https://www.theatermania.com/new-york-city-theater/reviews/review-dear-evan-hansen-movie-is-so-drab-so-banal_92717.html?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=09sep2021
First review of the movie doesn't sound favorable. As much as I'm still not a fan of the decision to cast Ben Platt (I'm in the group that thinks he's too old) I'd at least been hoping the rest of the movie would have some sort of saving grace to it besides the songs we all love...maybe other reviews will be more positive?
I manage to get through most work days just fine. No problems with public speaking or speaking up in meetings. Fine bringing up hard topics and sticky problems with my higher ups. Always open to asking for help.
But the need to coordinate schedules and schedule a call/meeting on people's calendars at work sends chills down my spine. I freeze up and spend way too long faffing about staring at my Outlook in dread and horror before inevitably mixing up time zones and sending the wrong dial-in number or access link. No matter how many times I double check.
I can only assume this dates back to an old boss who used to storm into people's offices and scream at them for either: (a) messing up a meeting invite; or (b) sending too many emails trying to coordinate schedules.
Intellectually I understand it's not hard and that it's simple enough to reschedule or re-send an invite. But it never fails to make me feel like I've left my brains at home.
What boring day-to-day part of your work day provokes irrational anxiety for you?
New bat virus closest match yet : 'Laos 'BANAL-52 is 96.8% identical to SARS-CoV-2, says Eloit — and all three newly discovered viruses have individual sections that are more similar to sections of SARS CoV-2 than seen in any other viruses.' - and quoting the article: 'Particularly concerning is that the new viruses contain receptor binding domains that are almost identical to that of SARS-CoV-2, and can therefore infect human cells'
https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-021-02596-2
Considering the above, wouldn't it be wise to passively vaccinate all the bats in the area with a microbiome bacteria that expresses the new 'BANAL' and even the OMICRON spike? And perhaps by so doing, we can prevent the next pandemic?
Lactobacillus expressing spike as a vaccine: https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/48645831.pdf
This seems less risky than using a manufactured virus to 'vaccinate' bats: See recent paper
https://phys.org/news/2022-01-vaccines-animals-based-viruses-europe.html
Hahaha, after all these years I still don't really understand the principle of the undercut. How come they say "the undercut is strong on this track", like it's some kind of independent force?
I mean, I know what it is , I just understand it. How can it be more important in some tracks than others for instance? I have watched clips, bit I'd really prefer if one of you technical wizards could give it to me in words
Thank you!
Filmed and produced obviously.
It's alright, thousands have lost their lives and livelihoods but let's flout our inherited wealth to tittle tattle about each others inbred love lives.
Seems like this place is rapidly becoming like the og Reddit.
Hoje de tarde eu fui cortar o cabelo. Já vou nesse barbeiro vai fazer uns 3 anos. Coincidentemente uns amigos desse do meu barbeiro resolveram colar lá no salão dele, pra cortar o cabelo também. Como não tenho muito papo com outros homens pra além dos meus amigos, visto que não curto 90% da "diversão" que os "homens de verdade" curtem, fiquei calado na minha enquanto eles conversavam entre si.
Até que do nada meu barbeiro olha pra rua e solta "NOSSA CARA, A MINHA SOGRA É GOSTOSA HEIN CACETE!". (Nessa hora, a sogra dele passou na rua, carregando o filho dele no colo).
Seguido de um "QUANDO EU PUDER EU VOU COMER. SE ELA TRANSAR DO JEITO QUE ELA COZINHA JÁ TÁ BOM"
Mano, o cara tem 30 anos já, é casado, tem filho e tudo, e lança uma dessas na maior naturalidade.
Que nojo mano, meu Deus. Cadê o respeito pela mulher dele?! E pela sogra, sogro e resto da família?
O cara foi babaca, machista, escroto, nojento, lixo, depravado, etc.
Agora entendo quando as mulheres falam "homem é tudo igual", imagino o quão pior deve ser o que elas passam todos os dias.
Que nojo desse cara.
https://aeon.co/ideas/what-did-hannah-arendt-really-mean-by-the-banality-of-evil
Reading this article it seems that in recent decades more and more dissenting voices of her view have come forward and that her initial analysis was flawed.
It also strikes me as peculiar how she mentions that Eichmann did not think of his actions as evil, as he could not view his actions from the viewpoint of his victims, and that this is proof that he was "normal". However, doesn't this lack of being able to emphasize with others show that he was a Sociopath, so very much not normal?
India's Most Desirable offers an important lesson to its viewers: Go easy on the botox. It clearly immobilises your brain along with your face.
The first three episodes of Tales from the Crypt – sorry, India's Most Desirable – were dedicated to the Holy Trinity of Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone and Siddhartha Mallya. And that's quite a line-up. The grand dame of the Indian talk show, Karan Johar would need to land Shahid Kapoor, Saif Ali Khan and Kareena Kapoor to top this trifecta.
India's Most Desirable is supposedly no ordinary interview show. It's relaxed, informal, youthful, allowing us to see our favourite celebrities like never before – or so those endless promos claim. But here's what it really is: the television version of Shaadi.com. Simi waxes eloquent about the wonders of her guests, who in turn tell us how monogamous (Ranbir) or giving (Deepika) they are. Then their parents come on to sing their virtues, insisting that anyone who beds or weds their progeny should bless their lucky stars.
Instead of an astrologer, we get a tarot reader who clearly spends a lot of time reading the Bombay Times gossip section, just so that she can tell the celebrity guest everything they and we already know. Deepika will get married to someone rich and famous. The Kapoor boy will marry someone who may be from the film industry … or not (what a brave prediction). It's a wonder she didn't tell Siddhartha Mallya that he won't eat carbs as long as he continues dating Deepika. It's all so dull and scripted, methinks, the producers should invite suitors to call in and hold a spot-swayamvar as the final segment to keep things lively.
My personal prediction: By the end of the season and after the umpteen platitudes about her guests' eligibility quotient, we’re all going to yearn for old Simi with her nonsensical questions about dead parents and pets a la Rendezvous.
The stilted format of the show or the soppy parental tripe isn't the worst part, nor are the suddenly coy and morally upright guests. The true horror is our very own crypt-keeper, Simi. The radiant immobile face aside, there's her ‘new look’: MC Hammer-style padded shoulder jackets and flowy skirts with ripped edges paired with translucent striated stockings. Despite her vows to steer clear of her favourite colour, she was back in virginal white for the Padukone episode and wore cream lace to interrogate young Mallya.
The most unnerving part of the show is a section called The Minefield in which Simi
... keep reading on reddit ➡Everyone wants to talk. I dont want to. Nor do I want to be rude, so I always respond. But I don't want to. I want to contemplate life, nature, and why I am at least 2 stone heavier than i was this time last year. I want to resolve to change my life for the better and ignore the reality that I wont. Instead just slipping deeper into an utterly unwarranted psudo-depression. Leave me alone.
Antes do relato é bom deixar claro que não sou trans e que tenho certeza disso. Meu melhor amigo é um homem trans (inclusive, foi para entender melhor essa comunidade e apoiar ele, que eu entrei nesse reddit), ele me diz como se sente sobre o corpo sobre a vida e sei que eu não sou assim, tenho 110% de certeza que sou uma mulher cis.
Enfim, vamos ao relato do meu pai sendo idiota.
Eu quero cortar meu cabelo curto, em um estilo predominantemente masculino. Motivo? Pq sim, ué? Preciso de motivo?
E eu pedi para a minha mãe, contragosto ele aceitou mas como teve uns problemas aqui em casa ela falou que eu teria que pedir para o meu pai. Desde o inicio eu não queria pedir a ele porque sabia que ele iria transformar em algo maior do que é e ia dar chilique.
Mas eu fui lá e pedi a ele. Descaradamente ele me perguntou se eu era um menino, eu respondi com calma que não. Depois insinuou que eu era lésbica. E depois falou para eu não ficar triste se eu quisesse ficar com um menino e ele ficasse com uma loira do cabelão (lembrei aí que para ele toda mulher usa rosa, tem um cabelão liso e descolorido. Nada disso se aplica a mim).
Até aí tudo bem (mais ou menos), eu não ligo para a opinião dele sobre minha aparecia, ele tem ideias arcaicas sobre aparência de ambos os gêneros e faz piadinha homofóbica constantemente.
Mas aí ele lançou a pérola "se quer se vestir que nem menino, ter cabelo de menino é melhor ser menino logo". E todas as vezes que eu tocava no assunto ele se fazia de sonso como se quisesse me ajudar a sair do armário. MAS NÃO TEM ARMÁRIO PORRA!
E ele não entende isso. Ele não quer me escutar, finge que eu minto. Mas eu não minto. Eu posso até falar que sou bissexual. Mas c acha que ele escuta? Ele acha que bissexualidade é coisa de gente confusa.
Ele me deixou paranóica, eu fiquei medindo na balança se seria mais vantajoso eu falar para ele que sou um menino. Já que eu poderia usar as roupas que gosto e cortar meu cabelo e falar como eu quiser.
Ah, e teve a parte que mais me chocou. "Ser menino não significa que vai colocar pinto não"
Sei que muitos trans não mudam o corpo totalmente para atender ao gênero. Mas ele falou de uma forma tão banal.
E eu finalmente entendi um pouquinho como os trans devem se sentir. Porque eu fiquei alguns dias pensando como seria se eu realizasse uma transição e achei simplesmente mais que repulsivo tirar meus seios e por um pênis. Seria como vestir uma fantasia muito intima que nunca se pode tirar, como est
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I was surprised not to have seen this book mentioned in this sub after I did a little search. It certainly made its mark in r/horrorlit and r/books.
The set up is goofy but if you just ignore that little bump in the road the rest of the trip is, well, I wont say enjoyable but it did shine a light on human organization, acculturation, group apathy and the individual's ability to compartmentalize.
The authors real storytelling skill is exploring from industrial scale horror and Sin all the way down to individual horror and Sin using nothing more than banality. I understood, I recognized all the characters. I understood the world they were in and I could understand the way they compartmentalize what it is they are enjoying and participating in. Everyone in the story, even the polite closeted psychopaths, are aware of their Sin but they do nothing to help themselves.
Not to put too fine a point on it the story revolves around industrial dehumanization. Breeding, selling, rearing, retarding, branding, slaughtering, butchering and finally consuming human beings. It is not told in an overwhelming voice, it is told with a soft voice. A tired voice. A voice that is so accustomed to the horror around them they dont even recognize it any more. Normality and banality set the tone of the book but they only serve to make the horror of the situation that much more identifiable in your own life. I know the characters in this book, Ive meant them and I can see myself in their position.
I dont know what to think about that.
It was a memorable read. I would recommend it simply because of how different it is from most other books and the fact that it forced me not to compartmentalize.
I've been mentally out of the church for almost two years, and slowly dismantling the cult from my life during this period. Early on I stopped paying tithing. We've put it in an account so it's still technically available to pay, but also not going to the Great and Spacious Building. My nuanced wife is OK with this compromise, though it was hard for her at first. Then I eventually made the radical decision to wear underwear of my own choosing. That was also hard for her, since it further symbolized the end of the Mormon dream (full disclaimer, she hates many things about the church, but a part of her still believes. It's complicated).
And then I decided to try something even more radical: yea verily, a sin next to murder, drinking coffee. Since we hadn't discussed any of my faith transition with the kids (3 kids 10 and under) because we hadn't been sure where we were on all of this, we agreed I would just drink it at work. As it turns out, I love the stuff and make sure to get my fill when away from home, but about a week ago brought up that I'd like to actually drink it at home, too, and would eventually like to try alcohol, too. She brought up fears of alcoholism, based on her family's history, and I tried to assure her that I would be responsible and come up with personal rules, just as I had with coffee (for example, never more than 300-400 mg per day, never after 3 pm, etc. I also drink it black to avoid calories AND because I love the strong, bitter taste). Her other concern is that the kids would bring it up in an awkward social setting with believing friends or family (valid point because the social part is pretty tricky).
Anyway, she wrestled with it, and eventually talked to the kids about it. They were kind of shocked, which I think speaks to the depth of cult-programming that sinks in over time. I think it also speaks to how much the church and its practices in our lives (such as the WoW), is a part of their identity, even though we are not super devout and most of our friends are not members. So on Saturday I brewed up a cup, and have brewed up a few more since. I've had a few complaints about the smell/delicious aroma, but I'm hoping that will become normal. Two of my kids don't seem to really care, but one has made a big fuss, kind of to mess with me. But I think one day when he's grown, we'll be able to meet up for coffee like two normal people instead of two cult survivors. My wife actually cried when she was alone, but don't hold that
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Ok, I was excommunicated for some time. I was before a member of the CBI, eventually word spread that I was out of the Church. Surprisingly, everyone in that organization who I did not even know exist, talked to me and asked me questions about my well being, which I know is conceited purpose to inquire my excommunication.
This is new. I did not know that being out of their bullshit is such a big news that everyone wants to put their finger on and have a slice of the happenings. For once, I experienced being a celebrity by this gossipmongers who pretends to be concerned. What’s funny, when I was still active in CBI I added one person in that group at FB, but guess what? The arrogant simpleton did not even accept it. Later, that person added me and acts so concern about me. The pretensions could shocked plastics made in China!
This hooligans did not just stopped disturbing my peace, but kept inquiring why I voluntarily left their circus. Come on, who would even want that oppression that they are doing to their members and sit idly to what’s happening to the country?
The Church is technically talking peace while holding a gun! The church proposes that we should be responsible for the well being of our fellow humans, thus, the ‘lingap’ or aid for humanity. But, it is such ironic that they are the number one enabler of corrupt politicians who are the real burden for economic prosperity! How can you cure poverty if you are ignorant of the cause?!
This facts enrages me to the core when they kept asking me why I left. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I don’t want to be silent. I don’t want to tolerate political and social justice ignorance!
Story time: My SD and I have been together for two years. We began in winter and it was sweet— dreams of forever, endless late night texts, wining and dining for hours, sneaking 5 minute visits around mundane post office trips. He was the light in my life, and I was his. Two months in, we said the “I love you”s and I meant it. I believe he did so too.
Now we’re two years in, and once what was bright has dulled. Our homes are barely a mile apart but his heart feels a thousand away most times. Perhaps I’m boring or perhaps all has been said, but we mostly speak of the mundane, if we speak at all. He remarks on his interrupted sleep each night and vaguely knows my class schedule. The late night flurry of texts have turned to simple texts: some emojis and perhaps a goodnight.
The sneaking around to has lessened greatly too. From five days per week, then thrice, then twice. Now we see each other every other week. Pure sex and his pleasure.
Now I wonder when he texts “I love you” every other day if he truly means it. I wonder if he truly cares when he asks and I tell him about my day. And I feel like I’m already grieving a relationship that hasn’t died yet, but perhaps a love that might have.
Perhaps I’m just older and can see clearer through the cracks of his facade. He’s gotten more elusive or I’ve caught on to his concealments and white lies. Perhaps I can see clearer that a sugar baby is just a sugar baby.
But I miss the days that I felt overwhelmed with love and the sweet nothings and the Starbucks mornings. I miss the days I didn’t doubt the “I love you” text.
Although my heart hurts for my dying love, as long as he continues to use my body and time, I’ll keep using him to pay my bills and pretend it’s ‘fucking female empowerment, baby’. At least I got a Porsche and extra money out of it.
É mais uma insegurança da minha parte. Comprei um teclado musical bom, um Roland de 2 mil reais.
A questão é que sempre fui apaixonada por piano/teclado e ter um instrumento musical passou a ser meu sonho desde que toquei um piano pela primeira vez, com uns 5 anos.
A questão é que eu não sei se fui precipitada por ter feito isso. Temo amar a música apenas na teoria, não na prática. No lugar eu poderia ter comprado um pc, já que preciso.
Sei lá, fico pensando no que vai ajudar a minha vida, e se eu poderia ter sido mais responsável com a grana e ter pegado outra coisa. Eu parcelei né, então se não gostar isso vai me perturbar por 12 meses.
Cara, realmente espero ser a encarnação de Beethoven
Another weekly paragraph from my Lil' Beethoven analysis essay that was too long to post in one go.
Part One: Introduction/"The Rhythm Thief"
Part Two: "How Do I Get to Carnegie Hall?"
Part Three: "What Are All These Bands So Angry About?"
Out of all the songs on Lil’ Beethoven, “Ride ‘Em Cowboy” is easily the most inscrutable, with no single interpretation leaping out at first listen. The lyrics are mainly a litany of opposites, used to illustrate the narrator’s luck souring, with the repeated line “ride ‘em, cowboy, ride ‘em!” serving as a motivational chant. “I swam, I sank, top seed, unranked. The pole, the wall, the pride, the fall.” Midway through the song, the lyrics extrapolate just to clarify that there is no hope. “They hate your look, they hate your book, they hate your guts, you’ve heard enough. It’s not your day, it’s not your week, it’s not your month, it’s not your year.” These last few lines can be used to excuse one’s mistakes. “Sorry,” one can almost hear the narrator telling those close to him. “It’s not my day.” However, this shifting of the blame to outside forces absolves the narrator of the responsibility to improve himself, and thus the excuses wear thin over time. Sparks later revisited this theme less obliquely on “What The Hell Is It This Time?” from their 2017 album Hippopotamus, which takes a look at a God who is fed up with constant prayers asking to solve trivial problems. “Ride ‘Em Cowboy” introduces the kind of person who could fall into that trap. The repetition of the title line represents the bland platitudes given when someone’s problems are mentioned in casual conversation. Unless the person mentioning them is specifically asking for advice- and this narrator likely isn’t- the most one can do is offer a harmless statement designed to cheer them up. Everywhere the narrator turns, he is met with this type of response, no matter how much his life conti
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