@strikercorbie / strikercorbie.tumblr.com
when we try to befriend cats we mimic their meows and get down on the ground to their level and try to gently coax them to interact with us right
that horrifying entity mimicking human noises at us maybe just thinks we’re cool and wants to pet us?
had to draw it
watching reddit go into a full death spiral is like watching the specifically trans equivalent of the library of alexandria go up in flames
like yes reddit is also the only place on the internet you can get an actual answer to any question in general. but it’s also a huge centralized community database about which surgeons will fuck you over, who takes what insurance, which doctors you can trust, how to write a template therapist’s letter, insurance appeals, peer support, questions that feel too stupid to ask anywhere else, diy guidelines, “hey this is embarrassing but,” finding trans people in your area, explaining why you need PTO without getting way too personal about it, safety tips, et cetera you get the picture
Someone on trans Reddit just bought the url transgender.org and have put out a call for folks to help turn it into a replacement (and more). Here's a link on r/ftm but it's open to everyone
for the redditors coming here, this is how we spread news of important events in the world, with a Destiel meme
For everybody who's been here a while and felt like Wiley E. Coyote just after running off the edge of the cliff when they scrolled down to find nothing below
When I tell you I snorted!
legolas:
gimli:
aragorn:
gandalf:
BLEASE
Gollum
Eomer:
Boromir:
Elrond:
This post is like getting pelted with marshmallows shot out of a tennis ball launcher
This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my life
elrond big naturals
[ ID: Five successive tweets by C.W. Howell @ cwhowell123 that read as follows: So I followed @/GaryMarcus's suggestion and had my undergrad class use ChatGPT for a critical assignment. I had them all generate an essay using a prompt I gave them, and then their job was to "grade" it--look for hallucinated info and critique its analysis. *All 63* essays had / hallucinated information. Fake quotes, fake sources, or real sources misunderstood and mischaracterized. Every single assignment. I was stunned--I figured the rate would be high, but not that high. / The biggest takeaway from this was that the students all learned that it isn't fully reliable. Before doing it, many of them were under the impression it was always right. Their feedback largely focused on how shocked they were that it could mislead them. Probably 50% of them / were unaware it could do this. All of them expressed fears and concerns about mental atrophy and the possibility for misinformation/fake news. One student was worried that their neural pathways formed from critical thinking would start to degrade or weaken. One other student / opined that AI both knew more than us but is dumber than we are since it cannot think critically. She wrote, "I'm not worried about AI getting to where we are now. I'm much more worried about the possibility of us reverting to where AI is." /end ID. ]
I do think teachers who are taking the time to educate their students about the realities of Chat-GPT are going to be a big part of why it ultimately fails - I know a teacher who recently had to fail a student for turning in an essay with it, who did so because school and life put such stress and pressure on her that she thought it was a lifeline.
The more of them that are taught that Chat-GPT can’t help them, no matter what the tech industry promises, the more it will lose its mystique in the public eye.
I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.
About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.
The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.
It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.
Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.
They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”
“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”
It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone.
And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.
So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”
The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”
When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.
They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.
When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”
After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.
Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.
It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.
We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.
She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”
Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”
“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.
“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”
And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.
every time i see this post i cry a little just out of sheer overwhelming emotion. gosh. but so I have a bit of a story that started as a tag ramble but got too long, and it’s… not similar, exactly, except for how it is, I think, because it’s about keeping the world blooming into something better.
so i was realizing i was queer and not actually a fan of the conservative party about the same time OP was. i’d been raised conservative and evangelical, in the southwest and also in florida, and everyone i knew for most of my life was that way.
so in early 2005, I hadn’t really followed anything about gay rights or anything like that until extremely recently. I didn’t know much about gay rights, but I knew gay people had gotten AIDS in the 80s and 90s, and I knew that they weren’t able to get married or join the army, and I knew my favorite character in First Wives Club was Annie’s adult daughter who was a lesbian college student and was complete #stylegoals for me in the early aughts.
In fall of 2004, I’d met some other kids who were about a grade behind me at a NaNoWriMo event, and I’d ended up going to see the tour of RENT that came through with one of them. They became, quite quickly, my very best friends, and all three of them were queer (two of them even started dating around when I met them, I think). They weren’t religious the way i was, they were liberal (as much as you generally got in high school in 2005), and they were newish friends but they were kinder and more supportive than anyone i’d ever met through church. They were the ones who’d reach out to me when i was having a rough time to make sure i was okay, they were the ones concerned about my wellbeing when i wasn’t sleeping or something. They were queer but… they were good people and i could recognize that in them. I thought that maybe they shouldn’t be doing gay stuff, but I was also starting to wonder why that was a bad thing in the first place. Literally could not figure out what harm could come from two girls or two boys loving each other.
I remember a month or two before i finally came out to those friends and kissed the girl who is now my wife, my mom and i got in a fight about me being friends with them because they weren’t “appropriate friends”. and i was mostly just tired and annoyed and prepared to go ‘okay mom’ until she was done rather than it being a fight, because I’d heard this before about my friend Willow and done the same thing.
but then she said “people LIKE THAT won’t be there for you when you need them. they will abandon you at the first sign of trouble.” To this day i’m not 100% sure if she meant non-christian or if she meant ~QUEER~ (or both), but either way i went from ‘just wait it out and pretend to agree’ to absolutely incandescently angry in the time it took me to parse what she’d said.
I lost my temper completely and for once I didn’t and still don’t feel bad about it. I screamed at her at the top of my lungs over this: about how they were the only ones who’d BEEN there for me, about how they didn’t need me to be perfect to be acceptable, about how they loved me even when i screwed up and had never ONCE made me feel like i was unworthy of love because I didn’t live up to some standard I could never quite reach. Unlike everyone i’d ever met through church and ESPECIALLY unlike her and my dad.
and in retrospect while i turned my sexuality over in my head a bit longer to be sure, i think that’s when i knew i was queer and that I wasn’t ashamed of it and was in fact proud of it. I parsed it at the time as pride in my friends, but looking back? It was pride in me. Because i didn’t want to be part of any family that would talk so cruelly about people who’d been so kind, just because of who those people loved and who they did or didn’t pray to. And I knew I DID want to be part of a family of misfits and outcasts who refused to sit down and shut up while people treated others like that.
In 2005 it was scary sometimes even just to openly be an ally of queer people, let alone openly queer yourself. Things had improved in a lot of ways, but it was still scary. You still couldn’t get married, which meant that if something happened to you, your spouse had no legal rights to make medical decisions, keep custody of your kids, keep your possessions, plan your funeral. You still couldn’t come out if you were in the military. There weren’t feel good queer stories that were easy to find - even the well written stories were almost exclusively tragic. (I discovered To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar in late 2005 or early 2006, and it was the only story I had for YEARS where there were queer characters and they got a happy ending. I relished it. I still do.)
The point of all this is that I was proud, I wanted to be queer and to not sit quietly and assimilate but be loud and proud and unapologetic, but by fucking god it was scary and not always safe, so sometimes I did end up hiding it. And then things got better. Not everything, but… I was able to get legally married to my wife. I was able to get a testosterone prescription without needing to be psychologically pathologized. I was able to find a job in the midwest of all places where I can have “he/him” in my email signature but still wear skirts and not have any of the people I work with (at one point they’d all been 40+) question it or push back. We were helping the world keep blooming into someplace that doesn’t suck so much all the time!
But it’s starting to get worse again. My state’s passed legislation trying to dictate public bathroom use based on genitals. The supreme court is overturning many landmark decisions, and I know the moment they can, they’re coming for Obergefell v. Hodges, the legislation that made my legal marriage valid in all states (including the one I currently live in), not just the state I was married in (which is not the state I currently live in).
So we need to keep fighting. We need to get incandescently angry and we need to be there for each other. We need to scream at the top of our lungs at cruelty and injustice, and we need to be kind and support each other, especially when times are rough. We need to BE a family of misfits and outcasts who refuse to sit down and shut up while people treat our siblings and ourselves like this. Because that’s what they want. And we can not give it to them.
theres an official playlist on spotify called "Beats to think to" and it has the funniest fucking icon
the funniest thing ever just happened to me
im changing my name purely bc i don’t like it and we just told my family like a month ago. i haven’t been home since then but today i got back and my (extremely country) uncle gives me a pat on the back and goes “so i hear you’re my nephew now. proud of you, son” and i have to very gently say i am so so happy to hear that but i am still his niece just with a cooler name. and he throws his hat down on the table and goes “no! but ive been practicing!” so now he is calling me his nephew for fun
Ever seen a woman with small boobs? Well, they didn’t exist a few years ago according to transphobes.
Their brains have been absolutely devoured by worms. Imagine living like this every day. Go outside for 5 minutes, fuck sake.
Literally all of this is fucking stupid. Do you know who never has trouble finding a bra that fits? People with small fucking breasts. An entire promo dedicated to a bra you can buy in Kmart for $5 is honestly pathetic.
Yeah that’s what to take from this post, not the ghoulish transphobia.
Hi, trans person here, it's almost like my life is filled with transphobic people and I'd actually rather for once point out something else that is also dumb as fuck? Wtf dude.
Plenty of people have pointed out that it’s not as easy as jumping to Kmart for a $5 dollar bra.
Be rightfully angry at the transphobia in the comments, not a business marketing a pretty inoffensive product.
What does “sex neutral” mean to you?
for me it’s knowing that people use all types of aides (ex: porn, toys, etc) to get a good orgasm.
it’s knowing that not every orgasm is gonna be good (sometimes you’re just trying to sleep or relieve anxiety)
it’s that having sex with other people doesn’t have to end in orgasms.
it’s that you can feel horny and not act on it and not feel shame for being aroused.
good addition from @opticalparadox
I joined a 'Hand made instruments' group, and I get to see shit like this constantly, and I just.....HNNNNNNNNNNNG every time.
OP what’s the group
Boop: https://www.facebook.com/groups/homemadeinstruments
[Image IDs: the first tweet is from Lila Byock (@/Lbyock) from June 15th, 2023 and it reads:
Sarandos: Netflix is investing billions in Korean content to undermine American writers.
Korean writers: Fuck you, pay us.
That first tweet quote tweets the second image, a tweet from Tim Shorrock (@/TimothyS) from June 15th, 2023 that reads:
Korean writers picket in solidarity with Writers Guild of America. ✊
That tweet has a link to an article that I posted after it. /End ID.]
So, for those of you unaware: The Korean entertainment industry is an absolute nightmare. Actors have gone years never being paid for work they're owed pay on. The idol industry is terrible in all the ways. And it's honestly no surprise the industry is shit for writers as well. Glad to see the Korean writers are standing up for themselves too!
Pain scale? More like pain in the booty. No two people seem to read it the same way, and chronic folks tend to downplay their pain.
So here’s an idea: when asked to rate your pain, provide a number to rate your distress levels in addition to your pain levels.
Some examples:
“I’m at a 5 on the pain scale, but my distress is basically a 1 because this is my usual.”
“I’m at a 3 on the pain scale, but my distress is a 7 because this is new pain and affects a part of my body that’s very important to my work.”
It’s a great way to consider how your pain is impacting you—and to get a doctor’s attention where it’s actually needed.
OP is a genius
