advice to independent and public scholars/academics who work outside the university system
BUILD A NETWORK. because one day you’re gonna need that rare albanian-language only booklet they printed 400 copies of in 1953 and the only way you’ll be able to get it will be via that girl from grad school who now works in Elite University Special Collections and can backdoor you in since only enrolled students from X Department are allowed to view it.
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I love it that every time the game takes me back to azys lla, my first reaction is "HEY DON'T THINK I FORGOT TIAMAT IS JUST OVER THERE SUFFERING FOR ETERNITY, ARE WE GONNA DO ANYTHING TO HELP DRAGON MOM MOVE AWAY FROM HER TRAUMA AND GUILT OR ARE WE GONNA JUST GO BACK TO REDEEM ANOTHER ASCIAN/IMPERIAL INSTEAD?"
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My Pokémon self insert has like really extensive lore and a very detailed story but also I can describe her by saying she's a feral whale princess who collects orphans and keeps throwing people off buildings at every possible opportunity
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trying not to be such a bastard vs having had so many negative experiences with strangers you think every person who comes up to you is about to call you a slur
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Spanish moss. Such a lovely layer of fur for every tree in the Southeast US.
You know, this stuff.
It’s great and all until you learn that it’s parasitic to trees (allegedly), homes these annoying tiny red bugs that bite you (also allegedly), and falls all over everything you own (not alleged. That shit’s real. It gets everywhere).
And that one time you light a bonfire in your yard during the summer, burning all your school papers with your friends right under a Spanish moss covered tree.
Then, of course, that one friend with pyro-manic tenancies decides to give the fire a little more oomph, which makes the bonfire reach up into the tree above, lighting each piece of super flammable moss on fire above you, raining down ashes and embers onto you and your group, leaving everybody terrified that you’ll burn down the whole neighborhood.
Until your mom shows up and tears out the rarely used hose and starts spraying the fuck out of the fire with it until it’s out, leaving you and your friends with a wet fire pit and unburned papers and a bottle of lighter fluid.
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What would happen if saint appeared and the ancients were still around?
pathetic sopping wet kitten crawls out of hell and walks over half the globe to find her gf more at 9
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Stephen: So I’ve noticed that when we park—
Mowett (visibly suffering): If you please, sir, it’s not called ‘parking’ for a sailing vessel.
Stephen (spending all his nautical brainspace on remembering what a brig is; proud of it): Quite so, terribly sorry. So when we park the brig 😊, everyone so dreads doing so at a shore where the wind is blowing towards the land. Is that some sort of... sailing superstition?
Mowett (trying to put it politely): … no, sir… that one’s real, on account of... you know, the danger of getting stuck or smashed to smithereens.
Stephen: Ah! Most classic thing to be smashed to, to be sure. But why ever would such a shore prove so dangerous?
Mowett: Jesus, man, er, let me draw you a diagram or something.
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Travis, during the episode: icb you didn't let me just stab the bull 😒
Travis, the SECOND Matt ends the episode: Oh my GOd, Umudara is so touching and moving. 🥺 Going to walk all the way across the wildlands to end up at the dying Savalirwood. 😭
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courtesy of the enablers in my notes, here is my Flamingo Wisdom gained from the catch today
first of all, a flamingo separated from its flock (as it has to be when you are moving that beast around) is kind of like a horse, in that it will freak the fuck out if a leaf so much as moves in the corner of its eye, and it really really really wants to break its stupid twig legs by any means necessary. and you really cannot let them do this, because they will probably die, but they are stronger than they look and despite their insane 70+yrs captive lifespan they appear pretty fucking determined to spectacularly remove themselves from this mortal coil. if they cannot kill themselves, they will simply attempt to kill something else; if you do not personally clamp their beaks shut using your entire hand they will reach around with their long stupid tube necks and start swinging without hesitation. they bite, and will rip out hair and earrings and whatever else in reach they can get their fucked up beaks on. several of the flamingos were covered in visible blood stains of unknown origin before even picking them up, and half the day was spent wondering if one had been attacked and was doing all this bleeding, but as far as i know nobody ended up finding any which left way more questions than answers
to transport a flamingo is a two-person effort, because they are so long and so desperate to fuck up themselves or whoever is around them that you need at least two sets of hands to pull it off safely. one person holds the flamingo facing backwards tucked under one arm kind of like a set of bagpipes. with the other arm you have to hold both legs apart, because if they are allowed to lash out you get fun accidents like "vet tech pummeled in the balls with full force of both flamingo feet at once, advised to leave premises". you have to hold the legs facing downwards, otherwise the circulation gets cut off, as they are physically incapable of pumping their own blood down there without the effects of gravity. the resulting effect looks kind of like you are holding a guitar wrong, or slow-dancing in a really fucked up way. it is also objectively impossible to place your hands on the bird in a way that you will not get pissed on.
the second person has to stand just behind the first and supervises the head, holding its beak shut as shown and supporting the neck in a comfortable position. some flamingos do not Have a comfortable position and will just spend the entire time wriggling and trying to bite you, which you just kind of have to deal with. you also get direct eye contact with the beast at all times, which is. interesting and unnerving
the only people handling them solo were the vet in charge of weighing the animals, the guy sticking them into the back of a van, and my boss, who stood in the corral chasing groups of them into a smaller pen for catching. every time a pair came to collect their next bird he would open the door to the pen, head in alone, you'd briefly hear the most fucked up cartoon fistfight-esque noises from inside, and about thirty seconds later he would reappear with an entire flamingo tucked casually under one arm like a football and just hand it to you. most baffling part of the entire experience, i think
despite the turbulence however they did make it safely to their new home :)
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Hold up I'm out of the loop and didn't play age of calamity why do we hate the little white guardian
Ok imagine you watch the play Hamlet and then the Shakespeare Company announces a prequel for the events of Hamlet and it's advertised as a heart pounding and desperate adventure that fleshes out the characters you know and loved.
Then when you go watch the prequel, instead of getting a look at the politics and relationships and murders and events that shaped the world and characters you knew in Hamlet you instead were introduced to a time traveling watermelon that saves Hamlet's father in the first five minutes of the show and the rest of the play is dedicated to having all the various characters react to this watermelon before the watermelon then kills Claudius for Hamlet at the end and everybody goes home and has brunch
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