technology related sensory memories from my childhood
sliding the metal cover on floppy disks
the slight resistance of inserting cassette and video tapes
ripping off the strips of holed paper off of dot matrix printer paper
rolling the wheel on a disposable camera to take another photo
The heaviness and rubber texture of the roller ball in a computer mouse, and the little ring of lint
Unkinking the curly cord of a telephone while you talked
The -peww sound and slowly fading image of a crt monitor turning off, and then running your finger through the static on the dusty glass
The crunch of opening or closing a plastic Disney vhs cover
The sound effects in kidpix
Extending and collapsing metal antennas and using them as magic wands
…God, it is so weird these things aren’t around any more. Cause it’s true, the sensations are so distinct. It’s bizarre to think about missing these tiny relics.
Ahhhhh!!! This gifset has killed me and I am typing from the afterlife…
“he makes eye contact and smiles a bit”
“well that cLEARLY means he’S INTO YOU what eLSE COULD THAT MEAN”
Dean Winchester says
about eye contact
eye
contact
Marghe don’t be delusional they’ve clearly been looking at some chick behind each other for 9 years.
I mean it’s not like people seem to notice or anything
It’s not like Dean calls Cas a “weird dorky little guy” with a far away gaze or “devastatingly handsome” in front of his whole family and then goes on to postulate that nope no that, that’s not what I meant, here have some overcompensating dudebro gay panic bullshit about waitresses smelling like food to make up for my jealous outburst.
That never happened. They were always looking at some hot chick behind each other and those characters who keep commenting that they’re boyfriends or have unrequited love for each other or use each other as a weakness //in the show// are all completely imagining things and you can tell cos they both brush it off so quickly and they never get bothered by it at all, ever. It’s never used as an actual plot point either.
*stares into the camera with the same intensity as they stare at each other*
Imagine, if you want to, 25 thirteen year olds, sitting on the floor of their classroom, in the dark, backs against the wall, blinds closed, lights off, their 27 year old teacher sitting in the chair between them and the door.
Lock down drills are hard. They are always hard, but they are especially hard when it’s right after a shooting. Most of the kids are scared. You can tell the ones who are the most anxious, the way they hug their knees against their chests, their straight-lipped expressions, their eyes staring at the tiled floor. A few others are less scared and more annoyed, more frustrated, more bored. They try to whisper to their friends, to crack small jokes, to break the weird, uncomfortable tension that settles over a group of children practicing acting like they don’t exist. They think this is stupid, a waste of time. It wouldn’t really help them anyway, would it? Would THIS, sitting quiet and still in the dark, REALLY be enough to save them if THAT happened? If a man with a gun was coming for them? Would this REALLY be the best we can do?
And then there’s me. A lot of teachers have posted a lot of things over the last few days, about how this feels, about what this means. And it’s true- without even being asked, I would take a bullet for these kids.
For the sweet little girl who brought me a Dr. Pepper when I had a headache last week. For the quiet boy who always turns in his homework on time. For the girl who never turns in her homework at all. For the kid who called me a fat bitch last Tuesday. I would take a bullet for each and every one of them. I know it unconditionally. If I didn’t, I don’t think I could do this job anymore. That’s why I’m here- in the chair closest to the door, the last thing between them and whatever might come for them.
It’s hard to explain how it feels to get that email in the morning, from the Assistant Principal, about the lockdown drill scheduled for 9am. Turn off the lights. Doors locked. Window covered. Silence. Wait for 2 administrators to end the drill. If we shake the door handles or pound on the doors, don’t make a sound. Push a few desks against the door to practice making a barricade. Tell the kids to hold their library books against their chests- they could help act as a shield.
Imagine- telling kids to grab their copy of Harry Potter, of Dork Diaries, of Warrior Cats and hold it against their chest. As if the newest Diary of a Wimpy Kid is going to save them. As if Hunger Games will stop a bullet.
I was 8 when Columbine happened. I don’t remember it, at least, not very well. I remember having lockdown drills after that in school. I remember hating them.
I was 16 when Virginia Tech happened. I was in my chemistry class. My teacher turned on the news, white as a sheet. We watched in silence.
I was 21 when Sandy Hook happened. In college. Learning to be a teacher. I remember sitting in my Adolescent Development class as the news started pouring into our phones. I remember the grief. I remember the anger. I remember the fear that filled that room full of young adults on their way to be teachers.
I’m 27 now, and there’s Parkland. A teacher, with my own classroom, with 25 7th graders sitting in the dark, listening for our principal’s footsteps in the hallways, pretending to be a shooter.
I don’t know what the solution is. I’m not even sure what the problem is. People will tell you it’s so many things- guns, kids these days, a lack of discipline, a lack of respect, toxic masculinity, white male entitlement, mental illness, violent video games, everything is on the table. Maybe all teachers just need guns in their classrooms (an idea that makes me physically ill.) Maybe we need to ban those damn AR-15s (The guns used in Orlando, Las Vegas, Newtown, Sutherland Springs, and now Parkland.) Maybe we need to have a real conversation about how we raise our boys, how we stop radicalization and violence before it boils over into this. Maybe we need more gun training and more school counselors and more honest conversations about who we are as a people. I can’t say exactly what we need.
You english speakers out there, how the fuck do you separate your parents grandparents in normal conversation? Like in swedish we have separate words for moms and dads grandparents but you just use the same??? Like the only way it gets complicated in swedish is if someone has two or multiple moms or dads but that just means you’d be completely fucked in english??? How do you manage this explain
(speaking of I think spanish and french both do the same thing like why why would you)
There are multiple different terms for grandparents in English so it depends who you are really.
I use Granny for my mum’s Mum, and Grandma for my dad’s Mum.
British people also use Nan or Nanny sometimes for female grandparents (though that also has connotations as nannies were caretakers for children in the upper classes in the Victorian and earlier eras).
My cousins differentiate their grandmothers by calling them their names as well – so Granny “name” and Granny “name”.
My mum called her mum’s dad Grampa, and her dad’s dad Grandad – so there are lots of different variations that people will use.
I think people also use Pops, Grandad, Granpa, Grandmum, Grandmother, Gran, and probably loads more – depending on family use etc. I don’t have as many examples of grandfather use because I call both of my granddads by their names and nothing else..
It’s also probably really different depending on whether you ask someone from the UK, America, Canada, Australia, or NZ..
That does make it easier – and you can personalize what words you use to be more affectionate too, that’s great.
Still sounds confusing when you’re talking to someone who does’nt know what words your family uses and you don’t know theirs.
I should probably clear up how swedish deals with this for you who don’t know.
“Mormor” and “Morfar” = Grandma and Grandpa on the mothers side – literally mommom and momdad.
“Farmor” and “Farfar” = Grandma and Grandpa on the fathers side – literally dadmom and daddad
“Gammelmormor” and “Gammelfarfar” = Great Grandma on the mothers side and Great Grandpa on the fathers side – literally old mommom and old daddad.
And so on.
Granted we’d still end up confused in text and conversation about someone with same-sex parents/grandparents, non-binary parents and or multiple parents/stepparents, and have fewer personalized words to use to differ between people, but I feel like such a situation would be even more confusing in english. But maybe that’s just because swedish is my first language?
Idk languages are weird
For things that are more formal like medical history or mapping out geneology, English prefaces it with maternal or paternal to denote which side of the family they’re from. But going farther back can get into confusing terms, and same thing about the different ways that doesn’t work. Especially when we’re talking about actual family and not just genetic lines.
Great-grandparents on my (Mom’s/Dad’s) side.
…it’s just more words is all.
Dad’s parents are Grandma and Papaw. Mom’s parents were Grandma Jean and Grandaddy. Can never remember if we put one d or two in there. Think it was just one.
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