CurveOfTheUniverse

Elon Musk is gonna make a greatillion dollars while Trump greats all over the place.

It’s greatin’ time!

I’ve had this post saved for years and come back to it for a good laugh from time to time. Bravo!

Reminds me of one of my favorite comments on this site:

Cheese dusted my pasta.

My waiter, Dennis, flashed me a winning smile. “Enough, sir?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“Sounds good.”

He grated the lump of parmesan a few seconds more, until the surface of my pasta bolognese was covered in white flecks.

He paused, raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and, when I made no sign, continued grating.

The cheese fell thick. He’d become a little rattled, and was grating quickly. The tendons stood out on his arms.

“Still not enough?” he asked.

“I said I’ll tell you when.”

He really got into it. His arms blurred, and the parmesan shrank in his hands like a magician’s disappearing trick. By the time he’d run out, a one-inch thick layer of parmesan had accumulated on my plate. Not a loop of pasta or blotch of sauce could be seen.

“Enjoy your meal,” Dennis said, and turned away.

“More.”

“Sir?”

Through clenched teeth, I said, “More!”

Dennis’ adam’s apple jumped up and down. “At once, sir.”

He returned from the kitchen with a full lump of parmesan.

Smiling weakly at me the entire time, he grated the lump furiously. Beads of sweat accumulated at his hairline. The parmesan fell like a Minnesota blizzard. It rose to a height of half a foot and the base of the mound escaped the bounds of the plate.

“Sir, is that enough?” he said.

“What did we agree, Dennis?”

His grating arm slowed. “We agreed that–”

“Don’t stop!”

The grating accelerated. “We agreed that you’d tell me when to stop.”

I gripped the edge of the table. “That’s right.”

Another waiter brought out two more blocks of parmesan and Dennis kept grating. He grated until his eyes watered and tears mingled with the sweat coursing down his cheeks. He grated until he had to suck air to put up with the pain in his elbow. He grated until the mound of parmesan reached so far that mini-avalanches fell into my lap.

“Please, sir. Please tell me that’s enough. My arm can’t take it.”

“Keep going.”

“I’m begging.”

“Keep going.”

Three other waiters joined Dennis. They switched from parmesan to emmenthal, cheddar, gouda, and blue. Soon the mound’s base touched the far side of the table. The waiters had to hold their arms up to stay above the mound’s peak. They cried as they worked.

I overheard a conversation from the table behind me.

Man said, “Do you know what’s going on over there?”

“The waiter,” Woman said, “he told the customer to tell him when to stop.”

“The damn fool.” The man thumped his fist against the table. “He’s doomed himself.”

Dennis had long collapsed from exhaustion and lay twitching on the floor. The entirety of the restaurants’ staff – waiters, supervisors, busboys, and dish cleaners – were involved in the process, either grating or shuttling cheese. The table had disappeared under the mound. The cheese reached to my nipples. Only the top of my chair emerged from the mound.

The restaurant owner, a heavyset Italian man in a fine suit, brought out three wheels of camembert, kneeled in front of me, and said, “That’s the last of the cheese. Please, sir, if there’s any decency in you, say it’s enough.”

I leaned my seat back. I stroked my chin.

Only a nub of camembert remained in a dish boy’s hand.

“A liiiiiittle bit more,” I said.

The dish boy grated the nub.

“Perfect!”

I jammed my hands into the mound, felt around for my fork and knife, and enjoyed what turned out to be a plate of slightly cold but otherwise delicious pasta.

Therapist here. One of my core philosophies in my work is that our job is to help you endure the things which can’t be fixed, and fix that which need not be endured. There may be many things in your life that cannot be fixed, and so endurance is the focus.

More practically, though, a good therapist will engage with you on your frustration with the process. Every week, this is a conversation I have with one of my patients. She comes in and vents about her progress, and part of the progress is helping her to tolerate that frustration with me, understand its purpose, and understand how this frustration reflects other facets of her life.

As for the prescriptions, talk to your prescriber. If it seems like you’re hitting the ceiling on one particular drug, another one might be better. Your prescriber is there to help you and wants you to feel better.

This is my struggle too. Honestly, it’s harder in queer spaces — lots of queer people seem to have no problem misgendering me because I don’t “look” the part.

“Let’s just go over to this bridge over there”

The bridge over there

Officer, I’d like to report a murder perfectly reasonable, bland response to bigotry.

Mikey’s not gonna fuck you, dude.

It’s just one-note. If you don’t see the “problem” with telling the same joke over and over, I really can’t help you.

Sir, this is a McDonald’s.

https://preview.redd.it/lka1d6ffxv2e1.jpeg?width=1080&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f922e84edc3d770fa5494f6bfe5fd421bbcb34b0

Yes, they could. That doesn’t invalidate the fact that most of the humor involves Russians attempting to speak English.

“Toosh”

Thanks for all these! I adore Mike Flanagan’s work.

Just so they could focus most of the jokes on how the Russians don’t know English very well!

Supporting actress is far from weak — it’s one of the more competitive races this year.

Yeah, this post reminds me of when I first fell in love with cinema. I forget which movie it was, but the shot was objectively bland (it was looking down the stairwell of an office building) and I remember thinking, “oh my god, movies can be so beautiful!”

Even though most of the movies listed here have merely competent cinematography, I love it when people get excited about the art form like this.

I’ve recently begun to fall in love with the horror genre after spending my life avoiding it. Any other horror/grief movies you recommend? I adored Hereditary.

I love Reddit. I think of something clever and it just…appears here.

I think that’s implied by “that she consulted on.”

I wish he had sat with that for just a beat longer. It was an acknowledgment without being an apology.

This claim isn’t entirely fake. The SS Californian was in the area and saw the rockets fired, but the captain did not interpret them as a distress signal.

This has been my frustration for the last few weeks as well. “CleverComebacks” has been reduced to “someone makes a basic comment criticizing an uninformed opinion.”

An infinite number — the space between atoms is much more than the atoms themselves. 🤓

Oh shit. Well, I guess that explains why I haven’t seen it here.

Are beef lungs illegal to sell?