Musician, writer, artist, gardener, Jane-of-all-trades.
I keep astonishingly busy with a wide variety of things and this blog may seem random in consequence. Expect Mass Effect fanfic (including the ongoing saga of pilot-lovin' Rhi Shepard), thoughts on disability, politics, and a liberal helping of goats. Especially baby goats.
And then [Vimes] realized why he was thinking like this.
It was because he wanted there to be conspirators.
It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy.
You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people.
It was so much easier to blame it on Them.
It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No-one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them.
We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.
Terry Pratchett, Jingo (via captainofalltheships)
Samuel Vimes dreamed about Clues.
He had a jaundiced view of Clues. He instinctively distrusted them. They got in the way.
And he distrusted the kind of person who’d take one look at another man and say in a lordly voice to his companion, “Ah, my dear sir, I can tell you nothing except that he is a left-handed stonemason who has spent some years in the merchant navy and has recently fallen on hard times,” and then unroll a lot of supercilious commentary about calluses and stance and the state of a man’s boots, when exactly the same comments could apply to a man who was wearing his old clothes because he’d been doing a spot of home bricklaying for a new barbecue pit, and had been tattooed once when he was drunk and seventeen and in fact got seasick on a wet pavement.
What arrogance! What an insult to the rich and chaotic variety of the human experience!
Feet of Clay, Terry Pratchett (via captainofalltheships)
I’m listening to PTerry’s Raising Steam while I do mind numbingly tedious press prep work, and his definition of “Speculative Building” made me cackle with glee: that speculative building is when the builder speculates on how far away they can get before the buyers realize how crappy the building is. :D
okay so i actually have a headcanon drunken vetinari (don’t you judge me)
but basically i see him staying entirely the same except for blown out pupils, just completely composed and spotting a tiny, slightly self-satisfied smile that he has when he’s pleased
except he turns into a fucking kleptomaniac
shows up in the party suddenly wearing a hat and going like ‘i stole this hat from someone. i like this hat.’
taking people’s shoes and building an impressive little pyramid out of them in some empty room
not actually sleeping with women but doing this drawn out speech where he convinces them that they are wonderful and that they should marry him and the ladies usually don’t know whether to laugh or say yes
and then he steals their shoes
(i’m talking about younger vetinari mostly i think the older version has calmed down on the proposing)
getting into fights except he subjugates his fighting partners and sits on them and shushes them and pets their face for a while (and steals their shoes)
if he’s REALLY really drunk he tries to blend into his background and succeeds only marginally and suddenly people can spot him standing still, half behind a curtain with a barely controlled tiny laugh and a weird hat (it’s okay tho, because everyone’s drunk at that point)
The number of drunken wizards’ hats he could acquire, tho’.
#just imagine all the blustering wizards slowly being de-hatted through the course of the night
I am so very here for Vetinari slowly and steadily acquiring a tower of wizard hats over the evening. He wears all of them at once.
WELL YOU JUST MADE THIS POST 100 % BETTER
The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socioeconomic unfairness.
Terry Pratchett, “Men At Arms”
This is one of the best breakdowns I’ve ever seen of how expensive it is to be poor. (via slephoto)
this is true on so many levels
I always think about the money my parents have spent fixing up our house or various used cars over the years
Omg the sheer amounts of money I’ve had to pour into the cheap piece of shit car I have. So absolutely true.
There’s a reason my cat is named Terry Pratchett