mr. badger


i love the Tod/Brock fight animation, it’s so lively and well done!

one fun thing I love about the beatrix potter anthropomorphising in general is that each character retains their natural way of moving according to what animal they are even though they are wearing clothes. in this story in particular i like how the characters just become more and more animalistic in nature as the fight goes on, until they are eventually on all fours and fighting as a fox and badger actually would. 

a list of quotes from my school

“So we didn’t light anything in fire? No? Oh, well I guess we have to.”- My (very pregnant) science teacher

“So like, meeting at Waffle House at 3am on Wednesday? Yeah?”- my friend

“BULLSHIT”- screamed by my English teacher

“Don’t use the verb être with the adjective ‘chaud’. Unless you’re into that type of thing.”- my French teacher

“I approve of these memes” and “I’m a VERY bad boy”-my world religion teacher

“But in some art, you might see -GASP- BREASTS”- my art teacher, very sarcastically

“Good play.” “Thanks, I used my long body to tackle him.”- my friend

“HIGH NOON”- also my very pregnant science teacher

“Aliens are real. Mr. Badger said so.”- my friend

“You can catch flies with honey, but you can catch more honeys being fly.”- this horrible kid in my class who looks like a pastry bag

“The trashy one who looks like a bumblebee.”- my friend
Decades of Sexual Harassment Accusations Against Harvey Weinstein
An investigation by The New York Times found allegations stretching back to 1990 about Mr. Weinstein’s treatment of women in Hollywood.
By Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey

Two decades ago, the Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein invited Ashley Judd to the Peninsula Beverly Hills hotel for what the young actress expected to be a business breakfast meeting. Instead, he had her sent up to his room, where he appeared in a bathrobe and asked if he could give her a massage or she could watch him shower, she recalled in an interview.

“How do I get out of the room as fast as possible without alienating Harvey Weinstein?” Ms. Judd said she remembers thinking.

In 2014, Mr. Weinstein invited Emily Nestor, who had worked just one day as a temporary employee, to the same hotel and made another offer: If she accepted his sexual advances, he would boost her career, according to accounts she provided to colleagues who sent them to Weinstein Company executives. The following year, once again at the Peninsula, a female assistant said Mr. Weinstein badgered her into giving him a massage while he was naked, leaving her “crying and very distraught,” wrote a colleague, Lauren O’Connor, in a searing memo asserting sexual harassment and other misconduct by their boss.

“There is a toxic environment for women at this company,” Ms. O’Connor said in the letter, addressed to several executives at the company run by Mr. Weinstein.

An investigation by The New York Times found previously undisclosed allegations against Mr. Weinstein stretching over nearly three decades, documented through interviews with current and former employees and film industry workers, as well as legal records, emails and internal documents from the businesses he has run, Miramax and the Weinstein Company.

There’s also supposed to be a heavily researched New Yorker article on the same subject dropping soon so hopefully this the end of Harv

So I know that I have been absent and uncommunicative a lot recently, and I’ve gotten a few (lovely) asks and emails asking if I’m okay.

The answer is… complicated.

I’ve suffered from anxiety for literally as long as I can remember being alive, and depression since at least I was in my early teens, but I’d always considered it a relatively minor, manageable amount of both. Like it almost didn’t deserve to be called ‘anxiety’ or ‘depression’ because I was always able to sort of manage to continue to adult more or less okay.

Two? three? months ago, that kind of changed. I don’t want to get off into the weeds of TMI (and potentially triggering) details, but I went from a form of anxiety/depression that left me tense and glum but functional to one that made me feel capable of doing nothing but stay in bed all day every day and cry, and for the first time I had intrusive thoughts of self-harm. (I didn’t do anything, and I’m not going to; you don’t need to worry.) It’s been bad before, but it’s never been bad bad like it was for… I don’t even know how to estimate time well for it, six weeks, two months, three? 

And for the first time it was obvious enough that my boss, who is a genuinely lovely man, noticed. To his eternal credit what he said was not “shape up or ship out” but, “Hey, are you okay? What can we do to help? You don’t seem like yourself.”

Which is embarrassing to be asked by your boss no matter what, and of course is scary no matter how nice he is, because, livelihood. But it was a useful wake-up call, and I’m glad it came so kindly.

So Mr. Badger has been helping. And I’ve been doing a great deal of self-care, of various kinds–often not the fun ‘take a bubble bath!’ form of self care but the less fun ‘you realio trulio need to get some exercise’ form of self care, but still. I’ve been seeing a new psychiatrist for… three, I guess?… weeks now, and I’m on new medication, and it’s helping. It’s helping. 

So that’s where I’ve been. And thanks to those of you who asked.


[NEW] Sonic Boom - Three Minutes or Less (FULL EPISODE) (MR. SHADOWMAN’s 3RD ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL) ~mr. shadowman

I think I must have whatever the opposite of Resting Bitch Face is. I don’t mean this in terms of attractiveness–my assessment of my own attractiveness is basically ‘eh, I’m fine,’ or to put it another way I’m basically normal-looking, which is okay with me. Statistically speaking most of us are going to be normal-looking, by definition. (Although I sort of love the idea that the Internet at large maybe thinks of me as a very large badger in a dress holding some flowers. That is far more interesting than what I actually look like.)

I mean that I think I must just look approachable. Friendly. Without doing anything actively to cause it, just as a default setting. Like I say: whatever the opposite of Resting Bitch Face is. Resting Nice Face, maybe. I’ll call it that.

(I don’t know what it is, but I am pretty sure that it is something entirely outside my control. The fact that I reflexively smile at everyone basically all the time–it’s not a case of ‘faking it,’ I actually have to consciously not smile if I want to not smile–probably helps, but I also think that part of it has something to do with having a round face, big chipmunk cheeks, wide eyes, and just, I don’t know, a something that makes people feel safe talking to me. It’s like my whole self is preparing to be Nanny Ogg in about thirty years, only ideally with more teeth.)

I say this because I was out writing at a local brewpub and ONCE AGAIN a random stranger struck up a conversation. This happens all the time. Usually it’s boring but not actively unpleasant (the kind of people I attract with Resting Nice Face are generally not creepers, they’re just… lonely or something, I don’t know). Sometimes it’s unpleasant (sometimes they are in fact creepers). Sometimes it’s fascinating (I once spent an hour in an airport bar with a woman who, for reasons too complex to recreate here, ended up giving me a lengthy explanation of inter-tribal relations between Native American tribes in the Pacific Northwest, from the expert POV of a tribal member). But yeah, usually it’s boring, usually it’s that someone is lonely and wants to talk and makes up some boring thing to talk about. I have discussed iPhone versions and the weather with strangers so very very many times.

And yet. And yet it’s a funny thing: I can’t even really complain about it, because I have a sneaking suspicion that Resting Nice Face has done me more good than harm, random pub conversations and creepers notwithstanding. I know from observation that I get better customer service than most people; I can attribute part of that to the fact that I do my damndest to be good to customer service people, but I think part of it is just that Resting Nice Face convinces them that I am going to be a Nice Customer as opposed to a jerk, and so they’re nice to me rather than defensive or wary. I look at someone, and I smile–I smile for no reason than because I smile, it’s what I do, it’s almost a reflex: I smile because people are for smiling at, the same way kittens are for smiling at–and they smile back, and then the whole interaction is just… more pleasant. And who knows how many minor social interactions have been smoothed for me without my knowing simply because I have Resting Nice Face?

So I reassure myself: it’s worth it. I wouldn’t trade it away if I could. If someone said “if you trade in your Resting Nice Face, nobody will ever ask you about your iPad in a coffee shop again, but you would have a fraction more friction in every interaction in your life” I would say no, thank you, I’m okay as I am. If that’s the price, I’ll take it.

It’s funny, I was talking to Mr. Badger one day after someone at the coffee shop had poured out their entire life story to me, and I was like “I don’t know WHY they do that to me. It seems to happen to me way more than even to other women,” and he said “It’s because you just look like you’re nice. Something about you looks nice.” And then a year later I was expressing the same frustration to @frandayam and she said, independently and without having been privy to Mr. Badger’s earlier assessment, “I think it’s that you look friendly.”

Then we made jokes about drawing a Snidely Whiplash mustache on with Sharpie, or maybe evil eyebrows, to make me look less friendly.

But you know? I think, at the end of the day, I’m okay with it.

(Although there are days when I do contemplate Sharpie-ing in the Snidely Whiplash mustache.)


in which the admin started thinking about all of the deleted characters in zootopia and decided to make this but it came out looking like such a clusterfuck goddammit this was a lot better back when it was only in my head

and of course, because I’m jack savage t r a s h, I can’t exactly leave this without him showing up, so here’s a bonus text:

god fucking damn it I’m beginning to legitimately ship it

So one of the things that cracks me up about Leverage is that Eliot is, as far as I can tell, good at everything. Like they’re like, “Okay Eliot, you have to handle X” and he’s like “[sigh] FINE” and then he owns it.

Thus far just off the top of my head he has been:

  • a gourmet chef
  • a star baseball player (when he DOESN’T EVEN LIKE BASEBALL)
  • a hit country singer/guitar player
  • knows a ton of languages
  • has a lot of weirdly specific trivial knowledge that reliably comes in useful
  • I’m sure in some future episode he will turn out to know how to race cars or breed shih tzus or something (I am only partway into season 3)

(even apart from his skill with beating people up and related hitter talents, which I am not counting because that is the premise of his character)

Plus also he is apparently irresistible to women, a trope that I normally find obnoxious but that I cannot really argue with in this case because I would find him sort of hard to resist. (Hardison is far, far more my type, but Eliot is hot. Also I have a weakness for men with long hair. Well, anybody with long hair really but especially men. I should put ‘having your hair look silky and glossy even after you’ve beaten up fifteen people’ on the list of skills above, I think. I would like to know what conditioner he uses.)

…And all this ought to make his character insufferable. And yet he isn’t. Because he is hands-down the most put-upon member of the team. He may technically be the hitter, but he’s also the one where people are like, “Eliot. You have a bag of jelly beans. Use that to convince them that you are an orca trainer and should be permitted in the tank with the angry Shamu” or “Eliot, we need you to pretend to be an Olympic snowboarder, you have ten minutes to find a snowboard, GO.” 

And then afterwards he puts his head down on the table and moans quietly to himself while getting surprisingly little respect for being able to yank expert cooking/singing/baseball/whatever skills out of his ass.

Oh, Eliot. This is why I want to give you five hundred hugs. 

(This is inspired by having just watched the episode where Eliot has to masquerade as a country music star and gets a fan club in like fifteen minutes. Mr Badger and I had this conversation:

Me: I have figured out who Eliot is.

Mr Badger: Who?

Me: Barbie.

Mr Badger: Elucidate?

Me: He is good at everything, apparently. And Barbie was, what, a doctor, a lawyer, a presidential candidate, an astronaut, a veterinarian–

Mr Badger: –and got shockingly little respect for it.

Me: And had beautiful hair.)