In case you’re not aware, Tumblr has recently announced that on the seventeenth of December they’ll start purging all porn and porn-adjacent content on Tumblr. Why does that matter to LWU, you ask? Well, they’re using their bots to identify it, and we’ve all seen how well THAT works. One of my Wander posts even got flagged as sensitive for no apparent reason. What I want to do is reassure you all that I’ve taken steps to back up all of the content on LWU to my hard drive using a tool I was recommended a couple weeks ago. I’m going to continue to do so on a regular basis just in case, so there’s very little chance that my stuff will be lost.
I’m using this one! It condensed my entire blog as of November 20th into one 4.36 gigabyte folder.
Any notes on how to use it? I can’t figure it out.
Okay, so here’s how to do this.
First off, go here and make sure you have Python installed. For Windows it should be the very bottom link, the x86 MSI Installer. You don’t have to do anything but install it.
Second, go here, and click “Clone or Download” (the green button on the right). Select “Download ZIP”.
Make sure you have WinRAR or 7zip or something installed that lets you extract zip files.
Next, make a folder on your desktop. I named mine “Tumblr Backup”, and in the following instructions I’m going to assume that’s what you’ve named yours as well; replace “Tumblr Backup” with whatever you name yours if it isn’t.
Drop the zip file you downloaded into Tumblr Backup. Go in and extract it; this should create a folder called “tumblr-utils-master“.
Open your Command Prompt. If you don’t know how to find that, click your start menu button and type “CMD”, which should give you this:
That should open this:
That frog over there is blotting out my profile name on my computer. Whatever your profile name is when you sign in (e.g. “Max” or “Snugglebuns” or “froglord69”) is going to be in that spot on the address path. If it instead says something about Windows and System 32, that’s okay, what I’m gonna tell you to do will go to the right place either way.
Next, input this command–keeping in mind that the parts in bold should be changed based on your profile name and what you named the folder on your desktop:
CD C:Usersfroglord69DesktopTumblr Backuptumblr-utils-master
There! Now you’re in the right folder! Next, enter this command, replacing the bolded bit with your own blog name:
tumblr_backup.py yourblogname
You should see this:
Then just…let it run! It took less than five minutes for my computer, though it will vary by processor and connection. Once it’s done, you’ll have something like this:
That “index” opens in an internet browser. It’s basically a webpage stored directly on your computer. Some pics of mine:
So…not pretty, but it’ll save the content of your posts. Hope this helps!
Spread this so as many people as possible can see it
Mac users:
Create a folder somewhere convenient and name it something like ‘Tumblr Backup.’
Download the script as described above. Save it to the folder you just created. Double click it, and it extracts in place.
open a terminal.app window. Terminal.app is located in your /Applications/Utilities folder. Usually, just typing command-space to bring up the spotlight window and then typing in ‘term’ and hitting return does the trick.
If you are not accustomed to UNIX command prompts, do not be scared. You got this.
At the ‘$’prompt, type in ‘cd’ and then space, and then drag and drop the decompressed tumblr-utils-master folder onto the terminal window. The path to that window should appear. Hit return.
Boom. You’ve switched to that folder. Type ‘ls’ to make sure. Should look like a list of the folder’s contents.
Type ‘./tumblr_backup.py [yourblogname]’ and hit return.
Boom. Your blog starts downloading. Go drink coffee, enjoy some porn, hang out with your dog, cat, other pet, or lover/s who may also be your pet/s, and let the script run. Depending on your connection speed and just how much of a pervert you are, this could take a while.
Mac instructions for you weirdo Mac users!
I’ve got this one running right now and the only think I noticed is that the command prompt console wouldn’t let me open a folder that’s not located on C:.
I tend to store all things on a different partitiion of my hard drive and the command prompt console seems unable to actually change directory to a different partition so I had to make sure that the tumblr backup file sits on C:.
(Also, I’ve been trying to get this to work for days and this is the first set of instructions that’s comprehensible and easy to follow. The other one that I followed resulted in me being unable to install python on my main laptop, so I’m running it from my backup laptop. Ironical, isn’t it?)
Update: Thanks to @sixth-light who pointed out that read mores won’t be downloaded as complete posts (which means that anything under the read more won’t be backed up). However, if you also use TumblThree, it’ll download your text into a .txt file. That file won’t have fancy formatting and you’ll need to use the search function to find stuff (assuming you know what you’re looking for) but the content of the read mores will be in those files.
I have an answer to the C drive thing: type [drive letter]: into the command prompt, nothing else, and it will switch to that drive. E.g. D: for a D drive, X: for an X drive, etc. Then you can cd as usual to get to the right folder.
This message brought to you by my wife, who has a degree in computer security and a larger degree of patience for seems-obvious-but-isn’t computer-related questions.
…plus Vetinari because the idea that he and babby Sam are bros is deeply ingrained within my psyche and no one will pry it loose.
I like the idea that babby Sam is like the only person on the disc who is completely fearless when it comes to Vetinari— because Vetinari is the fucking cool uncle who gives him the best books and teaches him how to get away with the best tricks
You can just imagine though, one night when Vimes is out on patrol, a black carriage, the kind of black night aspires to be, pulls up outside the Ramkin manor and a tall, lean figure steps out. As he passes by the donation box on the front gate for the Sunshine Sanctuary for Sick Dragons the sound of coins trickle down, he never carries money, but Drumknott has made sure he has a few dollars on him for this very purpose.
After Wilikins opens the door there’s a slight pause as the butler tries to figure out who rung the bell and who on earth blew out the gas lamp…and then Vetinari moves ever so slightly and Wilikins draws in breath, the equivalent of a startled shudder in other people, and releases the poker he’s been holding just out of view, and lets it slide back into the umbrella stand with a muffled thud. You can never be too careful after all…
Sybil is as Sybil always is, warm and welcoming, even at this late hour. He regrets somewhat that he didn’t send word that he’d be coming. There can be several things a knock on the door means late at night, and the majority of them are never good. He felt guilt at the sight of her sitting in the drawing room, brown shawl draped over her nightgown, fluffly slippers planted firmly on the ground—Empresses would weep to know that for all their fine vestments they’d never look so regal or commanding as Sybil Ramkin Vimes does an hour before midnight. He smiles, a rare and true smile when he sees some of the hardness in her face ease, relief flooding in, though anyone who didn’t know her would struggle to see it. He’ll send a man running in the morning with an envelope for the donation box out front. In the meantime, he is not a Watchman with a helmet under his arm, all is right with the world.
They sit and talk for a while, tea is drunk. Eventually, when they run out of platitudes and niceties, Sybil, with a tact her husband lacks entirely, remarks that it was very kind of him to visit her when Sam is out late, but before he goes, would he like to see young Sam?
Leaning on his cane, Vetinari stands, agreeing with the politeness of a man who finds himself put upon by a new mother, to admire her off-spring. Sybil merely smiles and leads him through the ancient house, past coats of arms and paintings that make his own palace look like a young pretender to old money.
The nursery is dark and warm, with a single candle burning near the window, the fire in the hearth is banked but still warm. A mobile hangs over the cradle, and dragons of varying size made from crystal twirl through the night, casting rainbows over the walls and floor, glowing umber in the low light. It was a gift, Sybil explains, as she shoos the yawning nurse from the room and leans over the cradle with a gentle smile that blazes more resplendent than any of the fractal illuminations in the room, from the Wizards.
Vetinari peers over her shoulder at the snuffling resident of the cradle, and is greeted with the sight of a fat little man whose gaze is fixed entirely on the mobile. He imagines it’s a little late for a baby to be awake, but Sybil seems unconcerned. Part of him, the romantic little side that understands symbology and the way other people’s minds work, wonders if there is something in the Vimes blood that makes them practically nocturnal, and shine brightest at night.
Vaguely he is aware, as he leans further over, that Sybil is withdrawing, and that the door has closed behind him.
What does one say to a baby? Does one say anything? Vetinari reaches over with the hesitancy of a man whose youth was spent handling volatile chemicals and weaponry, and still fears that this might yet be the most precious and dangerous thing he’s ever touched.
A tiny little hand envelopes his index finger.
Vetinari wiggles his hand, and young Sam grips on with his other sticky little fist, that until know was being thoughtfully chewed on, attention now fully on the tall dark man towering over him, squashed face furrowing into a frown.
“Oh dear,” Vetinari murmurs, smiling despite himself, “That was a very Vimes look.”
Sam Vimes junior kicks his legs in the air, strong, stomping little legs that will tread the cobbles his father has made safe. Or at least, safer.
“Well,” he carries on, setting his cane against the side of the cradle and using his free hand to send the mobile spiralling a little bit faster, “one can never have too many of those.”
sorry not sorry for the ugly disgusting tears of squee running down my face
Finn and Rey make a wish at a water fountain that is pretty sure to come true, because they are both wishing to be together always, and we all know that’s gonna happen!
Done as a commission by the incredible @persehpone!
…I should note that it is not the celebration of Christmas, per se, with which I take issue. Spending time with loved ones and exchanging gifts are lovely traditions, and while many of the particular traditions of Christmas are not quite to my taste, I’m thrilled to know they give others a great deal of joy…
What I do object to, however, is the culture that’s been built around Christmas, that has elevated one religious faith’s year-end festivity into an inescapable, weeks-long period of compulsory celebration for nearly everyone. If you’re Muslim, Jewish, Hindu or otherwise uninterested in participating in a Christian holiday, you can personally opt out of Christmas Day by declining to get a tree and spending December 25 at the movies — but all bets are off should you choose to leave your house (or even turn on the TV) at any moment between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
December in America is a constant onslaught of Christmas culture: Every store gets decked out in Christmas finery and puts carols on full blast, seemingly believing that it encourages shopping. Television shows that normally avoid any discussion of anything approaching religious observance suddenly get into the spirit, devoting extra-long episodes to stories about the generous spirit inspired by this time of year (a generous spirit that, apparently, people who don’t celebrate Christmas know absolutely nothing about). Ostensibly secular offices and schools are suddenly awash in Santas and sleighs and reindeer, all in the name of bringing everyone a little extra joy, the fact that it’s their own definition of joy be damned.
It would be bad enough if this aggressive Christmas assault were purely the domain of the rabid right wing; if the only people I needed to worry about fending off were the types who see cries of “Happy Holidays” as an affront to their religious freedom, or the switch from red to green holiday cups as some sign of an Islamic agenda. But the truth is that liberals — even ones who ostensibly embrace religious diversity — can be just as bad as their conservative counterparts when it comes to enforcing the oppressive Christmas climate.
And at a time when religious minorities are increasingly under attack within this country, we to take a long hard look at the way Christmas is used to send the message that America is a nation primarily for Christians.
When I tell a liberal Christmas fan that I just don’t want to get into the spirit, it usually doesn’t end well. If they’re not insistent that I’m missing out (and just no fun), they tend to see my lack of enthusiasm for Christmas as an indictment of their own enjoyment of the holiday.
I’ve heard so many arguments for why my stance that compulsory Christmas is forcing me to participate in Christianity is unfounded — It’s not religious, it’s a secular celebration of consumerism! It’s not Christian, it’s actually Saturnalia dressed up in Jesus drag! They love it in Japan! — none of which seem to take into consideration that, as a Jewish woman, I’m probably pretty well versed in what sorts of celebrations are and aren’t within the scope of my religious practice. (And, let’s be serious, a holiday whose name commemorates the birth of Jesus has, at the very least, some intense Christian heritage that might feel uncomfortable for me).
It’s a reaction that’s disappointing any Christmas season, but this year, as the celebration ramps up in the shadow of the most fatal anti-Semitic attack in American history, it’s particularly disheartening. With white nationalism on the rise, and a president who takes great pleasure in using cries of “Merry Christmas” to bludgeon religious minorities, being non-Christian in America feels more isolating, and unsafe, than ever.
…And above all, please remember that Christmas doesn’t have a monopoly on generosity and joy, anymore than Passover has a monopoly on being anti-slavery. Not everybody needs, or wants, to get into the Christmas spirit, and that’s totally okay. Christmas is not for everyone, but the freedom of religion, and celebration of diversity, that allows for that recognition is — and that is what truly makes America great.
I spent a good hour trying to compose a reply/addition to this, only to finally click on the actual link and found that Alptraum already articulated most of what I wanted to say.
But one thing I think could be added is that, for a lot of people, celebrating Christmas is the norm. It’s assumed. There’s no need to question or interrogate the religious or alienating aspects of the holiday because “everybody” celebrates it. And when you identify yourself as someone who doesn’t, when you reply to their jolly “Merry Christmas!” with a weary “Happy holidays!” you can see the change in their eyes.
Oh. You’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them. You’re Other.
And as if Othering people isn’t dangerous enough, not only have they Othered you, you’ve damaged their worldview. The “most wonderful time of the year” has been dimmed by the presence of this Other. Sometimes there’s awkwardness, a bit of shame at having forgotten that Other people exist, sometimes there’s anger that they do exist at all. Often they will blame the Other for inflicting these feelings on them. After all, if the Other were not here, the response would be an equally jolly “Merry Christmas!” and everyone would be on their way. How dare the Other attack their good holiday cheer with these feelings? How dare the Other make them feel bad for not remembering that everyone is not just like them.
Anyway, Christmas is a tainted holiday for me, for this reason and for all the reasons outlined in the article. My friends, who are very secular, sometimes invite me to their celebrations. They want to celebrate with me, to be part of their family and their joy, and I always feel honored and loved that they want me there. It’s not their fault society treats Christmas this way. But for reasons that are not their fault, the holiday rarely feels anything but alienating to me.
It is a great honor to again be awarded in the Wildlife photographer of the year, the “world championship” and the “Oscar” for nature photographers! This is the forth time in five years, so humble to still be up there among all the great photographers! My picture “Night snack” became a finalist in the Underwater category.
tora42's nonsensne 