Latest Posts by toast-with-jam38 - Page 4

may i offer you

THIS WAS SO LOVELY IT PUT ME IN SUCH A HAPPY MOOD!! eekkkk i love henry rip man .

M*A*S*H /// That's Life - Frank Sinatra

oh to be a pangolin squirming around in the sludge 🥺🥺🥺 this would fix me

Watchmen (2009)

Avec un peu d'amour

“Why do people like Rorschach so much” have you seen Jackie Earle Haley dressed as a murder hobo

Watchmen Comics Chapters 1 - 12

first post

on cat cafe

I like cats

Watchmen (2009)

(of course i dont hate you)

they make me sickkk

Muppet scientists...

im going to sob..

“Dissipate its form” translates to “knock the living daylights out of it” in the multiverse.

Here’s a 30+ AU prequel mini comic to wrap up spooky season! Full pages below:

Hehe

Do you think ford trained himself to hide his hands so much he doesn’t even notice it now

UGHHHHH

Watchmen (2009) 🙂

-> dir. by zach snyder

She got him a six fingered kitten

i cannot stop thinking about Ed Ricketts and John Steinbeck..

Gwyn & John Steinbeck’s adobe house in Monterey and Ed Ricketts’ Pacific biological Laboratories in Monterey.

My Life With John Steinbeck Chapter 4, Gwyn describes Ed Ricketts John’s friend, muse, and alter-ego.

(Ed Ricketts was a marine biologist, the owner of Pacific Biological Laboratories and a pioneering ecologist. He is known to most people as the inspiration for the charater of “Doc” Ricketts in John Steinbeck’s novel Cannery Row, but Ricketts was also the author of two books on marine biology: Between Pacific Tides and Sea of Cortez.. His lab was a gathering place for writers, artists and musicians, counting among its guests Joseph Campbell, Henry Miller, and of course Steinbeck.)

Three was company, not a crowd in this fond portrait. 

CHAPTER 4 – JOHN, ED RICKETTS AND ME

Millions of words have been penned and spoken of John and Ed Ricketts, some true and some false. I do not profess to know all, but I know much, since I was there and lived through an important part of their lives. Ed Ricketts was possibly one of the finest marine zoologists the world has ever seen, or will see, and his untimely death in an accident was a tragedy. He was one of the most benign men I have ever met, and he became the best friend I ever had. Ed was one of those people who give you strength while they lack that for their own emotional problems, their own involvement with others, both men and women.

John and Ed had a tremendous bond of friendship between them. I never experienced anything from Ed except sheer goodness. He opened my mind to philosophy which I had never skirmished with since school days. To me, Ed was a kind of Jesus. I believe John thought that way, too. Ed wore a beard, this man of middle stature. Everything he did had the essence of kindness in it. If he did not really like you Ed would not display it with unkind words or temper; he just looked at you, smiled and said, ‘Oh yes, really.’ He did not say, ‘Get out of my life, you’re a pain.’ He said, ‘It’s nice meeting you.’

He had this great essence for life, and you could not help but admire it, whatever his faults. He was, in a way, enamored by sex, which perhaps isn’t too bad a fault. John loved Ed’s love of life; Perhaps it was the qualities that Ed displayed all the time that John wished to have but could not show, or would not allow himself to have. With Ed, they were built in, solid.

In our correspondence Ed would write: ‘My dear girl – never be ashamed of using the word “good.” There is much behind that, if you think on it. There is “good” everywhere; sometimes it takes people months, even years to discover it through mistakes, and God knows I have made them, and, anyway, who hasn’t?’ Ed used to say, ‘Don’t bother about hyperbole; simply say you like it – because it is good.’ It was that simple; beauty in that simplicity.

Ed was simple, too, in that he never cared about material things. Life was his work, and music too. He would listen from the moment he got up (if he was alone, he went around the house naked), and throughout the day while he dissected a starfish or anemone, or when he cooked. He would try to cook anything and was a gourmet. Once he said, ‘You can eat from the world if you know how to preserve.’

Ed Ricketts never wavered in his loyalties – John didn’t, either – and would never show jealousy. Even when some of the women he loved and who loved him left him, Ed continued to be their friend. Many times he saved their life. There was a special magic about Ed Ricketts; in many ways he was John’s offspring, the source of the Steinbeck Nile.It is a well-known fact that Ed and John’s correspondence was one of the most prolific between friends other than writers.

Whenever John discussed anything with him, Ed had a way of saying something was not right without saying it, and that is an art. At such times he would sip a beer and look to the ceiling and say, ‘Hmm, hmm, John, but that’s not quite right.’ Never did he say, ‘No, don’t quit.’ For John, sharing moments with Ed – and they shared many – was like going to an analyst. Afterwards John would tell me, ‘I’m all right.’ There was not any problem that he ever took to Ed that he could not solve, where John was at a loss.

I first met Ed in the early forties. John wanted me to meet him to see whether Ed approved of his ‘choice.’ Ed Ricketts watched all life go by, everything. There was nothing in the passing parade that escaped his eye or he could not laugh or cackle about. He was a slow speaker, exceedingly slow; every word he spoke was a saga. The way he spoke was like a Max Beerbohm drawing. Another side of Ed was that you never knew what you were going to eat at his house. God knows, John loved good food. One day, while the rain poured a monsoon, Ed called and asked us over for chicken soup. It was one of those cold, raw Monterey days. We went, and he served the soup in vast bowls, complete with his homemade bread. The soup was delicious, and I know how to make chicken soup.

But Ed’s ‘chicken soup’ was made out of sea cucumbers, which are part of the slug and worm family. He had collected his ‘chicken’ that day, and chopped it up. ‘I simply wanted to try it,’ he said nonchalantly. It was delicious. ‘You can always live off the land or the sea,’ he said, smiling. ‘Goddam it, Ed, I wouldn’t be surprised if you went and made a ground-up clam milk shake!’ said John. ‘Wait a minute, I have to write that down and try it,’ teased Ed. ‘With malt in it,’ added John. \‘What else?’ Ed replied.

Ed should have published a recipe book from the sea and elsewhere. It would have made a fortune. No matter what you said to Ed Ricketts you could not shock him. Take the time he told us about a woman he had picked up some place (and there were many women) when he had been drinking his usual rum or beer. Ed always drank rum or beer. He had been in no hurry. Ed said he felt the woman had been suffering all her life, and he helped her. John and I listened to him, unmoved. Ed always expressed himself freely about his sex life. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we made love and if it hadn’t been for me, she would have never discovered that she had a double vagina.’ ‘What?’ said John. ‘Yes, after the first time, I discovered it,’ he said in a very low tone of voice, but yet completely natural.

In a way, Ed was over-idolized, but maybe John made him that way. There is a story a professor told me, that John and Ed treated each other like Greek sisters, and I think in a way they did, if walking arm in arm on a beach makes you a Greek sister. They had this so-called gypsy pact, and they were brothers. Anyone can do that – if they’re rotten drunk. It is open to conjecture, but I believe that although John, with his own brilliant mind, gave so much to Ed, in turn Ed was a father figure to John.

The three of us had many good times together, and you always came out of them learning something from two great minds. In my eyes, Ed was nine feet tall, although he was only five-foot-six. But he had this aura. When he entered the room everyone stopped, turned their head, and asked, ‘Who is that?’ John once told me Ed would make one hell of a politician because he went around patting babies’ heads. He listened to everyone. Ed wanted to know what everyone else was thinking.

About a year after I first met Ed he had been carrying out research and, since he lived on Cannery Row, he said to me, ‘You know, before I die the Cannery will be dead, and we’ll fish out our waters. Every day we’re going out farther, and I’ve studied the waves, tides and fish schools. Every year when I go down to the wharf, the fishermen tell me they had to go out six miles while the year before it was five.’ He predicted the canneries would die and we would fish out ‘the beautiful waters,’ as Ed always called them. The Cannery was dead before he died.

When John and I were married Ed wrote us that the canneries were closing because we had taken so much from the sea and had given nothing back. He felt about the sea as Jacques Cousteau feels, although Ed pre-empted Cousteau by twenty years.

It was an experience to be with a man who took us out in a dune buggy and said, casually, ‘Oh, there’s a paleolithic rock over there and we’ll find some seashells.’ We would look at the rock and he would turn, saying, ‘All this was under the sea once.’ There wasn’t anything you could discuss with Ed Ricketts that he did not know about; he had an understanding of archaeology and geology as well, but his particular knowledge was of marine biology and the sea.

Ed cared little for money. John financed him. Ed’s laboratory did become a sagging enterprise. He did not have the driving desire for fame that John had; he was a philosopher and a scholar, and there was not one single thing that passed him by that Ed did not study. In his makeup he did not have time to stop and fight. Occasionally he might get tight and then would say, if it were a lady, ‘Lady, you’re full of shit!’ When he spoke it was as if Jesus had said it.

Ed was happy for John and me, although he never visited us in New York. Once, he felt let down because John was not allowed, on medical grounds, to go with him on an excursion to the Aleutian chain. I do believe that John was, unbeknown to himself, highly possessive, and this sometimes showed in his relationship with Ed. In many ways, Ed was a man’s man as well as a woman’s man. I never saw him without a drink, yet only saw him drunk twice. From the moment he arose and started the day, he started on beer, and by two in the afternoon he was on rum. John liked that about him.

Sometimes for breakfast, Ed used to go across the street from the Lab to Wing Chong’s and get six cans of beer, a large hunk of cheese and a pineapple pie. Some breakfast! Ed was what he was, and my life was vastly enriched for knowing him. He never spoke much about his family. Ed loved animals, although he put them to sleep and cut them up; that was his living. ‘You can’t make anybody like you who doesn’t like you,’ he once said. How true.He told John and me the story of when he was a young boy and he had a cat that liked to jump on the mantelpiece in his home in Chicago. His father didn’t like the cat, and it knew it. His father had a high wing chair with a lamp beside it, and would there sit and read the evening paper. Each night the cat would get up, turn around and wet all over his father. ‘Every night my father would say he was going to kill that cat tomorrow. I used to hide the cat. He didn’t kill it. You see,’ said Ed, ‘if you give bad feeling you’re going to get it back.”

If something went wrong and someone tried to start a fight when the three of us were together, Ed would simply look up to the ceiling and say, ‘Well, I guess the cat’s about to piss.’ That was the signal – don’t fight, just get out. But Ed had problems always with women or his love life, his wife or his children. He knew how to solve others’ emotional problems, but not his own. He watched the world go by. Ed read constantly, and I have never seen such a magnificent library as his. He had a constant desire and thirst for knowledge.

I am proud that once he said he liked me, because when he was talking about something I didn’t know about, I would say, ‘I honestly, don’t know what you are talking about.’ Said Ed, ‘Most people say, “Oh yes, uh-huh, I think I know what you’re talking about.” Gwyn never does.’ That was a great compliment coming from a man I so admired. He was never condescending. If I would tire, or be busy he would politely ask forgiveness; never would he say, ‘Get lost, you bother me.’ Sometimes he got angry, but I never saw such control in a man, and he always refused to argue; Ed always wanted to debate a problem. ‘You have your point of view, and I have mine,’ he used to say.

When Ed died a horrible death from injuries after being hit and dragged by a train, John went to pieces. He flew from New York to Monterey. After the funeral, he went to Ed’s house and destroyed diaries and letters, including their letters. Why? I believe John thought there is a beauty in the world you just don’t want others to pore over. Ed Ricketts, John and I shared a special relationship, the kind that comes along once in a lifetime. John left a legacy of great writings to the world. His beloved friend Ed left himself.

Below Gwyn’s pueblo house in Monterey and Ed Ricketts’ lab. Pacific Biological Laboratories

YAYYYY WE LOVE THE AQUARIUM!!!!!

Did you know that the Aquarium turns 40 today?!  🤯 🐟

In sea-lebration of our anniversary, we asked some of our staff about their favorite animals.

Check out our latest video on YouTube to learn more!

Pumpkins I carved for Halloween.

Pump-schach and Brundle pumpkin.

That's it

Today's Fiddleford Friday is sponsored by Marketable Plushies! 🧸

You can find all of these on my RedBubble!!

I mean surely we all grew up feeling like there was a wrongness inherently deep inside us that will endure for the rest of our lives

Eileen Chang, Love, 1944

oc stuff

Characters sticking their tongues out at Frank :)

3x19 “Aid Station” / 5x12 “The Colonel’s Horse” / 5x24 “Post Op”

do you guys think the reason Ford has a streak of light grey in his hair and Stan doesn't is because Fiddleford used the memory gun on him or what

new taxonomic clade just dropped

first semester studying marine biology: wow i'm really learning a lot about the ocean ^_^ i can't wait to get out in the field in a couple years and do my part to make the world a better place ^_^

third semester studying marine biology: the intersection of capitalism, imperialism, socioeconomic injustice, and environmental destruction has turned me into david lynch's cartoon of the dog that is so angry it cannot move. anti littering campaigns aren't enough i need to guillotine every petrochemical executive and stick their heads on pikes on the white house lawn

and he may ask himself "well, how did i get here?"