ALTit’s SHOP UPDATE DAY! turns out i have a fun unexpected dental surgery bill in a few days, so if you fancied telling your friends, cool! i’ve got whimsy, queer cryptids, ds9, the london tube, and limited edition hollow knight/silksong art! hope you like it!
I referred to something as a "real Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra moment" in conversation with someone who has never seen TNG, and let me tell you, that was a real Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra moment
recently my friend's comics professor told her that it's acceptable to use gen AI for script-writing but not for art, since a machine can't generate meaningful artistic work. meanwhile, my sister's screenwriting professor said that they can use gen AI for concept art and visualization, but that it won't be able to generate a script that's any good. and at my job, it seems like each department says that AI can be useful in every field except the one that they know best.
It's only ever the jobs we're unfamiliar with that we assume can be replaced with automation. The more attuned we are with certain processes, crafts, and occupations, the more we realize that gen AI will never be able to provide a suitable replacement. The case for its existence lies on our ignorance of the work and skill required to do everything we don't.
I wish more people were familiar with Gell-Mann Amnesia. It was originally coined to refer to media reporting specifically, but I feel like it applies just as well to ai now.
The phenomenon is this: you see a piece of writing (or an ai approximation) of something in your area of expertise. You see all the mistakes, misrepresentations, inaccuracies. You can see that it’s poorly produced, inaccurate trash. You see a piece of writing from the same outlet (or an ai approximation) of something in a field about which your personal experience is limited. It looks plausible enough to pass as probably all right to you, and you give it no further scrutiny, assuming it’s correct and fine.
But like… did you forget about the fact that it was produced by the same thing that made an absolute fucking dog’s breakfast of the thing you actually know about. Now, more than ever, we all need to hold the idea of this phenomenon in our mental back pocket. Like… please.
Elim Garak
The only good white washing
You can also add color to the mix! All those quaint postcard-esque colorful European houses that tourists clamour to see? That's limewash babey!!!
And you can apply multiple coats a year if you want the color to be opaque faster :]
normal way to think about making art
imagining your otp doing the forehead touch is literally the most important thing in the whole world. everybody take a second and stop scrolling and imagine your otp doing the forehead touch. okay. you can move on now.
I wish you would write a fic that's a garashir take on Data's Day. You're really good at setting scenes and making it feel like a real inhabited world. I want to see your version of Bashir dealing with healing minor and silly injuries all day (Miles comes in like three times lol) while his mind's on his date that night with Garak. Or Garak sewing all morning, feeding the gossip grapevine in the afternoon, and settling in for a cozy and stimulating conversation with Bashir in the evening
Anonymous friend, thank you!
This honestly isn’t far off what I’m nearly finished editing right now, which is set before and after Civil Defense, so I hope you’ll enjoy that one!
But as for now, here’s an extremely brief interlude before I toddle off to Bedfordshire:
In his various lines of work, Garak had mastered - or at least gained an adequate cursory knowledge of - many a skill and trade, but the one that had proven the most valuable to him, time and time again, was observation.
He had never seen the couple on the table to his right before, and their obvious glances about the establishment as they sat down suggested they were holding a conversation that was not meant to be heard.
The obvious response, therefore, was for Garak to do his best subtle listening in.
“He may look like it, but he’s not an idiot,” said the woman.
“I’m telling you, mpgkjhphhhllll - ” her companion muttered what was most likely a name just beyond Garak’s hearing range, “is an easy mark. Just threaten his wrrfrfrpph and he’ll crumble like an old piece of toast.”
“Okay, but do you think we can - ”
“Freshen your drink, Mister Garak?” Quark leaned over his shoulder, drinks tray in hand, customer service smile at its least sincere.
“Bup bup bup,” Garak cut him off with a raised hand. “I’m trying to eavesdrop, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re not being very subtle about it,” observed Quark.
“Well!” Garak scoffed. “I think you’ll find I can be very surreptitious when I want to be. Or rather, you won’t have found me at all.”
“Sure, Garak.” Quark shrugged. “Something on your mind?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Eh.”
“Doctor Bashir’s had his hands incredibly full with the seasonal Thelusian flu vaccination schedule and we’ve barely seen each other at all,” Garak told him, drumming his fingers on his mug. “I’ve been sitting on my opinions on Anne of Avonlea for four days!”
“Who’s Anne, and what system is Avonlea in?”
“It’s a book, Quark. A very old Earth book.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you, if you should ever choose to read it for yourself.”
“Are you sure that’s it?” asked Quark. “I can’t imagine getting that worked up about a novel… oh, I get it. You miss your boyfriend.”
“I miss my boyfriend, yes.” Garak sighed.
“Well,” said Quark, “you should let him know.”
“Oh, I most certainly will when I see him.”
“No, I mean right now,” clarified Quark. Garak turned, and just like magic, there was his dear Julian, striding through the door like an exhausted beanstalk. Something about the light from the promenade streaming in through the doorway behind him made him look even more luminous than he usually did. He always did have a lovely glow about him, thought Garak.
“Hello, darling,” he said, greeting Garak with the softest kiss. “Sorry I’m late. You know, one appointment goes overtime and they just all stack up after that.”
“I know, my love,” Garak replied, taking his hand. He was so warm. “Are you sufficiently prepared for my many and comprehensive thoughts on Earth educational strategy?”
“I can’t wait to hear them,” Julian smiled.
“Ah, but before I go,” Garak turned back to Quark, lowering his voice, “you might want to keep an eye on those two, at the table just over there. I don’t know who they’re planning to kidnap, bribe, or blackmail, but something’s afoot.”
“And you think I might want to get in on it?” asked Quark.
“I was going to suggest you might want to inform the local constabulary,” he said, “but really, what you choose to do with the information is no concern of mine.”
“Is this something I should be concerned about?” Julian asked him, snuggling against Garak’s shoulder as they left the bar, arm in arm.
“Not yet,” Garak shrugged, “but it’s always something, isn’t it?”
“Not right now, it isn’t,” countered Julian. “Right now, I want to have a spirited debate over a piece of classic literature.”
“Then you shall have it, my dear.” Garak led them past the replimat, and directly to a turbolift to the habitat ring: though a casual lunch was the classic setting for their book club, an absence of some days called for a somewhat more intimate environment. “First of all, when are those two girls going to confess their love for each other?”
#the girls are fighting!!
STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE • 3.07 “Civil Defense”
thekinglemingle
magicmooshka
whatthefoucault
manesalex
defconprime
my-fav-tiktoks
agave
hapalopus
urghblergh
dog-teeth
m-azing
frakes