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uncharismatic-fauna · 7 months

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Keep Your Eye on the Red-Eyed Tree Frog

A striking specimen of frog, the red-eyed tree frog (Agalychnis callidryas) is found in the tropical regions of Central and South America, from southern Mexico to northern Columbia. Its primary habitat are rainforests, but they can also be found in wetlands or mangroves- anywhere with abundant water and high humidity.

Though small-- between 4-7 cm (1.57 -2.76 in) long and less than 15 g (0.53 oz)-- the red-eyed tree frog is well known for its bright, distinctive coloration. The body is bright green, with cream bellies and light blue streaks along the sides and hind legs. These features help individuals blend in to the leaves they rest on, while still being able to startle predators with bright colors when threatened. Likewise, the eyes are a vivid red which gives A. callidryas its common name. Even when its eyes are closed, this species has a distinctive look; rather than true eyelids, they have a semi-translucent eyelid called a nictating membrane that allows them to sense when potential predators are approaching.

Adults and juveniles alike face many threats due to their small size. Eggs are a popular food for polybid wasps and snakes, while hatchlings are more commonly predated upon by shrimp and large fish. Mature adults become food for aquatic spiders, snakes, birds, and bats. However, the skin of A. callidryas contains several mild poisons that serve to deter predators through a foul taste. The red-eyed tree frog itself is a nocturnal carnivore, consuming primarily insects and the occasional tadpole. This species spends most of its life in the trees, and rarely descends to the ground.

Red-eyed tree frogs mate during the rainy season, from October to March. Males call loudly to attract females, and wrestle each other for primary access; females are attracted to males with the loudest calls, but must often face a gauntlet of lesser males attempting to mate with her before she can reach her target. Some males may also shake the branches they sit on to detach rival males; this vibration is especially attractive to females. Following successful mating, the female lays about 40 eggs on the underside of a leaf overhanging a small body of water.

Eggs typically hatch 6 or 7 days after being laid, and hatchling drop from the leaf into the water below. A. callidryas spends about 45 days as a tadpole, after which time they emerge from the water and move upwards to begin their lives in the trees. Young red-eyed tree frogs don't become fully mature for another two years in the wild, but may not begin mating for another two years; because they only live about 5 years in the wild, this means that individuals may only mate once or twice in their lifetimes.

Conservation status: Currently the red-eyed tree frog is considered Least Concern by the IUCN. However, populations are decreasing at a rapid rate due to a combination of threats including deforestation, capture for the pet trade, and a highly infectious disease known as chytrid fungus.

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Megan Lorenz

Juan Gabriel Abarca

Brian Gratwicke via iNaturalist

#red-eyed tree frog #Anura #Hylidae #tree frogs #frogs #amphibians #tropical fauna #tropical amphibians #tropical rainforests #tropical rainforest amphibians #wetlands #wetland amphibians #central america #south america #biology #zoology #animal facts

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peterlorres21stcentury · 3 months

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I was going through some past emails and I found this post from my old Yahoo group

On Feb. 6, the "Old Movie Section" blog posted this "tintype" of Peter, written by Sidney Skolsky, taken from a book titled "Tintypes". Peter was working on "Crime and Punishment" at the time:

<<<< 11/27/1935 HCN Tintypes By Sidney Skolsky

Peter Lorre is in his dressing room. It generally takes him an hour to dress for his role in Crime and Punishment. He does this slowly, intentionally. He believes it aids him to portray the character.

He goes on the set and stands in for himself. He is one of the few big actors who do this. He poses under the hot lights while director von Sternberg arranges them and the camera. He does this because von Sternberg, who is particular about lighting a scene and an actor, asks him to do it. It means hard work for him, but he admires von Sternberg.

While on the set he has a favorite drink, a mixture of raspberry syrup and water. He makes everyone sample it. While making a flicker he doesn't eat much. His lunch consists merely of sliced fresh fruit, usually peaches.

He walks about, whether it be in the studio or in a restaurant, much in the same manner as he did in M. People who have seen him in this great flicker are scared when they first see him in person. He knows this and is greatly amused by it.

It was his excellent performance in M which got him a contract with Columbia. Before coming to America, he signed to play in the flicker, The Man Who Knew Too Much, to learn to speak English. He is good at languages and was quite adept at English in six weeks. He spoke better English in the latter reels of The Man Who Knew Too Much than he did in the beginning.

He was born in the village of Rosenberg, Hungary, on June 26, 1904. It was after he completed high school that he ran away from home to become an actor. In one early theatrical job he was given a three- line part. After the rehearsals the lines were taken away from him because he overacted. The director said he would be a standout by merely walking across the stage.

He is five feet 5 inches tall, weighs 160 pounds, has brown prominent eyes, brown hair, and rosy cheeks. A strange villain.

He speaks in a low, confidential voice which cannot be heard very far away. At the studio he will visit different offices. He amuses friends by acting and making faces. When telling a story he acts out all the characters.

He is a mild, pleasant person. He has a house at Santa Monica to which he invites his few friends for breakfast or dinner. He prefers to test by himself in his garden here. He seldom barks. He is not a visitor to the Hollywood gay places.

He enjoys watching tennis and football. His favorite sport is wrestling. He attends the bouts regularly. He once waited until after a match to ask Man Mountain Dean for an autograph.

He is married to Cecilie Lvovsky, an actress. They met when they were both appearing in the German play, "The Candidate," and were married when they met again in London. He was making a flicker. They were married during a lunch hour, and Lorre was in the make-up he used in The Man Who Knew Too Much. They haven't any nicknames for each other.

He makes charcoal sketches, landscapes and portraits, and is a good artist for his own amusement. He likes to listen to classical music. He detests bright red fingernail polish on women.

He insists that if he did not have to act, he would not. Acting, he says, is a child's profession for a grown up. "But," he slyly adds, "I love it."

When he isn't working he relishes a big meal. He likes Hungarian goulash and is especially fond of new potatoes in cream. He will talk about food and give a lecture on why a certain salami is better than another type of salami.

He is not at all particular about clothes. He doesn't try or pretend to be fashionable. He always carries plenty of baggage, most of which he never uses. He claims it looks good when you're traveling.

He likes cold showers and actually takes them.

He seldom carries money with him. Often he has run into a shop to buy a package of cigarets [sic], has found himself without a penny, and has had to write out a check for 15 cents. He sleeps alone in a twin bed. He wears pajamas, and on warm nights he wears only the jacket. He always reads himself to sleep.

He has a clause in his contract. Each day before work he is allowed to run into Boris Karloff's dressing room and frighten him.

#peter lorre #quotes #interviews #tintypes #does anyone have this book?#I've never seen it for sale #I kind of love this writeup #it's the sort of thing I might write to get a sense of a character #only in this case the character is peter himself #🖤#let me know what your favorite detail is #I lurb him

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racefortheironthrone · 2 months

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Not really directly related to the X-Men, but did you ever read the original series for the Power Pack? What did you think?

I'm a big Power Pack fan, having started with their intersections with the Claremont run - as I've talked about in the past, Claremont, Simonson, et al. were masters of the crossover, so it was natural that they would want to give a push to Weezy's characters in the X-books - that are rightfully considered classics because of the way they deftly managed pretty dark themes through the perspective of children.

As for their own adventures, the Power Pack are an unappreciated gem in Marvel's storied eighties, because of the way they break from the Marvel formula while operating seamlessly within the larger universe.

See, from the beginning of the Silver Age, Marvel differentiated itself from the Distinguished Competition by focusing like a laser on the teenage market rather than children. That's why Johnny Storm was a hotheaded teenage hearthrob, that's why Peter Parker started out as a normal, socially-awkward teen (just like you!), that's why the 05 X-Men were the "strangest teens of all!"

What Louise Simonson and June Brigman did with the Power Pack was to reinvent the child-centric focus of Golden Age D.C (think Robin and Superboy) and Charlton Comics (think the original Captain Marvel). Unlike those earlier child sidekicks and superkids, Alex, Julie, Jack, and Katie Power were not one-dimensional plucky moppets or precocious tiny adults.

Showing an impressive insight into child psychology, Weezy made them emotionally complex but also unmistakably still-in-development children, who were innocent and curious and boisterous but who also had tempers and got into fights with their siblings, or got scared and cried sometimes, who struggled with the desire for maturity and autonomy and the need for comfort and support from their parents. At the same time, June Brigman managed to do something that most professional comics artists notoriously struggle with: draw kids who looked like real kids, who were allowed to look goofy or awkward or gangly or rolypoly, rather than the idealized forms set down by the Nine Old Men.

And somehow, this alchemy made this book unusually emotionally resonant - although I may be something of an easy mark, because the Power Pack kids happened to be the children of Columbia University professors growing up in NYC's Upper West Side in the early 80s, just like me irl. While wrapped in a candy coating of kid superheroes with cool physics-based powers (Alex can control gravity by touching people or objects, Julie can turn into both waves and particles of light and fly at lightspeed, Jack can alter his body's density to become a miniature juggernaut or a living cloud, and five-year old Katie can turn matter into energy, absorb it, and fire it at the bad guys - the living embodiment of E=MC^2) fighting the evil alien Snarks with the help of a sentient spaceship, the Powers kids had to wrestle with having to hide their superheroics from their parents and the anxiety and guilt that resulted from that, and in their adventures they dealt with heavy topics like child abuse, gun violence, school bullying, mental illness and kidnapping and homelessness, and on and on.

Indeed, in the pages of X-Men, the Power Pack would go into the sewers under Manhattan to fight Sabertooth and the Marauders during the genocidal Morlock Massace, witness Wolverine wrestling with his humanity and his berserker rage in the Canadian wilderness, and fight to save Midtown New York from demonic incursions during Inferno. That's heavy stuff for a bunch of kids ranging from 5 to 12 years old, but somehow the Power Pack managed to make it through the most harrowing of adventures without losing their heroic spirit.

#comics #comics meta #power pack #louise simonson #june brigman

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middleearthpixie · 1 year

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Living Proof

Merry Christmas, @legolasbadass! I am your Secret Santa this year and this is the story I wrote for the @officialtolkiensecretsanta! I hope you enjoy Thorin enjoying a snow day with his family!

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, reader, Frerin II and Amira

Warnings: None. Just all fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Words: 2,411

Khuzdul Translations:

Uzbadnâtha - princess

Mimûn/a - little one

Raklûn/a - precious one, darling one

Mesmel - jewel of all jewels

Summary: You and Thorin and your children have a fun time playing in the snow the night before Yule...

You saw through my anger and rage to show me my prison was just an open cage

There were no keys, no guards, just one frightened man and some old shadows for bars.

~ Living Proof, Bruce Springsteen, Lucky Town, Columbia Records, 1992

Everything was just perfect.

Snow swirled softly all around you, but you barely felt the cold as you watched Thorin and Frerin II wrestle about in the drifts that rose like small mountains across the plains. It was supposed to be simply a family walk in the woods, but that lasted all of only a few minutes before Frerin scooped up a handful of snow to throw at his father. Of course, Thorin couldn't possibly let that go unchallenged, and so fired back and within minutes, snow flew in all directions and laughter and shouts rang out through the trees. Not that you minded. Their laughter was music to your ears, and obviously to Amira’s ears as well, for she tugged her hand from yours and said, “Come on, ‘Amad, let’s get them!”

She didn't wait for you to reply, but scooped up a handful of snow and fired at her brother, who promptly returned it. The next thing you knew, a snowball hit you squarely in the chest and your husband didn't even look the least bit sheepish about it.

“All’s fair in love and snowballs,” he said with a shrug, scooping up more snow.

You gave him no chance to fire it and showed him no mercy as you retaliated. Snowballs, some firmly packed, others leaving trails of powder in their wake, flew in all directions once more, with you and Amira taking on Frerin and Thorin.

Then Frerin wound up and fired and hit Amira square in the face. She dropped to her knees, and both you and Thorin froze while Frerin said, “I’m sorry, Amira! I promise I wasn’t aiming for your face.”

Amira looked up, snow clinging to the hint of beard on her chin, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Then, she leaped, hit Frerin in the middle, wrapped her arms about him, and tackled him into the nearest snowdrift.

Thorin went to pull her off her brother, but then laughter rang out and both Frerin and Amira turned on you and Thorin with near-deadly accuracy.

“Get him!” Frerin yelled and both he and Amira changed direction with their snowballs, pelting Thorin without mercy. They worked together, with Amira crouched to scooping handfuls of snow into spheres to hand to her brother, who fired as fast as she could make the snowballs. Meanwhile Thorin seemed to move in slow motion, letting them splatter him with snow as he seemed to take great pains in finding the perfect snow, sculpting the perfect snowball, and firing it, only to find his aim to be far more inaccurate than usual.

Finally, Amira stood up, a snowball in each hand. One hit Thorin’s thigh, but the other? Squarely in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, no… You got me… argh… I’ve—I’ve been—I’ve been hit…”

Thorin made a great show of grabbing his chest, staggering backwards until he simply crumpled into the snow. There, he went still, and you bit back a smile as Amira stared in wide-eyed horror. “But I didn't hit him that hard.”

“It looked pretty hard to me,” you told her as seriously as you could manage as you tried to fight off your smile at the same time. “You and Frerin should go check on him.”

“Frer, I didn’t hit him that hard!”

“I think you did.”

The sparkle in Frerin’s eyes made holding back your smile even more difficult. Then, Frerin took Amira by the hand. “We should check on him, Mira.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

Frerin looked over at you, as if waiting for you to nod, so you did, and then you watched, lips pressed together, fighting back a chuckle as they crept up to him. Amira looked up at her brother, then down at her father, and hesitantly let go of Frerin’s hand to close the gap between her and her father.

“Gotcha!” Thorin roared as he shot up to grab Amira around the waist and pulled her down into the snow as she let out a shriek that went from fear to laughter in the blink of an eye. Powder flew in all directions as Frerin then pounced as well. Their laughter mingled to rise into the chilled evening air, their breath rising in silver clouds to float off into the darkness.

You let them play a few minutes more, brushing the snowy remnants from your sleeves and coat, and then your motherly instincts insisted you round them up. “Come now, all three of you. Before you catch a chill and spend Yule sick in bed.”

“’Amad, must we?” Frerin looked up, snow clinging to the thick black lashes around his brilliant blue Durin eyes. It clung to his wavy almost-black hair as well, and in the dark fuzz that would one day all too soon be beard. He was named for his uncle, but was a mirror image of his father, as was his sister, who was just as pink cheeked as Frerin.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“But we’re having fun!” Amira pouted.

“Listen to your mother, mimûna,” Thorin told her as he stood and brushed snow from his trousers. Then, he bent and scooped Amira into his arms and held out a hand to Frerin. “It’s getting late and you need to get to bed. Otherwise, no Yule for either of you.”

That was enough of a threat to make the complaints stop and you bit back a smile as you all crunched your way back toward Erebor’s front gate. Inside, fires still burned, to make up for the chill the heating system couldn’t quite chase away. Everywhere you looked, red ribbons and evergreen boughs added such a wonderful air of festiveness, the scent of pine taking you back to the Yules from your childhood, when you were about Frerin’s age and Yule held all of the magic in the world for you.

You looked up at Thorin, his silver-streaked black hair also white from snow in spots, but they quickly vanished as it melted from the warmth. Your husband. You’d loved him from the time you were children, had thought you’d lost him forever when he left Ered Luin to begin his quest to retake Erebor. You’d not yet forgotten the fear that chilled your insides when you’d learned he’d been terribly wounded at Ravenhill, nor had you forgotten the long nights you’d spent at his bedside, when he hovered between life and death, and the long days that followed, as he pushed through pain and fury and guilt to become whole once more.

It was all behind you now, of course, but you hadn’t forgotten and as you reached your apartments deep within the mountain, you smiled as he set Amira down and said, “Into warm clothes, both of you, and into bed,” and patted their bottoms to get them to move.

As their energy seemed to never deplete, both Frerin and Amira raced off in different directions to their bedchambers and you looked up at him. “They should sleep like babies after all that fresh air.”

“They are not the only ones.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I, too, will sleep well.”

“They love romping about with you, you know.”

“I know it all too well, mesmel. And while I would not change it,” he winced and reached down to rub his lower back with one hand, “I am reminded I am not exactly a young dwarf any longer.”

“You are not an old dwarf, either, though.” You moved around behind him, gently knocking his hands away to press your thumbs firmly into the knotted muscle just above his hipbone.

“Ah, take care, mesmel! I am sensitive.”

“Hush. You are no such thing.” You kneaded that thick, solid muscle with expert pressure and precision and smiled as he let out a low, purring growl of satisfaction. “Feel better?”

“Aye, thank you. I can walk upright again.”

“Go put your children to bed, dwarf.”

He turned to you, his brilliant blue eyes dancing with more than a hint of mischief. “Then perhaps I might take you to bed?”

“If you think your back is up to it.”

“Oh, it will be.” He bent to sweep his lips against yours. “I promise you it will.”

“Go.”

While he went to round up your children, you made your way down the narrow corridor toward your own bedchambers. One of the servants had been in to tend the fire on hearth and turned down your bed, so the room was warm and cozy.

After readying yourself for bed, you tugged on a warm, velvet robe, then padded back out to go and bid Amira and Frerin sweet dreams. Frerin was very nearly asleep, but smiled up at you as he said, “I had so much fun tonight, ’Amad. I wish ’Adad had more time to play with us like that.”

“I know you do, raklûn. And I know he wishes he did as well,” you sank onto the edge of his bed and reached down to smooth a dark curl away from his face, “but unfortunately, being king means less time for fun.”

“I know.”

“Go to sleep now, raklûn,” you told him, leaning over to brush his forehead with a kiss, “or else I know a wee dwarf who will have no Yule.”

He snuggled deeper into his pillow. “Good night, ’amad.”

“Good night, Frerin.”

You blew out the candle on his bedside table, patted him once more through the quilts, and left. As you approached Amira’s room, she said, “’Adad, tell me again how you and ’Amad met.”

“You know that story, uzbadnâtha.”

“I know, but I like it. Did she really save your life?”

You paused in the doorway, smiling at the sight of Thorin stretched out on Amira’s bed with her curled up against him. She was younger than her brother, but in some ways, such an old soul, that it was easy to forget.

“She did, indeed. You’ve heard tell of the battle that took place just beyond our walls, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was gravely injured in it. And when ’Amad learned of it, she hurried here from Ered Luin and it’s because of her that I am here today.”

“But she’s not a healer, ’Adad.”

“No, she’s not, but my wounds went beyond just hurting physically. I was angry at the world for what had happened here, and took it out on everyone around me.”

“Like Frerin did that time he got hit with the arrow?”

“Exactly.” Thorin smiled. “And he knew Cam didn't mean to hit him, but he was still angry nonetheless.”

“They got into a fistfight over it.”

“I remember.” Thorin smoothed a hand along her long tangle of curls. “And I was even angrier than Frerin. I felt responsible for bringing war to our doorstep, to causing Uncles Fíli and Kíli to be hurt as well, along with a great many others.

“But, ‘Amad sat with me no matter how many times I told her to go away. She wouldn’t leave when I yelled at her to do so. The harder I tried to push her away, the more determined she became to not leave my side and her stubbornness won my heart in the end.”

Amira yawned and snuggled closer. “And now you aren’t angry any more.”

“And now I’m not angry any more.”

“And all because of ’Amad.”

“Yes, and because of you and your brother, as well. You’ve all three given me plenty to be happy about.”

You pressed your lips together as the soft emotion in Thorin’s normally deep, commanding voice brought tears to your eyes. He looked over then and smiled as he said, “How long have you been listening, mesmel?”

“Not long.” You came into the room. “You should be asleep by now, little miss.”

Amira looked a bit sheepish. “I was asking ‘Adad to tell me the story of how you met again.”

“Did he tell you what a grump he was? And how he told me to go away more than once?”

She nodded. “He did. But you refused.”

“I did, because he made me mad and I was going to stay just to spite him.”

Amira laughed. “Why?”

“Because your father is cute when he is mad.”

“Cute?” Amira stared up at him and you bit back a laugh at the disbelief in her voice. “Really?”

“I have my moments, raklûna. And now,” he gently untangled himself and stood, then tugged the quilts to her chin and smoothed them out, “you need to get to sleep, or else—”

“Or else no Yule,” she finished for him with a sleepy smile. “I know, ‘Adad. I know.”

“Good night, uzbadnâtha.”

“Good night.”

You bent over to brush her forehead with a kiss as well. “Sweet dreams, mimûna.”

“I will.”

Thorin blew out the candle and then slid an arm about your waist to steer you from the room. Out in the corridor, you looked up at him, his features softened by the flickering flames of candles behind frosted glass globes. “She should only know how close she came to not being here, because her father is a stubborn mule at times.”

“Oh, and her mother is not?” He bent to brush your lips with his. “You are every bit as stubborn.”

“And that is why you are here and they are there, dwarf.”

He smiled, tugging you closer still. “And I thank Mahal every day for that blasted stubborn streak.”

“Same.”

His eyes sparkled in the low light and he bent toward you. Your lips met in a slow, teasing, deep kiss, and when he drew back, Thorin pressed his forehead to yours and murmured, “Now, I do believe I said something about carrying you off to bed.”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but swept you up into his arms and spirited you back to the cozy privacy of your chambers, where he pressed you down in to the soft bed and whispered, “I do love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you back, dwarf.”

He kissed you again and as you lost yourself in him, somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed midnight.

***

If you enjoyed this - please feel free to like it, comment, and/or reblog it! As always, if you'd like to be added to my tag list, just let me know!

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc

#tss22 #The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Richard Armitage

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athletic-collection · 20 days

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Columbia Lions

#wrestling #columbia lions

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theopteryx · 4 months

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11 and 9!

9. Best month for you this year?

so obviously going to japan in the spring was up there but i've already talked about it a lot so i'm actually going to give a shout out to july, which had some of the more frustrating parts of this year (fighting with my landlord, someone hit and running my car, other stupid bullshit) but included: an absolutely incredible family beach trip that was one of our best family trips of all time, and that even includes the part where my SIL accidentally set a toaster on fire and almost burned the condo down and i had to fire extinguisher it on the floor of the kitchen and we had to throw out all the food that was out, EVEN THEN! THAT'S JUST MAKIN' MEMORIES, BAY-BEE! AND a trip to british columbia for a cousin's wedding which was a hoot n hollerin good time, AND a friend's taskmaster-themed birthday party which was. deeply unhinged.

i hate summer, and my good friend hates summer, and so this year we decided that we would NOT hate summer, we were going to become the kind of people who LOVED SUMMER, we would love summer SOOOOO much, even if it was out of spite, and we literally sat down and made a list of fun summer to-do's (we love lists. we love to check things off a list. it's fun. what is the problem here.) and by god we checked a lot of things off that list, which rolled into just having like. a ton of fucking silly fun, lmao. we ice dyed. we made spaghett (miller high life. campari. lemon juice. it's good i swear!). we sat in a creek in the woods on a hot day. we floated in a pool. we went to barbie movie opening night. we got shitty perfect drumstick ice cream cones from the gas station that melted down our arms as we walked back to her house. we went to a midsommar screening where everyone was dressed up like the may queen. we rewatched all the scream movies. i literally made and presented two powerpoint presentations about wrestling and friends listened to them WILLINGLY. i swear!! anyway sometimes it turns out that if you force yourself to have fun you will in fact have fun. fake it till you make it ☀️

11. Something you want to do again next year?

i wrote fic this year, and i'm working on another one right now that is tough but that i'm enjoying, and there's no way it's done before the end of the year but i'd definitely like to post it at some point. hopefully. who knows! 🫠

#ask meme

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rickchung · 9 months

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youtube

Boom! Pro Wrestling x Commercial Drive Legion.

Event recap from June 30, 2023.

#video #wrestling #indie wrestling #pro wrestling #sports #vancouver #vancity #professional wrestling #east van #east vancouver #commercial drive #british columbia #lower mainland #athlete #athletes #match #matches

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aspiring-thembo · 10 months

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In order: 1) woke up in North Dakota, 2) in Montana we escaped flatness and 3) went through the Rockies 4) finally we made it to the Columbia river in Washington, which we'll follow most of the way home.

I loved this trip! I think the roomette is going to be my choice going forward, if I can afford it.

Part of the beauty on a train journey is meeting other people, and this trip was no exception. Nothing but characters on a train.

When I told friends about this trip they asked me if I'd heard of planes. As if the cramped tube a mile away from the land, where circumstances demand that you wrestle with your neighbors for an armrest could possibly compete!

To see each inch of land as I travel past it, to feel the bumps and the turns, is so intimate.

Anyway take the train.

#Amtrak #empire builder #takin the train #train

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eelfuneral · 2 years

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This “Disney Adult” Thing is Getting Out of Hand

Recently, I saw a thread on Twitter with stills of a TikTok video depicting a woman crying and hugging a Goofy mascot at Disney World. It was captioned “we need to do something about Disney adults” and the replies were a minefield of people wondering what was psychologically “wrong” with this woman, making jokes about her wanting to have sex with Goofy, and on one memorable occasion, discussing sending Disney adults to a Mickey Mouse themed gulag. In between these vitriolic replies were screenshots of a video caption that OP had conveniently cropped out, which provided some much needed context. Apparently, her late father’s favorite character was Goofy, and she was emotional because hugging the Goofy mascot was like hugging a part of her dad. Yes, all of this vitriol was aimed at a woman healing from the loss of a parent. I wish I were joking.

“Disney adult” used to be a term that described a specific breed of over-entitled, grown Disney fan. A Disney adult would be the sort of person who would insist on going to the parks during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic or shove children out of the way in order to get that Instagram-worthy photo op in front of Cinderella’s castle a bit sooner. The term was once a way to describe a particular brand of selfishness, but it has warped into a way to mock people for having an “age inappropriate” or “intense” interest in Disney in general. Now, an adult singing songs from The Lion King in a car with friends, watching Encanto multiple times, or visiting Disney World without children is in danger of having the “Disney Adult” label, and the nastiness and snide remarks that come with it, thrust upon them.

One defense of this mockery that I have seen stems from Disney’s many misdeeds as a corporation. People bring up the fact that Disney’s corporate leadership is ethically bankrupt, and from there they reason that making fun of people with what they perceive as a slavish devotion to the corporation is a way of fighting consumerism or helping Disney’s ill-treated park employees. But what about other unethical corporations and evil conglomerates? Mars had a recent, high-profile scandal wherein it was made public that the candy company sourced its chocolate from suppliers that used child slave labor, and Coca-Cola is infamous for apparently funding a death squad to kill union leaders in Columbia. In spite of these horrifying violations of human rights by these mega corporations, I still have yet to see a substantial amount of vitriol lobbed at Coca-Cola drinkers or M&M eaters. On top of that, people who engage with Disney on a more “adult” level by watching sports on ESPN (which is part of the many-headed entertainment hydra that is The Mouse) are not perceived with the same level of scrutiny as adults watching the cartoons or visiting the parks. We live in a world where, in many cases, corporations have more rights than individual people and are able to get away with downright evil practices, and as a result, we all have to wrestle with the ethical implications of our consumption, and it is nigh impossible to never engage with a brand that is run by crooked, corrupt individuals. Most people have come to terms with the fact that ethical consumption isn’t a thing that one can easily do, but they are willing to afford more grace and understanding to people who consume problematic products in a manner that doesn’t violate established social norms. A person eating chocolate or watching football isn’t doing anything taboo, but an adult enjoying something aimed at children often is. This observation brings me to a concerning conclusion: many of the people crowing about Disney adults being the absolute worst people aren’t concerned about corporate greed, rampant consumerism, or workers’ rights at all, they just want a convenient excuse to feel above others and to have a taste of the power and social clout that a high school bully might enjoy.

The treatment of the girl in the Goofy mascot video brought back a torrent of memories of my time in high school, a time in which I was subject to intense bullying that still stays with me fifteen years later. I was in no way a normal kid, and a paid for this fact dearly in social situations. I was the over-emotional autistic kid obsessed with Yu-Gi-Oh, an anime series ostensibly aimed at elementary school boys, and I wore a home made Crayola Model Magic Millennium Necklace modeled after the one in the show a’ la Chris Chan. I was seen as immature, as clumsy in everyday conversation, and as an acceptable target for cruelty. I endured all sorts of insults and ridicule for my special interests, Yu-Gi-Oh and beyond, for the mere crime of loving them with the passionate intensity with which only an autistic child could. My difficulty socializing and dealing with my too big, too painful emotions gave my classmates more of an incentive to go after me, and it got to the point where my entire science class would spend the period mocking me (often to the point of tears) while the teacher would sit there, watch them, and do absolutely nothing. Perhaps he thought that the bullying would somehow turn me neurotypical or make me less weird, but that never happened. Instead, I learned to make myself small and avoid showing too much childish happiness in a world which sees cynicism and being oh so above it all as virtues. I still tense up when I hear people laughing near me and still apologize for talking about what I love for longer than a minute. I wasn’t normal, and I probably annoyed a lot of people, but I don’t believe that warranted making my school life hell on earth. I was psychologically tortured by my peers for being weird and all I got was this crappy social anxiety diagnosis.

The mocking of the perceived weirdness of the girl in the Goofy TikTok mirrors my experience with bullying in a lot of ways, and my heart aches for her. No human being should have to walk a daily gauntlet of cruelty for doing something that harms no one, much less in the never-ending panopticon that is social media. I don’t think that she is autistic, but needless cruelty for harmless eccentricity is always wrong, even if the target is 100% neurotypical. That said, many of the, shall we say, eccentricities that people bring up when making fun of Disney adults just so happen to look an awful lot like autistic traits. There are plenty of autistic people who have a passionate interest in something and who get excited about it in a “socially unacceptable” manner in public. Many autistic people, adults included, also have an interest in “childish” things. When we give people a green light to mock people, autistic or not, who do these things, then we are creating an precedent for ableist bullying of autistic people, regardless of the original intent.

Seeing this moral panic surrounding Disney adults makes me feel borderline unsafe as an autistic person. What harmless-yet-eccentric passions will people ridicule others for having next? If some asshole with a smartphone captures a video of me getting excited about a special interest in public and posts it to TikTok to mock me, will it go viral? Can mocking an autistic person be deemed as attacking an acceptable target or even as a form of praxis if the bully uses the correct combination of social justice or anti consumerist buzzwords?

Bullying a random woman on TikTok out of going to Disney World is not even going to put a noticeable dent in the conglomerate’s multibillion dollar earnings, but it will make a very real person feel like garbage and open the door for so much more bullying and nastiness going forward. So what do we do about Disney? Well, for starters, donating to the GoFundMe of a cast member struggling to make ends meet will have an immediate, material effect on the life of someone being mistreated by Disney. For a bigger impact on more people, you can put pressure on politicians to create legislation that protects workers and consumers while holding The Mouse and other corporate entities like it responsible for their actions. No bullying of grieving daughters, autistic people, or random eccentrics is required.

#actuallyautistic #disney adults #Disney #brainwaves

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eclecticmickyalberta · 2 months

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Wine Whining

July 28, 2015

Ain’t it great? Every year we get more down to earth and a few sacred cows topple in the dust. It seems that recently the laws of wine worship have been revoked and we’re blowing the whistle on the holy mystique of the nectars of Bacchus.

Confess: Didn’t you fear your taste buds had an I.Q. of 70 when the experts swished a mouthful, rolled their eyes and babbled about hints of chocolate and licorice bark and a finish of coffee on your red wine? Who put that stuff in your wine?

He: “Darling, the overtones of battery acid in this Pinot Noir are so subtle as to be scarcely perceptible.”

She: “Oh, and the delicate suggestion of nail polish in this Merlot is so understated, it’s scarcely a breath. I’m glad we let it age for seventeen years to bring its intellectual sophistication in balance with the gentle whimsy of its fruitiness.”

Out in Kelowna, the heart of British Columbia’s white hot wine industry, radio hosts chat about the valley’s bottled gold. They’re going, “Hey, it’s a business, and it’s a drink, and let’s not be so snooty.”

Says one, “According to the experts, this cabernet Alicia must be drunk in a cabernet glass to bring out its full bouquet.”

And who thought up that one? The people who make stemmed crystal, of course.

The other comes back, “But we put wine on too much of a pedestal. At the end of the day, just shut up and drink it.”

Stop talking and drink it? I’m on board.

It’s no longer a requirement to wrestle with a corkscrew and then pass the cork around to sniff. Recent yuppie vintages come in a handy screw top and you can plunk the bottle on the table without fear of the butler’s giving notice. If you’re really brave, leave the price sticker on or brag about how cheap you got it in that little strip mall next to Wal-Mart.

Who performed the great service to serious drinkingkind everywhere by tying the grape gourmand to a pillar and tickling him with a wine cellar feather duster until he spilled his guts about the breathing of red wine?

“Tee hee, well, it started as a joke over beers—tee hee, oh stop, you’re killing me—and then everybody believed it and we didn’t know how to—tee hee, please stop and I’ll confess…”

Seems a group of wine experts with post-graduate palates tasted four bottles of the same red wine. One bottle sat open for an hour, one was decanted for an hour, one was decanted and poured, and the last was opened and poured. The Ph.D Palates went for number four.

Well, bless me if the wine industry isn’t as rife with naked emperors as cyberspace with nasty viruses. Red wine breathes? I guess we all looked that stupid, huh? It’s a bottle of fermented fruit juice, at bottom. Liquids do not breathe. Liquids exist to be drunk by humans, who do breathe.

I do get it about clearing the palate between varietals. It gives you a chance to indulge in another great fermented food, this one in solid form. There must be as many cheeses as wines out there, all ready to be praised to the heavens in glorious, grandiose verbal cascades.

So let’s not lose all the fun. Before this dandy one-upmanship passes into antiquity, raise the bar. Throw a classic wine and cheese tasting party and mandate that everybody get in touch with his pretentious side. Include two 4 x 6 file cards with the invitation. When guests bring their wine and cheese offerings for the occasion, they must bring a high-toned description of each. Give points and an extra pouring for hyperbole, alliteration and over-the-top verbosity. Award more points and a take-home bottle for the guest who is voted the biggest talent for pretentious prattle.

And no cuspidors. No one is allowed to treat these elevated beverages like Listerine mouthwash. Why let the fruit ferment and then not get a little buzz? You have to swallow, so when the imbibing begins, the airs will flow as fast as the drinks.

Don’t limit the grandiosity to the goodies. Call for a dress code. Insist on formal jeans, or maybe hats and gloves…any kind. Encourage your guests to indulge their sense of the ridiculous and the sublime, from Moody Blue and Cheez Whiz on Ritz crackers to champagne and Brie.

Pop, pour, and party on.

#wine #wine tasting #pretentious #wine and cheese

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