@shinylyni / shinylyni.tumblr.com
Changed my username back from shinymotley to shinylyni. It was the OG username and honestly I think I've experimented enough with my username that going back to "shinylyni" just feels like going home. Even if originally this username was chosen before I knew I have DID and thus there's other parts of me that go by different names and that "Lyni" is the name of a specific alter, at this point I think we agree that "shinylyni" is OUR online handle. Or one of them, at least.
Been wanting to draw a new DGM poster for a while :D Putting Lavi, Kanda, and Allen all in one this time! ^^
TURN ON THE SOUND. YOU CAN'T MISS THIS. THIS IS FANTASTIC.
wasn't able to see the aurora here, but i was able to see something even more breathtaking lighting up the night
sliding scale of posts about Jesus being a carpenter who was nailed to a cross
what if i told you that a lot of “Americanized” versions of foods were actually the product of immigrant experiences and are not “bastardized versions”
That’s actually fascinating, does anyone have any examples?
Chinese-American food is a really good example of this and this article provides a good intro to the history http://firstwefeast.com/eat/2015/03/illustrated-history-of-americanized-chinese-food
I took an entire class about Italian American immigrant cuisine and how it’s a product of their unique immigrant experience. The TL;DR is that many Italian immigrants came from the south (the poor) part of Italy, and were used to a mostly vegetable-based diet. However, when they came to the US they found foods that rich northern Italians were depicted as eating, such as sugar, coffee, wine, and meat, available for prices they could afford for the very first time. This is why Italian Americans were the first to combine meatballs with pasta, and why a lot of Italian American food is sugary and/or fattening. Italian American cuisine is a celebration of Italian immigrants’ newfound access to foods they hadn’t been able to access back home.
(Source: Cinotto, Simone. The Italian American Table: Food, Family, and Community in New York City. Chicago: U of Illinois, 2013. Print.)
I LOVE learning about stuff like this :D
that corned beef and cabbage thing you hear abou irish americans is actually from a similar situation but because they weren’t allowed to eat that stuff due to that artificial famine
<3 FOOD HISTORY <3
Everyone knows Korean barbecue, right? It looks like this, right?
Well, this is called a “flanken cut” and was actually unheard of in traditional Korean cooking. In traditional galbi, the bone is cut about two inches long, separated into individual bones, and the meat is butterflied into a long, thin ribbon, like this:
In fact, the style of galbi with the bones cut short across the length is called “LA Galbi,” as in “Los Angeles-style.” So the “traditional Korean barbecue” is actually a Korean-American dish.
Now, here’s where things get interesting. You see, flanken-cut ribs aren’t actually all that popular in American cooking either. Where they are often used however, is in Mexican cooking, for tablitas.
So you have to imagine these Korean-American immigrants in 1970s Los Angeles getting a hankering for their traditional barbecue. Perhaps they end up going to a corner butcher shop to buy short ribs. Perhaps that butcher shop is owned by a Mexican family. Perhaps they end up buying flanken-cut short ribs for tablitas because that’s what’s available. Perhaps they get slightly weirded out by the way the bones are cut so short, but give it a chance anyway. “Holy crap this is delicious, and you can use the bones as a little handle too, so now galbi is finger food!” Soon, they actually come to prefer the flanken cut over the traditional cut: it’s easier to cook, easier to serve, and delicious, to boot!
Time goes on, Asian fusion becomes popular, and suddenly the flanken cut short rib becomes better known as “Korean BBQ,” when it actually originated as a Korean-Mexican fusion dish!
I don’t know that it actually happened this way, but I like to think it did.
Corned beef and cabbage as we know it today? That came to the Irish immigrants via their Jewish neighbors at kosher delis.
The Irish immigrants almost solely bought their meat from kosher butchers. And what we think of today as Irish corned beef is actually Jewish corned beef thrown into a pot with cabbage and potatoes. The Jewish population in New York City at the time were relatively new immigrants from Eastern and Central Europe. The corned beef they made was from brisket, a kosher cut of meat from the front of the cow. Since brisket is a tougher cut, the salting and cooking processes transformed the meat into the extremely tender, flavorful corned beef we know of today.
The Irish may have been drawn to settling near Jewish neighborhoods and shopping at Jewish butchers because their cultures had many parallels. Both groups were scattered across the globe to escape oppression, had a sacred lost homeland, discriminated against in the US, and had a love for the arts. There was an understanding between the two groups, which was a comfort to the newly arriving immigrants. This relationship can be seen in Irish, Irish-American and Jewish-American folklore. It is not a coincidence that James Joyce made the main character of his masterpiece Ulysses, Leopold Bloom, a man born to Jewish and Irish parents.
Ahh, similar origin to fish and chips in the UK then.
That meal came about either in London or the North of England where Jewish immigrant fried fish venders decided to team up with the Irish cooked potato sellers to produce the meal everyone associates with the UK.
Because while a bunch of stuff from the UK was lifted and adapted from folks we colonised (Mulligatawny soup for example, was an adaptation of a soup recipe found in India and which British chefs tried to approximate back home), some of it was made by folks who actively moved here (like tikka masala, that originated in a restaurant up in Scotland).
Super interesting.
And that’s BEFORE we get into replacing a staple crop! So in the Southern US, you have two groups of people, one who used oats and one who used plantains, and they BOTH replace their staples with corn. And then you get Southern food.
For those interested in a really deep dive on Chinese food in the United States, I cannot over-recommend Jennifer 8 Lee’s Fortune Cookie Chronicles.
Sauce :
2 Tbsp soy sauce 1 Tbsp dark soy sauce 1 Tbsp shaoxing wine 1 Tbsp sesame oil 1 inch grated ginger 1 minced garlic clove 1/2 Tbsp sugar
you're welcome.
Bonus tip : you can add an egg (or more) to make hard boiled eggs at the same time (to eat now or later)
Bonus tip #2 : you can cook half rice, half quinoa/small green lentils (takes the same time)
I'm making this right now (rice cooker is on) with frozen veg because that's what I had, don't know if it will work but holy shit it smells amazing
them: what's your pronouns me: *looks to the camera* that's right, our contestants have no idea of which pronouns to use when referring to me. the only way to learn is by talking, the only way to talk is by interacting and the only way to interact is by beginning so without further ado let's begin...
Kindergarteners will be so proud of themselves for being able to draw a triangle. My GPU can draw tens of thousands of those in a second. You are not special.
You can run Doom on 12000 kindergarteners wired together
wire 12000 kindergarteners together and you can certainly expect Doom
paint bucket got a work out
@reimeichan these are your video game blorbos right?
FHAJGJSJFBF MY BLORBOS.... LOOK AT THEMMMMMMZ
you have seen, many times, the phrase love your body! and every time, like rainwater, it glides off you. not because you cannot love it - you mostly, like, tolerate it - but because of the word "your".
is this your body? when you were 11 you had to start shaving your legs because other girls found it gross you were hairy. when you were 12, you had to stop wearing v-necks because of your chest - people were staring. your mother didn't let you dye your hair. your first boyfriend makes you dress up in skimpy clothes for him, then hates when other people covet you. what you wear and how you present determine whether or not people find you funny or annoying or arrogant. other people get to determine if you are pretty, a court of opinion so loud it blots any good intent.
when is the body yours? magazines and instagram and tiktok endlessly advising you to "take care of" (starve) your body as if it is a weed. you must hack and slash at it, defend yourself from its wanton desires. it is a shameful, greedy thing. it is more like an art piece. you are keeping it or being kept-in-it.
you try to language it to your therapist - it's not that you don't recognize yourself in the mirror, it's more just that the thing that is in the mirror - it isn't you. that's why it's so easy to take apart: you're vaguely aware of the shape, but it feels like you are an animal hiding in the back of this cavern, snarling.
obviously you're like stuck in it. it often hurts a lot, buzzes with pain and a strange numbness. so it is your body when it's painful. that makes sense. otherwise - how many times have you been told to save yourself (your body) for marriage. for someone else. you are just borrowing it.
love your body! is so funny. somehow, without meaning to, the phrase reminds you - it isn't you. you're just inside it.
Ai Weiwei, “Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn,” 1995
An astonishingly irreverent piece of work. This triptych features the artist dropping a Han Dynasty (206 BC - 220 AD) in three photographs.
When questioned about the work, he suggested that the piece was about industry: “[The urn] was industry then and is industry now.” His statement, therefore, was that the urn was just a cheap pot two thousand years ago, and the reverence we feel toward it is artificial. One critic wrote: “In other words, for all the aura of preciousness acquired by the accretion of time (and skillful marketing), this vessel is the Iron Age equivalent of a flower pot from K-Mart and if one were to smash the latter a few millennia from now, would it be an occasion for tears?”
However, the not-so-subtle political undertone is clear. This piece was about destroying the notion that everything that is old is good…including the traditions and cultures of China. For Ai Weiwei, this triptych represents a moment in which culture suddenly shifts (sometimes violently), shattering the old and outdated to make room for the new.
ive thought about this piece daily since first seeing it
Be careful of Asexuals y'all, I heard they aren't fucking around
And frequently we have no fucks to give.
and categorically not to be fucked with
the upside is that they're less likely to fuck with you
had this in my head from day one, finally got round to drawing it!
Release 152 // [05.04.23]
Another massive props to the team for their hard work and a special thank you to our readers for your continued support! ❤️
Enjoy the chapter~
An Increasingly Frustrated Pokemon Trainer who wants a Sylveon but he isn’t emotionally equipped enough to understand the nuanced difference between friendship and affection so he just has like 13 Espeons and Umbreons
He ties ribbons around their necks and clips them on their ears, and never thinks they’re good enough. He ignores them when they rub against him for pets, focusing on his newest Eevee, so tiny and soft and full of potential. He keeps trying, and trying, and every time he sees black instead of pink and his face falls. Or he perks up at a glimpse of a paler color--but no, that’s the wrong shade, and there’s the forked tail, and he is even more crestfallen.
Until one day he gives up on a Sylveon. It’s never going to happen for him. He slams the door, and cries with his head in his hands, and can’t stand to look at the warm, soft bodies pressing against his back, rubbing against his knees.
He can’t stand to look at the ribbons and bows. He avoids the Pokemon for two days and then, in one explosive burst of frustration, he takes all the bows, stuffs them into the trash--only just managing to keep his trembling hands gentle on soft necks and ears. It’s not their fault. He knows it’s not. It’s his. He rubs a black ear, worried that it might be sore. It’s his fault.
He pets them more. It’s not their fault they’re not what he wanted. He feeds them, and restarts the training sessions that had ended when each one evolved. He doesn’t know their movesets; he starts reading. He learns what he can ask from them, and then learns from them too: which one would rather Quick Attack than use Confusion, which has a Mean Look that freezes even him in place. It’s fun. It’s more fun than it ever used to be, when he followed all the best training manuals so anxiously. They respond, growing and learning and butting into them for pets that he sheepishly gives them.
It’s inevitable, with thirteen of them in the same place, that eventually two would breed. He holds the tiny Eevee in his cupped palms. So soft. So warm. He knows which Espeon gave her those extra-long ears and which Umbreon is responsible for her round little nose. He is fascinated.
He pets her. He holds her. He watches her try to mimic the others and he smiles when they high-step over her or when they lift her by the scruff. She joins in on training sessions and for a moment there’s the thought--but she’s having fun copying one of her aunties and he’s not going to change that. She learns what she likes because she likes it. She’s the happiest Eevee he’s ever trained, and he doesn’t need her to be anything else.
But she changes, of course. Children grow up and Pokemon evolve. Espeon, he thinks when she changes in daylight, when he sees a pale coat--but no, that’s the wrong shade--
He is dumbfounded. The rest of them are not. They crowd around, pushing him and Sylveon together, pressing against both of them until everyone is one pile of fur and waving tails. He laughs and hugs her first--and then the nearest Umbreon, and the next.
He is happy, of course. But not because of what she is. He's glad that it means she’s happy. And she is happy. He gets the sense, watching her examine her own ribbons, that she became exactly what she wanted.
Maybe he should start keeping some stones in the house. It’s inevitable, with fourteen Eeveelutions around, that they’re going to keep breeding, and the next Eevee might want something different.
I did not expect to be sitting here at 2:20pm at work in tears over a Pokemon flashfic, but I'm devastated by the first half and so happy for them all and I legit don't know what to do other than to schedule it to share.
For AO3 readers, I'm linking directly to it so you can show it some love there too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43255018
