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Cake day: March 6th, 2025

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  • Semisimian@startrek.websitetoMicroblog Memes@lemmy.worldThoughts?
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    9 days ago

    In the immediate aftermath of a traumatic event, this response is completely warranted. After 9/11, it was difficult in America to celebrate anything immediately after. You had to address it. “I know we are all in pain, but my son was born today and I’m happy.”

    The reelection was traumatic for those that remember the insanity of the 1st term. And it ended in a worldwide trauma that we are all still trying to wrap our minds around.

    After a while, though, it can be seen as performative. But let’s give people time to grieve if they need it.




  • The meat of the article: "Overall, people were fairly consistent in how they judged tattoos. Raters tended to agree with one another about what certain tattoo features might suggest about personality. For instance, cheerful and colorful tattoos were linked to impressions of higher agreeableness. Large, traditional-looking tattoos were associated with higher extraversion. Tattoos that appeared low in quality or included death imagery led raters to perceive the wearer as more neurotic or less agreeable.

    However, these judgments were largely inaccurate. When the researchers compared how participants were rated with how they described themselves, most of the links between tattoo features and personality fell apart. Except for one pattern: people who had tattoos described by raters as “wacky” were somewhat more likely to score higher on openness to experience in their self-assessments"







  • We just got a set for my son for his birthday. He likes the routine. We have a drip coffee procedure for us parents and I think he likes having his own thing. That said, he was disappointed in the set. The whisk doesn’t work as well as the electric one we have for frothing milk. The cups aren’t exactly his cup of tea, all puns intended. Etc.

    I think it was important that he got the set so he could learn what he likes and doesn’t like about the process. Lord knows we’ve gone through a dozen coffee gimmicks over the years trying to find the best brew. That is our experience. Good luck and have fun; it really is about the simple pleasures.


  • Ho ho ho, future Santa checking in. Mrs Claus is a hair stylist, so we have some insight into what I’m going to need when the days grow short and the beard (hopefully) grows long.

    The biggest thing is: full beards take time. And not just time to grow the length, but time (years) for your face to mature and get those hair follicles in the Christmas spirit. There’s really not much you can do if the fullness isn’t coming in yet but wait. I’m in this phase now. It’s hormones. What are we going to do? Not drugs, not Rogaine: not going to help. Take care of what you got.

    But you mentioned you DO have a beard, so maybe you have the stellar volume you need to be St Nick, just not the length. Short answer, skin care IS beard care. Get a good skin care regimen that works for your face and your beard will fall in line. You’ve signed up for an everyday commitment to becoming a touchable beard, and they WILL ALL touch it. Toddlers to Grannies, especially, Grannies.

    You have the beard! Now you need the color. This depends on your hair color and how your hair accepts color, so you really should go to a professional. If you want to be a paid, real-beard Santa, a good color job will be the LEAST of your expenses and it will pay off on day one.

    Being a good Santa is being a good person. It really is just that. But there is a physical barrier that is conforming to the Coca-Cola ideal of Santa, which is the tutorial I just provided for the BEARD ONLY!

    I wish you well and I hope you enjoy bringing hope, magic and love into the hearts of children.







  • Pets help us understand our own mortality in ways that continue to surprise me. When I was young, the first pet I lost was a young cat, just a few years old. I raised her from a kitten that was probably too young to ween so we had a close bond. She was indoor/outdoor and was attacked by a neighbor’s dog during the day when I was gone. Holding her and watching her die broke me, like she waited all day to die in my arms. She was mine and I felt like I let her down. Woof, it hurt. Still does.

    But while I was holding her, our family dog (Allison) was next to me. She was older than I was, a feisty Lhasa Apso that had lost her ability to hold her bladder. We diapered her: we’d cut a hole in human diapers to pull her tail through to keep the hardwoods from getting ruined. She died a year later, after living a full life.

    I buried both of them in the front yard, under a couple of pines that bordered our neighbor’s pet cemetery. Both times, digging those holes gave me the time I needed to be able to return them to the earth and say goodbye. I learned so much from their passing. It is the last gift our pets give us, their final act of love.

    Now, older, with kids of my own, we have Sadie, who I am looking at as I write this. She’s a rescue, probably a golden mixed with some border collie, at least 16 years old. Her sister died last year and it was the first close death my kids experienced. Her passing taught my kids the alchemy of aging gracefully, the privilege of old age. Now, they find charm in Sadie’s rickety hips and excuse her incontinence. Getting old is okay; we are lucky to be able to do it. Watching your loved ones get old is a privilege we should cherish.

    Edit: I wanted to thank OP for posting this. Reading your observations of your aging cat brought It all forward.