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spongebob-connoisseur · 1 year

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@bluebellthesponge

You're right about it. Its seriously dorky and not in a good way. You're telling me the happy go lucky sea sponge would hate his modern counterpart for being happy go lucky? Y'all okay? I know they differ a lot now in personality but the core is about the same. Sometimes it feels kinda ironic. I remember a post on Instagram where everyone in the comments was hating on Mind The Gap saying it was a disgrace to Spongebob and that Hillenburg would've hated it. While it was MADE while Hillenburg was still alive and was noted that he laughed so hard at the episode and really enjoyed it. Also the fact that its inspired by a Jerry Lewis movie and Spongebob the character is inspired by the man-child type character's Jerry Lewis would play. The episode fits the idea of the show better than some classic episodes.

I feel like if the classic episodes came out today then they'd be hated on. Spongebob came out at a particular time that allowed it's success because it stood out amongst all the cynical 90s cartoons. If it came out today people would think its just mindless goofy nonsense.

I feel similarly about modern episodes. I'm sure if the modern stuff came out like 20-30 years ago then it would've done so much better.

I'm just rambling but yeah, at the end of the day its not meant to be taken so seriously that you'd make literal hate art. I get why since the classics are so dear to so many people and people are particularly sensitive to nostalgia but nothing lasts forever and not all change is bad.

#Train of thoughts #Sometimes I do think of how modern episodes especially fit the wacky offbeat stuff that was popular in the 80s #Its just timing since people want more serious plot driven cartoons now #They're tired of silly and innocent but that doesn't make it bad #If you wait a couple of years I can guarantee the episodes of today would be treated with more love #Spongebob always changed with the times #The middle seasons are a good example of it trying to copy what was popular in the early 2010s #As much as I don't like the middle seasons I can recognize that #I just didn't like a lot of cartoons from the early 2010s so explains why I haven't much of a taste for it #Anyways you can't expect the show to stay the same forever especially since its nearly 25 years now #Even with the same crew from way back when they aren't going to create the same things they did 25 years ago #Its easier to just say 'its not for me' rather than putting it down just because you don't like it #Replies #Bluebellthesponge #The Spongebob connoisseur

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valtrain-of-thoughts · 9 months

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The People You Meet

I have always believed that we never meet anyone randomly; everyone who comes into your life is to show you something. It does not matter if it is a momentary relationship or a long-lasting one, either way, you can learn something from them. And sometimes, it is you who teaches the other person that lesson.

Throughout the different stages of your life, you meet new groups of people, develop new hobbies, do new things, etc. We are constantly growing and changing. That is why I can't help but wonder, how is it possible for us to have life-long relationships? You know those relationships, particularly with friends, where you can go through all sorts of things and still be a relationship you can certainly count on. Is it because you are growing together? What happens if you grow together but apart but somehow they are still there?

I am constantly thinking about the fact that if I met today, the important people in my life (aka my best friend), they would not be my best friend anymore. I don't even think we would even be friends. I think about our relationship and our personalities, and I don't think that we match. At least not the way we used to. I know that we both have our own paths to create and we are our own person and I think it is inevitable to change. When I met her, she changed me, so much. She made a more open and communicative person, she helped me identify and navigate my feelings, she showed me that the person I am is okay, even if I don't always think so. She has taught me so much. She has always had my back and is there whenever I need her.

I always thought that we would be friends forever. (That is so childish to say/think) But lately, we barely talk, we barely see each other, we barely do anything together. I worry that this friendship, which I thought would be a long-lasting one, is coming to an end. I worry that the lesson she was meant to teach me has been taught. I worry that we grew so much that we ended up growing apart.

Everyone that comes into your life, is there for a reason. You never know for how long, what the reason is, but always be sure to receive them with a warm-heart, be open, cherish all the little moments, and never forget. These are the people you meet.

#train of thoughts #ramblings #frienship #friends #peopl

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cats-otherside · 1 year

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Christmas Feast: misery, served with a side of self-pity

December 24, 2022 - 7... 30p.m.?

A bit of ... pretty misery has settled in my life, the way dust seeps in through the surface of neglected furniture. To be honest ... I’m more numb than exhausted. I think I’m more prone to weak feelings on the occasional empty and quieter hours that come and go; by the time I notice, they’ve already seized some part of me, its familiar novelty like a cold wet slap. I drown in the remaining droplets of cold water.

I’m sad about new things in the same old ways, attaching meanings where they don’t belong. I just hurt in the end, wallowing in a bit of my own satisfaction at the lack of happiness; optimism suddenly seems like a chain to my inner child, and misery is a statement in recognition of my growth in the wrong direction. It’s not true, I know, but I don’t think I really want to admit it - perhaps because there is no right or wrong path; only a path. All the sadness, the blueness, they come in masks and blur and fog up illusions to arouse self-pity. Self-pity is a fool’s way of self-love.

I cannot stop overthinking... I cannot stop thinking. I cry every night to sleep, chest tight and throat raspy, satisfied at the ability to be damaged without trying because that’s all I am and do now, whether I like it or not. My voice is gone afterward, and all I do is think about the wrong people, spend time with the wrong people, blame the wrong people, and possibly love the wrong people. I am sorry for my parents for loving me, and I am sorry for it is only their existence that I want to exist for.

There is no I stand here strong, or whatever, because I don’t even know where I stand... let alone if I’m standing.

Anyways.... Anyways.

Cats-otherside

last entry scrawled in my neglected journal. i mumbled a i’m going to the bathroom to the room full of partying family members but to no one in particular as i slip into my bedroom, grabbing my journal, chest shaking and visions blurring in regret of the three margaritas i thought were a good idea hours ago; my mother visits me, whispering if i am okay, i tell her i am okay, and we return to the party like nothing has happened.

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fluentisonus · 5 months

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trains will announce you're stopping in places you never knew existed

#this train is apparently going to tring. which is fun to say #thoughts

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tmmyhug · 4 days

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(SOUND IS CRUCIAL) this video is has murdered me dead the music the editing the way information is slowly revealed about the two of them the plot twist the breaking bad images. WILLIAM WILLIAM WILLIAM. all over minecraft parkour someone help im seizing

#vees train of thought

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hamletthedane · 3 months

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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

#shut up e #long post #Saturday thoughts #this has been in my drafts for a week haha #also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong #forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong #because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation #even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it #unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???

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atmothart · 1 year

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Jon he's really trying here cut him a break

(tumblr crunched the resolution of this comic a lot rip)

#dracula daily #hello im back from the void with shitty dracula doodles #i actually drew this last year but never posted it #here it is now though #count dracula #jonathan harker #Drac reading the english bradshaw guide is still one of the funniest moments in Dracula to me #i know it is supposed to show how he's planning to infiltrate england and appear local #but it really does just come across like he picked it up in a panic and pretended to be reading it when Jonathan came back into the room #and being the weird guy he is thought reading train schedules was really normal behaviour #bram stoker's dracula is a romcom #re: dracula

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columboscreens · 3 months

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#columbo #season 4 #exercise in fatality #i like to think this isn't a bit and this is columbo actually just about to ramble fully unfiltered about his gorgeous voluptuous wife #let him finish. please lieutenant go on about how you lose your train of thought looking at hilda the pinup girl

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joycrispy · 8 months

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One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #unfortunately I do not have trains of thought #only long meandering strolls of thought #sorry about it #anyway tl;dr Crowley is a nerd #also I have a strange emotional attachment to the idea of 1500's Crowley...#...facedown in a pile of Mona Lisa sketches; drunkenly info-dumping about Aziraphale #and Da Vinci is just like. 'Ahhhh mio amico Antonio. You fucking simp.'

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im-goodpup · 5 months

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Humping

When I hump I feel so helpless and dumb, rolling my eyes back and hanging my tongue out, almost like a dog in heat (maybe I am). Humping so much that all of my thoughts leak out from my hole leaving me empty and mindless as I pant and moan like a pathetic slut.

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frownyalfred · 1 month

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“oh I’m 100% human” says the Batkid who’s been inoculated against 76 different kinds of Scarecrow’s fear toxin, has built up immunity to almost anything Poison Ivy has created, routinely goes diving into the Gotham harbor on patrol, has been blessed/cursed by a variety of deities (depending on the kid), frequently picks up random/temporary powers from various missions, and operates at beyond peak human capabilities in combat, athleticism, and intelligence.

#Bruce is even worse #he says he’s human #but he’s been cursed and blessed so many times #and does things through sheer willpower #like that training routine ain’t human bro #sorry to tell you that #the whole batfamily prides themselves on being (mostly) human #and it’s barely true #it’s true of technicality #bruce wayne #batman #dc #batfamily #thoughts

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valtrain-of-thoughts · 1 year

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Success

Why do we always compare ourselves to others? Why is it so important that I'm doing better than them? Or that they are doing better than me and I need to change that? Why do we measure our success in comparison to others' success?

That person that you're comparing yourself to, is comparing themselves to someone else, and someone is comparing themselves to you. It's never enough, is it? I wish that I could just be content with where I am and how far I've come. But no. It's always something, a little voice in the back of my head saying "You are not doing enough", "You are not succeeding", or "You are going nowhere". Why is it never "Hey, look at you! You are better than yesterday!", "Can you believe that we made it all the way here?", "Awesome, you left the house without it being a mess, way to go!"?

I wish I could celebrate the little victories. Focus on what I have and how far I've come rather than what I'm missing and how much further I want to go. Or do I even want to go any further? I'm not even sure if all of these expectations are me setting them for myself or if they are a result of how the world is.

I wish I could just be happy with the success of others and also be happy with my own success. Even if it looks different than other people's. It's okay that we have different definitions and ideas of what we want in life and what we want to do. I need to make my peace with that.

But it's hard.

#life #success #ramblings #train of thoughts #philosophy #existential

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cats-otherside · 1 year

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New Year’s: by the Pool

Nothing More, Nothing Less:

I am barely rinsing off the remaining romance of 2019 when 2023 has crept up my spine and devoured me whole. It's a nice surprise, a warm one, and as I was watching the fireworks sprinkling through the tiny city last night, the reality of 2023 has come to me fresh and clean, and for the first time, I was excited to see a year as an opportunity that has approached for me to seize and decide. To suck the marrow of life, to taste the changes and novelty of the souvenirs of time and growth: it's an exciting flip.

I am now sitting by the pool, warmly embraced by the kisses of the warm January wind and heat, my hotel notepad perched on top of Capote's novel that I have begun yesterday, my second iced coffee of the day melting in neglect. There is the same man just twenty-four hours ago yesterday, tanning, and I suddenly recall yesterday's early afternoon margaritas that disassembled me like a doll and soaked all my limbs in anxiety and misery that carried out all of yesterday's afternoon and evening. The sun sits on my skin, and I fear the gentle tan line that will make me regret this moment for weeks whenever I'd pass by a mirror. But I love the sun, for the first time. I love feeling weighted down, like a thin veil of an embrace of childhood and reassurance.

There are many things for me to do this year, endless lists that are not even born yet. I have goals and habits to acquire, nurturing a new mindset that will birth the environment for me in the future, so she could be prepared when the right things come to her mind: a career, a house, a relationship, a holiday, a break, a child, a change, a family. Things to come. 2023 is the year of foundation - the year that I rise, and devour gently for what is mine: nothing more, nothing less.

cats-otherside

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