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ploncc · 2 years

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with regards to the "nO noT LiKe tHaT" math memes:

YES LIKE FUCKING THAT, FUCK YOU!!!

if you're going "oh, 128 x 2 is 256 because 7 x 8 is 56 and 28 is just 7 x 4" or similar, then you've got an excellent grasp on mathematics, you just probably don't know how to notate it well and were unjustly punished for doing math instead of just memorizing facts.

being able to do

128 x 2 = (100 + 28) x 2 = (100 x 2) + (28) x 2 = 200 + (7 x 4) x 2 = 200 + (4 x 2) x 7 = 200 + (8) x 7 = 256

even if you can't notate it like that, even if you can't explain it outside of your own head, is demonstrating a MUCH higher grasp of mathematics that just memorizing everything, and is in no way, shape, or form lesser than trying to "go the direct route."

You bet your ass that upper division math courses are chock full of stuff like this (i.e. I know this one simple thing and I want to do that harder thing so instead of brute forcing my way I'm just gonna uhhh fuck with it until the simple thing works) and even if doing anything above basic algebra is the furthest thing from your interests, at the very least acknowledge that no, actually, you can do math, and the way that you're doing math does make sense, and that your brain is actually capable of logic, even if its not the logic your teachers asked for.

#mathematics #math tw #school #education #if y'all haven't read that one essay by lockheart or whatever his face is then like jesus fuck go read it #the way we teach math is TRAGIC #also yes excuse me for being a dumb american and using the singular math instead of maths i honestly think it should be maths #try doing a cryptography (discrete) math class and a modeling class in the same semester those are two very different kinds of math #i just use singular math because habit and also maths gets the red squiggle on word processors here #anyways #every time someone says math is useless to the average person and then turns around and talks about the statistics from a study #i die #like my soul leaves my fucking body and descends to the void of no peace #'we should cut math' like babe you want to understand the results from this poll?? you gotta learn calculus I'm sorry babe its just life #anyways (part two)#y'all are better at math than you think you are #i promise you #you've just been taught it in the most bitchass way possible #go and do math chaotically #its what the professors would want #and also what math itself would want

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alchemiclee · 7 days

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I remember a few years ago when I upgraded my pc and got 32GB of ram and a friend I had at the time tried telling me that's way too much and i'll never need it.....well all I have open currently is my 35 chrome tabs, discord, and photoshop and its 80%. I don't even have clip studio paint or light room open. usually i'm working on something with those as well. and then on top of it i'll distract myself from my work with genshin or star rail. it hits 100% sometimes. I think I need more lmao.

#or i just need to get better at not having a million things open but i multitask too much for that #anyway that friend was wrong and im glad i didnt listen. wish i didnt listen and got the better processor though because mine struggles now #i want to upgrade so bad. i am itching to build another pc!!!!! its fun. i wish people would let me build one for them #i think graphics cards are normal prices again?? right? definitely need that upgraded #nvidia is at what the 50s now probably? or soon to be there? im still on the 10s with my 1070 #many new games now say thats the lowest recommended 😅#words #lee being a nerd. what a surprise

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frankmillerturnonyourlocation · 4 months

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Drabblecember 14: Sharing One's Sweater

I WILL finish drabblecember before the end of the month. Holiday crunch is pretty much over and we're back in action. We're making this happen!! Believe it!!!

Word Count: 600

Universe: Henry Danger

Piper had that kind of stare that could wither a person's confidence, you know, just totally decimate what a person's got going on, a real make a middle-aged adult wipe at his nose reflexively until he could steal away to a bathroom to check his teeth for food kind of stare. Emerson knew it well. It was one of his favorite things about her.

Almost as much as her acerbic conversation, but it seemed like Em would need to poke at it a little bit to get it to pop, like a... different metaphor. Scratch that. It was one of those things Em would have to feed into a little, to get anything to come out, you know, like a slot machine. Whatever.

“Hey, Piper,” Em said, indulgent.

“What,” she began, her voice dripping with… something, “is that.” Set 'em up, knock 'em down. Different metaphor.

He tapped the mug on the Hart's sidetable. “Hot chocolate?”

“Ew, you say hot choc– it's hot cocoa. What are you wearing?”

“Cocoa is a different thing. And, um, a sweater?” He lifted the mug to his lips. “Turtleneck thing. I dunno.”

Piper's eyes narrowed. “Henry's sweater.”

The cup made it just about halfway to Emerson's lips. “Is it?” he said, lightly, with a touch of a smile. A drop landed on his jeans, falling just shy of the sweater's woolen edge.

Honestly, they hadn't known– Emerson had picked it up off of the back of a chair in the Cave that morning, used the last of Ray's conditioner in the shower, and threw it on after the fact without a second thought. (Early morning, anyway. Early, early morning. The collar of the sweater and his hair both were long-dry now.)

Piper unceremoniously unzipped her winter coat and threw it open. “Early gifts from our Nanna. Literally wearing mine."

”Oh, hey, we're matchers." Em tapped the mug to his chin thoughtfully. ”Now, what are the odds of me and your Nanna frequenting the same storefronts?“

"None!" Piper stomped over to the sofa, her snow-soaked boots still on, and shoved her hand down the back of Emerson's collar. Ignoring his yelp, she yanked the tag out. "She embroidered the tags with our initials!"

"I'll take your word for it," Emerson half-mumbled, distracted mainly by the freezing temperature of Piper's hands, the remarkable volume of her voice, and the thrill of having narrowly not spilled his cocoa.

“Oh my god, you guys are disgusting.” she– disgust, that was it, dripping with disgust. "If you lied about being done with the whole couple thing, can you at least have the manners to do it where I can't see? And I promise, I'm not homophobic. But like, it's Henry."

"This is homophobic, Piper, but I love you for it." Emerson's mind would have been spinning a whole lot faster if he had just a few more hours of sleep under his belt. Such was the price of getting into the shower first, secretly, and without needing to answer too many questions. As it was, his brain was chugging through anything from the past half year that could give him any indicator of whether or not Piper was, so to speak, in on it all– second-guessing and double-checking and oops, now he'd been quiet too long.

He tugged on his collar and brought it up to his lips, more of a casually absent gesture than anything. ”Would it be more believable or less believable if I told you I stole it? From him?“

The look on Piper's face answered his question sufficiently. Incredibly expressive. Truly, it was a gift.

#i did something fun with the voice in this one haha. we're unclogging the pipe we're getting back in action we're having FUN #another one of my classic fics defined by my beloved's absence <3 sorry i like hanging out with your little sister better what do you want #drabblecember #drabblecember2023 #self shipping #bubble blowin double babies #drabble #(six of them.)#writing #also TRAGEDY my little focus writing software counts words DIFFERENTLY than my other word processors. i gotta go back to my boring one :(((#or abandon hyphens. lol (pronounced as one word) can you imagine.

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obsidiannebula · 10 months

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Remember how I said that thanks to an offhand comment from my husband I now desperately needed Dom Ulqiorra/sub Grimmjow smut? Well good news. I found some. I am in fact pleasantly surprised to find there's a good amount of works in the pairing published fairly recently. But also. I am now writing my own. I have not yet contrived a reason for them to fuck but boy are they gonna

#gods help me lads i genuinely think im even gonna finish this one #i did a smart and found a non-google docs word processor that will sync across both my phone and my computer #bc while i write better on my computer #kiddo likes to sit in my lap while im at my desk so i can only use one hand #which makes writing an absolute no-go #being able to tap out a few sentences here and there when i have time or i think of a good line #makes getting the job done waaaaay easier

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rachel-614 · 1 year

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Okay, let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, there was a prose translation of the Pearl Poet’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was wonderfully charming and lyrical and perfect for use in a high school, and so a clever English teacher (as one did in the 70s) made a scan of the book for her students, saved it as a pdf, and printed copies off for her students every year. In true teacher tradition, she shared the file with her colleagues, and so for many years the students of the high school all studied Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from the same (very badly scanned) version of this wonderful prose translation.

In time, a new teacher became head of the English Department, and while he agreed that the prose translation was very wonderful he felt that the quality of the scan was much less so. Also in true teacher tradition, he then spent hours typing up the scan into a word processor, with a few typos here and there and a few places where he was genuinely just guessing wildly at what the scan actually said. This completed word document was much cleaner and easier for the students to read, and so of course he shared it with his colleagues, including his very new wide-eyed faculty member who was teaching British Literature for the first time (this was me).

As teachers sometimes do, he moved on for greener (ie, better paying) pastures, leaving behind the word document, but not the original pdf scan. This of course meant that as I was attempting to verify whether a weird word was a typo or a genuine artifact of the original translation, I had no other version to compare it to. Being a good card-holding gen zillenial I of course turned to google, making good use of the super secret plagiarism-checking teacher technique “Quotation Marks”, with an astonishing result:

By which I mean literally one result.

For my purposes, this was precisely what I needed: a very clean and crisp scan that allowed me to make corrections to my typed edition: a happily ever after, amen.

But beware, for deep within my soul a terrible Monster was stirring. Bane of procrastinators everywhere, my Curiosity had found a likely looking rabbit hole. See, this wonderfully clear and crisp scan was lacking in two rather important pieces of identifying information: the title of the book from which the scan was taken, and the name of the translator. The only identifying features were the section title “Precursors” (and no, that is not the title of the book, believe me I looked) and this little leaf-like motif by the page numbers:

(Remember the leaf. This will be important later.)

We shall not dwell at length on the hours of internet research that ensued—how the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, grading abandoned in shadows half-lit by the the blue glow of the computer screen—how google search after search racked up, until an email warning of “unusual activity on your account” flashed into momentary existence before being consigned immediately and with some prejudice to the digital void—how one third of the way through a “comprehensive but not exhaustive” list of Sir Gawain translators despair crept in until I was left in utter darkness, screen black and eyes staring dully at the wall.

Above all, let us not admit to the fact that such an afternoon occurred not once, not twice, but three times.

Suffice to say, many hours had been spent in fruitless pursuit before a new thought crept in: if this book was so mysterious, so obscure as to defeat the modern search engine, perhaps the answer lay not in the technologies of today, but the wisdom of the past. Fingers trembling, I pulled up the last blast email that had been sent to current and former faculty and staff, and began to compose an email to the timeless and indomitable woman who had taught English to me when I was a student, and who had, after nearly fifty years, retired from teaching just before I returned to my alma mater.

After staring at the email for approximately five or so minutes, I winced, pressed send, and let my plea sail out into the void. I cannot adequately describe for you the instinctive reverence I possess towards this teacher; suffice to say that Ms English was and is a woman of remarkable character, as much a legend as an institution as a woman of flesh and blood whose enduring influence inspired countless students. There is not a student taught by Ms. English who does not have a story to tell about her, and her decline in her last years of teaching and eventual retirement in the face of COVID was the end of an era. She still remembers me, and every couple months one of her contemporaries and dear friends who still works as a guidance counsellor stops me in the hall to tell me that Ms. English says hello and that she is thrilled that I am teaching here—thrilled that I am teaching honors students—thrilled that I am now teaching the AP students. “Tell her I said hello back,” I always say, and smile.

Ms. English is a legend, and one does not expect legends to respond to you immediately. Who knows when a woman of her generation would next think to check her email? Who knows if she would remember?

The day after I sent the email I got this response:

My friends, I was shaken. I was stunned. Imagine asking God a question and he turns to you and says, “Hold on one moment, let me check with my predecessor.”

The idea that even Ms. English had inherited this mysterious translation had never even occurred to me as a possibility, not when Ms. English had been a faculty member since the early days of the school. How wonderful, I thought to myself. What a great thing, that this translation is so obscure and mysterious that it defeats even Ms. English.

A few days later, Ms. English emailed me again:

(I had, in fact searched through both the English office and the Annex—a dark, weirdly shaped concrete storage area containing a great deal of dust and many aging copies of various books—a few days prior. I had no luck, sadly.)

At last, though, I had a title and a description! I returned to my internet search, only to find to my dismay that there was no book that exactly matched the title. I found THE BRITISH TRADITION: POETRY, PROSE, AND DRAMA (which was not black and the table of contents I found did not include Sir Gawain) and THE ENGLISH TRADITION, a super early edition of the Prentice Hall textbooks we use today, which did have a black cover but there were absolutely zero images I could find of the table of contents or the interior and so I had no way of determining if it was the correct book short of laying out an unfortunate amount of cold hard cash for a potential dead end.

So I sighed, and relinquished my dreams of solving the mystery. Perhaps someday 30 years from now, I thought, I’ll be wandering through one of those mysterious bookshops filled with out of print books and I’ll pick up a book and there will be the translation, found out last!

So I sighed, and told the whole story to my colleagues for a laugh. I sent screenshots of Ms. English’s emails to my siblings who were also taught by her. I told the story to my Dad over dinner as my Great Adventure of the Week.

…my friends. I come by my rabbit-hole curiosity honestly, but my Dad is of a different generation of computer literacy and knows a few Deep Secrets that I have never learned. He asked me the title that Ms. English gave me, pulled up some mysterious catalogue site, and within ten minutes found a title card. There are apparently two copies available in libraries worldwide, one in Philadelphia and the other in British Columbia. I said, “sure, Dad,” and went upstairs. He texted me a link. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and looked at the description.

Huh, I thought. Four volumes, just like Ms. English said. I wonder…

Armed with a slightly different title and a publisher, I looked up “The English Tradition: Fiction macmillan” and the first entry is an eBay sale that had picture of the interior and LO AND BEHOLD:

THE LEAF. LOOK AT THE LEAF.

My dad found it! He found the book!!

Except for one teensy tiny problem which is that the cover of the book is uh a very bright green and not at all black like Ms. English said. Alas, it was a case of mistaken identity, because The English Tradition: Poetry does have a black cover, although it is the fiction volume which contains Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

And so having found the book at last, I have decided to purchase it for the sum of $8, that ever after the origins of this translation may once more be known.

In this year of 2022 this adventure took place, as this post bears witness, the end, amen.

(Edit: See here for part 2!)

#sir gawain and the green knight #translations #internet research #english literature #teaching things #dads are the best #long post #story telling #I STILL don’t know the name of the translator but I WILL find out #obscure books

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pinkanonwrites · 8 months

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Handle with Care

Rodimus has finally been allowed to bring you into a meeting to hopefully curb some of his rampant fidgeting problems. It ends up having unforeseen consequences.

First Contact AU! Rodimus/Human Reader

NSFW, DUB-CON, Accidental Stimulation, Rodmius has ADHD and you can pry that fact out of my cold dead hands

(Since this is a First Contact AU Rodimus uses Cybertronian words for body parts instead of human ones for you, but the Reader is a human!)

Rodimus knew he always did his best thinking when he had something to do with his servos. As insistent as Ultra Magnus was that his endless tapping, bouncing, and desk-carving was simply "an untapped well of craving for mayhem", Rodimus knew that having even a little something to fiddle with would make those endless, droning safety meetings into something just barely bordering on tolerable.

And since Ultra Magnus was also sick of his relentless desk vandalism, he finally gave the begrudging all-clear for Rodimus to bring his favorite organic to the meeting room.

"They can remain so long as they are not a distraction." With his soft little buddy cupped carefully in his servos, not even Ultra Magnus's stern words could sway his captain's notable enthusiasm.

"You say that as if they could be any more distracting than the bot carrying them." Megatron added.

"You worry too much! We'll be quieter than moon mice, right bud?" Rodimus ran a thumb over your soft, fuzz-covered helm as he took his seat. You were sitting comfortably in the center of his right palm, legs dangling over the edge between his digits. He kept his middle and ring digits curled up slightly to keep you from toppling forward, and you'd settled yourself in with your arms folded atop them and your chin resting against the tips of his digits. He gave you another soft stroke to the helm and beamed at the content little chirp you let out in response.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents. "If we may begin, we have a lot of ground to cover. Starting with the grievous filing system Brainstorm has insisted on using for the weapons bay. It flaunts any Cybertronian standard known to bot and presents a massive safety risk when considering…"

Yeah, if Rodimus hadn't brought you along he'd already be itching for a dagger to start carving caricatures with. Instead his left-servo digits wandered lazily over your helm and shoulders, absentmindedly petting as his processor already started phasing out the dialogue of his second-in-command. Primus, organics really were so soft. Even your little coverings were soft, he noted as he ran a digit tip over the fabric covering your torso. You let out another quiet hum, melting ever further into Rodimus's grip as he patted you.

"And if you think your petition to install turbo-thrusters on your private vehicle was approved, Rodimus, I assure you it was not."

"WHA-?! What's wrong with the turbo thrusters? Brainstorm already approved the prototype!" He sat upright and forward in his seat, left servo cupping around your back to make sure you weren't overly jostled. "And they'll look great on the Rod Pod, too. Already painted and everything."

"We can't have one of our captains blowing himself up meteor surfing just because he wanted a thrill. And must I emphasize the use of the word 'prototype'? Meaning 'unfinished and untested'?"

"What better way to test them than on my ship?"

"Do you want them listed alphabetically, or by order of safety protocol?"

Rodimus grumbled, a buzzing charge of irritation spiking through his frame. He cupped your back tighter with his servo to make sure you were still settled in as he flumped back into his seat with an overly dramatic ex-vent. The motion pushed your entire soft fore up against his wide digits, and he could feel a shiver course through your small frame.

"You bored yet?" He murmured, knowing you couldn't fully understand him but also knowing his comments would needle at Ultra Magnus. "Or are you cold? You feel pretty warm." A single digit stroked down the length of your spinal strut and Rodimus startled at the sudden, shaky in-vent you'd failed to stifle. "What was…?"

"Affectionate little organic you've found for yourself, Rodimus." Megatron's comment nearly made Rodimus leap out of his own plating. The taller mech gestured to the way you'd wrapped both of your arms around Rodimus's digits, your cheek pressed against the metal tip of one.

"W-Well yeah! I am their favorite, after all." He asserted, though his free digits kept wandering up and down the expanse of your back. The last thing he wanted was for Megatron and Ultra Magnus to think something was wrong with you. That would just give them more reason to not let him bring you to meetings. No, as soon as he could slip out of here he'd take you to Perceptor himself to get you checked out. Hopefully you could wait it out that long.

But as the meeting progressed Rodimus found that everything that was being said to him was going in one audial processor and straight out the other. He was too focused on your movement, each tiny rock and wriggle. He kept the palm of his other servo pressed against your back to keep you snug and warm, though his own sensors didn't indicate anything out of the norm for your current ambient temperature. Maybe you got bored like he did? Absent-mindedly he began bouncing you in his palm, just barely enough movement to jostle your frame. The dull motion would keep you occupied and keep Rodimus from going stir-crazy with nothing to fiddle with. He was killing two birdbots with one stone!

"...And if we're going to allow Swerve to continue his antics, I must insist that he is at least properly licensed and certified."

"C'mon! It's good for-!" Rodimus had tried to interject, but before he could he was interrupted by a strangled yelp from his palm. All three bots' optics were drawn to your form as you shuddered in Rodimus's servo, arms and legs squeezing around his digits and your helm hanging over the tips of them, hiding your faceplate from view. Your own little servos pushed pathetically at Rodimus's, trying to shove your fore away from his touch as you whimpered.

"You didn't squash them, did you? Rodimus."

"They don't appear to be harmed. Merely… distressed?"

"No worries everything's fine let's pick this up next cycle sounds good okay BYE!" Rodimus spat out a flurry of placations and excuses as he scrambled to leave, cupping you close to his chest the entire sprint back to his own habsuite. Only once he was over his desk, littered with your various human-sized furniture and items, did he carefully uncup his hands and let you sprawl out across a single palm. You remained lying flat on your back, fore heaving as you vented, helm fluff sticky with your organic-made coolant where it clung to your face. As you made optic contact with him you let out the tiniest, most pathetic whine as your servos flew up to cover your face.

"Rodimus…" Though you couldn't fully understand each other, you had settled on a throaty, metered recreation of his name, doing your best to mimic the mechanical warbles he had used to introduce himself to you. He'd heard you use it a handful of times before, mostly to get his attention. But now? Now you seemed absolutely distraught, whining out the word in a high, flustered pitch through your cupped servos.

"What?! What did I do wrong?" He blinked owlishly down at you, poking ever so gently around your form with a free digit. He prodded at your helm, your shoulders, your chassis… But as his digits trailed down your fore you whimpered, hips jerking pathetically up as he neared your pelvis. You let out another embarrassed squeak, one of your pedes kicking frantically against his digit with a metal 'bang!' to shove it away.

Oh. Oops.

Rodimus wasn't stupid, he knew that humans didn't have armor plating. Instead you delighted in covering yourself with various colorful fabrics for different occasions and times of day, a freedom of self-design that he both greatly admired and slightly envied.

But Rodimus had never actually considered that no armor really meant no armor. Not even a modesty plate.

"I'm so sorry!" He hissed, heat rushing to his own faceplate as well. Accidentally making you overload in the middle of a meeting wasn't even on the list of possible ways Rodimus thought things could go wrong, but apparently now it needed to be added. He'd used the vibrating buzz if his digits many a time on other mechs and femmes, but he never intended to use it on you. At least not in that way! Letting you slide oh-so-carefully from his palm and onto the surface of the desk, you continued to languish in your humiliation sprawled out on your back. "I really didn't mean to! I know you don't know what I'm saying but I promise it wasn't on purpose!"

You glanced through your fingers at his faceplate and his apologetic frown, letting out another huff. This one sounded less overwhelmed though, more resigned. You gestured for him to bring a servo closer and he did, only for you to duck your helm under one of his digits and let him pet your soft organic head fluff.

"You forgive me?" You couldn't understand him but gave him a small, reassuring pat on the palm. "Ahh, thank you! If it's any consolation, I don't think either of them noticed."

But as he carefully stroked your helm with two digits, a teeny tiny part of Rodimus's processor was curious. How hard was it for you to keep quiet? Was the wiggling around from you trying to get away from the stimulation, or chase it? Were you scared, overloading in a room full of giant mechs? Or was there a chance that part of you might have… enjoyed it?

Weird. He was weird. And he was going to file those thoughts away behind a door in his processor to only be opened when he needed things to feel self-deprecating about. Rodimus of Nyon, Captain of the Lost Light, secret fantasizer of human overloads… Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over well.

And yet, Rodimus couldn't help how little he actually minded that.

#transformers #transformers x reader #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus x reader #rodimus prime x reader #first contact au #valveplug #maccadam

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ghouljams · 12 days

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professor ghost on love's bday: she doesnt like to make a big deal of it and he cant wor up the nerve to give her his gift himself, so he leaves it in her office. its a manuscript, a scribbled out on curled pages, unfinished thing that ghost had to write down so the words would stop screaming in his head. all the edits he has to make to his old work since love came into his life.

Not edits, no, a new thesis entirely. If his first book was a meditation on grief, a thesis on the state of belief in misery, an exploration of predeterminism and fate, then this one is a true love letter. It's frankly embarrassing, but he can't stop thinking about it. None of the words are right. His writing is frantic, messy, nothing like the cool explanatory tone of his other books. He has no references to cite. Or- no, he has plenty of references.

He thinks of Aristotle, of his single soul theory(bullshit, Ghost rejects, my love is whole, she's too much to be half of me, and if she were what a terribly presupposition: that we are all divided into Joy and Sorrow like me and my love).

He thinks of Plato's Symposium, of breaking love into three parts(But that's too small, she can't be broken down into parts: eros, philia, agape. She makes him want to be better, she is passion, she is love in all forms, love to the point of inspiration, love to the point of consumption, to change and be changed. How could he break her into smaller pieces when he wants all of her?)

Ovid maintained that romantic love should never be consummated, that in its purest form it should grow beyond its physical needs, becoming transcendental. What does it mean that his skin craves her every touch, that he can't sleep without her dancing through his dreams? How is he supposed to maintain his distance when she presses to him at every opportunity? When he can't find anything but sorrow without the sight of her?

Ghost scribbles on his papers like a madman. He finds notes on receipts, on the backs of paper bags, in the margins of his books. He reads over the notes Love has left him and feels his heart squeeze in such a pleasantly hurtful way.

Behaviorism perhaps. It's all quantifiable, he just needs to find the right numbers. Or maybe aesthetic philosophy would be better? Feelings which cannot be captured through written language.

Yet the scribbling takes over his work. His walls covered in post its and pencil marks, his laptop running like a jet engine as he pours what must be incomprehensible drivel into his word processor. Ghost pushes his fingers under his glasses, feels the press of the bridge into his forehead, begs for his brain to be quiet, for his stomach to stop clenching each time he thinks about Love. He drags his hand down to cover his mouth, breathing as deep as he can manage through his nose. It all feels heavy, impossibly heavy.

None of it is right, none of it feels big enough, encompasses enough to describe the way he feels. None of the philosophers talk about the actual feeling of it. They don't talk about it hurting, don't mention how much he craves the pain of her.

Maybe he's a masochist.

He sends the draft to his editor with an apology.

"2.5 kids and a dog, eh?" Is the only response he gets.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x oc #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost x oc #oc: love #professor!ghost #professor au #I smell another best seller #Ghost does his best work when he uses his emotions for his philosophy

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ms-demeanor · 8 months

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Since some people might want a Mac, I'll offer a Mac equivalent of your laptop guide from the perspective of a Mac/Linux person.

Even the cheapest Macs cost more than Windows laptops, but part of that is Apple not making anything for the low end of the tech spectrum. There is no equivalent Mac to an Intel i3 with 4 gigabytes of RAM. This makes it a lot easier to find the laptop you need.

That said, it is possible to buy the wrong Mac for you, and the wrong Mac for you is the 13-inch MacBook Pro with the Touch Bar. Get literally anything else. If it has an M2 chip in it, it's the most recent model and will serve you well for several years. Any new MacBook Air is a good pick.

(You could wait for new Macs with M3, but I wouldn't bother. If you are reading these guides the M3 isn't going to do anything you need done that a M2 couldn't.)

Macs now have integrated storage and memory, so you should be aware that whatever internal storage and RAM you get, you'll be stuck with. But if you would be willing to get a 256 gig SSD in a Windows laptop, the Mac laptop with 256 gigs of storage will be just as good, and if you'd be willing to get 8 gigs of RAM in a Windows laptop the Mac will perform slightly better with the same amount of memory.

Buy a small external hard drive and hook it up so Time Machine can make daily backups of your laptop. Turn on iCloud Drive so your documents are available anywhere you can use a web browser. And get AppleCare because it will almost certainly be a waste of money but wooooooow will you be glad it's there if you need it.

I get that you are trying to help and I am not trying to be mean to you specifically, but people shouldn't buy apple computers. That's why I didn't provide specs for them. Apple is a company that is absolutely terrible to its customers and its customers deserve better than what apple is willing to offer.

Apple charges $800 to upgrade the onboard storage from a 256GB SSD to a 2TB SSD.

A 2TB SSD costs between $75-100.

I maintain that any company that would charge you more than half the cost of a new device to install a $100 part on day one is a company making the wrong computer for you.

The point of being willing to tolerate a 256GB SSD or 8GB RAM in a Windows laptop is that you're deferring some of the cost to save money at the time of purchase so that you can spend a little bit in three years instead of having to replace the entire computer. Because, you see, many people cannot afford to pay $1000 for a computer and need to buy a computer that costs $650 and will add $200 worth of hardware at a later date.

My minimum specs recommendations for a mac would be to configure one with the max possible RAM and SSD, look at the cost, and choose to go buy three i7 windows laptops with the same storage and RAM for less than the sticker price of the macs.

So let's say you want to get a 14" Macbook pro with the lowest-level processor. That's $2000. Now let's bump that from 16GB RAM and a 512GB SSD to 32GB and 2TB. That gets you to $3000. (The SSD is $200 less than on the lower model, and they'll let you put in an 8TB SSD for $1800 on this model; that's not available on the 13" because apple's product development team is entirely staffed by assholes who think you deserve a shitty computer if you can't afford to pay the cost of two 1991 Jeep Cherokee Laredos for a single laptop).

For $3000 you can get 3 Lenovo Workstation laptops with i7 processors, 32GB RAM, and a 2TB SSD.

And look, for just $200 more I could go up to 48GB RAM and get a 4TB SSD - it costs $600 to upgrade the 14" mac from a 2TB SSD to a 4TB SSD so you could still get three laptops with more ram and the same amount of storage for the cost of one macbook.

I get that some people need to use Final Cut and Logic Pro, but hoo boy they sure are charging you through the nose to use products that have become industry standard. The words "capture" and "monopoly" come to mind even though they don't quite apply here.

"Hostile" does, though, especially since Mac users end up locked into the ecosystem through software and cloud services and become uncertain how to leave it behind if they ever decide that a computer should cost less than a month's rent on a shitty studio apartment in LA.

There's a very good reason I didn't give mac advice and that's because my mac advice is "DON'T."

#sorry i swear i know you're being nice #i am incapable of being nice when talking about apple #i was a total apple fangirl until the unibody #which is the domino that started all the other companies pulling shit like soldered RAM #they said 'fuck you - users shouldn't service their own computers' and I say 'fuck apple - users shouldn't use macs'#and that has been my stance on the matter since 2012 #which was the last time i bought a macbook because i knew i'd never buy a computer that would fight me to change my own battery

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dreamlifebunny · 11 months

Text

bunny's masterlist!

hello friends! here you will find all of my finished posts ranging from manifesting ideas, imaginal acts (that i call "dream life daydreams"), manifesting challenges, self-improvement and "it girl" posts, and my perspectives on the law of assumption and non-dualism. have fun, and please let me know if any of these links don't work!

manifestation ideas:

the void state

desired face

magical abilities

revising the past

gifts from the universe

appearance perfection

magical appearance changes

from others: interactions with the afterlife

from others: 16 wishes

imaginal acts / dream life daydreams:

i'm irresistible, they're absolutely crazy over me!

being with your sp (or favourite fictional comfort character)

my series' and methods:

affirmations: "i can't believe it!"

affirmations: a better way to affirm

affirmations: for the "gifts from the universe" post

scripting: how to script your dream life and use it with any method

scripting: my favourite digital word processors for scripting

bunny's dream life scripting series: intro post

bunny's dream life scripting series: how to use

motivational posts:

you are safe

you are doing amazing work

this is your sign to stop procrastinating

manifesting a fictional character into your reality

how to "ignore the 3D" when dealing with horrible circumstances

it doesn't matter where you came from, what matters is that you're here now

a gentle practice for disidentifying with the ego + advice from an anon

how to become your own best teacher and the choice between nondualism and law of assumption

informative posts:

my favourite loa + nd blogs

neville goddard on how to occupy a state

why you should read/listen to edward art when you've overconsumed information or are doubting your faith in the law

frequently asked questions (updated soon!)

challenges:

bunny's digital detox and manifestation challenge

about me and non-loa:

my intro post

coding resources

my sideblog: for my personal glow-up diary, self-improvement reblogs, and the occasional off-topic and interest-based post, you can follow @dreambunnynotes!

#law of assumption #manifestation #neville goddard #loa #loassumption #void state #edward art #manifest #void #bunny's originals #YAYAYAY FINALLY HAVE A MASTERLIST HEHE I FEEL LIKE A REAL BLOGGER NOW

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