#snob — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #snob, aggregated by home.social.
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#dailydrawing No.6
7hrs - Ibis Paint free
He's such a snoot.
This art is a bit older, I did not want to post it, to maybe correct it someday. But I never will. I do not like that guy. And he already took way too much time for a #dailydoodle XDOh, and I really should start using references. Yeah.
#mastodonart #doodle #drawing #sketch
#mastoart #angel #snob #naked #study #anatomy #wings #IbisPaint -
CW: implied male nudity
#dailydrawing No.6
7hrs - Ibis Paint free
He's such a snoot.
This art is a bit older, I did not want to post it, to maybe correct it someday. But I never will. I do not like that guy. And he already took way too much time for a #dailydoodle XDOh, and I really should start using references. Yeah.
#mastodonart #doodle #drawing #sketch #mastoart #angel #snob #naked #study #anatomy #wings #IbisPaint
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#dailydrawing No.6
7hrs - Ibis Paint free
He's such a snoot.
This art is a bit older, I did not want to post it, to maybe correct it someday. But I never will. I do not like that guy. And he already took way too much time for a #dailydoodle XDOh, and I really should start using references. Yeah.
#mastodonart #doodle #drawing #sketch
#mastoart #angel #snob #naked #study #anatomy #wings #IbisPaint -
CW: implied male nudity
#dailydrawing No.6
7hrs - Ibis Paint free
He's such a snoot.
This art is a bit older, I did not want to post it, to maybe correct it someday. But I never will. I do not like that guy. And he already took way too much time for a #dailydoodle XDOh, and I really should start using references. Yeah.
#mastodonart #doodle #drawing #sketch #mastoart #angel #snob #naked #study #anatomy #wings #IbisPaint
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#dailydrawing No.6
7hrs - Ibis Paint free
He's such a snoot.
This art is a bit older, I did not want to post it, to maybe correct it someday. But I never will. I do not like that guy. And he already took way too much time for a #dailydoodle XDOh, and I really should start using references. Yeah.
#mastodonart #doodle #drawing #sketch
#mastoart #angel #snob #naked #study #anatomy #wings #IbisPaint -
Still YUkon
My 212 number is YUkon 2. The exchange was retired as a spoken name sometime in the 1960s, when the phone company finished converting the system from alphanumeric to pure digits, and the YU that used to stand at the front of every Upper West Side number became a 9 and an 8 on a rotary dial. The number remained the same. What changed was the meaning. YUkon 2-8888 was an address. 982-8888 is a string of digits.
I have been a 212 snob since 1988, which is to say since graduate school at Columbia when a 212 number was something you earned by moving into Manhattan and something you lost when you moved out. The area code was geography enforced by the phone company. My first 212 was 529-3939 in Alphabet City, and I lost it when we moved, the way everyone lost their number in the years before portability, and the number went back to Bell Atlantic and reappeared years later at the switchboard of a Manhattan hotelier. I have the receipts. I have the memory. The 3939 was mine for the years it was mine and then it was someone else’s, and this was the deal.
Local Number Portability for wireless went into effect in 2003, a change that felt at the time like civic liberation. The FCC had decided that a phone number belonged to the person rather than the carrier, first for landlines in the 1990s and then for wireless in 2003, which meant you could take your number with you when you changed providers. By 2011 it was possible to buy a 212 number from a reseller like 212AreaCode.com and have it ported to Google Voice within twenty-four hours. I did this. I am on my eigth 212 number now and I am not apologizing for any of them. The 212 I carry today lives inside a Google Voice account that rings a phone that might be anywhere. The area code no longer tells the truth about where I sit.
The question is whether the 212 still means anything after the geography has been severed, and the answer is that it means a different thing than it used to. A 212 in 1988 meant an address on a switchboard in Manhattan. The 212 today means a claim on a city that the claimant may or may not live in. My 212 is a claim. A twenty-five-year-old in Topeka who bought a 212 from an eBay seller last week has also made a claim. We are not making the same claim, and the difference matters, but both claims are legitimate under the rules the FCC wrote.
What the 212 still signals, for those who can read the signal, is a citizen of the old city. A 212 in 2026 is an archive badge. It documents three things: knowledge of what 212 used to mean, enough care to obtain or preserve the number, and some relationship with the old city in memory or aspiration. Manhattan residence is not one of them. This is the same kind of signal as knowing which subway line runs express on weekends, or which deli closed in 2004, or when the 9 train stopped running. It is urban memory encoded in a data field. The data field still exists even after the referent has moved.
The alphanumeric exchanges were the original form of this signal. BUtterfield 8 in John O’Hara’s novel meant the Upper East Side. Pennsylvania 6-5000 in the Glenn Miller song was the Hotel Pennsylvania on Seventh Avenue, a number that answered for eighty years before the hotel was demolished. YUkon was an Upper West Side exchange. SCHuyler was another. MUrray Hill sat east of Fifth in the 30s. TRafalgar covered another slice of the West Side. A person reading a phone number in 1958 knew roughly which neighborhood the phone sat in. The area code was not used for local dialing because the exchange name already told you the neighborhood. When the area code system was built out in the 1950s and 1960s, 212 was the entire city. When 718 was introduced in 1984 for the outer boroughs, 212 gradually narrowed to Manhattan. The 212 became the Manhattan stamp at the exact moment the exchange names were fading out. One signal system replaced another.
The replacement was cleaner but carried less information. YUkon 2 told you a neighborhood. Manhattan 212 told you a borough. Portable 212 tells you nothing about location. Each step was a loss of resolution, and each step happened for good operational reasons, and the cumulative effect is a phone number that now communicates almost nothing about where the person answering it is standing. The number retains symbolic weight because a few generations of New Yorkers still carry the memory of what the digits used to mean. The weight is inherited. Inheritance is not proof of residence.
The rest of the phone number system has decayed around the area code question. Caller ID is no longer reliable because spoofing tools let robocallers display any number they want. The consumer answer to this has been to stop answering the phone. Unknown numbers go to voicemail. Known numbers from a business go to voicemail. Calls from numbers the phone does not recognize are presumed fraudulent. The phone number as a communication channel has been gutted by its own abuse, and the younger generation has responded by moving to text, to app messages, to Slack channels and Signal groups and WhatsApp threads, to every channel except the voice call. The phone number persists as a login credential and as a verification token. Its original function as a way to speak with another person has become residual.
The collapse makes the 212 a more interesting sign than it was in 1988. The 212 is no longer competitive with other identity markers because the whole identity-marker system built around phone numbers has collapsed. What remains of the phone number is the symbolic residue, and the 212 carries more symbolic residue than any other area code in the country. It retains the weight of old New York, old Manhattan, the city of pay phones and directories and the operator who connected your call. A 212 in 2026 is a period piece worn on purpose. The person wearing it is saying something about what they remember or what they want to belong to.
Nothing in this argument defends snobbery. Snobbery requires that the marker confer real status, and a 212 no longer confers real status because the 646 holder and the 917 holder and the 332 holder and the 929 holder and the 347 holder all live in the same city you do. The snob position requires a hierarchy the portability rules dismantled. What the 212 confers now is continuity. The holder of a 212 is continuing a line. That holder may have inherited the number from a parent who moved into the city in 1971, or bought the number from a reseller last Tuesday, or held the number through six moves across three boroughs because portability made it possible. The line carries the meaning, and the resolution of the signal is a footnote.
My current 212 number ends in 8888. I bought it from David Day in 2013 after searching for a number with the right weight to the ear. Before me, 982-8888 answered at the Avenue A Bistro Cafe at 103 Avenue A, at A1 Fitness Equipment Corp on East 7th Street, at Davis Design Co on East 12th Street, and at a G2 Sushi place at the same Avenue A address as the bistro. All four sat within ten blocks of the apartment where I had lived in the late 1980s with the 3939. The digits had an East Village biography before they became mine.
The 8888 was a deliberate choice. I had already learned the hard way what certain digits mean. In 2005 I had a cell number with four 4s in it, ending in 4040, and every time I called my favorite Chinese restaurant in the East Village the elderly man on the phone said “Lucky Lucky Number!” in a smoke-raspy voice when I gave him the digits. The teenage delivery driver repeated the phrase three times at the door, smiling and nodding. I thought for years I had been blessed. A commenter eventually explained that the four in Chinese sounds like the word for death, that my number was therefore dialing death by his count six times in a single phone number, and that the triple “Lucky Lucky Number!” at the door was a protective counter-chant to balance the unlucky energy I was bringing to their shop. I killed the 4040 number in 2006 and replaced it with a randomly assigned cellular number whose digits summed to a figure divisible by three, which is good in this system. By 2013 I had learned enough to select the 8888 deliberately. The number eight in Chinese numerology associates with prosperity and the doubled pair with joy, and four eights stacked at the end of a 212 is the kind of aspiration an East Village veteran can carry on a line without having to apologize at the delivery door. My ten digits carry geographic memory and cultural memory at once, and two decades of sushi orders and fitness equipment deliveries are laminated into the number I answer to today.
My YUkon 2 still answers. The exchange name is not printed anywhere on my phone, not legible in any caller ID window, not remembered by anyone who calls me who is under the age of seventy. The YU is still in the digits. Anyone who knows that 98 spells YU on a rotary dial can read the old exchange under the new number, the way you can read a previous tenant’s wallpaper under the paint in a renovated apartment. The 212 means the same thing. The city underneath is still there. You just need to know what you are looking at.
#212 #areaCode #connection #conversation #identity #meaning #meme #newYorkCity #phone #phoneNumber #rotaryDial #snob #tech #telephone -
Still YUkon
My 212 number is YUkon 2. The exchange was retired as a spoken name sometime in the 1960s, when the phone company finished converting the system from alphanumeric to pure digits, and the YU that used to stand at the front of every Upper West Side number became a 9 and an 8 on a rotary dial. The number remained the same. What changed was the meaning. YUkon 2-8888 was an address. 982-8888 is a string of digits.
I have been a 212 snob since 1988, which is to say since graduate school at Columbia when a 212 number was something you earned by moving into Manhattan and something you lost when you moved out. The area code was geography enforced by the phone company. My first 212 was 529-3939 in Alphabet City, and I lost it when we moved, the way everyone lost their number in the years before portability, and the number went back to Bell Atlantic and reappeared years later at the switchboard of a Manhattan hotelier. I have the receipts. I have the memory. The 3939 was mine for the years it was mine and then it was someone else’s, and this was the deal.
Local Number Portability for wireless went into effect in 2003, a change that felt at the time like civic liberation. The FCC had decided that a phone number belonged to the person rather than the carrier, first for landlines in the 1990s and then for wireless in 2003, which meant you could take your number with you when you changed providers. By 2011 it was possible to buy a 212 number from a reseller like 212AreaCode.com and have it ported to Google Voice within twenty-four hours. I did this. I am on my eigth 212 number now and I am not apologizing for any of them. The 212 I carry today lives inside a Google Voice account that rings a phone that might be anywhere. The area code no longer tells the truth about where I sit.
The question is whether the 212 still means anything after the geography has been severed, and the answer is that it means a different thing than it used to. A 212 in 1988 meant an address on a switchboard in Manhattan. The 212 today means a claim on a city that the claimant may or may not live in. My 212 is a claim. A twenty-five-year-old in Topeka who bought a 212 from an eBay seller last week has also made a claim. We are not making the same claim, and the difference matters, but both claims are legitimate under the rules the FCC wrote.
What the 212 still signals, for those who can read the signal, is a citizen of the old city. A 212 in 2026 is an archive badge. It documents three things: knowledge of what 212 used to mean, enough care to obtain or preserve the number, and some relationship with the old city in memory or aspiration. Manhattan residence is not one of them. This is the same kind of signal as knowing which subway line runs express on weekends, or which deli closed in 2004, or when the 9 train stopped running. It is urban memory encoded in a data field. The data field still exists even after the referent has moved.
The alphanumeric exchanges were the original form of this signal. BUtterfield 8 in John O’Hara’s novel meant the Upper East Side. Pennsylvania 6-5000 in the Glenn Miller song was the Hotel Pennsylvania on Seventh Avenue, a number that answered for eighty years before the hotel was demolished. YUkon was an Upper West Side exchange. SCHuyler was another. MUrray Hill sat east of Fifth in the 30s. TRafalgar covered another slice of the West Side. A person reading a phone number in 1958 knew roughly which neighborhood the phone sat in. The area code was not used for local dialing because the exchange name already told you the neighborhood. When the area code system was built out in the 1950s and 1960s, 212 was the entire city. When 718 was introduced in 1984 for the outer boroughs, 212 gradually narrowed to Manhattan. The 212 became the Manhattan stamp at the exact moment the exchange names were fading out. One signal system replaced another.
The replacement was cleaner but carried less information. YUkon 2 told you a neighborhood. Manhattan 212 told you a borough. Portable 212 tells you nothing about location. Each step was a loss of resolution, and each step happened for good operational reasons, and the cumulative effect is a phone number that now communicates almost nothing about where the person answering it is standing. The number retains symbolic weight because a few generations of New Yorkers still carry the memory of what the digits used to mean. The weight is inherited. Inheritance is not proof of residence.
The rest of the phone number system has decayed around the area code question. Caller ID is no longer reliable because spoofing tools let robocallers display any number they want. The consumer answer to this has been to stop answering the phone. Unknown numbers go to voicemail. Known numbers from a business go to voicemail. Calls from numbers the phone does not recognize are presumed fraudulent. The phone number as a communication channel has been gutted by its own abuse, and the younger generation has responded by moving to text, to app messages, to Slack channels and Signal groups and WhatsApp threads, to every channel except the voice call. The phone number persists as a login credential and as a verification token. Its original function as a way to speak with another person has become residual.
The collapse makes the 212 a more interesting sign than it was in 1988. The 212 is no longer competitive with other identity markers because the whole identity-marker system built around phone numbers has collapsed. What remains of the phone number is the symbolic residue, and the 212 carries more symbolic residue than any other area code in the country. It retains the weight of old New York, old Manhattan, the city of pay phones and directories and the operator who connected your call. A 212 in 2026 is a period piece worn on purpose. The person wearing it is saying something about what they remember or what they want to belong to.
Nothing in this argument defends snobbery. Snobbery requires that the marker confer real status, and a 212 no longer confers real status because the 646 holder and the 917 holder and the 332 holder and the 929 holder and the 347 holder all live in the same city you do. The snob position requires a hierarchy the portability rules dismantled. What the 212 confers now is continuity. The holder of a 212 is continuing a line. That holder may have inherited the number from a parent who moved into the city in 1971, or bought the number from a reseller last Tuesday, or held the number through six moves across three boroughs because portability made it possible. The line carries the meaning, and the resolution of the signal is a footnote.
My current 212 number ends in 8888. I bought it from David Day in 2013 after searching for a number with the right weight to the ear. Before me, 982-8888 answered at the Avenue A Bistro Cafe at 103 Avenue A, at A1 Fitness Equipment Corp on East 7th Street, at Davis Design Co on East 12th Street, and at a G2 Sushi place at the same Avenue A address as the bistro. All four sat within ten blocks of the apartment where I had lived in the late 1980s with the 3939. The digits had an East Village biography before they became mine.
The 8888 was a deliberate choice. I had already learned the hard way what certain digits mean. In 2005 I had a cell number with four 4s in it, ending in 4040, and every time I called my favorite Chinese restaurant in the East Village the elderly man on the phone said “Lucky Lucky Number!” in a smoke-raspy voice when I gave him the digits. The teenage delivery driver repeated the phrase three times at the door, smiling and nodding. I thought for years I had been blessed. A commenter eventually explained that the four in Chinese sounds like the word for death, that my number was therefore dialing death by his count six times in a single phone number, and that the triple “Lucky Lucky Number!” at the door was a protective counter-chant to balance the unlucky energy I was bringing to their shop. I killed the 4040 number in 2006 and replaced it with a randomly assigned cellular number whose digits summed to a figure divisible by three, which is good in this system. By 2013 I had learned enough to select the 8888 deliberately. The number eight in Chinese numerology associates with prosperity and the doubled pair with joy, and four eights stacked at the end of a 212 is the kind of aspiration an East Village veteran can carry on a line without having to apologize at the delivery door. My ten digits carry geographic memory and cultural memory at once, and two decades of sushi orders and fitness equipment deliveries are laminated into the number I answer to today.
My YUkon 2 still answers. The exchange name is not printed anywhere on my phone, not legible in any caller ID window, not remembered by anyone who calls me who is under the age of seventy. The YU is still in the digits. Anyone who knows that 98 spells YU on a rotary dial can read the old exchange under the new number, the way you can read a previous tenant’s wallpaper under the paint in a renovated apartment. The 212 means the same thing. The city underneath is still there. You just need to know what you are looking at.
#212 #areaCode #connection #conversation #identity #meaning #meme #newYorkCity #phone #phoneNumber #rotaryDial #snob #tech #telephone -
Still YUkon
My 212 number is YUkon 2. The exchange was retired as a spoken name sometime in the 1960s, when the phone company finished converting the system from alphanumeric to pure digits, and the YU that used to stand at the front of every Upper West Side number became a 9 and an 8 on a rotary dial. The number remained the same. What changed was the meaning. YUkon 2-8888 was an address. 982-8888 is a string of digits.
I have been a 212 snob since 1988, which is to say since graduate school at Columbia when a 212 number was something you earned by moving into Manhattan and something you lost when you moved out. The area code was geography enforced by the phone company. My first 212 was 529-3939 in Alphabet City, and I lost it when we moved, the way everyone lost their number in the years before portability, and the number went back to Bell Atlantic and reappeared years later at the switchboard of a Manhattan hotelier. I have the receipts. I have the memory. The 3939 was mine for the years it was mine and then it was someone else’s, and this was the deal.
Local Number Portability for wireless went into effect in 2003, a change that felt at the time like civic liberation. The FCC had decided that a phone number belonged to the person rather than the carrier, first for landlines in the 1990s and then for wireless in 2003, which meant you could take your number with you when you changed providers. By 2011 it was possible to buy a 212 number from a reseller like 212AreaCode.com and have it ported to Google Voice within twenty-four hours. I did this. I am on my eigth 212 number now and I am not apologizing for any of them. The 212 I carry today lives inside a Google Voice account that rings a phone that might be anywhere. The area code no longer tells the truth about where I sit.
The question is whether the 212 still means anything after the geography has been severed, and the answer is that it means a different thing than it used to. A 212 in 1988 meant an address on a switchboard in Manhattan. The 212 today means a claim on a city that the claimant may or may not live in. My 212 is a claim. A twenty-five-year-old in Topeka who bought a 212 from an eBay seller last week has also made a claim. We are not making the same claim, and the difference matters, but both claims are legitimate under the rules the FCC wrote.
What the 212 still signals, for those who can read the signal, is a citizen of the old city. A 212 in 2026 is an archive badge. It documents three things: knowledge of what 212 used to mean, enough care to obtain or preserve the number, and some relationship with the old city in memory or aspiration. Manhattan residence is not one of them. This is the same kind of signal as knowing which subway line runs express on weekends, or which deli closed in 2004, or when the 9 train stopped running. It is urban memory encoded in a data field. The data field still exists even after the referent has moved.
The alphanumeric exchanges were the original form of this signal. BUtterfield 8 in John O’Hara’s novel meant the Upper East Side. Pennsylvania 6-5000 in the Glenn Miller song was the Hotel Pennsylvania on Seventh Avenue, a number that answered for eighty years before the hotel was demolished. YUkon was an Upper West Side exchange. SCHuyler was another. MUrray Hill sat east of Fifth in the 30s. TRafalgar covered another slice of the West Side. A person reading a phone number in 1958 knew roughly which neighborhood the phone sat in. The area code was not used for local dialing because the exchange name already told you the neighborhood. When the area code system was built out in the 1950s and 1960s, 212 was the entire city. When 718 was introduced in 1984 for the outer boroughs, 212 gradually narrowed to Manhattan. The 212 became the Manhattan stamp at the exact moment the exchange names were fading out. One signal system replaced another.
The replacement was cleaner but carried less information. YUkon 2 told you a neighborhood. Manhattan 212 told you a borough. Portable 212 tells you nothing about location. Each step was a loss of resolution, and each step happened for good operational reasons, and the cumulative effect is a phone number that now communicates almost nothing about where the person answering it is standing. The number retains symbolic weight because a few generations of New Yorkers still carry the memory of what the digits used to mean. The weight is inherited. Inheritance is not proof of residence.
The rest of the phone number system has decayed around the area code question. Caller ID is no longer reliable because spoofing tools let robocallers display any number they want. The consumer answer to this has been to stop answering the phone. Unknown numbers go to voicemail. Known numbers from a business go to voicemail. Calls from numbers the phone does not recognize are presumed fraudulent. The phone number as a communication channel has been gutted by its own abuse, and the younger generation has responded by moving to text, to app messages, to Slack channels and Signal groups and WhatsApp threads, to every channel except the voice call. The phone number persists as a login credential and as a verification token. Its original function as a way to speak with another person has become residual.
The collapse makes the 212 a more interesting sign than it was in 1988. The 212 is no longer competitive with other identity markers because the whole identity-marker system built around phone numbers has collapsed. What remains of the phone number is the symbolic residue, and the 212 carries more symbolic residue than any other area code in the country. It retains the weight of old New York, old Manhattan, the city of pay phones and directories and the operator who connected your call. A 212 in 2026 is a period piece worn on purpose. The person wearing it is saying something about what they remember or what they want to belong to.
Nothing in this argument defends snobbery. Snobbery requires that the marker confer real status, and a 212 no longer confers real status because the 646 holder and the 917 holder and the 332 holder and the 929 holder and the 347 holder all live in the same city you do. The snob position requires a hierarchy the portability rules dismantled. What the 212 confers now is continuity. The holder of a 212 is continuing a line. That holder may have inherited the number from a parent who moved into the city in 1971, or bought the number from a reseller last Tuesday, or held the number through six moves across three boroughs because portability made it possible. The line carries the meaning, and the resolution of the signal is a footnote.
My current 212 number ends in 8888. I bought it from David Day in 2013 after searching for a number with the right weight to the ear. Before me, 982-8888 answered at the Avenue A Bistro Cafe at 103 Avenue A, at A1 Fitness Equipment Corp on East 7th Street, at Davis Design Co on East 12th Street, and at a G2 Sushi place at the same Avenue A address as the bistro. All four sat within ten blocks of the apartment where I had lived in the late 1980s with the 3939. The digits had an East Village biography before they became mine.
The 8888 was a deliberate choice. I had already learned the hard way what certain digits mean. In 2005 I had a cell number with four 4s in it, ending in 4040, and every time I called my favorite Chinese restaurant in the East Village the elderly man on the phone said “Lucky Lucky Number!” in a smoke-raspy voice when I gave him the digits. The teenage delivery driver repeated the phrase three times at the door, smiling and nodding. I thought for years I had been blessed. A commenter eventually explained that the four in Chinese sounds like the word for death, that my number was therefore dialing death by his count six times in a single phone number, and that the triple “Lucky Lucky Number!” at the door was a protective counter-chant to balance the unlucky energy I was bringing to their shop. I killed the 4040 number in 2006 and replaced it with a randomly assigned cellular number whose digits summed to a figure divisible by three, which is good in this system. By 2013 I had learned enough to select the 8888 deliberately. The number eight in Chinese numerology associates with prosperity and the doubled pair with joy, and four eights stacked at the end of a 212 is the kind of aspiration an East Village veteran can carry on a line without having to apologize at the delivery door. My ten digits carry geographic memory and cultural memory at once, and two decades of sushi orders and fitness equipment deliveries are laminated into the number I answer to today.
My YUkon 2 still answers. The exchange name is not printed anywhere on my phone, not legible in any caller ID window, not remembered by anyone who calls me who is under the age of seventy. The YU is still in the digits. Anyone who knows that 98 spells YU on a rotary dial can read the old exchange under the new number, the way you can read a previous tenant’s wallpaper under the paint in a renovated apartment. The 212 means the same thing. The city underneath is still there. You just need to know what you are looking at.
#212 #areaCode #connection #conversation #identity #meaning #meme #newYorkCity #phone #phoneNumber #rotaryDial #snob #tech #telephone -
ADORO IL GENIO - ANIMALI FANTASTICI
Tutto il mondo è paese, ok, ma questo è snobismo immobiliare!
#adoroilgenio #21novembre #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy #vignette #immobiliare #attico #superattico #snob #tuttoilmondoèpaese #invidia #savana #casa #leggedellajungla #amici #conlapuzzasottoilnaso #appartamenti #appartamentoinvendita
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ADORO IL GENIO - ANIMALI FANTASTICI
Tutto il mondo è paese, ok, ma questo è snobismo immobiliare!
#adoroilgenio #21novembre #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy #vignette #immobiliare #attico #superattico #snob #tuttoilmondoèpaese #invidia #savana #casa #leggedellajungla #amici #conlapuzzasottoilnaso #appartamenti #appartamentoinvendita
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ADORO IL GENIO - ANIMALI FANTASTICI
Tutto il mondo è paese, ok, ma questo è snobismo immobiliare!
#adoroilgenio #21novembre #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy #vignette #immobiliare #attico #superattico #snob #tuttoilmondoèpaese #invidia #savana #casa #leggedellajungla #amici #conlapuzzasottoilnaso #appartamenti #appartamentoinvendita
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ADORO IL GENIO - ANIMALI FANTASTICI
Tutto il mondo è paese, ok, ma questo è snobismo immobiliare!
#adoroilgenio #21novembre #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy #vignette #immobiliare #attico #superattico #snob #tuttoilmondoèpaese #invidia #savana #casa #leggedellajungla #amici #conlapuzzasottoilnaso #appartamenti #appartamentoinvendita
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ADORO IL GENIO - ANIMALI FANTASTICI
Tutto il mondo è paese, ok, ma questo è snobismo immobiliare!
#adoroilgenio #21novembre #comic #comics #fumetto #fumetti #humor #comedy #vignette #immobiliare #attico #superattico #snob #tuttoilmondoèpaese #invidia #savana #casa #leggedellajungla #amici #conlapuzzasottoilnaso #appartamenti #appartamentoinvendita
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En "Parásito", Rober es un hombre adinerado con aires de superioridad que trata mal a las personas debido a un trauma oculto de infancia
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En "Parásito", Rober es un hombre adinerado con aires de superioridad que trata mal a las personas debido a un trauma oculto de infancia
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North American premiere of a piece where 50 pianos are each tuned 2 cents apart. Since there are only 100 cents between half steps, these pianos are each in tune but none are in tune with any other. The descriptions make the environmental composition sound wild in a good way - maybe for a novice, or an untrained ear. I think for me it'd be like a squeaking chalk board.
#conservatory #snob #turns #ear #half #step #tuning #tuned #chromatic #piano #near #perfect #pitch
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/in-an-experimental-composition-50-pianos-tuned-to-slightly-different-frequencies-play-together-180987442/ -
North American premiere of a piece where 50 pianos are each tuned 2 cents apart. Since there are only 100 cents between half steps, these pianos are each in tune but none are in tune with any other. The descriptions make the environmental composition sound wild in a good way - maybe for a novice, or an untrained ear. I think for me it'd be like a squeaking chalk board.
#conservatory #snob #turns #ear #half #step #tuning #tuned #chromatic #piano #near #perfect #pitch
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/in-an-experimental-composition-50-pianos-tuned-to-slightly-different-frequencies-play-together-180987442/ -
Last night I got to see how severe the gentrification of Koenji really is.
Aside from the glossy aesthetic—like under the tracks trying to look like Ebisu or something—the vibe is totally different.
Every little bar/restaurant we passed, the staff called to us "Yo, man!" like we were regulars or old friends. So fake. 🤮
It's like a lame tourist version of the Koenji I lived in and loved.
There are still glimmers—relics—of the past, but The Life is gone.
/rant
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Drammatico e vergognoso soprattutto quello che dice #JDVance : praticamente ODIA noi europei e il nostro continente, chissà come mai...
Lui che aveva scritto l'apologia (fascistoide) degli #hillibilly alla fine è più #snob di tanta sinistra
Semplicemente scandaloso e inquietante
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I did something I rarely do. I let myself sleep late on a work day. Not too late, but later than usual.
The last few nights I have had the worst sleep. Barely five hours on Sunday and Monday nights. Less than five hours on Tuesday night. I was practically in a coma for much of the day yesterday. I needed sleep so badly.
Last night? Almost seven hours. Still not enough sleep, but so much more than I’ve been getting. Bliss. I usually set an alarm on my watch for 5:00am. Jen has an alarm set for a half an hour after that, but I am usually down cellar exercising before her alarm goes off.
Today? I slept until a little after 6:00. It meant I was running behind throughout my entire morning routine, but it was worth it. I’ll still probably be asleep on my feet by around 7:00pm tonight, but for now? I feel a little better.
Okay then, part two of this post is going to deal with Star Wars: The Acolyte and it is ABSOLUTELY SPOILER FILLED. If you haven’t watched the show, bail out now. I have two stupid comments that are burning a hole in my tiny little brain and I have to get them out and THEY ARE SPOILERS so you have been warned.
Seriously… if you want to watch the show and you haven’t yet, get out now.
You have been warned… again…
Last warning…
Okay. So this is the same comment made twice. Once is me being a snob, the other is me getting mine.
Before the show aired, people online were over the moon about Carrie-Anne Moss playing Jedi Master Indara. People who’ve read the High Republic books and/or comics were all excited about what a bad ass warrior Indara is and how viewers were going to be over the moon at how awesome she is. Also… it’s freakin’ Carrie-Anne Moss. People were foaming at the mouth over having such an awesome actor in the cast.
Episode one… the first scene… Carrie-Anne Moss as Jedi Master Indara in a lightsaber fight. This is it! Here it comes… oh… she’s dead… oh.
I laughed out loud knowing that the internet would be turned on its ear over that scene. People were going to be pissed and it made me happy. Screw your expectations! Take that, know it all book readers! I was just tickled.
Fast forward to episode five. The episode was awesome. They saved up a whole season’s worth of action scenes and threw them all in our face at once. Just fight after fight after fight. It was fantastic. When Jedi Padawan Jecki Lon started fighting our dark side bad guy, the action was incredible. I was watching on my laptop and I thought to myself, if they want to do a spin off show where this kid just fights everyone, I will be totally, 100% on board… oh… she’s dead… oh… I guess that’s what I get for laughing at the Indara fans… Okay… I totally got what was coming to me. Serves me right for being snobby about people being snobby. Lesson learned, Acolyte. Lesson learned.
Okay, the spoilers have ended. You may go on with the rest of your day now. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I appreciate your patience.
https://robertjames1971.blog/2024/06/27/sleep-and-spoilers/
#Disney #Disney_ #health #karma #payBack #retrobution #review #Sleep #snob #snobbery #snobby #snobish #spoilers #StarWars #starWarsTheAcolyte #starWarsTheAcolyte #Television #theAcolyte #TV
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I hate to be a #snob. But coach air #travel has become so miserable, that I have to use all means neccessary to get into comfortable legroom. I can't take any more legroom #shrinkage.
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I’m a nerd. I am an extra nerdy nerd when it comes to shaving. My father never used shaving cream from a can or a bottle. He used a brush with shaving soap in a mug. Old school… is that the proper term? I started out with an electric razor but lost it somewhere and had to borrow his mug/soap/brush kit once and ever since then I have been a mug/soap/brush user too. Maybe the best way to describe it is a mug/soap/brush snob. Yeah, that works.
Years ago… I can’t remember when… 2008? 2010? Jen and I were on a weekend getaway in Manhattan and we stumbled across this super fancy, high end, shaving supply store. We went in because Jen wanted to feed my shaving snobbery because she loves me. We left with this super fancy brush and a super fancy razor handle and a groovy stand that held them both. The razor handle just used Gillette Mach 3 blades, which I was using at the time anyway. The last time I changed the blade the connection piece of the handle broke. I managed to piece it back together but I couldn’t take the blade off anymore. Today I needed a shave… badly… and I also needed a new blade. I tried to figure out how to get the blade off so I could change it, but as I feared the whole thing is broken in such a way that I cannot fix it anymore.
I’ve been a shaving snob with this snooty razor for all of these years. 10 years? 12 years? Something like that. I just ordered a less fancy, less snobby, but still kinda snobby new Mach 3 razor handle online. I am sad. Like… why am I sad? Because I am a snob, and also because Jen and I bought that razor together on a really great weekend trip to New York and that made it extra special.
The new razor is going to be fine. I think it will fit on my snooty, snobby razor and brush stand. It’ll be fine. It won’t, however, be the same. I am a sad snooty snob.
https://robertjames1971.blog/2024/05/09/rest-in-peace-razor/
#Family #fancyShavingKit #grooming #razor #shaving #shavingBrush #shavingKit #shavingSoap #skincare #snob #snobby #snooty
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Ricordo ancora oggi quando comprai questo #CD (stava su #Yesterdays una raccolta con due inediti) da #Ricordi su #ViadelCorso a #Roma (non esiste più)
Ero andato con un amico che di #Prog non gli fregava nulla, anzi lui si sentiva i #Ramones, e io ai suoi occhi (e orecchie) ero solo noioso e pure #snob
=> Ebbene: quando sentii per la prima volta nel #discman con la cuffia questa canzone con #Anderson che canta fisso col #leslie sulla voce, pensavo fosse rotto! 🤣
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frau setzt sich im bus mir gegenüber. früher hätte ich gedacht: "ihh, die riecht nach tabakrauch". heute: "ihh, billiger virginiatabak #snob
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Not me getting mad at how awful "pops" orchestra renditions of classical compositions can be. Woke with a need for "Rhapsody in Blue," but my only #vinyl was a hand-me-down Arthur Fiedler/Boston Pops rendition with a glorious cover and a terrible interpretation. Quickly moved back to my digital copy of Katia and Marielle Labeque's fabulous two-piano version.
In the '80s we played this nearly every Sunday morning.
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E' il video più condiviso su #Wcrap (e purtroppo pure su #telegram ) quest'anno.
Personalmente, devo dire la verità, lo trovo di cattivo gusto (e pure violento, roba che viene direttamente d'oltre oceano dove le armi da fuoco si trovano pure dentro le patatine), ma non voglio fare lo #snob e quindi 🤡 🤠 😃
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Ben ik een hele grote snob als ik, tijdens het scrollen door deze lijst, de hele tijd denk "pffff mainstream!"?
☞ https://ondergewaardeerdeliedjes.nl/snob-2000-keuzelijst-2022/
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How I talk on the birdsite is already different from how I talk here, in the Fediverse [sic].
I consider myself a words person and have enough self reflection to know that I am also snobby and when I'm being snobby.
#words #neoligisms #fediverse #branding #brandingsorry #snob
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C'est la première fois que je vois ça : je viens d'acheter des chaussettes, chacune étant marquée "left foot" ou "right foot". Impossible de distinguer la chaussette gauche de la chaussette droite sans consulter l'inscription. #snob
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I’m a nerd. I am an extra nerdy nerd when it comes to shaving. My father never used shaving cream from a can or a bottle. He used a brush with shaving soap in a mug. Old school… is that the proper term? I started out with an electric razor but lost it somewhere and had to borrow his mug/soap/brush kit once and ever since then I have been a mug/soap/brush user too. Maybe the best way to describe it is a mug/soap/brush snob. Yeah, that works.
Years ago… I can’t remember when… 2008? 2010? Jen and I were on a weekend getaway in Manhattan and we stumbled across this super fancy, high end, shaving supply store. We went in because Jen wanted to feed my shaving snobbery because she loves me. We left with this super fancy brush and a super fancy razor handle and a groovy stand that held them both. The razor handle just used Gillette Mach 3 blades, which I was using at the time anyway. The last time I changed the blade the connection piece of the handle broke. I managed to piece it back together but I couldn’t take the blade off anymore. Today I needed a shave… badly… and I also needed a new blade. I tried to figure out how to get the blade off so I could change it, but as I feared the whole thing is broken in such a way that I cannot fix it anymore.
I’ve been a shaving snob with this snooty razor for all of these years. 10 years? 12 years? Something like that. I just ordered a less fancy, less snobby, but still kinda snobby new Mach 3 razor handle online. I am sad. Like… why am I sad? Because I am a snob, and also because Jen and I bought that razor together on a really great weekend trip to New York and that made it extra special.
The new razor is going to be fine. I think it will fit on my snooty, snobby razor and brush stand. It’ll be fine. It won’t, however, be the same. I am a sad snooty snob.
https://robertjames1971.blog/2024/05/09/rest-in-peace-razor/
#Family #fancyShavingKit #grooming #razor #shaving #shavingBrush #shavingKit #shavingSoap #skincare #snob #snobby #snooty
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I’m a nerd. I am an extra nerdy nerd when it comes to shaving. My father never used shaving cream from a can or a bottle. He used a brush with shaving soap in a mug. Old school… is that the proper term? I started out with an electric razor but lost it somewhere and had to borrow his mug/soap/brush kit once and ever since then I have been a mug/soap/brush user too. Maybe the best way to describe it is a mug/soap/brush snob. Yeah, that works.
Years ago… I can’t remember when… 2008? 2010? Jen and I were on a weekend getaway in Manhattan and we stumbled across this super fancy, high end, shaving supply store. We went in because Jen wanted to feed my shaving snobbery because she loves me. We left with this super fancy brush and a super fancy razor handle and a groovy stand that held them both. The razor handle just used Gillette Mach 3 blades, which I was using at the time anyway. The last time I changed the blade the connection piece of the handle broke. I managed to piece it back together but I couldn’t take the blade off anymore. Today I needed a shave… badly… and I also needed a new blade. I tried to figure out how to get the blade off so I could change it, but as I feared the whole thing is broken in such a way that I cannot fix it anymore.
I’ve been a shaving snob with this snooty razor for all of these years. 10 years? 12 years? Something like that. I just ordered a less fancy, less snobby, but still kinda snobby new Mach 3 razor handle online. I am sad. Like… why am I sad? Because I am a snob, and also because Jen and I bought that razor together on a really great weekend trip to New York and that made it extra special.
The new razor is going to be fine. I think it will fit on my snooty, snobby razor and brush stand. It’ll be fine. It won’t, however, be the same. I am a sad snooty snob.
https://robertjames1971.blog/2024/05/09/rest-in-peace-razor/
#Family #fancyShavingKit #grooming #razor #shaving #shavingBrush #shavingKit #shavingSoap #skincare #snob #snobby #snooty
