Habbycrabby - Crab Bab - Tumblr Blog

mercats, mermcats, catfish?

print! :)

maths enjoyers and bug enjoyers and horror movie enjoyers and so forth all need to come together and unite against the common enemy of people telling you how much they hate something as soon as you mention you like it

i'm defending public schools with my life not because I had a good experience in them but because I refuse to let politicians convince people we need a society where school is exclusive to rich kids.

let me tell you something. the public school in my (low income) hometown was fucking TERRIBLE once you got past early elementary to the point where teachers would tell parents to get their kids out (this is why I kept changing schools). however, years later, that school merged with a public school in another town and simply having more resources made it so much better it now has a normal if not positive reputation. so yeah there are in fact public schools in a terrible situation. but if you look at them and say "this is why we should get rid of public schools and replace them with private schools" you're insane.

and since this is tumblr and no one has critical thinking skills, allow me to clarify this is not an endorsement of current educational standards and regulations in public schools, or support for bullying (?)

If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

faeries are not real but i wish thwy were so i could spray one with raid

The onion absolutely skewering AI tech bros.

Sleeping isnt enough for me. they need to invent sleeping 2

perfect new meme template just dropped

So I've had this joke in my head for a couple months (at least), but hadn't found the right spot to make it. Today it is complete.

A hole in my jeans?

Hmm? What's this?

A Patchypus?

REPAIRRY THE PATCHYPUS!!!?!!!

everyone always sayin to me "not to be weird" you have to be weird. you have to be weird for your health

The midjourney stuff just reminds of when we were trying to find a new platform to host the ao3 donation form, and companies kept trying to tell me about all their "ai" features that would track donor engagement, and figure out the optimal pattern to email individual donors asking for follow up donations, and all the ways they suggest we manipulate people into staying on our websites. It was a great way to filter out who either wasn't listening to us when we described our ethics and donor base, or just didn't believe us.

Now granted ao3 is a unique case based on a) the amount of page views we get in any given time period and b) the fact that most donors absolutely do Not want to be identified as such anywhere, (the default "list of recent donors" module got nuked Immediately) but it surprised me some that the concept of "donors who value their privacy and would be furious at even the whiff of AI" is unique. Some of us really are just existing in different worlds.

Mystery Inc. but it’s the 1890s

Who had late Victorian Scooby Doo on their 2024 bingo card? Hmm?

The idea came to me when I was thinking about Sherlock Holmes and then remembered the iconic mystery solving gang hehe

stumbled across some of my printer opinions that i don't recall writing but am correct about

really factual recounting with no embellishments whatsoever

I laughed so fucking hard at this

the classic trope of "what if you went to a town and it was weird" never fails

I had a tattoo client ask if I ever used AI to design tattoos for me. Man I spent the better part of a decade doing shitty bit work as a graphic designer and now that I have the space to do whatever I want, I'm gonna let the computer generate random garbage for me? What next should I have a computer that eats my dinner and fucks my wife?

In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that point—a poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines “We walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.” Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldn’t get into heaven. “Is this a good poem?” I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldn’t break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldn’t write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, “looking at you, one wouldn’t think you’d be a very good writer” and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word “blood” in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldn’t be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when I’d go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I told the class, “for the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.” Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I don’t know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. It’s the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. “He threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sun”

Anything’s better than the 1450s

"Can you not grant yourself the same grace you once did me?”

Aziraphale leaned forward, elbows on knees. His hand slid out of Crowleys as the angel hid his face.

“I—it’s harder, somehow.”

Crowley stood and moved the stool, coming to sit behind Aziraphale. He took hold of Aziraphale’s shoulders and gently guided him to lean back against the edge of the bath.

Let me take care of you.

I'm on my reread of Oh, Maker by the lovely @voluptatiscausa and it's funny how some scenes hit harder on the second go. I got off the plane, had something to eat and sat down to draw this; that's how much this chapter gripped me.

Not only do we get aziraphale with longer hair, but this scene is ripe with deep care, sympathy and the helplessness of seeing someone you love suffer and only being able to ease some of it. It's achingly beautiful and resonated a whole lot with me.

the pros of reading ao3 fics in public is that their layout is so clean and simple that people would think you’re reading some academic researches when you’re in fact reading a 50k fic. the cons is that you need to control your face all the fucking time

How to Finish

I drew this poster for Jon Acuff and his FINISH book tour. Big thanks to Jon for this collaboration, his book has some great ideas about how to complete creative and life goals.