I love the lanyard.
Boatswain’s call - Bosun’s call with sailor-macraméd lanyard, 19th century
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Watching the Last of Us, and so far meh. The third episode was masterful, had both of us crying, great story telling at its finest. The rest, basically generic tv action with farcical drama generated by asinine main characters. There's potential, they need to step things up.
We once took half a day to calculate the exact metrics of how exactly phat bottom girls keep the rocking world going around.
I didn't wanna derail the other post but I still wanna spread some love for my favourite subject...
Reblog if you've ever felt genuine joy or excitement from doing and/or thinking about math
Side effect or bonus? Because the primary heating is wood, I basically smell like a combination of my aftershave (bay rum) and wood smoke all the time. Gotta get the fire going or build it back up, and a bit of smoke gets out. The cabin smells like sandalwood and wood smoke as well.
So in the interests of development of life skills, I'm going to pass down a bit of wisdom that will serve you well.
When one encounters a strange, obviously old, most definitely not a copy of the Readers Digest yearly compilation book in some strange place-perhaps like on a basalt altar you found in a cave hiking, or on a bloodstained table in the root cellar of your cousin's remote hunting cabin- there are certain rules for best practices.
1. We do not touch the book. Let it lie otherwise you'll die.
2. We do not open the book. Maybe circumstances have dictated you have to pick up the book or move it. Let it stay closed.
3. FOR ALL THAT IS SACRED, WE DO NOT I REPEAT NOT READ ALOUD FROM IT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. WE DO NOT TELL OUR FRIENDS THAT THE LATIN IS FUNNY AND READ IT ALOUD TO ILLUSTRATE THE POINT OR SOUND OUT SOME GIBBERISH PHONETICALLY. YOUR EYEBALLS STAY OFF THE PAGE, AND YOUR MOUTH DARE NOT SPEAK THE WORDS.
Practice safe eldritch knowledge.
If you're actively advocating for genocide, no matter how pure your political theory, you are a shitheel and a bad person.
There's a place in Mesa close to the border with Chandler that has killer tacos and local beers on tap. Put your laundry in, gorge on Mexican food and beer, put laundry in, more tacos and beer, stumble out to the car with your laundry all wadded up, and sleep it off on a bed of freshly cleaned shirts.
Like we have got to make laundromats aesthetic. In my entire life I have only ever been in one laundromat that didn’t have the grungiest, nastiest, most meth-core vibe I’ve ever seen.
If I’m going to have to drag my laundry somewhere and pay to wash it I at least want my surroundings to be clean and pretty.
Through my actions, I both embody and seek Slack. Therefore, my life journey is to find myself.
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