"I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles - and he always fixed my car.
Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I’d prove myself a moron, and I’d be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.
Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: “Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?”
Indulgently, I lifted my right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, “Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them.” Then he said smugly, “I’ve been trying that on all my customers today.” “Did you catch many?” I asked. “Quite a few,” he said, “but I knew for sure I’d catch you.” “Why is that?” I asked. “Because you’re so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn’t be very smart."
Here are some extremely useful pose guides made by Aomori over on deviantArt.
This is mostly just a reference for myself because I just lost these and couldn’t remember where to find them, so I’m not going to bother tagging. But I thought some of my followers could also possibly use these too.
It turns out procrastination is not typically a function of laziness, apathy or work ethic as it is often regarded to be. It’s a neurotic self-defense behavior that develops to protect a person’s sense of self-worth.
You see, procrastinators tend to be people who have, for whatever reason, developed to perceive an unusually strong association between their performance and their value as a person. This makes failure or criticism disproportionately painful, which leads naturally to hesitancy when it comes to the prospect of doing anything that reflects their ability — which is pretty much everything.
But in real life, you can’t avoid doing things. We have to earn a living, do our taxes, have difficult conversations sometimes. Human life requires confronting uncertainty and risk, so pressure mounts. Procrastination gives a person a temporary hit of relief from this pressure of “having to do” things, which is a self-rewarding behavior. So it continues and becomes the normal way to respond to these pressures.
Particularly prone to serious procrastination problems are children who grew up with unusually high expectations placed on them. Their older siblings may have been high achievers, leaving big shoes to fill, or their parents may have had neurotic and inhuman expectations of their own, or else they exhibited exceptional talents early on, and thereafter “average” performances were met with concern and suspicion from parents and teachers.
The “get these fucking prints out of my sight” giveaway
So, I have an Epson Stylus Photo R3000 printer
I use it for the high-quality 13”x19” Limited Ed. prints in my official shop but recently it has been out to make my head explode by casually putting a random ink splotch on otherwise perfect prints
I am seething with rage!!!!! because it only happens randomly so I don’t know what’s wrong and also I use very expensive paper and ink SO EACH TINY SPLATTER costs me a fuckload
I don’t want to throw out the prints because they look fine otherwise but I also can’t look at them any longer cause THEY ARE FAILURES AND MAKE ME SO ANGRY!!!!
People who follow me on Twitter can attest to my total meltdown and tantrum because of this
They’ve suggested that I sell them as discounted Artist’s Proofs or something but INSTEAD I am going to do a giveaway
Next Saturday, March 16th, I will pick one or two losers winners to receive these prints free of charge. They normally cost $80-$95, and I don’t sell some of these pieces anywhere else, so I figure if anyone wants ‘em and doesn’t mind the imperfections…
The prints are 13”x19” and will be signed and dated and marked “PROOF.” I’ll ship anywhere.
I don’t fucking care how many times you reblog
But try and reblog at least once because the goal is that maybe someone who sees this post is a Printer Whisperer and can tell me why the fuck my printer is being such a douchebag