the 80s and diners in the 50s and pool halls in the 20s. my dad was doing research on this trend in like 1975. and I was like "yeah so this is going to happen to the internet" and then five years later every government suddenly decided to ban kids from everywhere online. I hate being right especially when I don't even get paid for it
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Please have a moment of silence for the people who were killed instead of freed when news of emancipation finally reached the furthest corners of the american south.
have another moment for the ledgers, catalogs, and records that were burned and the homes that were destroyed to hide the presence of very much alive and still enslaved people on dozens of plantations and homesteads across the south for decades after emancipation.
and have a third moment for those who were hunted and killed while fleeing the south to find safety across the border, overseas, in the north and to the west.
black people. light a candle, write a note to those who have passed telling them what you have achieved in spite of the racist and intolerant conditions of this world, feel the warmth of the flame under your hand, say a prayer of rememberance if you are religious, place the note under the candle, and then blow it out.
if you have children, sit them down and tell them anything you know about the life of oldest black person you've ever met. it doesn't have to be your own family. tell them what you know about what life was like for us in the days, years, decades after emancipation. if you don't know much, look it up and learn about it together.
This is Juneteenth.
white people CAN interact with this post. share it, spread it.
Bread! where? @toasty-the-bread - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
