Tag: this is a good thing

timemachineyeah:

I have a nibling who is not even two and has a model toy of the Endeavor space shuttle that he calls “my plane” when he plays with it. He loves it. And today we went to the California Science Center see the ACTUAL Endeavor space shuttle and I tell you what-

that kid lost his goddamn mind. It was the ACTUAL BEST. 

Cool fact about kids: they are small and dumb and they don’t know anything.

Like, for instance, their life experience gives them no reason to know that their toys are often based on actual things that exist.

It took him a while to realise the shuttle was even there because- protip about space shuttles: they are freaking huge. So like it didn’t even really register to him as an object? It was too big, it just seemed like the ceiling? But he saw the photos on the wall and he saw the gift shop and he was looking all around like “MY PLANE! MY PLANE!” because his toy “plane” was on every single thing. Models. Shirts. Mugs. Plushies. Books. This was a whole warehouse dedicated just to his plane, and that would have been amazing enough. Except, also, the actual life-size real has-been-to-space thing was there too. 

So eventually we got him to look up at the actual shuttle like, “yeah, look! There it is! It’s your plane, and it’s REALLY BIG” and when he finally took it in he literally screamed and I swear I thought for a second he was gonna die right there “IT’S BIG. MY PLANE MY PLANE MY PLANE” (looking at all the other people in the science center, pointing at a NASA space shuttle, shouting “MY PLANE!” like the actual proudest person in the world who just willed an entire spacecraft into existence).

Anyway I had a migraine for most of the day, but I’m still super glad I went out because it was totally worth it.

the-real-seebs:

finnglas:

I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.

About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.

The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.

It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.

Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.

They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”

“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”

It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone. 

And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”

The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”

When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.

They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.

When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”

After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.

Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.

It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.

We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.

She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”

Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”

“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.

“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”

And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

When I was growing up, I don’t think we’d have even entirely comprehended the idea that a gay couple would have a thing they’d call an “anniversary”. Like, anniversaries were a marriage-thing.

Honestly, I think the “Defense Of Marriage Act” was, in the long run, a huge win for the LGBT community, because that was the point when it suddenly seemed like calling it “marriage” might be an option.

lesbiansandpuns:

okay, so. the thing that kills me about Wonder Woman is that it’s so, so absurdist, and in the best way. all of the characters except diana go into the entire thing knowing that the war might never end, that the people in charge of their armies don’t give a flying fuck about what happens to the people on the ground, that everything they do might not even matter in the long run. steve even says when he’s on themyscira that it seems like the world’s going to end.

one of the most famous lines by camus (who was an absurdist) is “in the middle of winter i at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.” the entire point of absurdism is staring into the void and saying, “no, i refuse.” the world is empty and bleak and meaningless, and you could choose to be nihilist about that, or you could pick yourself up and create the meaning you want to see. and that’s what all of the characters in wonder woman do.

when he gets in that plane steve knows, he knows, that they still might not win the war. he knows diana might not be able to kill ares. he knows dr. poison might still escape. he knows that people are still going to die. and you know what? he gets in the plane anyway. he stares into the face of a war that might never end and says, well, i can save today. and that is what matters. 

sam and chief and charlie watch their friend run toward a plane and know he’s on a suicide mission (that might not even save the war!) and they yell to stop him at first and then they cover him like he asked them to because even when they hate it, they respect his ability to make his own decisions and they hold up their end of the deal. they risk their lives helping him risk his because it’s what they signed up to. it’s what they should do. 

when diana leaves themyscira, she knows she might not live to come back. sure, her character is driven by a kind of relentless optimism, but it’s a chosen optimism, not a naive one. she might die, but she’ll be damned if she dies doing anything other than what is just, what is her duty as an amazon. her mother says, “what if you never come back?” and diana’s reply is, “who will i be if i stay?”

when steve’s on the plane and it looks like they’re all about to die, all sam and chief and charlie do is they lean in to each other. yeah, the world’s ending, so what are we gonna do? we’re gonna spend those last moments with each other. we’re gonna close our eyes and know that we did all that we could and even if it ends up doing nothing to affect the war as a whole, well, at least we did something.

there’s a story from the holocaust about a group of jews reciting prayers when one stops and says “why are we doing this? we’re about to die. only a madman would say these prayers now.” and the rabbi looks at him and quietly says, “our enemies have taken everything from us, but they cannot take our freedom to say these prayers. we must live as free men temporarily in captivity. that, if necessary, is how we will die.”

the characters in wonder woman push on even when they think it might be pointless, because that is the point. absurdism is about accepting that maybe you’ll never be able to make everything right, you might not even be able to make everything okay, but you can always do something. you can walk into the unending darkness, hold up a lighter, flick it on and say, “i win.” and in doing so, you will have won.

//www.instagram.com/embed.js

jumpingjacktrash:

earthstory:

Crowd gathers to help push a giant manta ray out to sea after it gets stranded on a beach. Look how big that thing is! And it even seems to flap thanks to them at the end.

here is a convenient transcript for you:

ray: oh noes tail tangle, how is swim

human: i will help you, sea pancake

ray: oof

human: oof

other humans: look at the flap flap

human and ray: oof

other humans: we will ALL help you, sea pancake

everyone together: oof!

ray: IS SWIM

humans: bye friend

ray: BYE FRIENDS

(Source: https://www.instagram.com/)

historical-nonfiction:

When the Wright Brothers tested their flying machine, they weren’t in complete seclusion. There was a family who caught the sight of their flying plane — and with them, a young boy. Later, a reporter asked the young boy to describe the flight. And he instinctively threw his arms out and ran around making engine noises. So children have literally been pretending to be airplanes ever since the first child saw the first flight.