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Latest Posts by plasma333 - Page 13
Photography by Peter Solarz
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I know this has probably already been done, but consider: A stereotypical trope-heavy sitcom family, but it turns out that all the annoying toxic clichés that seem to be in play are actually subverted in ways that are conversely wholesome.
Like a husband who keeps making morbid, almost sadistic Boomer Jokes about how much he hates his mother-in-law. Turns out that his wife's childhood was wildly abusive, and it is entirely reasonable of him to not forgive people who tortured the love of his life when she was a child. Wanting to throw that horrid old witch into a wood chipper is the least that he could do.
Town baker who's buff as hell from whisking every batter and kneading every dough by hand. And those who don't respect her at least have the common sense to fear her, because if you don't, she'll knead the air out of you, too. She's the first one in town to start selling gluten-free bread. Save for the one family who requested it from her, nobody in the town knows what the fuck gluten is. Nobody else is allowed to buy the gluten-free bread before she's made sure that this one family has gotten theirs.
Nobody else is entirely sure what gluten-free bread is, but if the baker says there's no fucking gluten in this bread, then that's final, that's all they know about gluten. Nobody knows how she takes it out of the bread, either, but the most popular theory is that she beats it out of the dough, somehow. She makes a dough and then beats the gluten out of it. Yeah, that's probably how these things work.
Once better information starts trickling into town, and people gain a better understanding of what celiac disease is and what gluten has to do with it. But the people do still agree that if anyone could beat the gluten out of bread, it would be their town baker.
Character idea that I had at some point: A dance teacher who had to give up his own highly promising career as a performer after an injury, and now makes his living giving lessons to children. He comes off as stern, serious, and frighteningly strict, and even some of the parents have a hard time believing that the kids genuinely like him and enjoy the lessons. Which, to be fair, are frightening to watch with no context of what this is about.
The children go through their practices with downright eerie, automation-like, coordinated synchrony, with stern and focused looks on their faces, while the teacher circles them, observing and correcting, brandishing his cane like a weapon and every once in a while dramatically lamenting about how "you little vermin can't do anything right", and occasionally the music stops and the only sounds coming from the studio are of kids running and screaming while their teacher bellows about teaching them a lesson.
This, however, is all just method. He started the first lesson with the children by proposing a game: How about they play flea circus, where he is the cruel evil ringmaster and they are all his poor suffering little fleas. One of the girls starts crying, protesting that she doesn't want to be a flea. Well, how about mice? Mice are cute. The children accept these terms, and ever since they've spent dance lessons playing Evil Circus.
For reasons beyond adult comprehension, children of a certain age really love playing pretend in a setting where everything is Dark And Horrible And The Worst, and Evil Mouse Circus is exactly that. And whenever he picks up that the kids are starting to get too genuinely nervous or agitated, that's when he goes "that's it I'm going to beat all of you" which is their cue to take a break to run around screaming, while he chases them. He won't catch them and isn't even trying to, the kids just need to let the nervous energy out.
It looks horrible to an outside observer, but the kids are having an excellent time playing circus mice.
knitting/chrocheting while hanging out with friends is so funny like everyone shut up for a few minutes i have to count to 115. twice
One of the most insidious messages we receive as aromantic people is the idea there is nothing to be gained from a platonic relationship that one can’t get from a romantic relationship. The media we consume every day tells us that what we have to offer would be somehow better if it were given in a romantic, rather than platonic context. It tells us things like emotional support, laughter, care, and love are more valuable within the confines of a romantic relationship.
This can leave an aromantic person feeling as if they have nothing unique or valuable to offer, and the things they could provide to the people they care about would be better had from a romantic partner. That they themselves are superfluous and unnecessary.
These are lies. You are beautiful, and valuable, and you have more to offer than you will ever know. You may never see it yourself, but every person who chooses to have you in their life sees something in you that is worthwhile. There is something they receive from you they don’t get from anyone else, and it’s likely something different for every person who knows you.
You are special. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to feel like you’re enough, because you are.
You are.
This is a reminder for those who handmake Christmas presents that now is not too early to start. It may in fact be a good time to start if you have a lot to make/your craft takes a long time. You should maybe start it now, whether that's brainstorming or actually doing the crafts!
Fiber arts is just Math in sheep's clothing
Day Dreaming Clouds<3
Make the silly thing that brings you joy. 🦖🌋
The intarsia charts came from a kids jumper pattern dated 1990, which I've adapted into an adult sized cardigan.
When I was in middle school, I tried to learn how to crochet. I knew how to knit already, so I figured ‘how hard could it be’ and used my Christmas money on a brand new set of aluminum hooks and a how-to book.
To say it was difficult was an understatement. I spent hours pouring over my book, begging to gain some inkling of understanding from what felt like incomprehensible runes. My reward? One lopsided trapezoid of lumpy fabric and a resolve to never pick up a crochet hook again.
And so life went on, I finished middle school and high school without giving crochet so much as a second glance. In college, I read about how crochet couldn’t be replicated by a machine, it was unique in a way that knitting and many other fiber arts weren’t.
For Christmas last year, my girlfriend gave me what I now consider to be my most prized possession: a crocheted plush of my favorite pokemon. I raved over her skills and, since she never learned how to knit, we decided to have a yarn date at some point and teach each other our respective skills.
We never did get around to that yarn date. She passed a few months after our declaration, leaving me to inherit what was left of her yarn.
Nearly a decade after my initial attempt, I got ready for the toughest battle of my life. My weapons? One skein of yarn, a YouTube video, and a crochet hook that I had somehow never gotten rid of.
I slowly made my way through the video, redoing my work a couple times until I was satisfied with my product: a small, slightly misshapen rectangle.
I looked at my pristinely-made pokemon plush with hope for the first time in months and thought to myself, ‘maybe crocheting isn’t the hardest thing in the world, maybe you were just 12.’
Maybe this isn’t the hardest thing in the world. Maybe I’m just 21.