That’s fucking hilarious. Tell your husband that at least one randomer on the internet thinks that he’s a catch

I find it cool that Dolly Parton’s stage persona is so thick a mask of glamour that when she’s not “in character”, she can go out and get to live like a normal person, who no-one recognises her. I don’t know if this was by design, but it sure seems to be a smart choice

Something that I find interesting with Rome is that arguably one of the ways it managed to keep going for so long is that it was continuing to push its borders outwards through conquest. Assimilating a land and its people into the Republic/Empire is one way of dealing with the problem of invading “barbarians” (even if that is just transmuting the problem such that your external threat is a new group of “barbarians”, and the old potential invaders potentially pose a threat from within).

Continuing to push outwards is a way to continue developing the military though, and to distract the military from the potential option of seizing power for themselves. There’s only so far you can push before the borders you need to secure are too large to do effectively, and the sheer area to be administrated is too large, even for Rome.

As you highlight, it’s a common misconception that people don’t realise that the Fall of Rome was far more protracted and complex of a process than a single event. I think that’s a shame, because I find it so much more interesting that historians can’t even agree on when the Fall of Rome even was.

“Marked by opulence and a distracted upper class, depending on foreign born nationals and the impoverished to defend them from the mob.”

I’m not sure how linked to the Fall of Rome these things are when they existed throughout basically the entire history of the Roman Empire (and even the Republic before it). The “secession of the plebs” was effectively a general strike of the commoners that happened multiple times between the 5th venture BCE and the 3rd century BCE — many centuries before the Fall of Rome.

Commenting to echo my agreement. Rome was bloody huge, and it was hard to administrate. Things like high quality roads and advanced administrative systems help to manage it all, but when you’re that big, even just distributing food across the empire is a challenge. Rome only became as large as it was because it was supported by many economic, military and political systems, but the complexity of this means that we can’t even point to one of them and say “it was the failure of [thing] that caused Rome to fall.”

An analogy that I’ve heard that I like is that it’s like a house falling into disrepair over many years. A neglected house will likely become unliveable long before it collapses entirely, and it’ll start showing the symptoms of its degradation even sooner than that. The more things break, the more that the inhabitants may be forced to do kludge repairs that just make maintaining the whole thing harder.

Thanks for the podcast recommendation, I’ll check it out. I learned about a lot of this stuff via my late best friend, who was a historian, so continuing to learn about it makes me feel closer to him

I hope this doesn’t sound trite, given that I’m just a random stranger on the internet, but I’m proud of you. Whilst I haven’t experienced depression in the way that you describe, I know how suffocating of an experience it is. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to endure that, especially when there are concrete life circumstances exacerbating things, as you describe. I am glad that you get to be alive again; you deserve it.

Story time!

I once bumped my head and got complete retrograde amnesia. I lost basically all of my episodic memory — that is, the memory of all my past experiences. My semantic memory appeared to be intact, which meant I retained my general knowledge of the world, such as who was prime minister. However, I basically lost all sense of my identity for a while. I didn’t even remember my name at first. Honestly, I don’t know if I can say that I ever truly remembered my name after the fact; I was fortunate that my memory did return to me gradually over the course of many days, weeks and months, but because I was told my name many times over that period, I never got that sense of remembering my name (I’m going to use the psuedonym Ann for the sake of this story)

Anyway, it was terrifying at the time, but now that I’m past the dread and trauma of it all, I can reflect on it as a cool experience. A few days after the accident, when I still had very little memory of who I was, I went to a Christmas party with many of my friends. However, it felt like being in a room full of strangers. It was awkward at first when I arrived; people didn’t know how to act towards me, and seemed uncertain of whether I was still the person they knew. That was a fear I shared. However, they seemed to ease up quite quickly, because it seemed that my personality was still authentic to the person they knew, even if I had to start from scratch in getting to know them. It’s a bizarre experience to reflect on, because now I have two sets of memories of meeting some of my dearest friends for the first time.

The most distressing part of it all was when I had gotten to know some of the people in my life, and had put together many of the fragments about who I was. I wasn’t sure that I was that person though. I felt like an intruder in someone else’s life, and I was terrified that I wasn’t the same person. All the wonderfully supportive people around me — how could I call them my friends when I wasn’t the same Ann that had earned their friendship. Apparently I still acted like her, but if I was her, why was there such a stark division between the two versions of Ann in my head: there was the Ann who existed before the accident, and the Ann that I was afterwards — I didn’t know whether I could consider them to be the same. If we were the same person, why was I talking about “her” rather than “me”?

Some months after the accident, a romantic relationship started between me and my best friend. We had been close friends for a few years prior, and he later confessed to me that a part of him was anxious that maybe we wouldn’t have been together if not for the bump to my head. I was surprised to hear this, because my friend was a super charismatic guy and this kind of anxiety seemed out of character for him. I understood where he was coming from though. I told him that it would be nice if I could tell him that his worry was a silly one, and that of course the amnesia wasn’t the only reason we were together. However, I didn’t actually know whether I was the same person. By then, it felt like the vast majority of my memories had returned, and no-one reported any discernible personality change to me. However, I had no way to know what significant memories, if any, were still missing to me. I didn’t think that his fears were true, but ultimately, I had no way of knowing, and I just had to live with that — and unfortunately, so did he.

One of the most disconcerting aspects of it all was how it felt to rediscover a memory. Have you ever had something remind you of a memory that was tucked away so deep in your mind that you didn’t even know you still had it until something brought it to the surface? A foggy fragment from childhood perhaps? Well that’s what regaining my memories felt like. In the early days, it was extremely vague bits that I remembered.

The first fragment was in the hospital waiting room, when I remembered that the friend who was with me was someone who reuses day old tea bags (they will take the mug they used the previous day and add a new teabag in with the old one, and pour in new hot water). Bear in mind that this was a person who I had initially thought had drugged and kidnapped me, because my first memory after the fall was feeling dizzy in a room, surrounded by complete strangers who claimed to be my friends. I was so overjoyed and surprised to have something come back to me that I loudly exclaimed this revelation in the half full hospital waiting room. The first thing I remembered of my best friend was snow, because of a road trip we’d taken together the previous year. The next fragment about him was barbeques (he enjoyed getting people together for one in the Summer), and the next bit was Lord of the Rings. At first, it felt like I was receiving loose, disparate fragments about a person, but over time, it began to feel more like I was filling in the final pieces in a mostly complete jigsaw. But then, that’s not far from how it feels to be close friends about a person, and to discover new facts about them, despite having known them for years.

Nowadays, when I have that feeling of a long forgotten memory returning to me, I’m unsure of whether it’s another fragment returning to me post amnesia, or if it’s just the regular kind of remembering stuff. It’s been around 6 years since the accident, so I have a heckton of new memories on top of that. A few years ago, I had that peculiar feeling of a memory returning, and I assumed that it was another amnesia thing returning, but then I realised that this particular rediscovered fragment happened after the accident, so this was just normal, run of the mill forgetting. That was jarring to realise that memory has always been fallible like this. Whilst yes, complete retrograde amnesia is a super rare experience, nothing had really changed.

Memories are always slippery things. I’ve read neuroscience research that suggests that when we remember a thing, we’re sort of rewriting the memory. It’s like if every time you checked out a book from the library, you weren’t allowed to return that specific book, but instead had to write out the book and return a new copy of the same book. Even if you try hard to be accurate, there’s inevitably going to be some errors in transcription (just look at transcription errors in manuscripts before the invention of the printing press). This means that the more you check out a particular book, the more likely it is to be changed. Trippy stuff, huh? That’s what I mean when I say that nothing had really changed. The amnesia made me feel unstable because I didn’t have my memories to rely on to build my sense of reality, but memories will always be fallible. We like to pretend they’re not, but everything we perceive is filtered through our own subjective filters, and then each time we reflect on our recollections, we pass those memories through the filter again. Even before my amnesia, my memories were not an accurate reflection of reality — that’s just a lie that makes us feel more at ease with the inherent instability of our own perceptions and experiences. That fact was brought to my attention in a rather abrupt way, but it’s one of the reasons I’m oddly glad for this absurd experience. It was certainly philosophically interesting.

I could talk forever on this topic, because it was a hell of a ride, but I’ll stop here, because this comment is long enough already. I’m open to answering any questions that y’all want to throw at me though, because God knows there aren’t many people with an experience like this. You don’t have to worry about being overly intrusive or about upsetting me, though be aware that I might not get round to answering your questions.

People have spoken a lot about how digestible the sugars are, but in terms of overall healthiness, the fibre is an important component even beyond its impact on sugar absorption. Many people do not get enough fibre in their diets.

It certainly should be. Anyone who thinks of sex as not a team sport is just setting themselves up for mediocre experiences

Equally, I’ve hooked up with some guys who struggle to get off during sex itself (which may be because the grip one uses while masturbating may be firmer than what one experiences during sex).

Having slept with both women and men, I feel like the pressure to reach orgasm seems like it’s bad for everyone. One dude I knew felt super insecure about not getting off, which stemmed from a previous partner taking it personally. It’s certainly the case that for some men, it can feel uncomfortable to have sex and not reach orgasm. However, I think that everyone would have a better time if people decoupled satisfaction from orgasm.

If I wanted to be certain that I’d get off, then the use of a vibrator helps a lot. That’s not necessarily my goal though; some of the best sex I’ve ever had didn’t result in me reaching orgasm, and I find it frustrating when people don’t understand that this is possible (I find this problem more common with men). Of course, that’s just personal to me — some people may consider reaching orgasm to be an essential part of “good sex”, but that’s why good communication is the best skill one can develop for better sex.

“We had a lot of margarine growing up because it was cheap, but by my teenage years we could afford butter, which is a massive upgrade.”

My experience was similar. Weirdly, it makes me sort of grateful for growing up in poverty, because there’s so many things I got to try as an adult that were huge upgrades, like you describe with butter. The biggest example I can think of is actual parmesan cheese — it blew my mind when I first tried it.

I tend to buy the posher ham, and I always find it funny how some people believe that this fancier stuff is somehow exempt from this kind of processing. It obviously is less processed (I find that cheap ham is bad for making panini because it releases too much water), but it’s still an extremely processed product

Basically yeah. But when it comes to startups, actually making something of value is optional. Hell, I know people who have had legitimately good ideas with working proof of concept, but have struggled to get funding because when it comes to venture capital, the main test is one’s ability to peddle the right kind of bullshit.

Wow, that’s super impressive. The compression is so efficient that it’s like I can see the original image in my head. Truly, we are living in the future.

I like this response

I don’t know if I’m real, but I know that I feel sad if I think about people I care about being harmed. I think this is what Descartes was getting at with his “I think, therefore I am”. Because I can experience my own thoughts and feelings, I feel like I’m probably real, even if I don’t know if other people are. If I’m real, that means my care for my loved ones is real, even if I don’t know if they are real. Given that I can’t know whether they’re real or not, it doesn’t really affect my actions.

If I’m not real, and I’m just a simulated consciousness in a virtual world, then that also doesn’t affect things, because all I know is my own perspective. If the only reason why I care about my loved ones is that I’ve been programmed to, then I can’t really do anything about it. If the prospect of not being real hurts me so much, then I could kill myself, to “exit the game”, so to speak, but that would hurt my family. Caring about that is perhaps silly, given that this hypothetical would also involve them not being real, but I don’t think that makes a difference. I just know that I feel sad when I think of them being sad, and that’s one of the most real things I can comprehend.

I think of it sort of like how I think about a prospective afterlife. I’m agnostic, so I don’t actively believe in somewhere like heaven. We can think of heaven as being “the real world” to this hypothetically virtual one. I haven’t seen any compelling evidence to make me believe in heaven though, so whilst I’m open to the possibility that it exists, it seems that the most sensible thing is to focus on living as well as I can in this life. It’s all I can do.

I’m not especially familiar with the term, but I do know quite a lot of people who go to raves sober, as well as a more widespread sentiment of “if you have to drink to have a good time, it’s not a good time”. Some of these people do consume intoxicating substances like alcohol occasionally, but it feels like they have a healthy attitude towards it, even if they’re not strictly “straight-edge”

Have you tried having a modicum of empathy? It seems that’s a pretty important part of the method.

I think this is why so many people are pulled into this kind of thinking. I can’t say I don’t sympathise. I do believe that a better world is possible, but it feels increasingly unlikely that I’ll get to see it.

I do what I can to push for things to improve, through political organising and supporting my community in whatever way I can, but it’s hard not to become morally burnt out when I know that I’m doing only a fraction of what I theoretically could be due to constantly struggling to keep my head above water. That’s how the capitalist engine continues to chug onwards as it does.

Here’s the part where I wish I could say something reassuring, but I can’t. I’m far younger than you are, so I know that if I’m feeling exhausted, then it would be trite and foolish to think I could make you feel hopeful about your future when I don’t even know if I have hope for myself. In lieu of hope, please accept this offer of solidarity. It doesn’t do much to change the suckish reality we find ourselves in, but nonetheless, it feels important to highlight that you’re not alone in feeling this way. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re still with us, and I hope that you find some solace, in this life or the next.

It took me a while, but I ended up really enjoying Death Stranding. One of the things that made it click for me was that I watched a video essay on a different game that used the playwright Bertholt Brecht’s V-effect as an analytical frame.

My rough understanding of it is that Brecht wanted to break the fourth wall and prevent audiences from identifying too heavily with characters, enabling them to better engage with the themes of the play; for example, if audiences end up identifying with a character who is a relatable asshole, then they might be less inclined to critically understand this character and the systems that facilitate their assholery.

Death Stranding invokes this with its absurd characters and setting. I never stopped finding it jarring when you have such silly character names and plots. This meant that for my first few hours of playing, I felt like I didn’t “get it”, and it seems like this is a fairly common reaction. However, this sense of “I don’t get it” is interesting because of how it primes you to search for something to get — some larger point that Kojima is trying to make with the game. If nothing else, I appreciate games and other media that have something to say, even if I struggle to grasp that message.

If I had to distill things down, I think the most prominent theme I understood was “Play is an essential component of human wellness, and it has tremendous capacity to facilitate building human connection”. I enjoyed how this was explored narratively through Sam’s interactions with various characters, but also through ludic means via the player interacting with other player build structures (I really enjoyed getting so many thumbs up for all the roads I built). Death Stranding sometimes feels pretentious, but I remember thinking “what’s more pretentious: the game that’s trying (and possibly failing, depending on perspective) hard to say something larger, or the player who regards the game with disdain”. Ultimately, I feel that the potential pretentiousness is neutralised by how earnest it is. Yes, it’s a very silly game, but that’s sort of the point.

Regarding Rings of Power, I absolutely hated the show, which sounds like a stronger opinion than what you hold. However, I completely agree that the discourse around the show is a trash fire of bad faith criticism that makes it impossible to express legitimate dislike of the show that’s based in honesty.