everything can be magical if you let it be. i remember the first time seeing red-winged blackbirds i was just…enthralled. i watched them for maybe an hour. i thought they made the sweetest noises and were just so pretty. and i found out later on that people consider them nuisances and pests. they’re literally common all over the united states but because they weren’t familiar to me they weren’t a burden or an annoyance but something beautiful. if we don’t let other people tell us how to feel about things, maybe we can just like things for what they are
this is a hotter, deeper take than i ever expected to see from this blog, but you’re so fucking right and i think this is a good ass post and a sentiment everyone should at least think about
okay so one night like a week or two ago kurt was meowing at me and one of the meows sounded like he was saying “hewwo” so since then I started saying “hewwo” instead of meowing back at him (like I do with all his cat sounds, naturally) and slowly his meows evolved into something vaguely “hewwo”like with the one or two True and Powerful Hewwo’s a day
but now that you have backstory I was just standing in my kitchen making rice, everythings dead silent, and suddenly this fucking “HEWWO??” echoes through the whole apartment and it almost killed me
good thing there’s NEVER enough pictures of frogs wearing cowboy hats in the world! here’s a frog wearing a very tiny cowboy hat
have another cowboy, this ones going on an adventure!
IM ABOUT TO CRY HES SO GOOD
[ID: first image: an anonymous ask saying ‘OH WAIT!!! I see it already exists!!!!’. second image: a large smiling frog face emoji wearing a tiny little cowboy hat between its eye bumps. third image: in the same lineless, simple style, a smiling frog with a red kerchief doffing its cowboy hat and riding a cute brown horse. end ID]
“I once asked my friends if they’d ever held things that gave them a spooky sense of history. Ancient pots with three-thousand-year-old thumbprints in the clay, said one. Antique keys, another. Clay pipes. Dancing shoes from WWII. Roman coins I found in a field. Old bus tickets in second-hand books. Everyone agreed that what these small things did was strangely intimate; they gave them the sense, as they picked them up and turned them in their fingers, of another person, an unknown person a long time ago, who had held that object in their hands. You don’t know anything about them, but you feel the other person’s there, one friend told me. It’s like all the years between you and them disappear. Like you become them, somehow.”
“average person hath borne me on his back 3 times” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person hath borne me on his back 0 times. Alas, poor Yorick, who hath borne me on his back a thousand times, was an outlier adn should not have been counted
[ID: a pyramid shape with four layers, like maslow’s hierarchy of needs. it’s labelled ‘good game pyramid’, and from top to bottom reads ‘dad’, ‘daughter’, ‘sworde™’ and, in much bigger colourful letters, ‘rats’. end ID.]
Ladies, you know how we can’t fit more than a single tube of lip balm into the pockets of most of our clothing for reasons that remain unsatisfactory to us all?
Tonight I learned that, back in the days when women’s pockets were separate articles of clothing worn tied around the waist under the skirt, one woman was convicted of theft for PUTTING A WHOLE DUCK INTO EACH POCKET AND WALKING AWAY WITH THEM.
My jeans won’t even hold my keys comfortably. We have been robbed of the joy of surreptitiously stealing large and ungainly objects including waterfowl, dammit!
I found my note on that case!
Court case from 1777, Worcestershire. A woman “of bad character,” Jane Griffiths, was brought to trial for stealing two ducks from a man named Thomas Wainwright. She tried to steal them by stuffing them in her pockets and taking off running. (as quoted in Barbara Burman, Pockets of History).
