Something I find incredibly cool is that they’ve found neandertal bone tools made from polished rib bones, and they couldn’t figure out what they were for for the life of them.
“Wait you’re still using the exact same fucking thing 50,000 years later???”
“Well, yeah. We’ve tried other things. Metal scratches up and damages the hide. Wood splinters and wears out. Bone lasts forever and gives the best polish. There are new, cheaper plastic ones, but they crack and break after a couple years. A bone polisher is nearly indestructible, and only gets better with age. The more you use a bone polisher the better it works.”
It’s just.
50,000 years. 50,000. And over that huge arc of time, we’ve been quietly using the exact same thing, unchanged, because we simply haven’t found anything better to do the job.
This story is also excellently cool because it’s yet another example of how everybody benefits when specialists from different fields communicate with one another.
Omg this anecdote about Nancy Pelosi in a story about how awful Paul Ryan is [ETA: Oops, forgot to include the source. Here it is.] is the most amazing thing:
Nancy Pelosi is famously hard to interview, and was never a favorite among reporters the way Ryan is. But she was a far more effective speaker.
The example that always comes to mind to me is one that Tom Perriello, a Democrat who served one term in the House from a very red district in Virginia from 2009 to 2011 (and is now running for governor) told Ezra Klein back in December 2010. Perriello was weighing whether to vote for the DREAM Act, which would legalize the status of undocumented immigrants who arrived as children. “There was the whole question of whether the Senate would support it,” he told Klein. “And I didn’t want to do this if it was just going to die in the Senate.”
Then the lobbying started. “I got a call from [Education Secretary] Arne Duncan, and he began telling me about the individual anecdotes of guys that he worked with in Chicago who needed this legislation,” Perriello recalled. “There were strong Latino organizing networks that began moving, and someone I went to second grade with called and was like, ‘Tom, you might not vote for the DREAM Act? I know we haven’t talked in 32 years, but…’ A few of my friends from college started to call. Several people contacted colleagues I’d had in past jobs, so now they’re writing me. ‘Dude, I haven’t been following this, but I’ve heard from six people today that I have to call you about the DREAM Act. …’”
This is how Pelosi whipped votes. She got the administration involved, she got outside groups involved, she got random figures from Congress members’ pasts involved. She was really, really good at it. And it all happened quietly, without anyone watching or applauding.
I’ve noticed over the years that people hate Nancy Pelosi. I wondered for a while why people hated Nancy Pelosi. They never gave any concrete reasons, but they had this thread of near-violent rage in their voices whenever they spoke about her. Then I realized that all these people were men. And it clicked.
If a ghost can open cupboards and break things, why not just take a pencil, find paper, write exactly why it’s unhappy, and tape the message on the fridge.
It just became second nature to close all the cupboards first thing in the morning (even though they’d been closed the night before). Which was when things escalated from banging cupboard doors to actually breaking things.
Faucets, door handles, curtain rods ripped from the wall… all the repairs started to add up.
“Look, I didn’t mind having an ethereal roommate, but I can’t afford to keep fixing all this shit. Here’s a pencil and some paper. Just write what’s bothering you–I doubt you could put anything that would be more expensive than having a plumber come out to replace all the faucets again.”
The next morning there’s a scrawl line at the top of the page that devolved into an angry scribbling mess that tore through the page. Two cupboard doors were entirely ripped off.
“I don’t want to get someone in to banish you, but this is ridiculous. Just tell me what you want.”
The second piece of paper is ripped into shreds and several knives are embedded in the wall.
A careful examination of the paper scraps show that it had the same scribbles as the first piece.
A quick trip to the library and a stop at a store later, there are kindergarten workbooks on learning to write spread across the counter.
“Look, I don’t know if you’re just being difficult, but I hope not. So I got an audiobook on learning to read and write, and here are some workbooks for kids–don’t get mad–to teach them their letters. Just press play on the stereo, and work through the books at your own pace. I’ll get more when you finish.”
The first workbook is half-completed before being ripped to pieces, but at least there was no other damage. Replacing it is significantly cheaper than replacing cupboard doors.
It takes awhile, but eventually the workbooks progress to a fifth grade level. These ones are starting to be more costly (they’re bigger, for one thing), but it’s not even the money anymore. Little notes scrawled in a shaky hand appear on the steamy bathroom mirror
Have A gooD dy
Or written in ketchup on the counter (that was a frightening sight the first time)
You R out of MLK
And then one day there’s a message taped to the fridge. The spelling and penmanship isn’t the best, but it’s legible and even signed.
Dear Occupente,
I have haunted this spot for ovr threehunerhudre 300 years. My bones are dust and I am fergotN. I do not have wants to trap me. I am here 4 ever.
Spinach has long been understood to be good for your heart. But researchers have demonstrated that some day spinach could actually be your heart. Specifically, it could be used to repair damaged tissue by giving human heart tissue a plant-infused vascular system.
my fav trope is like, nonhuman characters not understanding human needs/customs but still being super supportive of their human companion
“look what I found while exploring this planet’s surface!” “kilrak please I’m trying to sleep” “ah yes your human circadian rhythm. *stage whispering* I am supposed to be quiet during this time in your rhythm, yes?”
“the book I purchased on ragnok V says humans require physical touch when upset. therefore, I shall engage in a ‘hug’ with you.” *supremely awkward five-armed hug ensues*
*human sneezes* “OH MY GOD SIL'EEN GET THE MEDIC OUR HUMAN IS DYING”
“this pamphlet I received recently says that humans require companions and packmates in the form of small earth creatures. you should have told me this before we departed earth, but it is no worry. we will have to stop at the next trade planet to get you one of these ‘cats’ or ‘dogs’.”
imagine the aliens really purchasing a kitten for one of their rough and world-weary scifi badass human companions and watching in helpless wonderment what ensues
“she’s been cuddling that small animal for the past fifteen minutes just going ‘kitty, kitty’. did we - did we break our human?”
a more seasoned alien puts one of their tentacles around the younger one as the rest of the team gathers to watch their human make kissy noises.
“no, kilrak,” the alien says. “we did good.”
“Human-Steve! I have heard that today is the anniversary of your hatching! According to my human culture pamphlet, it is customary to set a sugary pastry on fire while chanting your species’ growth incantation and presenting sacrifices wrapped in shiny paper. I am afraid to ask, in case this ritual is sacred and this request therefor insensitive… but may I be allowed to participate? It sounds much more fascinating than molting.”
“Human Steve, I have read about your ritual dance called ‘The Hokey Pokey,’ performed mostly at mate-bonding celebrations after the guests reach an elevated level of intoxication. But Human Steve, how do I know WHICH left foot to put in, put out, and shake all about? I do not… Human Steve, why are you laughing?”
“Human-Steve, you are… you are eating, but it is not one of your ritual fueling times. Are you dying? Is everything alright? Have you not been receiving enough sustenance? Do I need to get you better things to eat? Human-Steve, why are you trying to hide that food?”
“Human-Steve, my research has informed me of a grave oversight in your care that I, as your companion, have made! Thus, I have gathered collections of fictional human literature to read aloud at the time of your bed. Which is more to your liking: “The Care and Keeping of Cacti” or “1001 Crossword Puzzles?” Human-Steve? Human-Steve, I am serious.“
One of the things I love the most about this post is how “Human-Steve” makes me think that there is also an alien called Steve in the squad, and I just imagine the first meeting and introduction where there is the human guy introducing himself as Steve and then there is this huge blue guy with like 5 legs and bug eyes and apparently Steve is like a completely regular name on his planet too in some intergalactical coincidence
For a long moment, the inside of the car was silent except for the sound of a burger wrapper.
Nightwing started to take a bite, then stopped with a sigh.
Even he could not pretend that this was normal.
“What is she doing here?” he asked finally.
“I’m helpin’,” Harley said, somehow managing to say it quite clearly even though her lips never touched. Her lipstick was a dark matte, and getting a dark matte just right required surgical precision that she could somehow still manage in the back of a moving vehicle without any lights.
“Why, though.”
“In case he needs backup!”
“That’s why I’m here,” Nightwing pointed out.
“Sure,” she said, somehow making the word sound entirely composed of vowels, snapping her compact shut. “Now.”
Nightwing sighed. “I was ten minutes late.” He looked to Batman, who said nothing. “Ten minutes.”
“A lot can happen in ten minutes,” Harley said, primly putting her things back into her bag.
Batman still said nothing, but tilted his head just enough and just long enough that Nightwing knew he was looking pointedly at his fries.
“I’m not apologizing for the fact that I wanted real food,” Nightwing said. He turned around in his seat to look back at Harley. “Have you seen his little protein shake things?
“They’re his robo-fuel!”
“You know he’s not a robot.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Harley and Nightwing both looked at Batman. Nightwing turned back around in his seat. “I had a busy day, I didn’t have time to eat, so I got some food. It was a totally reasonable thing to do.”
“What’s even your day job?” Harley wondered. “Y'ain’t gettin’ paid for this.” Then she gasped. “Are ya in college now?” she asked, delighted.
“He dropped out,” Batman said before Nightwing could respond.
Harley gasped even louder.
“Now, wait a minute,” Nightwing began, before Harley interrupted by cuffing his ear. “Ow! Harley!”
“That’s Dr. Harley to you, young man.” She looked to Batman. “Tell him he has to go back to school.”
“He’s an adult now,” Batman said. “He can do what he wants.”
Harley narrowed her eyes at Nightwing. “Is that why ya had that mullet?”
“It was not a mullet–”
“Is this what youthful rebellion looks like when a dork tries to do it?”
“You’d know better than I would,” Batman said.
“Hey!” She backhanded his shoulder, then sighed. “I guess I did go to med school.” She reached over Nightwing’s shoulder to grab a fry. “But I also did a lot of coke.”
Nightwing, mid-sip, choked on his iced tea.
“A looooot of coke,” she added, chewing. “In retrospect I was prolly self-medicatin’.” She put a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder. “Not that that makes it okay,” she said. “Listen to your Aunt Harley. Don’t do coke.”
“Yes, Dr. Aunt Harley.”
“If ya needed money for school, ya coulda called me,” she said.
“You don’t have any money.”
“I can get money.” She paused. “An’ I’m real good at gettin’ scholarships.”
“You’re a genius,” Batman reminded her, managing to make the statement of fact sound not at all complimentary.
“That did help,” she agreed.
“Why is she actually here?” Nightwing asked.
“She has some leads on Crane.”
“I’ve been tryin’ to find him so we can have a nice talk about medical ethics,” she said with a grin.
“She wants to cave his skull in with a giant hammer,” Batman corrected.
“An’ you’re gonna try an’ stop me!” she agreed, still just as cheerful. She leaned forward to drape her arms over the headrest of both front seats. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
The lies of Trumpworld are coming home to roost, and the walls are starting to close in.
The more new information surfaces, the more inescapable it seems that “associates” of Donald J. Trump, when he was a candidate for president, coordinated with Russian operatives or their cutouts to coordinate the release of information damaging to the Hillary Clinton campaign. That’s not just the Occam’s Razor explanation for the weird web of connections among Trump, his family, and people either connected to or from Russia. It’s the gist of the FBI investigation that has made the 45th president unique in American history; a bizarre combination of Dick Nixon and Alger Hiss.
FBI director James Comey confirmed the investigation in an open congressional hearing this week. He and the director of the NSA went on to confirm, and to reiterate multiple times to resistant Republican members of the House Intelligence Committee, that the purpose of the Russian intervention in our 2016 election was to help Donald Trump; not just for the kicks of posting fake news on Reddit, Facebook and 4Chan.
The FBI is also believed to be investigating at least four men associated with the Trump campaign: longtime Trump whisperer Roger Stone, former Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort (who is now under multiple investigations; including potential money laundering related to shady dealings in both Ukraine and Cyprus), and Trump national security advisers Michael Flynn and Carter Page.
These are either a series of incredible coincidences, or they’re evidence of a fairly large plot by a group of Americans to collude with a hostile foreign power to tip a U.S. election in their favor. It’s a modern-day Watergate break-in layered over with what historian Douglas Brinkley has called the “smell of treason.”
The Post this week had a scoop on the Secret Service requesting an additional $60 million in its next budget: $27 million to protect the president’s wife and son in their three-floor penthouse at Trump Tower in New York, where they live instead of the White House, and $33 million for additional travel costs.
The average family of four in the United States pays about $4,000 a year in federal income taxes. That means the entire tax bill for 15,000 families for the year will go toward these additional protection measures for Trump
A friendly reminder that the fear impulse leads to fight, flight, or FREEZE.
A judge in Turin, Italy acquitted a man of sexual violence charges because the woman he allegedly attacked did not cry out or "[betray] emotion" during the assault.
me: *about to send someone a message*
myself: hey
me: ? hey what's
myself: if they wanted to have any kind of contact w/ you they would have initiated it.
me: alright, neat, neat concept, but communication is actually a two-way street so
myself: they have no desire to speak to you and never have any desire to speak to you, ever. they never think of you. they will never think of you, at all, ever, even in passing. you are nothing.
me, tossing my phone out the window: alright! neat! awesome! fantastic!
me: everything’s garbage my cat: (touches me very very very gently on the arm with the softest paw) me: (on the verge of tears) ᶦ ᵇᵉᶫᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᶦᶰ ᵃ ᶫᵒᵛᶦᶰᵍ ᵍᵒᵈ
I want to point out too that the vote on the AHCA wasn’t delayed; Ryan pulled it completely.
They’d have to start over from square one. Trump just stated that he’d be willing to re-open negotiations on a health care bill with Democrats if the ACA fails. (He is, of course, predicting it will fail YUUGELY)
Remember. The Republicans' plan to repeal and replace Obamacare is not really a health care plan. ItâÂÂs tax reform for the wealthy. pic.twitter.com/S4dqFtnwNx
Hey Republicans, don't worry, that burn is covered under the Affordable Care Act
â Senator Bob Menendez (@SenatorMenendez) March 24, 2017
Rep. Adam Schiff pulls no punches -
x
Art of the Squeal: I blame Democrats for a bill Republicans couldn't pass. I blame Obama. I blame Australian Prime Minister & Meryl Streep.. pic.twitter.com/hhQj7vkZX7
“Women aren’t baby-making factories!”
Okay I hate to be ~that~ anatomy nerd, but if you think of the human body as a factory, the female body is literally a baby making factory! From the way our organs are set up, to our hormones, and even our external parts, our bodies are geared toward baby making.
So yes, women are baby making factories 😁
Fuck you.
@theworld-onherhips did you flunk high school biology or what?
The female reproductive system is actually extremely hostile towards embryos
Our species have hemichorial placentas, designed to weed out all but the fittest embryos. We develop thick endometrial linings from a ridiculously young age in order to aggressively protect ourselves from what is essentially a ruthless parasite that is literally sucking our blood; every time we have a period our body is shedding blood and tissue so that it can efficiently eject embryos deemed unworthy, which is most of them
On top of that, there is only a 12 hour window each menstrual cycle during which we can conceive - over the course of a year, there is less than a week of time in which we are in danger of conceiving. Which is why it is perfectly normal for a healthy couple to go 12 months or more without getting pregnant.
The way our hormones are calibrated is to protect US, not the fetus. The wider pelvic girdle, extra fat, etc. is about minimizing the damage a fetus can do to the pregnant person
I love getting biology lessons that also happen to shit on misogynistic anti-choicers.
Also, I don’t know a lot about factories, but spending 9 months to make (typically) just one product and then not knowing when you can make another one sounds like a really poor business model.
Also what we consider carrying “to term” would kill pretty much any other creature on earth? Babies are not fully developed when they come out, they’re helpless to predators and can’t even stumble their way to a food source like most baby animals.
Scientists believe to “fully grow” a human, it would actually take 18-21 months, to equate the development of other primates’ babies.
The female body literally cannot carry a child to full development. It would kill us. We’re more like… game developers at Ubisoft— we kick the product out before it’s ready and hope we can work out the bugs to make them playable as they get older.
“In every position that I’ve been in, there have been naysayers who don’t believe I’m qualified or who don’t believe I can do the work. And I feel a special responsibility to prove them wrong.”
Imagine being a human in an alien crew in space and leaving with bright blue or pink hair and the color fades and everybody on board wonders WHY you are losing your colors??? Is it the lack of greens? Are you sad? Angry? They just don’t know??
“Human-Kelly may we have a moment of your time?”
Kelly pauses in her inventorying of the photo-synth plates she’ll be installing after today’s cycle ends. “It’s just Kelly, hellot-Halzar, you don’t have to acknowledge my species every time we talk.” She smiles. “That’s not considered rude for us.”
“Very well hu—Kelly. Erm. May we have a moment of your time?” Many eyes blink earnestly at her.
“Sure. What’s up?”
hellot-Halzar considers. “May we discuss the structural nature of the ship interior and gravity-derived reference values at a later date? At this moment we would like to inquire as to the nature of your corporeal change.”
“Yeah sure—wait my what?”
“There is a mess hall wager.”
“About my –?”
“Concerning your strands,” hellot-Halzar says, gesturing.
“My….hair.” Kelly runs a hand through it. It’s purple as of two ship days ago. “Ok?”
“We wish to know whether the colour change signifies mood, nutritional intake variance, or ….erm….whether your mating season status has changed.”
“My mating season status, huh?” Kelly lifts an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Did Jerry put you up to this?”
“Human-Jerry refused to answer our questions about your strands, citing some phenomenon known to your homeworld as ‘famine in missed eek’.”
Kelly snorted. “Tell Jerry he can shove his archaic ideas about ‘feminine mystique’ where M-series stars don’t shine. As for your bet: sorry, it’s none of the above. I changed my hair because my last box of dye was about to expire and because I felt like it.”
hellot-Halzar considers. “chinret-Zer wins then, by technicality: that reason falls within acceptable parameters for ‘mood’.”
“I suppose it does.” Kelly pauses. “Who bet on the ‘mating season’ one?”
“Hmm?” hellot-Halzar had already turned to go and deliver the verdict. They turn one set of eyes back. “Oh that would be Drannuc. He said he smelled a difference in you.”
“Delightful,” Kelly says, instead of explaining menstruation and how that can affect mood, diet, and that technically it correlates to what most of the species on the ship would consider a mating season. “Next time, instead of betting, maybe just ask questions? And not Jerry. He’s a jerk.”
“Reclassifying human-Jerry as jerk-Jerry. We will approach you with all human queries from now on,” hellot-Halzar says and then continues on their way.
Probably for the best, she thinks with a lopsided grin, and then continues sorting the photo-synth plates to install on her space walk tomorrow.
