Frank Castle Being The Only Other Person Aside From Karen And Matt To Mourn And Be Outraged By What Happened

I sat next to the protest today.

I wrote fan-fiction about two gay jewish dads raising children to the play list of the chant- "No peace on stolen land!" on an American college campus. It isn't a name brand one either, nor does it have any legitimate ties to Israel. The anger is just there- it has rotten these future doctors, nurses, teachers, and members of society.

I don't even know what to call their demonstration- it was a tizzy of a Jew hatred affair. At points, there were empathetic statements about Gazans and their suffering. Then outright support of Hamas and violent resistance against all colonizers. Then this bizarre fixation on antisemitism while explaining the globalists are behind everything.

"Antisemitism doesn't exist. Not in the modern day," A professor gloated over a microphone in front of the library. "It's a weaponized concept, that's prevents us from getting actual places- ignore anyone who tells you otherwise."

"How can we be antisemitic?" A pasty white girl wearing a red Jordanian keffiyeh gloats five minutes later. "Palestinians are the actual semites."

"there is only one solution!" The crowd of over 50 students and faculty cried, over and over.

"Been there, done that," I thought, then added a reference to a mezuza in the fourth paragraph.

Two other Jewish students passed where I was parked out, hunching and trying to be as innocuous as possible. We laughed together at my predicament, where I am willingly hearing this bullshit and feeling so amused by this.

"Am I crazy? For sitting here?" I asked them. My friends shook their heads.

"We did the same last week- it's an amazing experience, isn't it?”

We all cackled hysterically again. They left to study for finals. Two minutes later, I learned from the current speaker that “Zionism” is behind everything bad in this world.

Forty-five minutes in, a boy I recognized joined me on my lonely bench. He came from a very secular Jewish family and had joined Hillel recently to learn more about his culture. His first Seder was two nights ago.

He sat next to me, heavy like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was just this despondent look on his face. I couldn’t describe it anyone else, but just sheer hopelessness personified.

“They hate us. I can’t believe how much they hate us.” He said in greeting.

And for the first time all day, I had no snarky response or glib. All I could do was stare out into the crowd, and sigh.

I used to write theories and shit. I remember drawing a graph to explain my time travel theories about some purple dude that were too complex for me to explain with words. But now I am this

forever impressed by people who when they're hyperfixating on a media or character come up with complex headcanons and analysis and make up scenarios with them. all my brain does is this for days on end

"The notion of Palestine being Arab emerges, really, only in the 60s. because... what did Israelis do? the colonial era is over; the Ottoman Empire is gone, finally the British are gone, and the Jewish people finally, having outlived all these empires, going back to the Roman Empire, finally restore their sovereignty. What do they do? they do what every self-respecting people in history did when the colonial people were gone- they call the country by their name, right? so Siam becomes Thailand, and the Gold Coast becomes Ghana, and Palestine becomes Israel because Palestine was the colonial name and Israel is the original, indigenous name.

Once the Jews call the land Israel... in order to present the Jews as foreign, [...] thieves, interlopers, Arabs began to hijack the name Palestine, to say, actually we are Palestine, whereas previously everyone understood it was Jews. and I love it, because sometimes you see on the internet, oh look Palestine existed, and they show, like, the Palestine football team and if you look closely all the names are like [...] all Jewish [...] because this was the Jewish football team of the Jewish state in the making, and the Palestine Philharmonic Orchestra was the orchestra of Jewish exiles that became the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. So, this is a classis [...] hijacking of the Arabs of something that was very Jewish, in order to present the Jews as thieves, rather than the original owners."

-Einat Wilf (source)

It can also just taste bad. I ate a garlic chip once. Turns out you are not supposed to eat them straight up, but cook with them. The garlic chip was disgusting. I eat raw garlic sometimes, but garlic chips is garlic intensified

I bet octopuses think bones are horrific. I bet all their cosmic horror stories involve rigid-limbs and hinged joints.

I'm fully against making judgments of shows without having the final product. Like, this might be target towards Daredevil Born Again people, but we don't have enough to consciously say the show is bad or amazing.

I don't lean either way before having the full product because it doesn't feel conductive and my opinion might change lmao.

From what I've seen so far, I has some issues but is not nearly enough to be called a bad show and again, it feels way too early to be saying that.

This show was reworked a lot, we are getting through the midpoint and season 2 will reach the final arcs, I don't expect the show to solve everything now or to deal with everything now, how could I?

That's just my personal opinion but I needed it to say that.

אוקיי אף אחד לא שאל אבל הנה הסבר על ששת המצבים של שוקולד ולמה השוקולד נראה ככה:

שמתם פעם שאם ממיסים שוקולד בבית הוא נהיה פחות טעים? שהוא נהיה רך ולא מבריק? שהוא מתמצק רק במקרר ולא בטמפרטורת החדר?

לשוקולד יש 6 סידורים של התגבשות. 4 מהם נמסים בטמפרטורה של פחות 30°, אחד נמס בטמפרטורת הגוף, ואחד נמס בסביבות 40°. קשה להגיע אליו בהמסה אז בינתיים נתעלם ממנו.

אנחנו רוצים את הסידור שנמס בטמפרטורת הגוף, כדי שהשוקולד ימס על הלשון אבל יהיה קראנצ'י. בשביל זה, אנחנו צריכים לשלוט בגבישים שלו, ולוודא שכל הגבישים יציבים ב28°, ונמסים רק בטמפרטורת הגוף. לכן צריך לעשות תהליך שנקרא טמפרור, בו ממיסים את השוקולד (ממיסים את כל הגבישים), נותנים לו להתקרר קצת ואז ממיסים אותו שוב עד טמפרטורה של בערך 30° כדי להמיס את הגבישים שנמסים בטמפרטורה נמוכה, וככה לוודא שכל השוקולד בגבישים הטעימים שנמסים בטמפרטורת הגוף.

מה זה המצב השישי? שוקולד, בסופו של דבר, הוא לא יציב, ואם תתנו לשוקולד לשבת הרבה זמן, במיוחד במקרר, הוא יתפרק. השומן יצוף למעלה, והשוקולד לא יהיה מבריק וזה יראה כאילו יש עליו אבקה לבנה. זה בסדר!!! הוא יהיה קצת פחות טעים, כי הוא ימס בטמפרטורה גבוהה ולא יהיה ממש קרמי בפה, אבל הוא יהיה סבבה לגמרי לאכילה, ופחות יפה. אין איך לעצור את זה, אבל אם בא לכם לראות את זה קורה אפשר להאיץ את זה! קחו שוקולד, תמיסו אותו (בלי לטמפרר) ושימו במקרר! תוך שבוע תהיה עליו אבקה לבנה, שהיא השומן.

כן כן, מוצרי אוכל בארץ בחיים לא יגיעו לרמה של יפן, שהמוצר שבתמונת האריזה נראה כמעט אותו הדבר כמו המוצר האמיתי

אבל אני מוצאת את זה מצחיק שמוצרים בארץ לפעמים זה כזה;

לאן הלך הצבע

למה הצבע באריזה והצבע במציאות בהבדל כזה גדול

הדבר היחידי שמציאותי בתמונה (כשאין לה הרבה מאוד משתנים מתחילה) זה הגודל של הכדורים

My English teacher told us that half of Shakespeare's works were written by queen Elizabeth the first. I told my literature teacher, and he said, and I quote "what the fuck". Apparently my English teacher didn't mean it seriously but she's crazy so you can never know

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

כשהייתי בחטיבה נסעתי לקאמפ אמריקאי ונדהמתי לגלות שלא הייתה חובה להיות עם כובע או קרם הגנה, כל יום בצהריים הלכנו לבריכה בשמש, וחצי מהבנות שהיו איתי בחדר נשרפו כל כך שהן לא יכלו לישון וכל העור שלהן התקלף. וזה היה במקום שלא היה בו המון שמש (ירד גשם!!! באוגוסט!!!) פשוט היינו בחוץ כל היום. אז אני חושבת שבסך הכול התוכנית הזאת והחינוך להגנה בשמש בארץ טוב