Kwakigra

Agreed. It evokes a whole story. Either the Paladin is so overcommitted to their work to such a degree that they are willing to go on dangerous adventures or the society is so legalistic it's the Paladin's duty to accompany their cases wherever they go without exceptions. Alternatively, maybe the Paladin wanted to be an adventurer anyway to escape their boring life as a parole officer and found just such a situation that they can fufill their desires and duties at the same time.

Donald Trump made himself the first female president on day 1 by a sex-redefining executive order. He did the thing his supporters imagine Democrats would do.

Happy birthday, fadingembers.

Sterilization is back on the table for those the state deems unfit. We need another major anti-eugenics movement. This is sick.

Mechanically, taking a level in bard has all kinds of utility for a Barbarian. Bards lean into utility and support spells at lower levels anyway and many of these do not depend on the Charisma stat whatsoever.

In my first ever group everyone took a level of bard for fun and we were a literal band of adventurers. I was the Bardbarian.

If you think that's unfortunate from 1969, check out what W.E.B. DuBois was writing about in 1903:

Between me and the other world there is ever an unasked question: unasked by some through feelings of delicacy; by others through the difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter round it. They approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, How does it feel to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town; or, I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make your blood boil? At these I smile, or am interested, or reduce the boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question, How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.

And yet, being a problem is a strange experience,—peculiar even for one who has never been anything else, save perhaps in babyhood and in Europe. It is in the early days of rollicking boyhood that the revelation first bursts upon one, all in a day, as it were. I remember well when the shadow swept across me. I was a little thing, away up in the hills of New England, where the dark Housatonic winds between Hoosac and Taghkanic to the sea. In a wee wooden schoolhouse, something put it into the boys’ and girls’ heads to buy gorgeous visiting-cards—ten cents a package—and exchange. The exchange was merry, till one girl, a tall newcomer, refused my card,—refused it peremptorily, with a glance. Then it dawned upon me with a certain suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in heart and life and longing, but shut out from their world by a vast veil. I had thereafter no desire to tear down that veil, to creep through; I held all beyond it in common contempt, and lived above it in a region of blue sky and great wandering shadows. That sky was bluest when I could beat my mates at examination-time, or beat them at a foot-race, or even beat their stringy heads. Alas, with the years all this fine contempt began to fade; for the words I longed for, and all their dazzling opportunities, were theirs, not mine. But they should not keep these prizes, I said; some, all, I would wrest from them. Just how I would do it I could never decide: by reading law, by healing the sick, by telling the wonderful tales that swam in my head,—some way. With other black boys the strife was not so fiercely sunny: their youth shrunk into tasteless sycophancy, or into silent hatred of the pale world about them and mocking distrust of everything white; or wasted itself in a bitter cry, Why did God make me an outcast and a stranger in mine own house? The shades of the prison-house closed round about us all: walls strait and stubborn to the whitest, but relentlessly narrow, tall, and unscalable to sons of night who must plod darkly on in resignation, or beat unavailing palms against the stone, or steadily, half hopelessly, watch the streak of blue above.

I've been trying to describe what it's like to hear James Baldwin speak but I keep finding myself come up short. He's one of my favorite speakers/writers and has been a huge inspiration to me in my life.

Do yourself a favor and listen to him on the Dick Cavett show. He can speak for himself infinitely better than I could possibly describe him.

The basic weirdness is that we can't experience objective reality as due to the nature of our minds we can only possibly subjectively experience it interpreted by our senses and sense-making. Although even the ancients could prove the curvature of the Earth by measuring shadows at the same time in places separated by enough distance, a person born blind would have to trust the sighted that shadows exist for example. Since we are aware of some phenomena we can't observe without the use of specialized tools and some branches of science diverge significantly from what's intuitive to us, It's very likely that there are some elements of objective reality (if it exists) which we couldn't possibly observe or comprehend. I know all that sounds like star-gazing bs which is completely irrelevant, and in almost all circumstances it is, but approaching facts as most likely to be true given the evidence rather than certainly true can reveal ways of thinking which could be more useful than our current paradigms. Although unlikely in my opinion, it's possible that in a few centuries the circle may be considered similarly to how the four elements are considered today. I personally can't imagine how that could be possible, but I'm just some random person in 2023. I see the circle and describe it as a circle because that's what I know, and what I know is loaded with context and limitations.

Do circles exist independently of humans who can perceive them? My instinct tells me yes of course but my instinct also interprets with my human brain some outside stimulus as a "circle," so I'm biased along with probably most other human brains. The nature of objective truth gets trippy.

The pointless persecution of trans women by people whose lives would be no different if they didn't bother with their bigotry campaigns never ceases to confuse me. Why go through all the trouble just to screw over a stranger? Surely their sadism can be satisfied in some other less harmful way?

I recently went on a trans rights march in a large city in the South through an area heavily trafficked by tourists mainly from the South. We got only demonstrations of support and they were pretty regular. If there were people around who were against us they felt like they didn't want to manifest that objection around the openly supportive people surrounding them. We did get an objection from a very passionate person when it was suggested someone on city council wasn't living up to their promises, but his objection was not against trans rights.

Conservatism has exactly one position, and understanding it will provide consistency to the entire political philosophy:

"The government must protect but not bind my group, and it must bind but not protect those not in my group."