I noticed something in S10e16, besides the fact that this is an amazing episode, at the end of the episode where they are all at Steve’s house to surprise Danny with movie night. Because Steve was worried about Danny even though he said otherwise. What I noticed is that when they are snuggling on the couch, Steve has his arms around Danny and Brooke because there is no space, but Danny also doesn’t have space with his arms. He could put his arm around Tani, but he doesn't. So the only other solution is that he has to lean more on Steve. And that made me think about Danny falling asleep halfway through the movie and falling on top of Steve’s chest while Steve tightens his arm around Danny and looks adoringly at him. Then at the end of the movie, when he doesn’t want to wake up Danny and kind of awkwardly looks at the team as they clean up for him, and then he slowly slides out from under Danny to see everyone out and then tucks Danny in properly, and that is so cutee. Also, could you imagine Danny waking up the next morning all confused because he doesn't remember falling asleep, but he doesn't ask Steve because he is embarrassed and partly because the team keeps teasing him about it, with good meaning. Could you imagine him meeting Brooke again after that at school, I wonder how that conversation would go, haha.
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we set up our air mattress in our livingroom to sleep on the past couple of nights to try for a change of pace (on top of the gaming, cartoons and movies). got our rainbow comforter thrown over it for padding, got our favorite blankets, and plenty of plushies for comfort
it's been helping us steady out
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fuck heavily with those autistic birds that collect blue things for a nest its just like me collecting sonic stuff (blue) for my nest (house)
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Although it makes perfect logical sense--it still surprises me that you can buy this whole Victorian house from 1893 in Vinton, Iowa for a lot less than we bought a small condo in a slightly older Queen Anne house in metro Boston.
Vinton is a town of about 4k people and Benton County has half the number of inhabitants that my town does. Middlesex County, MA is 1.4 million people. We’re a major center for tech, medicine, universities, finance, and tourism.
The photos give me a distinct sense of the different places. I don’t know what other people will see.
first row: The Vinton House, haunted piano room, and map with closest city. second row: detail of our exterior, our living room (before we bought it), Boston map.
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"I wore a tanktop once" is such a funny way to talk about my friends deciding I was a handyman but that really was it??
I found the way to trick ppl into thinking you know what you're doing is:
1 - wear tanktop while helping friends with a household project
2 - adopt Dad Stance (hands on hips while surveying the situation. bonus points if thats what you've trained yourself to do instead of the Autistic T-Rex Arms)
3 - (optional) look up wikihow articles ahead of time because you're anxious worried about looking stupid.
if you know one (1) thing nobody else thinks of, you will be designated the Local Expert. depending on the project, anything adjacent to this will also be assumed to be in your wheelhouse.
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cd player? what year is it?! oh thank god the last 20 years were just a horrible dream!!! here you can borrow my Ace of Base CD
was pretty much raised on cds and i do enjoy having something to like. hold and put into the thing its nice to me smile, i own a fair amount of cds and am buying more so. might as well have sth to play em on lol
im not sure if i got rid of or lost my old one but this new one is so sick and cool looking and sounds so good... creature in my house :)
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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.
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