Heye Every One.

An embroidery of the Wikipedia page for embroidery.

genuinely one of the worst things that’s happened to television in the last few years (exacerbated by streaming services) is death of Filler. going from 20 episodes to 8 because “we didn’t really need that episode where the main characters went to the beach right? it had no long lasting effect” but we DID!!! we needed to see how they act without the Big Bad Plot and to establish the dynamics between the characters and lay in the sun (do they forget sunscreen? how do they react to a thieving seagull? do they get buried in the sand or do they do the burying?). the plot isn’t everything. the action doesn’t hit as hard without the quiet moments. give us character development and our little scenes back

gentle reminder for the fandom, since i've been noticing it in comments of decked out videos: backseat gaming typically isn't appreciated. telling the hermit to go to compass school is kind of annoying and not particularly constructive. telling the hermits to go check the underwater chest or the spider's den or whatever is spoilers, tango has directly asked you not to, you wouldn't want to make tango sad, would you? being like "lol how do you not know that yet" is rude, because the hermits aren't actually supposed to have watched any of the decked out development we have, and almost certainly haven't watched all the other hermits playing like we have.

even offering what you feel like is useful advice is normally going to be repetitive and unwanted instead of useful. yes, even if you've figured out a game meta the hermits don't seem to realize. yes, even if they're doing something really wrong or have the really wrong idea for how the game works. yes i KNOW the urge to explain the mechanic they're misunderstanding is strong. 99% of the time you should not do it.

if the hermit asks a question directly go ahead and answer the question! but if you weren't asked, don't say anything. don't be a backseat gamer.

please understand i am not booping you gently on the forehead. i am smacking your ass, it is audible and there is JIGGLING

staff handing us a clicker toy every so often like we're belligerent toddlers in the backseat who need to be distracted before we cause an accident (we are)

I have been thinking a lot about what a cancer diagnosis used to mean. How in the ‘80s and ‘90s, when someone was diagnosed, my parents would gently prepare me for their death. That chemo and radiation and surgery just bought time, and over the age of fifty people would sometimes just. Skip it. For cost reasons, and for quality of life reasons. My grandmother was diagnosed in her early seventies and went directly into hospice for just under a year — palliative care only. And often, after diagnosis people and their families would go away — they’d cash out retirement or sell the house and go live on a beach for six months. Or they’d pay a charlatan all their savings to buy hope. People would get diagnosed, get very sick, leave, and then we’d hear that they died.

And then, at some point, the people who left started coming back.

It was the children first. The March of Dimes and Saint Jude set up programs and my town would do spaghetti fundraisers and raffles and meal trains to support the family and send the child and one parent to a hospital in the city — and the children came home. Their hair grew back. They went back to school. We were all trained to think of them as the angelic lost and they were turning into asshole teens right in front of our eyes. What a miracle, what a gift, how lucky we are that the odds for several children are in our favor!

Adults started leaving for a specific program to treat their specific cancer at a specific hospital or a specific research group. They’d stay in that city for 6-12 months and then they’d come home. We fully expected that they were still dying — or they’d gotten one of the good cancers. What a gift this year is for them, we’d think. How lucky they are to be strong enough to ski and swim and run. And then they didn’t stop — two decades later they haven’t stopped. Not all of them, but most of them.

We bought those extra hours and months and years. We paid for time with our taxes. Scientists found ways for treatment to be less terrible, less poisonous, and a thousand times more effective.

And now, when a friend was diagnosed, the five year survival odds were 95%. My friend is alive, nearly five years later. Those kids who miraculously survived are alive. The adults who beat the odds are still alive. I grew up in a place small enough that you can see the losses. And now, the hospital in my tiny hometown can effectively treat many cancers. Most people don’t have to go away for treatment. They said we could never cure cancer, as it were, but we can cure a lot of cancers. We can diagnose a lot of cancers early enough to treat them with minor interventions. We can prevent a lot of cancers.

We could keep doing that. We could continue to fund research into other heartbreaks — into Long Covid and MCAS and psych meds with fewer side effects and dementia treatments. We could buy months and years, alleviate the suffering of our neighbors. That is what funding health research buys: time and ease.

Anyway, I’m preaching to the choir here. But it is a quiet miracle what’s happened in my lifetime.

wait so technically vampires are vegetarians