But I was cruising Gawain in the mist
Jun. 21st, 2025 07:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sovayThanks to the effects of prolonged illness on my body, I have even more difficulty with it these days than in previous difficult years, but spatch took a picture of me on the way down the hill of Powder House Park that looked like I could still be the prow of a ship.
Listening to the radio in the car and tracking down songs at home, I seem to have amassed a small collection of music videos, more recent than not. I had never seen the studly single entrendres that accompany the blues-rock boasts of Elle King's "Ex's and Oh's" (2015). Rob identified the scratchy guitar chug in Sarah Barrios' "Thank God You Introduced Me to Your Sister" (2021) as a callback to Fountains of Wayne and thence the Cars, but it is a sapphic banger in its own right. It is generationally lovely to have the London Gay Men's Chorus backing up the acoustic version of Isaac Dunbar's "American High" (2024). Jean Dawson's "Pirate Radio" (2022) rocks like an Afrofuturist anthem and an autobiographical chantey at the same time. If it ever crossed your mind to wonder about a cross between the Preacher in True Stories (1986) and the High Voltage Messiah of The Ruling Class (1972), there's John C. Reilly in Jack White's "Archbishop Harold Holmes" (2025). The vintage riot grrrl of Halsey's "Safeword" (2025) is enthusiastically not safe for work. Patrick Wolf's "The Last of England" (2025) has so much Jarman in its DNA, it is almost gilding the lily to have filmed at Dungeness except that it feels like the correct acknowledgement. I just like the oneiric stop-motion of Witch Prophet's "Memory (feat. Begonia)" (2023).
spatch took a picture of me on the way down the hill of Powder House Park that looked like I could still be the prow of a ship.
Listening to the radio in the car and tracking down songs at home, I seem to have amassed a small collection of music videos, more recent than not. I had never seen the studly single entrendres that accompany the blues-rock boasts of Elle King's "Ex's and Oh's" (2015). Rob identified the scratchy guitar chug in Sarah Barrios' "Thank God You Introduced Me to Your Sister" (2021) as a callback to Fountains of Wayne and thence the Cars, but it is a sapphic banger in its own right. It is generationally lovely to have the London Gay Men's Chorus backing up the acoustic version of Isaac Dunbar's "American High" (2024). Jean Dawson's "Pirate Radio" (2022) rocks like an Afrofuturist anthem and an autobiographical chantey at the same time. If it ever crossed your mind to wonder about a cross between the Preacher in True Stories (1986) and the High Voltage Messiah of The Ruling Class (1972), there's John C. Reilly in Jack White's "Archbishop Harold Holmes" (2025). The vintage riot grrrl of Halsey's "Safeword" (2025) is enthusiastically not safe for work. Patrick Wolf's "The Last of England" (2025) has so much Jarman in its DNA, it is almost gilding the lily to have filmed at Dungeness except that it feels like the correct acknowledgement. I just like the oneiric stop-motion of Witch Prophet's "Memory (feat. Begonia)" (2023).
All of it's golden, my body is floating, I'm still alive
Jun. 20th, 2025 11:24 pmsovayHappy solstice! spatch and I celebrated the longest stretch of the year's light with the third-to-last night of Theatre@First's The Tempest, the farewell production of its longtime artistic director. Their lion-bronze Caliban stood laughing, in his hands the staff the island's magic had brought him in pieces, by right, made whole. In, summer!
spatch and I celebrated the longest stretch of the year's light with the third-to-last night of Theatre@First's The Tempest, the farewell production of its longtime artistic director. Their lion-bronze Caliban stood laughing, in his hands the staff the island's magic had brought him in pieces, by right, made whole. In, summer!Shroud, by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Jun. 20th, 2025 10:18 amrachelmanija
While on a commercial expedition, an unexpected accident causes Mai, an engineer, and Juna, an HR person, to crash-land on a pitch-black planet called Shroud. They can't get out of their escape pod because the air is corrosive and unbreathable, and they can't call for help. Their only hope is to use the pod's walker system to trek all the way across the planet... which turns out to be absolutely teeming with extremely weird life, none of which can see, all of which communicates via electromagnetic signals, most of which constructs exoskeletons for itself with organic materials, and some of which is extremely large.
As readers, we learn very early on that at least some of the life on Shroud is intelligent. But Juna and Mai don't know that, the intelligent Shroud beings don't know that humans are intelligent, and human and Shroud life is so different that it makes perfect sense that they can't tell. As Juna and Mai make their probably-doomed expedition across Shroud, they're accompanied by curious Shroud beings, frequently attacked by other Shroud creatures, face some of the most daunting terrain imaginable, and slowly begin to learn the truth about Shroud. But even if they succeed in rescuing themselves, the predatory capitalist company that sent them on their expedition on the first place is determined to strip Shroud for materials, and doesn't care if its indigenous life is intelligent or not.
This is possibly the best first contact novel I've ever read. It's the flip side of Alien Clay, which was 70% depressing capitalist dystopia and 30% cool aliens. Shroud is 10% depressing capitalist dystopia and 90% cool aliens - or rather, 90% cool aliens and humans interacting with cool aliens. It's a marvelous alien travelogue, it has so many jaw-dropping moments, and it's very thematically unified and neatly plotted. The climax is absolutely killer.
The characterization is sketchy but sufficient. The ending is a little abrupt, but you can easily extrapolate what happens from there, and it's VERY satisfying. As far as I know this is a standalone, but I would certainly enjoy a sequel if Tchaikovsky decided to write one.
My absolute favorite moment, which was something you can only do in science fiction, is a great big spoiler. ( Read more... )
(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2025 12:54 pmconuly posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
agonyauntDEAR ABBY: I am a mother of six and a grandma to four. We are a close family and enjoy each other's company. My mom is nearly 80. For reasons I could never understand, she didn't enjoy my children when they were growing up and didn't connect deeply with them. She once commented to me that she was bored with women her age because they were "obsessed" with their grandchildren and she wanted deeper conversations.
Mom moved away and would mostly visit just for holidays and birthdays. When the children tried to share things that were going on in their lives, she wasn't interested, and we eventually stopped inviting her to sports events and recitals because she seemed annoyed to be there.
Now that her grands have almost reached adulthood, my mother wants to connect with them. She texts them often and sometimes invites them to visit. They respond politely, and a couple have gone to visit her, but none seem interested in a deeper relationship. This bothers her, and she has been asking me to pressure them to visit her and include her in their lives more. But to them, she is a distant relative. They don't feel close to her.
What is my responsibility now? I wish they had a closer relationship with my mom, but I feel awkward telling busy young adults they must plan trips to visit someone who didn't try to establish relationships with them when they were young. Any advice? -- TORN DAUGHTER IN WASHINGTON
( Read more... )
Mom moved away and would mostly visit just for holidays and birthdays. When the children tried to share things that were going on in their lives, she wasn't interested, and we eventually stopped inviting her to sports events and recitals because she seemed annoyed to be there.
Now that her grands have almost reached adulthood, my mother wants to connect with them. She texts them often and sometimes invites them to visit. They respond politely, and a couple have gone to visit her, but none seem interested in a deeper relationship. This bothers her, and she has been asking me to pressure them to visit her and include her in their lives more. But to them, she is a distant relative. They don't feel close to her.
What is my responsibility now? I wish they had a closer relationship with my mom, but I feel awkward telling busy young adults they must plan trips to visit someone who didn't try to establish relationships with them when they were young. Any advice? -- TORN DAUGHTER IN WASHINGTON
( Read more... )
(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2025 12:48 pmconuly posting in agonyauntDEAR ABBY: In the four years my husband and I have been married, his distaste for the LGBTQ community has grown into a passion. He calls it immoral and unnatural. I've never tried to change his opinion, but because I don't enthusiastically agree with him, he is convinced I'm going to hell. He uses nearly every conversation as an opportunity to share his feelings on this issue. Any response I volunteer goes unheard.
Shortly after our wedding, my father revealed he is gay. Thankfully, my husband can be kind to him while disapproving of his sexuality. I'm not sure Dad knows the extent of my husband's negative feelings. (They live in different states, so they rarely see each other.)
My problem is, my father recently became engaged to his partner, and I'm not sure how to tell my husband. I'm not asking him to agree with my dad's life, but I don't want him to steal my joy over this event or make me feel guilty for going to their wedding. I will certainly be going alone. Advice, Abby? -- ALLY IN MICHIGAN
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Shortly after our wedding, my father revealed he is gay. Thankfully, my husband can be kind to him while disapproving of his sexuality. I'm not sure Dad knows the extent of my husband's negative feelings. (They live in different states, so they rarely see each other.)
My problem is, my father recently became engaged to his partner, and I'm not sure how to tell my husband. I'm not asking him to agree with my dad's life, but I don't want him to steal my joy over this event or make me feel guilty for going to their wedding. I will certainly be going alone. Advice, Abby? -- ALLY IN MICHIGAN
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Well, this is annoying
Jun. 20th, 2025 04:41 pmoursinI think I mentioned (did I?) that my research position at Former Workplace was terminated some while ago due to Internal Upheavals.
Well, thinks I, I still have research connection with Esteemed Academic Institution where I did my PhD and professional qualification, providing me with a) access to a research library and b) an institutional email address.
This connection was renewed some 5 years ago and comes up for renewal in the autumn, and being a forethoughtful hedjog I thought I would start mentioning this to person I know best in the department with which I am associated.
And, dammit, they have gone and changed the rules.
Some years ago (in fact before my last renewal but I guess institutional processes move slowly) there was a massive hoohah when somebody who also had some honorary connection with Esteemed Academic Institution turned out to be using it to bring EAI into disrepute by making it seem as though it had given official imprimatur to rather dodgy intellectual activities they were up to. Plus, there was a certain degree of mystery, or at least, lack of institutional memory, as to how person had even obtained this honorary position in the first place. (Or at least, nobody was copping to knowing.)
So, they are tightening up the rules so that you have to have much more of a formal position - e.g. be doing a collaborative project with somebody in the department - to be assigned honorary research status. So alas, am no longer eligible.
*Mutters obscenities*
Am wondering whether I can find friends in other institutions who might provide some similar position according me library access....
(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2025 11:45 amconuly posting in agonyauntDEAR ABBY: I was sexually abused as a child. Because of this, as an adult woman, I have issues around being touched. I have had therapy, and I am doing much better, but I'm still uncomfortable with physical contact. I simply request that people ask me before they touch me, and I usually agree.
The issue is my mother-in-law. She refuses to ask before touching me and often pulls me into unwanted hugs or comes up behind me. I have explained to her about my history, so she knows why I want her to ask me first, but she brushes it off and says she isn't going to hurt me. One time she said, "What? Do you think I'm going to attack you?" No, I don't think she is going to attack me. This issue is about me, not her, but she doesn't understand that.
My husband throws up his hands and refuses to get involved, as he hates being put in the middle. How can I make her understand that I need her to ask before putting her hands on me? -- PROTECTIVE IN ILLINOIS
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The issue is my mother-in-law. She refuses to ask before touching me and often pulls me into unwanted hugs or comes up behind me. I have explained to her about my history, so she knows why I want her to ask me first, but she brushes it off and says she isn't going to hurt me. One time she said, "What? Do you think I'm going to attack you?" No, I don't think she is going to attack me. This issue is about me, not her, but she doesn't understand that.
My husband throws up his hands and refuses to get involved, as he hates being put in the middle. How can I make her understand that I need her to ask before putting her hands on me? -- PROTECTIVE IN ILLINOIS
( Read more... )
I'm man enough to be a party girl and dance all night, the American high
Jun. 19th, 2025 09:19 pmsovayFor Juneteenth, we left stones at Pomp's Wall on Grove Street and poured out a jigger of Medford rum for the man who built it, whose name on his bricklaying has outlasted the house in which he was enslaved.
WERS has been showcasing Black artists all day, which meant I switched it on and got the back-to-back fireworks of Koko Taylor's "Wang Dang Doodle" (1965) and Richie Havens' "Motherless Child" (1969).
Especially because I left the house yesterday at a quarter to eight in the morning and after four appointments and two visits returned home at a quarter to eight in the evening, I appreciate a known benefactor sending me five pounds of peaches and apricots from Frog Hollow Farm. They taste like the height of summer.
WERS has been showcasing Black artists all day, which meant I switched it on and got the back-to-back fireworks of Koko Taylor's "Wang Dang Doodle" (1965) and Richie Havens' "Motherless Child" (1969).
Especially because I left the house yesterday at a quarter to eight in the morning and after four appointments and two visits returned home at a quarter to eight in the evening, I appreciate a known benefactor sending me five pounds of peaches and apricots from Frog Hollow Farm. They taste like the height of summer.
I'm back.
Jun. 19th, 2025 01:13 pmsartoriasPlease forgive mush-mindedness; I'm three days out of the hospital and it's taking time for the simplest thoughts to come back on line.
Scintillation was wonderful, as always. And so was Fourth Street Fantasy Convention--what little I saw of it. No fault whatsoever to the con. All fault is due to the trash human in front of me in a very crowded assisted seating area, who coughed and hacked for the entire eight hour ride, refusing to put on a mask. "It's not a rule! And masks are all political anyway!"
By the next night I had a high temp, joints with ice picks stabbing them, skin like the worst sunburn ever. So I missed a lot, but managed to get to some programming including my panels. And I almost made it, tho by then I hadn't eaten for four days, and drunk only sips of water, which tasted terrible, like rusty pipes.
I was moderating my last panel, and I thought it was going okay when we opened to Qs from the audience and I realized that everyone was curiously black-and-white, then the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, surrounded by voices.
Here's where perceptions get kind of surreal. I slowly became aware that someone was stroking my arm. I've always known that Marissa L has an infinite capacity for genuine empathy, but I understood it was real. That empathy convey through the slow, reassuring touch, even though when she murmured "non-responsive."
Oh dear. I was not doing my bit! Worse, I'd totally spoiled the panel, yet here I was having somehow floated gently to the ground. I had to get up! Return to my room. Rest! Apologize to everyone for my dumbass move! Yet it felt so much better to lie there, and let trusted voices do whatever they were doing. So reassuring.
I knew those voices. I trusted them. Marissa, who seemed genuinely pleased that I was responsive after all, but she kept up her reassuring touch. (I do know the difference. I've had to drop my head between my knees a few times at distressing moments, and this one specific time, a person I'd known since college kept pawing me, the angle changing in the direction of their voice, as if they were busy looking around the room)
Then E Bear asked for my phone code, and I knew that voice, it's Bear, of course she must need my phone. I trust Bear. Then came the questions as I began to rouse a bit. Scott L, long-serving firefighter and fully trained EMP started what my spouse (who was a volunteer fireman for 20 years, and worked alongside EMTs) called the litany. Scott's strong, clear voice foghorned something much like, "Sherwood, I hate to do this to you, but what asshole is currently infesting the White House?"
And I laughed. I don't know if the laughter got past my lips, but it's strange how humor--laughter--can rouse one. I muttered, "Yesterday was NO KINGS DAY."
Then it seemed they wanted to send me off to emergency services; there was talk, then a fourth trusted voice, belonging to Beth F, insisted that it was not a good idea to be sending me off without anyone knowing where. She informed the company that she was a Registered Nurse and this was SOP, or the like. Beth's on the team, I thought.
Shortly thereafter they got my wreck of a bod onto the conveyance and I was in for an ambulance ride. It was beautiful teamwork--cons these days have security teams, and here I was proof that their protocols were functioning swiftly and smoothly, which would permit them to pivot straight back to con stuff.
While I was in for a wad of tests. So many tests. I soon had two IVS going, one in each elbow.
Presently the doc came in and said that I had an acute case of influenza, compounded by severe dehydration. Beth F heroically came to spring me, and saw me to my room, promising me a backup call the following morning.
Another perceptual eddy: I thought, wrongly, I'd wafted quietly and softly to the floor. Maybe even discreetly. Ha Ha. When I stripped out of my influenza clothes I discovered gigantic bruises in weird places--the entire top of one foot is discolored, another baseball-sized bruise on one calf, and so one. I began to suspect that I had catapulted myself whammo-flat with all the grace of a stevedore hauling a sack of spuds.
The following days I slept and slept, forcing a few bites of salad and oatmeal. I have zero stamina, must work on that, but at least I am home, and I guess all that unwanted experience can sink into the subconscious quagmire.
Scintillation was wonderful, as always. And so was Fourth Street Fantasy Convention--what little I saw of it. No fault whatsoever to the con. All fault is due to the trash human in front of me in a very crowded assisted seating area, who coughed and hacked for the entire eight hour ride, refusing to put on a mask. "It's not a rule! And masks are all political anyway!"
By the next night I had a high temp, joints with ice picks stabbing them, skin like the worst sunburn ever. So I missed a lot, but managed to get to some programming including my panels. And I almost made it, tho by then I hadn't eaten for four days, and drunk only sips of water, which tasted terrible, like rusty pipes.
I was moderating my last panel, and I thought it was going okay when we opened to Qs from the audience and I realized that everyone was curiously black-and-white, then the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, surrounded by voices.
Here's where perceptions get kind of surreal. I slowly became aware that someone was stroking my arm. I've always known that Marissa L has an infinite capacity for genuine empathy, but I understood it was real. That empathy convey through the slow, reassuring touch, even though when she murmured "non-responsive."
Oh dear. I was not doing my bit! Worse, I'd totally spoiled the panel, yet here I was having somehow floated gently to the ground. I had to get up! Return to my room. Rest! Apologize to everyone for my dumbass move! Yet it felt so much better to lie there, and let trusted voices do whatever they were doing. So reassuring.
I knew those voices. I trusted them. Marissa, who seemed genuinely pleased that I was responsive after all, but she kept up her reassuring touch. (I do know the difference. I've had to drop my head between my knees a few times at distressing moments, and this one specific time, a person I'd known since college kept pawing me, the angle changing in the direction of their voice, as if they were busy looking around the room)
Then E Bear asked for my phone code, and I knew that voice, it's Bear, of course she must need my phone. I trust Bear. Then came the questions as I began to rouse a bit. Scott L, long-serving firefighter and fully trained EMP started what my spouse (who was a volunteer fireman for 20 years, and worked alongside EMTs) called the litany. Scott's strong, clear voice foghorned something much like, "Sherwood, I hate to do this to you, but what asshole is currently infesting the White House?"
And I laughed. I don't know if the laughter got past my lips, but it's strange how humor--laughter--can rouse one. I muttered, "Yesterday was NO KINGS DAY."
Then it seemed they wanted to send me off to emergency services; there was talk, then a fourth trusted voice, belonging to Beth F, insisted that it was not a good idea to be sending me off without anyone knowing where. She informed the company that she was a Registered Nurse and this was SOP, or the like. Beth's on the team, I thought.
Shortly thereafter they got my wreck of a bod onto the conveyance and I was in for an ambulance ride. It was beautiful teamwork--cons these days have security teams, and here I was proof that their protocols were functioning swiftly and smoothly, which would permit them to pivot straight back to con stuff.
While I was in for a wad of tests. So many tests. I soon had two IVS going, one in each elbow.
Presently the doc came in and said that I had an acute case of influenza, compounded by severe dehydration. Beth F heroically came to spring me, and saw me to my room, promising me a backup call the following morning.
Another perceptual eddy: I thought, wrongly, I'd wafted quietly and softly to the floor. Maybe even discreetly. Ha Ha. When I stripped out of my influenza clothes I discovered gigantic bruises in weird places--the entire top of one foot is discolored, another baseball-sized bruise on one calf, and so one. I began to suspect that I had catapulted myself whammo-flat with all the grace of a stevedore hauling a sack of spuds.
The following days I slept and slept, forcing a few bites of salad and oatmeal. I have zero stamina, must work on that, but at least I am home, and I guess all that unwanted experience can sink into the subconscious quagmire.
(no subject)
Jun. 19th, 2025 04:50 pmconuly posting in agonyauntDear Care and Feeding,
My wife, “Minerva,” and I have a 6-year-old son, “Blaine.”
When Blaine was just under 1, Minerva and I began to have issues getting along. I started an affair with “Wendy,” Minerva’s sister. Less than a year into the affair, Wendy ended up pregnant and had a son, “Cameron.” She told everyone she conceived through a sperm donor.
The affair lasted another two years, when we decided we both could not continue on with it.
The boys are close and love spending time together. The trouble is that as they have gotten older, they are resembling each other more and more—and they both look like me.
Luckily Blaine is blond like his mother, which makes it slightly less obvious, though not much. Lately Wendy and I have been taking steps to try and keep them apart, or at least have them see each other for playdates and outings without Minerva present.
However, we know we can’t keep this up. Wendy suggested that should could request a transfer to another state through work. We both agreed that would be the best thing, even if I don’t get to see my younger son grow up.
Would there ever be an appropriate time to confess the truth to my wife, or is this one of those things you take to your grave? Minerva and I have managed to repair our relationship in the last couple of years, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.
—No Such Thing as the Best of Both Worlds
( Read more... )
My wife, “Minerva,” and I have a 6-year-old son, “Blaine.”
When Blaine was just under 1, Minerva and I began to have issues getting along. I started an affair with “Wendy,” Minerva’s sister. Less than a year into the affair, Wendy ended up pregnant and had a son, “Cameron.” She told everyone she conceived through a sperm donor.
The affair lasted another two years, when we decided we both could not continue on with it.
The boys are close and love spending time together. The trouble is that as they have gotten older, they are resembling each other more and more—and they both look like me.
Luckily Blaine is blond like his mother, which makes it slightly less obvious, though not much. Lately Wendy and I have been taking steps to try and keep them apart, or at least have them see each other for playdates and outings without Minerva present.
However, we know we can’t keep this up. Wendy suggested that should could request a transfer to another state through work. We both agreed that would be the best thing, even if I don’t get to see my younger son grow up.
Would there ever be an appropriate time to confess the truth to my wife, or is this one of those things you take to your grave? Minerva and I have managed to repair our relationship in the last couple of years, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.
—No Such Thing as the Best of Both Worlds
( Read more... )
Toxic: It's not just a buzzword!
Jun. 19th, 2025 04:44 pmconuly posting in agonyauntDear Prudence,
I would never cut off my family, and I don’t think of them as “toxic” or any of those buzzwords, but we aren’t close. We talk on holidays and they attended my wedding celebration, but we don’t really know each other. My parents focused on my brother growing up, and I was just kind of also there. When I was 15, my brother had some more intense issues and my parents moved out of state to give him a fresh start. My best friend’s parents offered to take me in so I could finish high school in my hometown. It was the best thing anyone could have possibly done for me. They parented me in a way I’d never experienced and, although I was difficult, they were patient. I thrived with them. I went on to get an apprenticeship, build a small business, and marry a wonderful man. We co-own a duplex with my best friend and her spouse, and are close with his family and hers. We plan to raise kids together. I feel like my family is here, and complete. But then my beloved brother changed everything.
Completely unexpectedly to me, my brother sharply cut off our parents this winter. I have no idea why. They’re responding by pouring all that energy and money my way for the first time in my life. It’s very weird and uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to get them to stop. I’ve been dodging their calls and texts, but they’ve escalated to mailing gifts, and pushing for a visit. How do I politely shut them down and keep our normal level of contact?
—I Barely Know Them
( Read more... )
I would never cut off my family, and I don’t think of them as “toxic” or any of those buzzwords, but we aren’t close. We talk on holidays and they attended my wedding celebration, but we don’t really know each other. My parents focused on my brother growing up, and I was just kind of also there. When I was 15, my brother had some more intense issues and my parents moved out of state to give him a fresh start. My best friend’s parents offered to take me in so I could finish high school in my hometown. It was the best thing anyone could have possibly done for me. They parented me in a way I’d never experienced and, although I was difficult, they were patient. I thrived with them. I went on to get an apprenticeship, build a small business, and marry a wonderful man. We co-own a duplex with my best friend and her spouse, and are close with his family and hers. We plan to raise kids together. I feel like my family is here, and complete. But then my beloved brother changed everything.
Completely unexpectedly to me, my brother sharply cut off our parents this winter. I have no idea why. They’re responding by pouring all that energy and money my way for the first time in my life. It’s very weird and uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to get them to stop. I’ve been dodging their calls and texts, but they’ve escalated to mailing gifts, and pushing for a visit. How do I politely shut them down and keep our normal level of contact?
—I Barely Know Them
( Read more... )
Assorted stuff
Jun. 19th, 2025 05:18 pmoursinDept, vain adornment, sort of. Went to get my hair trimmed, as after several months since it was cropped it was getting a bit messy. I went back to the same place (not the one I used to go to in Bloomsbury, for Reasons including my favourite stylist doesn't seem to be there any longer) where the lady half of the operation does a very nice cut and it is not at all expensive.
I do wonder a bit though - it was entirely deserted except for me, and they wanted paying in cash. It may just be it was a quiet day and the cash card reader was broken. But one wonders if it's A FRONT for something, though pretty much every third business around there that's not an estate agent or a grocer's or fast food place of some ethnicity or other, this being a particularly multi-ethnic corner of Our Fair City, is a hairdresser's/barber's/beauty parlour.
***
Dept, this was RUDE: I don't care if he was young - ? primary school age - you do not do this on a London bus, infamy, infamy, etc. I was returning from the above appointment and the downstairs on the bus being rather chokka, went upstairs and scored the prime position, front seat, left-hand. And a stop or so later, little boy gets on and cheekily comes and sits next. Opposite - right hand - seat was empty and the whole top deck was by no means crowded.
Also he gave signs of being an incipient manspreader.
***
Dept of, further on sitting in the wrong place (I meant to add this to the post the other day on Being Inappropriate on Social Media): Tourists damage crystal-covered chair in Italian museum by sitting on it:
An Italian museum has contacted the police after two clumsy tourists almost wrecked a work of art while posing for photos.
Video footage released by Palazzo Maffei in Verona showed the hapless pair photographing each other pretending to sit on a crystal-covered chair made by the artist Nicola Bolla – described by the museum as an “extremely fragile” work.
The woman squats and does not seem to touch the work – called Van Gogh’s Chair and covered in Swarovski crystals – but the man is not so careful, sitting and then stumbling backwards as the seat buckles under his weight.
The pair can then be seen fleeing the room in footage that went viral over the weekend.
Tags:
Social Q’s: No Need to Feel Flattened by a Fifth Wheel
Jun. 19th, 2025 07:18 ammagid posting in agonyauntThird question in this week’s NY Times’ Social Q’s, posted because I’m flabbergasted by the guests’ question.
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current reading, and
Jun. 18th, 2025 09:27 pmthistleingreyI've recently begun reading Patrick Carey's New Perspectives: Microsoft Office 365 & Excel 2019 Comprehensive, 1st ed. (2020). It's solid, in lieu of the documentation that Microsoft no longer produces itself, if one needs such materials. There's a newer version; this is one of the two versions required by a summer class.
So far, it's kind of soothing: not soporific but reassuring for someone self-taught who hasn't used Excel much since its 2007 release, the last to have a jam-packed toolbar of doom. Like, so far, sometimes I remember keyboard shortcuts or exact command-names for things I can't find on the ribbon, which ... means I should learn the ribbon.
Why am I taking a class on using Excel?
1) The fun-fact answer: though I've figured out how to use Excel to clean and transform medium-sized chunks of data (structured text measured in megabytes, not a few dozen rows), I'm ignorant of a bunch of normal things that people use it for. Also, tables tend to make me glaze over, and I intend to narrow down the issue and patch it. At least they don't give me actual headaches, as the graphs in my recent econ assignments did.
2) The other answer: about two years ago, I began pondering what would benefit me for job-seeking, once my health had rebuilt itself further. Last year I decided with my physician that I could probably handle taking a class or two, and then something else pushed me into going faster. Like econ, Excel contributes to a category requirement.
Meanwhile, my two-year-ago plan for job-seeking options has been pretty comprehensively eaten by what people think AI can do---not necessarily what it can do well, but what they wish it could handle for them. By the time I wrap my course-taking next spring, I'll have learned some things about basic accounting---because I want to---and I'll understand better what I can offer, may tolerate, and would probably dislike in the current job landscape.
FAQ: no, I'm not pursuing a CPA license or a data-analyst certification. It wouldn't make financial sense at my age, and most people wouldn't believe in it. I've done enough things already that're hard to believe yet well documented! A thing one cannot really say to a recruiter or hiring manager: in 30ish years of past employment, I've achieved enough. Anyway, I intend the next stage to be less pressureful.
So far, it's kind of soothing: not soporific but reassuring for someone self-taught who hasn't used Excel much since its 2007 release, the last to have a jam-packed toolbar of doom. Like, so far, sometimes I remember keyboard shortcuts or exact command-names for things I can't find on the ribbon, which ... means I should learn the ribbon.
Why am I taking a class on using Excel?
1) The fun-fact answer: though I've figured out how to use Excel to clean and transform medium-sized chunks of data (structured text measured in megabytes, not a few dozen rows), I'm ignorant of a bunch of normal things that people use it for. Also, tables tend to make me glaze over, and I intend to narrow down the issue and patch it. At least they don't give me actual headaches, as the graphs in my recent econ assignments did.
2) The other answer: about two years ago, I began pondering what would benefit me for job-seeking, once my health had rebuilt itself further. Last year I decided with my physician that I could probably handle taking a class or two, and then something else pushed me into going faster. Like econ, Excel contributes to a category requirement.
Meanwhile, my two-year-ago plan for job-seeking options has been pretty comprehensively eaten by what people think AI can do---not necessarily what it can do well, but what they wish it could handle for them. By the time I wrap my course-taking next spring, I'll have learned some things about basic accounting---because I want to---and I'll understand better what I can offer, may tolerate, and would probably dislike in the current job landscape.
FAQ: no, I'm not pursuing a CPA license or a data-analyst certification. It wouldn't make financial sense at my age, and most people wouldn't believe in it. I've done enough things already that're hard to believe yet well documented! A thing one cannot really say to a recruiter or hiring manager: in 30ish years of past employment, I've achieved enough. Anyway, I intend the next stage to be less pressureful.
time marches on, time standing still
Jun. 18th, 2025 05:24 pmjazzfishI'm ... approaching done with coursework? I just turned in the practicum report and timesheet. Left to do: finish and polish a groupwork report (due tomorrow); record a five-minute presentation that someone else will stitch together with the rest of the group's presentations (gonna try to get that done by end of Monday); final exam for final class (before end of day next Thursday). Oh, and submit my Application For Credential, I should do that tonight or tomorrow.
It feels a bit of a relief, and a bit of "what next?" and a lot of frustration at the state of the world / economy for having gotten worse since April 2023 when I decided to hide out for two years. It feels more like an Accomplishment than I expected it to, but not much like one. But then very little ever feels like an Accomplishment, except in deliberate retrospect.
Counseling last week and this has been a lot of deep diving into my inability/reluctance to be proud of things I've done. This is gonna require some retraining of my brain. I grew up inculcated with a firm belief that the standards were different for me. Doing something 'normal' is not worth mentioning (though failing to do it is deeply shameful), and doing something extraordinary is worth at most "i knew i could do that, i am Living Up To My Potential." The agon of the Gifted Child: you must do Great Things because you are Gifted; but because you are Gifted, anything you do is no more than what's Expected Of You and thus insufficiently Great.
A couple months back, on the death of Val Kilmer, a friend wrote "The most important moral lesson of Real Genius is that failing to live up to your gifted-kid potential is praxis." I appreciate this a great deal.
It feels a bit of a relief, and a bit of "what next?" and a lot of frustration at the state of the world / economy for having gotten worse since April 2023 when I decided to hide out for two years. It feels more like an Accomplishment than I expected it to, but not much like one. But then very little ever feels like an Accomplishment, except in deliberate retrospect.
Counseling last week and this has been a lot of deep diving into my inability/reluctance to be proud of things I've done. This is gonna require some retraining of my brain. I grew up inculcated with a firm belief that the standards were different for me. Doing something 'normal' is not worth mentioning (though failing to do it is deeply shameful), and doing something extraordinary is worth at most "i knew i could do that, i am Living Up To My Potential." The agon of the Gifted Child: you must do Great Things because you are Gifted; but because you are Gifted, anything you do is no more than what's Expected Of You and thus insufficiently Great.
A couple months back, on the death of Val Kilmer, a friend wrote "The most important moral lesson of Real Genius is that failing to live up to your gifted-kid potential is praxis." I appreciate this a great deal.
focus
Jun. 18th, 2025 01:09 pmadrian_turtleI have bifocals now. After more than 10 years of changing back and forth between reading glasses and distance glasses, I have to learn a whole different set of reflexes for looking at things. When to move my eyes. When to move my head and NOT my eyes.
I was fine with carrying reading glasses with me, even though it meant I couldn't just go out with what fit in my pockets. But it's tricky to change glasses while wearing an N95 mask and a broad-brimmed hat, especially when I don't have a table or even a lap where I can put down the pair I'm taking off. So I spent a lot of time in the wrong glasses. Unable to read the bus schedule on my phone or unable to see the bus stop sign telling me which direction the bus is going. Unable to find my way into the supermarket, or unable to read package labels. I appreciate how labels are color-coded and otherwise designed for the convenience of people who cannot read! But it's frustrating how often I bought the wrong thing, or had to ask for help.
Adjusting is ... not great
I woke up with a migraine 5 days in a row.
I stumbled and fell on a trolley platform yesterday. I very nearly fell off the trolley platform, so it was much more upsetting than it might be. I wasn't really hurt, but it was scary. It wasn't even one of the transit stops where the footing is particularly bad.
But the bifocals are great! They're great in the ways I had thought they would be. Even better, because my old distance prescription wasn't right. I can read my phone and read the labels on groceries and also see street signs. I can even see leaves in trees!
The problem is that I don't know how to look where I'm going, literally. When I wore plain distance glasses, my eyes were often aimed at the ground I was about to walk on. Especially when I was walking on rough ground, and most of the pavement in this neighborhood counts as rough ground. The line of the bifocals hides that "3 steps away" ground, and the "next step" ground I can see through the reading window feels harder to focus on than when I just walked around in reading glasses. Is this a solved problem? I presume some of you wear bifocals and look where you're going...do you tuck your chins or something?
I was fine with carrying reading glasses with me, even though it meant I couldn't just go out with what fit in my pockets. But it's tricky to change glasses while wearing an N95 mask and a broad-brimmed hat, especially when I don't have a table or even a lap where I can put down the pair I'm taking off. So I spent a lot of time in the wrong glasses. Unable to read the bus schedule on my phone or unable to see the bus stop sign telling me which direction the bus is going. Unable to find my way into the supermarket, or unable to read package labels. I appreciate how labels are color-coded and otherwise designed for the convenience of people who cannot read! But it's frustrating how often I bought the wrong thing, or had to ask for help.
Adjusting is ... not great
I woke up with a migraine 5 days in a row.
I stumbled and fell on a trolley platform yesterday. I very nearly fell off the trolley platform, so it was much more upsetting than it might be. I wasn't really hurt, but it was scary. It wasn't even one of the transit stops where the footing is particularly bad.
But the bifocals are great! They're great in the ways I had thought they would be. Even better, because my old distance prescription wasn't right. I can read my phone and read the labels on groceries and also see street signs. I can even see leaves in trees!
The problem is that I don't know how to look where I'm going, literally. When I wore plain distance glasses, my eyes were often aimed at the ground I was about to walk on. Especially when I was walking on rough ground, and most of the pavement in this neighborhood counts as rough ground. The line of the bifocals hides that "3 steps away" ground, and the "next step" ground I can see through the reading window feels harder to focus on than when I just walked around in reading glasses. Is this a solved problem? I presume some of you wear bifocals and look where you're going...do you tuck your chins or something?
april booklog
Jun. 18th, 2025 08:10 pmwychwood( 38. The Interior Life - Dorothy J Heydt ) I will be re-reading this forever.
( 39. The Fellowship of the Ring - JRR Tolkien ) An excellent start to an epic adventure; I enjoyed re-visiting this a lot, although I had forgotten quite how many poems there were.
( 40. The Poisoned Chocolates Case - Anthony Berkeley ) The gimmick was a fun idea but it got a bit personal for me; still, mostly this was pretty entertaining.
( 41. Encore in Death, 44. Payback in Death, and 45. Passions in Death - JD Robb ) I gobbled all of these down and thoroughly enjoyed them, as ever.
( 42. Venomous Lumpsucker - Ned Beauman ) Bleak and kind of funny and also depressingly ridiculous; this is more towards the literary end of things than I usually go, but I did rather enjoy it.
( 43. Artificial Condition - Martha Wells ) Mostly I wish novellas were longer, but I can't deny that Wells manages to pack a lot into them!
( 39. The Fellowship of the Ring - JRR Tolkien ) An excellent start to an epic adventure; I enjoyed re-visiting this a lot, although I had forgotten quite how many poems there were.
( 40. The Poisoned Chocolates Case - Anthony Berkeley ) The gimmick was a fun idea but it got a bit personal for me; still, mostly this was pretty entertaining.
( 41. Encore in Death, 44. Payback in Death, and 45. Passions in Death - JD Robb ) I gobbled all of these down and thoroughly enjoyed them, as ever.
( 42. Venomous Lumpsucker - Ned Beauman ) Bleak and kind of funny and also depressingly ridiculous; this is more towards the literary end of things than I usually go, but I did rather enjoy it.
( 43. Artificial Condition - Martha Wells ) Mostly I wish novellas were longer, but I can't deny that Wells manages to pack a lot into them!
The Brightness Between Us by Eliot Schrefer
Jun. 18th, 2025 05:35 pmprofiterole_readsThe Brightness Between Us by Eliot Schrefer (Queer Ducks (and Other Animals): The Natural World of Animal Sexuality) was excellent. It's part sequel, part prequel to The Darkness Outside Us.
As you definitely need to go into Book 1 knowing as little as possible, I can't talk about the plot of Book 2. Let's just say that it was a pleasure to meet these characters again.
There's major m/m, minor m/nb, as well as an asexual female character.
As you definitely need to go into Book 1 knowing as little as possible, I can't talk about the plot of Book 2. Let's just say that it was a pleasure to meet these characters again.
There's major m/m, minor m/nb, as well as an asexual female character.