Actually, the fact that any alien race communicates with another is quite remarkable.
tHIS WAS THE ONE TIME STAR TREK GOT PSYCHOLOGY RIGHT, actually!!!
Humans are biologically programmed that during the acquisition of language if something is pointed at and a word is said, we assume that word is a NOUN. Every human in every culture and every language does this. But there’s nothing to say in an alien language their biology would be the same. That word could just as easily be an adjective or a verb or the objects location in space or a million other things.
Good job Star Trek. Just this once, you managed to not piss off every psych student to watch your shows.
Quine uses the example of the word “gavagai” uttered by a native speaker of the unknown language Arunta upon seeing a rabbit. A speaker of English could do what seems natural and translate this as “Lo, a rabbit.” But other translations would be compatible with all the evidence he has: “Lo, food”; “Let’s go hunting”; “There will be a storm tonight” (these natives may be superstitious); “Lo, a momentary rabbit-stage”; “Lo, an undetached rabbit-part.“
I have. A new recliner chair. It’s very comfy. but I am worried.
Mochi. Has decided that the best place to sleep is between my feet on the footrest. and when I have my laptop open I tend to. forget that he’s there.
I am going to dump him onto the floor.
Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow night but Eventually He will end up rudely dumped onto the floor, like so much salad.
Pictured: a cat unaware of the fate probably rapidly approaching him, despite me telling him three times now. He is too comfy to care.
Question: You dump your salads on the floor? Why?
Comorbid ADHD and carpal tunnel have lead to a disorder that I like to call “clumsy bitch syndrome” wherin if I get distracted or grab something wrong I will just… Drop whatever I’m holding? For some reason my favorite salad bowl is a regular victim. Also happens to piles of laundry, the TV remote, and sometimes knives.
I have a strict policy of never holding babies.
G U E S S W H A T I D I D
Mochi is either very forgiving or very bad at cause and effect.
Two different socks, t w o d I f f e r e n t s o c k s, T W O D I F F E R E N T S O C K S
They live in my shoes most of the time, so they’re the same by the most useful metric (Thickness).
In other news,
I tried to give mochi a headscritch while he was on the stairs.
my stairs are basically carpet-covered slabs of wood, with no “backing” so you can see through them. They’re also directly above the stairs that go down to the basement, so there’s a bit of a drop.
mochi
rolled over for bellyrubs
and fell
through the stairs
about six feet
before rolling over mid-air and catching himself on the floor/ledge above the basement stairs, claws digging into the wood like mufasa during that one scene that fucked up everyone’s childhood.
Unlike Mufasa
Mochi is both strong and not predestined to die for narrative purposes
so he hauled his fat ginger ass up over the ledge as I got to the bottom of the stairs.
he stared at me.
I stared at him.
Mochi then bellowed his loudest and most victorious of cat bellows, and threw himself into my chair and rolled over for bellyrubs. Which i gave him.
i am afraid
as Mochi is a ginger like my husband his father
that my son may have inherited my Clumsy Bitch Disease
When they realized women were using their sacks to make clothes for their children, flour mills started using flowered fabric for their sacks. The label was designed to wash out.
1939 Kansas Wheat…
holy fuck that’s the cutest marketing scheme i’ve ever heard of
‘buy our flour it’s going to make the nicest bread and the sweetest dress!’
yes thank you ok sold
There was also a chicken feed company that did this. My great-grandmother used to recycle the chicken feed bags to make dresses for my grandmother. That was also a pretty common practice; you can read about it in the Kit series of the American Girl books.
Okay but think about being a little girl wearing flour-sack dresses because your family can’t afford dress fabrics, and you’re always embarrassed because everyone else knows. And then one day you get to saunter into school showing off your cute little flowery dress. Because a company decided to add something to its product for a reason other than just making money for itself. Isn’t that great?
They made pretty nice clothes, too, as flour sack fabric has to be fine and tightly woven to prevent the flour from working its way through.
When WWII hit, it amped up and it wasn’t just children wearing them. Apparel fabrics were rationed, but flour sack fabric wasn’t. Flour companies started competing to see who can make the prettiest, most appealing flour sack flower print. If you look at some 40s war-era patterns, they have interesting seam lines designed to utilize the narrower fabric widths of sacks instead of bolt yardage.
For the 3rd year in a row I’m seeing people give Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events a try and then get disapointed/angry that nothing good ever comes out of it that everything always seem to go wrong for the Baudelaire and I’m just… if only someone, anyone…. had warned them
me: *is repeatidly told by the story itself that it doesnt end well, has a title sequence song that is just about how one should stop watching immediately because it’s sad, the narrator, each episode, tells me that i have an option of not watching it and proceeds to wait a few seconds for me to leave*
A Series Of Unfortunate Events: *isn’t a happy story*
me:
A Series of Unfornate Events: *is a A Series of Unfornate Events*
Interracial marriage was outlawed for the longest time, and disabled people lose government benefits when they get married so they cannot have reassurance that they will continue to LIVE if they get married.
Story time: my mom is white, dad is black. They’ve been together twenty four years, married for twenty three. When my parents were dating they did it on the low TO KEEP MY DAD SAFE.
My mom’s parents said “We don’t care who you love.” At that point she’d only ever brought home white guys. She brought my dad home-her mother called her a nigger lover and damned the relationship as much as possible. Her father grew around his prejudices after I was born but never apologized, just wasn’t a blatant fuck.
The day she introduced my father to her family was the last time she spoke to her mother for over twenty years. When I was getting sick and she called and asked her mother and grandmother if anyone in the family had anything strange happen similar what I was going through they told her “it’s because you married a black man. You made your bed, you lie in it.”
Cops pulled them over all the time and asked my mom IF SHE WAS OKAY AND IF SHE NEEDED HELP BECAUSE MY FATHER-A BLACK MAN-WAS DRIVING A 100 POUND WHITE WOMAN AROUND. HE WAS HARRASSED AND THREATED WITH ARREST.
My father ended up getting into a fight in self defence because some entitled hick decided he didn’t like seeing a black man and white woman in the bar together. Thankfully other patrons helped my father but he still couldn’t go to the er for his injuries. My mom patched him up and they were terrified the cops would take him away.
THEIR BEST FRIEND GOT LICENSED TO MARRY THEM SO THEY COULD ACTUALLY TIE THE KNOT BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE WOULD AND CITED JIM CROW ERA LAW AS TO WHY.
When shopping with just me my father wouldn’t hold my hand if there was a group around. Why? I’m far lighter than him and people had stopped and asked him “whose child is that?” Or “little girl where’s your parents?” and were stunned when I grinned and pointed at my dad and proudly proclaimed “my daddy’s right here.” You know where else mixed kids couldn’t hold their parents hands? Apartheid South Africa. We live in fucking FLORIDA.
So yeah. Some history for you.
This post was made in October 2018. The above poster’s parents met in 1994. We were a generation removed from the Civil Rights movement and this was happening.
