octopus_eats_platypus
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User ID: 334
octopus_eats_platypus
8mo ago
Absurd. Insane. Spectacular.
I didn't expect them to catch the booster at all on this attempt, but I'm so glad to be wrong.
octopus_eats_platypus
8mo ago
Being taller is one of those things I'd basically take 100% of the time up to probably 6'4-5 or so. It's not a cure-all, but it's like being richer in the sense that it's virtually all upside. That's not to say you can't or don't have other downsides that vastly outweigh it; I wouldn't take being incredibly rich if I were also a paraplegic. Nor would I be made incredibly handsome if I gained agoraphobia as a result.
But if I could get a height boost, a handsomeness boost, or a big pile of money for free I'd take it without reservation.
octopus_eats_platypus
3mo ago
It's a pretty clear metaphor.
'Dropped a bomb' is an idiom that means delivering bad news. 'Dropped a nuke' is the former but much more impactful.
I appreciate you writing this. My grandfather is rotting away due to Alzheimers - the last time I saw him was three years ago, after which his health rarely allowed visitors and flying down to see him was nearly impossible plan due to personal health issues. When I was a little boy, he was the strongest man I knew. I love my grandmother as well, but going down to see him was a special joy.
I never knew my father, but my grandfather would toss me up in his arms and get me to feel his sweat 'any sweat?' and then whiskers 'any whiskers?'. He'd always be in from a hard day's work (after retiring he renovated houses and repaired cars until his health no longer allowed it, after which he went from a joyful strong man to perpetually grouchy and frustrated) and there'd always be sweat on his brow. Whiskers sometimes. He'd laugh and he'd put me down and make me lemon cordial with milk, a combination I've never seen anyone else like. You had to drink it quick to stop it curdling, and I'd always have my own milk whiskers afterwards.
All throughout my life he was taciturn and showed his love physically or by building or fixing something. He fixed cars of mine a few times when I couldn't afford a mechanic, and loaned me his ute when my car broke down and I couldn't afford a new one for some months. But he had a biting sense of wit as well, and loved to tease. I once found a giant novelty wooden spoon at a car boot sale, and painstakingly carved the words 'biggest shit-stirrer' into it for a Christmas present. He laughed at the time - but later I found out he hated it and felt put on the spot, only keeping it because he appreciated a gift from his grandson more than his own pride.
Now the only thing he can remember about me is that I owe him fifty dollars. It makes him apoplectic with rage that I haven't paid him back for the money, and if I were to go visit him in hospice all I could bring what remains of him is grief and rage. I'm his favorite grandson (I was given his name which I think gave me an unfair head start) and now all I do is ring my grandmother once a week and hear about how he's degrading, how another little piece of him is being taken away. How his legs and fingers are rotting and he only recognises my grandmother sometimes.
Nobody in my family has ever died since I was four years old and too young to remember it, but every time I think of him I hope it comes soon.
I tried to sit down with him and record something when I last saw him, but he hated the notion of his life being recorded, as his own father was an undisputed monster and I think he wants the man to go unlamented and unremembered. I thought foolishly I had time to convince him, time to sit down and talk and record and write so I'd get some record of his life and the man he was.
I didn't, and there's not enough of him left to piece it together.
Thank you for writing this. I'm going to find a time later this year, take a week off work, sit down with my grandmother and record whatever she'll give me.
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