gas shortages

Its really cold in the labs tonight ( i think its bc of a gas shortage in LA???) so its hard to concentrate on commissions and eccc prep so here’s the Titles I did for the Taako’s costume pic. 

I plan on coloring and maybe animating a few of them later or doing actual title cards but tonight I need to jump into a pot of coffee and live in it brrbrbrrbrbrrrrrrr

(woops. Someone pointed out that I wrote candlelights and not candlenights. Oopsa doopsa)

Sorry again, I know this is a rape advocacy blog, but nothing is more important because I don’t care if your a housewife, waitress, scientist or car mechanic, your survival is going to be dependent on getting really 

FINANCIALLY WOKE and FAST

because you deserve the same education and opportunities to survive that any rich white man already knows.  

Our economy is going to flourish “bigly” for about a year to two years.  Everyone is going to spending lavishly, yatches and caviar and then one shitty day the stock market is going to plummet. And then the next day, it’s going to plummet even worse.  

The Govt/Feds will immediately close the stock exchange and banks and that unused credit line on your credit cards will disappear overnight. 

NOW you must understand THEY MUST DO THIS to stop the bleeding. But YOU are still screwed and this is how you can minimize being screwed.

BANK RESERVES?  

All of us give our paychecks to the banks and they give us a bunch of numbers. It use to be that Banks were required to hold 20% in reserves and they loan out to make money on the other 80%.  The theory is that only a few people today will withdraw their money.  

BUT when financial markets collapse, EVERYONE shows up at the bank wanting to get their checking and savings in cold hard cash.  The terminology is “A Run on the Banks.”  

THE BANK DOESN’T HAVE ALL YOUR MONEY.  

Keep reading

please for all of you that don’t know, mexico is currently under a very difficult situation of gas shortage in which absolutely NO gas stations have any at all. and lucky for us who live in the border can buy some but that means million others who can’t cross or dont have the time to stay in a line for 4 or 6 hours to cross and other 3 to get back. please just know of what the mexican government is making us go through right now. the gas increased 20% in price that not even a week’s minimum salary is enough to fill half a tank. some people have stopped going to work or studying because they live way too far, something that will later affect our economy incredibly.

the government is fucking us all up and the people are protesting the bad way by stealing from non-government markets and destroying other people’s cars. 

please spread the word of what us mexicans are currently facing!!

twitter.com
BurbankPD on Twitter: "Natural gas shortage means @BurbankCA might have #poweroutages. @BurbankH2OPower has up-to-date info. @VerdugoAlert https://t.co/CAbHvfqR6f"

Heads up to Burbank digital artists and animators– you might want to invest in a battery backup to give you time to save files and close programs safely. This summer might suck in our area 😩 Mine gives me about 5 minutes of juice for my computer which has saved my butt a few times when we lost power. This also can help prevent corrupted files caused by sudden power loss.

Originally posted by somebsblog

Important - Please Signal Boost

In case you didn’t know, we are facing a gas shortage in the Southeastern US.  So if you live in Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, and the Carolinas, you need to go and fill your tanks up ASAP.  Go and get whatever basics you will need to limit your trips to town.  Only drive if necessary.  This is a serious situation and we can’t afford for people to be wasteful.  Its going to be later in the week before they get the pipeline fixed, and gas stations are going to run out of fuel.  Don’t wait, and be sparing.  

anonymous asked:

I'm kind of confused with what happened in France on the 28th? If it's alright with you, do you think you could help explain it? I checked BBC news, but I'm still not really sure

Hi anon ^^

The demonstrations you mean?

Ok, here is roughly what is happening. The Valls government (French Labour Party) is trying to pass a law called La Loi Travail (the Work Law). Usually, in order to pass a law, you need a vote of the parliament (National Assembly + Senate). However, as the government wanted this law to pass quickly and that a part of the Labour Party was against it (because let’s face it, the Conservative Party could have voted it and made Margaret proud), it used a particular article of the French law called the 49.3. Basically, the government can pass the law (almost) without the approval of the National Assembly and it’s a big “Fuck you” to everybody. We do whatever we want, là, là, là. Not to mention that there were practically no negotiations with the workers and the unions when the law was elaborated.

The workers and the unions, precisely! They are against this law because they judge it’s regressive and a way to deprive the French people of hard-won social rights.

At the beginning, it was the usual stuff: short strikes, demonstrations by students, the unions wanting the Prime Minister to listen to them and negotiate. But now, everybody means business! It escalated pretty quickly. Valls told them politely to fuck off, the unions told Vals “Oh really, Manuel?” and they planned BIG demonstrations, BIG strikes and the cherry at the top of the cake, the control of the refineries and power stations by strikers. We are starting to experience a shortage of gas and it has consequences on the economy of the whole country. Deliveries are becoming difficult, tourists are cancelling and it’s just the beginning. The Paris means of transportation are starting an unlimited strike from June the 3rd. And I spare you the street fights between the cops and the extreme-left activists during the demonstrations.

And yesterday, on the 28th, we had more demonstrations and more strikes. Here is what is happening in France, anon! (Also, we had lighting in Paris, 11 people were thunderstruck :/ )

Oh wait. The Soccer European Championship is starting soon in Paris. I cannot imagine the MESS it’s gonna be with the cops, the demonstrations, the strikes, the tourists and the fact that France is officially in a “State of Emergency” after the terrorist attacks of last November. Speaking of, the unions are pissed that the government is using the State of Emergency as an excuse to ask them to be “reasonable” and not to demonstrate for “safety reasons”.

So far the situation is a “You move first, asshole, I won’t move” game between the unions, the workers and the government. We are used to this kind of things but this time? It’s big! So what is going to happened is maybe that the Government is gonna keep the law and get rid of the parts that piss the unions off (the now famous “article n°2).

Hope I answered your question ^^

(We are not happy!)

                                          ✰Hooked On Fame✰

When Your Shopping Cart Is Scrutinized, and Other Perils of the Rich and Famous

                                             By Gilda Radner


Maybe you know me or maybe you don’t or maybe you heard of me but never saw me or maybe you used to know me but don’t know me anymore, but whatever or wherever I am today and whether you know me or not, for one time in my life and yours I was famous and it seemed like everyone knew me.
  A Definition of the Word: FAMOUS
  Famous is an adjective meaning widely known far and wide.
  My first recollection of the word famous was of seeing it on the menu of a local restaurant in Detroit, Michigan, where I grew up. It said, “Famous for our chili!”
  Being funny got me famous and being famous was almost as bad for dating as being funny. First of all, I had to work every Saturday night. And most guys figure you’re too busy for dating or already dating someone who’s also famous or you’re so glamorous you don’t even answer your own phone. Not to mention that boys can be afraid to ask out a nice famous girl and they don’t want to have to go through your agent.
   Now when a guy looks at me, I don’t know if he’s thinking he’d like to get to know me, take me out, and maybe build a life together… or if he’s thinking I look a lot like that girl on television.
   Fame changes a lot of things, but it can’t change a light bulb.
   I can’t understand how I got famous. It seemed like I just took the next job and it turned out that millions of people were watching me do it. Famousness sneaks up on you like the flu. You’re going along feeling fine and then all of a sudden your body gets achy and weird and you don’t want to leave your house. Famousness sneaks up on you when you fly somewhere that you’ve never been to in your life and you get off the plane and everyone knows you. They say “Hello, Gilda” like they went to camp with you. Everybody looks at you and talks to you and wants to say something or touch you. They know you but you know you never saw them before in your life. It’s weird and it gets to a point where you don’t want to leave your house because when you get somewhere, people can’t believe it’s you, so you end up not wanting to be in places where you wouldn’t go so you won’t upset the people who are there. For example:   

The stationery store. I met someone who I’d gone to high school with. We were both on the hockey team and the dramatics board. I told her I was going to write this book about being famous and I started to mention some of the funny things that have happened to me since I became a celebrity. She said to me, “But, Gilda, stuff like that has always happened to you.”
   The clothing store. The salesperson always forgets to give me back my credit card receipt ‘cause after I’ve signed autographs for her husband, her brother-in-law, and her sister in Texas, my signature on the credit card slip means nothing to either of us.
   The grocery store. A woman who was in the checkout line in front of me paid and left her groceries. I tried to take them out to her car, but she was already gone. Sometimes people just follow me with their carts and never get any of their own shopping done.
   Dry cleaners. There is a large turnover in dry-cleaning employees, and each new clerk gets real excited about having the chance to wait on me but I always go home with someone else’s cleaning.
   Elevators. I never admit who I am when someone asks me if I’m Gilda Radner in an elevator. It’s too confined an area for any reasonable reaction.
   The drugstore. Though I often need Mylanta or Maalox tablets, I’d rather go without than risk the neighborhood discussing my digestion.
   On an airplane. I took a flight once from New York City to Atlanta, Georgia. I was going to meet a boyfriend and I didn’t want to be recognized. I wore a dark brown wig cut in a short coiffed style. When the trays of food were passed out, mine had a note slipped under the coffee cup: “Dear Gilda, The flight crew welcomes you aboard. We are big fans. P.S. You sure look different in real life.”
   The health club. Everyone watches me when I get undressed.
   A delicatessen. It’s crowded. I get to the head of the line and ask for a package of cigarettes and a small container of coleslaw. The guy behind the counter looks at me and says, “You’re that girl… What’s her name? What’s her name?… on TV. You know … What’s her name? Come on!” He’s snapping his fingers and I say quietly, “Gilda Radner?”
He says, “Yeah! Yeah! That’s it! That’s it! You’re not Gilda Radner?” I say, “No, I’m not.” He says, “Yeah! But you look just like her. Are you her?” I say quietly, “No, I’m not.” He says “You are! You are!” After a moment I say quietly, “Yes … I am.” He says, “No … you’re not!”
   At the lab. After I had a physical examination, the lab sent me the results of my blood tests and urine specimen. Attached to the reports was a note saying: “Dear Gilda, I’m a big fan and I wanted to take this opportunity to say that it was an honor analyzing your urine. Sincerely, Thomas Olen.”
   Over the cash register. There is a particular take-out restaurant in New York City that has a sign on its window saying, “Condemned by the Board of Health,” and inside over the cash register is a smiling photo of me inscribed, “Roses are red/Violets are blue/Whenever I’m hungry/I order from you. Love, Gilda.”
   On the road. I have a waking nightmare that I’ll be driving in broad daylight and someone in a car next to me will recognize me, get excited, lose control of their car, and accidentally hit an old man in a wheelchair who never even heard of me.
  Public washrooms. I emerge from my stall to find an eager smiling woman who grabs me by the arm and whispers intimately, “I love your work.” 

I’ve been on the cover of a few magazines and even a newspaper or two. Since I didn’t get there for committing a crime, I should have no complaint. But it can be kind of difficult walking by newsstands and seeing these big iron weights on my face, or learning to look beyond the unfortunate crease that showed up across my nose in the New York Times Arts and Leisure section. If your picture is on the cover of a small magazine, you can end up as a coaster or folded up under a table leg to stop it from tipping or you might be doodled on and mustachioed. But worst of all, eventually you get thrown away.
   Being famous can make you afraid to have children. Growing up is hard enough without having to live up to the expectations that go along with fame. My dad was very successful in real estate. He died when I was 14 years old and left a scrapbook of newspaper clippings. I suppose my unconsciousness drove me to have my own scrapbook, but my brother, the only other child, once said to me that it only took him a few years to go from being his father’s son to being his sister’s brother.
   And I wonder if my child would miss out on anonymity and not get a shot at the freedom to observe without being observed that gave me my comedy and my characters. It’s hard to get a good look at people when they’re staring at you.
   I didn’t get famous until I was almost 30 years old. When I was 10, I met Milton Berle at a golf course in Detroit and I got to shake his hand. At 14 I saw Troy Donahue and Connie Stevens live on “The Soupy Sales Show,” and I carried Troy Donahue’s autograph in my wallet for 16 years. I met the Supremes at a party when I was 18, but I was afraid to talk to them. At 22, I waited backstage after a Monty Python concert in Toronto, Canada, and when they came out I asked Michael Palin to marry me.
   To this day, whenever I meet or see somebody famous, my heart flutters and I stumble over words and am entirely capable of making a fool of myself. A few months ago I saw Wilt Chamberlain in a supermarket. When his back was turned, I went up as close as I could to see how much taller he was than me.
   I must admit that there are certain advantages to being famous.
   During the gas shortage in 1975, I got to the head of a long line by doing Roseanne Roseannadanna.
   Salespeople let me take purchases home when I’ve forgotten my purse.
   Mrs. E.C. Gillies worked for my family for 18 years. She’s now 94 years old, and she’s been in the hospital numerous times and I’ve gone to visit her. She says after I leave the nurses come into see her a lot more often.
   My name was the answer to a clue in a difficult New York Times Magazine crossword puzzle.
   If you’re interested in immortality, being famous is better than not being famous. It’s a chance to leave your name and your work in the memory of millions of people. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t help you to actually be immortal and avoid being dead. When it happens, I’d like to be buried with a working television and I’d like my tombstone to read:
    GILDA RADNER PROGRAM
           INTERRUPTED
                    DUE
                     TO
    TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES
   I want to make sure anybody passing by my grave gets a good laugh . . . a good deep mortal laugh … even if I don’t hear it.