This blog gets an average of 25,000 notes per day. More people than fit in Madison Square Garden come through here every day.
I haven’t had the ability to see Likes in any kind of comprehensible fashion since before the porn ban. I’ve never had notifications turned on.
The ONLY way I will ever know if you’ve interacted with my work is via replies/reblogged tags and responses, and I FUCKING LOVE getting those.
I’m telling you and everyone here this because there’s a very peculiar perception going around lately that liking a shitload of posts or commenting on a ton of stuff is some how rude or intrusive. I am here to say that not only is it welcome, you will have to go to some fairly extraordinary lengths to even APPROACH intrusive, and even then I’ll probably be happy to see you anyway.
Ya good, and more importantly, Thank you.
Yes! I don’t have that much activity (about 8k notes a day, apparently - that’s interesting to check! But my activity looks like this:
And I perceive tumblr as being rather quiet. One or two asks a day, a few @‘s for the leucism channel or horrible things with legs, a few nice comments on original art that I wait for and scroll for and chew on and treasure, and old posts sometimes get people saying things like “tumblr is a website.” It’s a quiet but friendly place and I’m never far from the most fascinating experiences and expertise.
For reasons known only to adolescent girls my friend Kate and I started communicating with extremely loud calls of, “Ka-kaw!” at some point during high school.
When trying to locate each other on the quad in lieu of cell phones we made do with good old fashioned screeching. The first call was always a lower tone. When one of us heard the cry we’d immediately echo it back at a higher pitch like dinosaurs playing Marco Polo.
This was probably obnoxious for all our classmates but man did we zero in on each other right quick. It was great. I never had to look for her in a huge crowd I just had to unleash my lack of social decorum in sonic waves. My only defense was that we only used it for out of doors. We weren’t monsters.
It served us extremely well the one time we went skiing together. She was a newer skier and got off the ski lift before I did after a stroke of bad luck and poor planning on our parts. By the time I had my skis on the snow I couldn’t see her. Worried, I took off down the mountain, not spotting her.
I planted my skis when I realized I must have passed her somehow. She couldn’t have made the same time as me. I threw my head back and shrieked, “Ka-kaw!!”
The sound cut across the cold thin air, sharp and carrying. To my delight and the surprise of several snowboarders going past me there was an answering “Ka-kaw!!!” from further up the mountain, reverberating joyously.
I’ve had this turkey post pinged several times, I can only say that I’m glad my friend and I aren’t the only bird girls out there.
Growing up, my family always whistled a bird call when looking for one another.
Since then I’ve taughtthat whistle to most of my closest friends, my ex-husband, and my children.
Alas, my boyfriend can’t whistle.
That was probably where the whole thing came from. You see, my parents have a distinct whistle for one another. An endearing practice that’s rather out of use I think. It was a cornerstone of my childhood to hear their whistle when we got separated. I loved it. I wanted to be part of it.
Unfortunately I am a terminally mediocre whistler. I spent months practicing my whistling skills while working at the dog kennels as a teen and never truly improved.
So growing up I learned that:
A. The most effective way to find someone was a call and response
B. I lacked the competency to mimic that call and response.
ALT
ALT
ALT
