Well, that's the first time I've ever seen someone in a musical theater battle jacket.

You're never told how much of being an adult is quietly sighing and saying "yes, but we need the rain."

The world is grey and worrying, but while putting impractical purple ink in a fountain pen doesn't solve that, it's a fun start.

Five topics I can give an hour long talk on - the unremarkably remarkable Curtiss P-40 - why interior design is a racket - Battlemechs - why vodka is probably the wrong choice in your cocktail - specificity as the key to happiness; a defense of criticism.

Finally gave up and muted That Asshole's name. Waiting for the announcement that this isn't an acceptable use of composted moderation.

Mint juleps, with garden fresh mint.

I am alive and it is spring and the world is beautiful and I don't have the slightest idea what to do with this.

Fifty Years After the Fair - Aimee Mann Danse Macabre - C. Saint-Saëns Tocatta & Fugue in D Minor - JS Bach War Pigs - Black Sabbath Albuquerque - Weird Al Racing in the Street - Bruce Springsteen Orion - Metallica Ordinary World - Duran Duran Arkham Bridge - G. Alpert & J. Hwang Ashokan Farewell

Watch out for this one friends. Idk about you, but a supposedly 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴-𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 app 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 that 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘐𝘋 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 seems super sus to me. Even if the best intentions are at play here I can already see so many ways this could go wrong...

If public appearances are such a threat then the president shouldn't make any; we should see or hear nothing from the man

Feels like my life right now is work and tears, with nothing to show for either

The single greatest argument against us being anywhere near true AI is the number of executives saying we might be. If they'd built a sentient machine they'd be trying to quietly build a framework for it not being legally a person, not winking at the camera.

Having one of those days where for every one message sent I've erased 20 more because what's the point?

Why are you trans? (Wrong answers only) Pentium floating point bug.

Calling it. Today is officially Dysfunctional Communication Thursday. Now to communicate it to my coworkers. As a literary allusion. In semaphore.

The instructions say "Sand." You have twenty different bottles of paint labeled "Sand." The colors range from yellow to pink. Someone will be angry at 19 of them. Everyone will be angry at the twentieth.

The Walt Disney corporation maintains anti-air and anti-armor capabilities at it's theme parks.

"Well, this work light won't turn on. Maybe if I unplug it first..." I can *taste* that afterimage.

I'll be honest: I can't tell if there's an outage because this app sits and flails for an hour plus every day for me.

How does dreaming of love hurt more than dreaming of strife?

Having spent time on the Old Internet sometimes means toning down your reaction 3 or 4 times because you don't want to cause permanent harm with a mild rebuke. And then they immediately delete anyway.

Ever realize you're thinking about a bunch of completely unrelated things at work, sit down to pick apart how you ended up on the topic, and then 10 minutes later going "oh, of course! Professor Childermas's ranting closet" and getting back to your day as if nothing had happened? Me neither. >_>

No self image like "doing your taxes poor self image."

My work schedule has been messed up for the second time in as many months by an idiot taking a cruise. And seeing who takes them ensures that I will never, ever boon one.

AI analysis, phone? Really? Here's some analysis: we just dropped a game to the Pirates. A root vegetable could tell you that was bad.

Around midnight after the first day of fighting at Shiloh, Sherman said to Grant "we've had the devil's own day, haven't we?" To which Grant replied "Yes. Lick 'em tomorrow though." Which he did. I think of that a lot on nights like this.

My reward for getting most of my taxes done tonight despite having an amazingly crappy day is crossing two more entries off of my Unseen collection. I'm really making progress! (Unfortunately, that means I'm slowly getting down to the pricy ones)

Everything I read about this "book tock" thing makes me want to write a novel in the second person that is simply an insult towards the reader, then publish it with the most arrow-festooned tropist marketing imaginable.

“This above all: to thine ownself be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.” Polonius was a schmuck, but even a stabbed clock is right twice a day. You’re trans enough if you want to be.

My local paper once ran a photograph of a horse in an article about moose. With a bridle and a saddle, hitched to a fence post. They did not retract the image so much as explain months later that the original photograph had contained a moose as well, which was cropped out in editing.

I took the Millennium Challenge and all I got was this $500 t-shirt.

Rocket summer of the mind, amidst the winter of our lives.

I am feeling better. Ish. I am caught between the all-consuming desire to be known and seen for who I am and the all-consuming fear of living in the current era. This, as you might guess, doesn't condense neatly into things like holidays and workweeks.

Some days I feel like a hole in the world. Like there's nothing to me at all and even I can hardly tell I'm there. I wish I could be more visible, but it's hard to bear the weight of it on days when you can barely see yourself.

Never underestimate your brain's ability to craft bespoke nightmare hellscapes for you. (Decision paralysis in an incredibly fancy restaurant with hundreds of menu options, seating locations, and restrooms themed after famous movies)

girl are you an IBM PC Jr because I want to push those soft buttons slowly, firmly, one at a time to be sure the keystrokes register properly.

Finally finished that Polikarpov resin kit! How will I torture myself next?!

Your childhood is gone, and it will never return to you. No matter what you watch, how you act, what you buy. It is over, and you remain. You are free of it, if you wish.

A great deal about the modern world can be explained by the universal refusal of damn near everyone to accept or internalize the fact that civilization runs on the often unpaid labor of women 35-70.

That dream was a relentless cataphtact of emotions; enthralling, disturbing, and exhilarating in almost equal measure. My sheets were soaked through with sweat. Still beats reading the phrase "member success manager."

Theoretical justifications of wizard shit are rapidly approaching the "skydiving with a Christian baby" limit.

Seeing my phone pop up a reminder of a baseball game feels like it fixed something.

Sound check is an a capella version of Tom's Diner that's going to be stuck in my head all day now.

The fact that a nearly 70 year old play can simultaneously make me feel as not alone as I've felt during the Current Unpleasantness while also making me feel like emotional roadkill speaks to the power of the theater. Though I'm hoping sleep addresses the latter.

Getting frustrated in a current project. My go-to primer (Tamiya fine) is proving hydrophobic to Citadel (and ONLY Citadel) acrylics.

Something I'm not seeing addressed with this airport ICE debacle is what TSA's boots on the ground think about it. I can't imagine that seeing fascist thugs getting paid while you're coming in for free is going to make the people crewing the checkpoints happy. At all.

We must believe in a world to create that world

Pre-shift icebreaker question: what makes you special? *room sits in silence for one minute*