Hyperbole and Three Quarters

May. 19th, 2013 03:38 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
Okay, I'm probably the last person on the internet to notice this, but - well, yay! I've been checking in now and again for about two years, hoping Allie would follow up her hilarious-yet-devastating post on depression, and now she has - with another hilarious-yet-devastating post on depression.

Curiously, both this and "To Kill a King" (see my last post) are about severely depressed and blocked writers, and both were put on the net on 9th May, 2013. Can this possibly be a coincidence?

(Yes.)

"To Kill a King" - Alan Garner

May. 19th, 2013 02:53 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
There's some as likes to dig up dead kings in car parks; and then there's them as likes to dust them down in archives. Garner's episode of Leap in the Dark sees the light after 33 years:

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[personal profile] oursin

Exasperating article today on whether Prozac b teh deth ov ART, horrors horrors.

Which has so many unexamined assumptions festering away in the subtext...

One thinks that there have been many creative artists who were not, in fact, bipolar, or suffering more than the kinds of normal unhappiness that are part of human existence, and it is really not necessary to have distressing problems of brain chemistry to produce worthwhile works of art. No, really, not all artists are 'tortured' and it is not the precondition of entry. Mi Romantyk Phallusy, I show u it.

One also considers that there have been artists who have needed a certain degree of uproar and upheaval in their personal lives to get them going, which I think of as Robert Graves syndrome, and recommending marriage guidance counselling would probably be beside the point, alas. (One perhaps feels less sympathy for these artists than for the people within their ambit who are dealing with the fallout from this.)

Above all, however, one wonders whether people were going around, following the discovery of salvarsan/penicillin, and the introduction of isoniazid, bewailing the likely effects on creativity of the eradication of cerebral syphilis and consumption.

I am also, about the allusion to Freud committing suicide, seriously WTF: Freud was over 80, terminally ill with cancer and in excruciating pain for which medication was no longer working; this surely comes under the heading of self-euthanasia rather than being assimilatable to the 'suicidal artist' model that precedes it.

Also, depression is not some romantic gothic black pall, pierced by occasional amazing shafts of light: it's a grey slime of apathy covering everything. At least one of the cited descriptions of the effect of some psychotropic drug sounded exactly like depression, which suggests that it wasn't actually working.

I am never about magic bullets, and there are problems of individual response to particular medications, of an overly pharmaceutical quick-fix approach to mental distress, and, ultimately, it's always more complicated.

But: the drugs can help even if they're not the complete answer.

(no subject)

May. 19th, 2013 12:38 pm
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[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [personal profile] clanwilliam!

Certain amount of whiplash here

May. 18th, 2013 05:20 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

Oliver Burkemann on 'norm policing' against queue jumpers etc vs Lucy Mangan on microaggressions.

Okay, perhaps one could slot people who violate norms into the category of microaggressors?

It is possible that Lucy M has already captured some of this ambivalence:

And, like political correctness, it is both a) a brilliant and fundamentally sound idea that would, if properly practised, result in greater happiness for a greater number of people; and b) capable of quickly leading practitioners down spiralling corridors of guilt, anxiety and negativity that hide the original departure point from view.

And while I rather like her concept of 'microniceties', I regret to say that I am probably not going to notice people who are holding their parting conversation in such a way that they are not blocking the top of the stairway to the egress (something I came across in the course of this week) as much as people who, neglectful of the fact that people might want to get past, do thus hinder the free flow of traffic.

Niceties, perhaps, are about reducing the friction and not negatively snagging one's attention.

I suspect that niceties have to rise above the level of micro to be noticed.

Downtime this morning

May. 18th, 2013 07:51 am
mark: Photo of Mark's face, taken in standard office fluorescent. (Default)
[staff profile] mark posting in [site community profile] dw_maintenance

(For some California local definition of 'morning'!)

About 30 minutes ago one of our databases (sb-db03) locked up and stopped serving traffic. This was an active database, so the site quickly stopped when it could no longer serve requests. Alas.

I have failed us over to a backup database and now everything should be working again.

I'm not sure yet what happened to db03, but am currently investigating and will update this post if I come up with a root cause for the problem. Edit: It's back up and doesn't have any visible problems. Disks are fine, data's intact, etc. The graphs and logs show nothing. We'll have to keep an eye on it and see if it manifests further issues.

Sorry for the trouble, please let me know if you still see any problems!

Friday few

May. 17th, 2013 08:06 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

Cool Thing I discovered - glancing through an auction catalogue at work and riffling fast through the section on medieval illuminated manuscripts, my eye caught a woman's name and she was the person to whom this particular ms was attributed and A Known Artist. Apparently this was not entirely unknown in ye medievalz: women were making books in the Middle Ages and illuminating them, some in convents and some in family workshops in the secular world. Okay, hit me again with that explanation about the very limited possibilities available to women in The Past...

Annoying thing: someone, in the debate on women TV presenters and ageism, referring to Mary Beard as 'an old woman'. Beard is several years younger than moi, and still in that phase I would consider middle age.

Puffins: not entirely cutesome. In the course of five-yearly survey of puffins in the UK 'The amount of bites and scars [National Trust rangers] are going to have will be interesting." Though I feel the puffins may have a point, as the census involves people reaching into burrows to see if they are a mated pair with an egg.

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[personal profile] steepholm
In this BBC report a man called Nick Hancock anticipates the difficulties of spending 60 days on Rockall - to which the obvious answer would seem to be: well, don't do it.

I've never been able to sympathize much with the urge to put oneself (and one's eventual rescuers) in danger just for the sake of it, though clearly it excites admiration in many. However, I was prompted by something the reporter said on this clip to wonder about the cultural history of this kind of exploit: "In Victorian times, just visiting Rockall was said to be the epitome of heroism." That sounded a false note to me - but should it have? I can imagine a Victorian calling a visit to Rockall brave, but "heroic"? The Victorian version of that word has an overtone of nobility and service to others, to my mind, distinct from because-it's-there adventuring.

I'm far from certain about this, though. I try out a few test cases in my mind, running them through my patented "Victorian Mindset Filter":

Grace Darling and her father. They are uncontroversially heroic, showing extreme bravery and saving lives in the process. If they had merely been trying to break the night-time rowing endurance record? Not so much.

Sir John Franklin. Doomed, of course - but still fairly heroic because doomed in an attempt to find the Northwest Passage - a solid geopolitical objective that would have benefited his country had he succeeded.

The Light Brigade. Not only doomed, but doomed in a futile action; but heroic nonetheless because they acted from devotion to duty rather than reckless bravado.


Refining this a bit: Victorian heroism should not be entirely selfish; but while altruism is no doubt the ideal it is acceptable to be motivated in part by a desire for fame and glory. Indeed, desire for fame is a legitimate incentive within the classical, Germanic and Celtic heroic traditions alike. It goes clean against the Sermon on the Mount, which is no doubt why Milton calls it "the last infirmity of noble mind" - but he is praising with faint damns, there. Still, fame mustn't be the only incentive for an act otherwise pointless or contemptible. Herostratus is not admired, and no more are famous-for-being-famous celebrities (a solidly mid-Victorian word, in that sense - not a twentieth-century one as one might imagine).

It's when we get to the twentieth century though that the concept of heroism gloops out into an untrammeled glory fest - a race to get to the ends of the earth or the top of Everest for no other reason than to say that you did it first, or quickest, or with the least equipment. Are such people more likely to be called heroic now than of yore? Such feats may wear the dress of patriotism, scientific research or charity fundraising, but to what degree are these the real motivations, and what effect do they have on our conception of them as heroic or otherwise? Scott, for example, was certainly seen in his own time as a hero, and still is by many. In what exactly did the estimate of heroism consist, either now or then?

It's in the twentieth century, as far as I can see, that people become obsessed with superlatives for their own sake: the fastest, longest, highest, first, and so on. The Guinness Book of Records is published first in 1951: how did previous generations get by without it? Perhaps they didn't find that sort of thing as fascinating, or perhaps they did but wrote about them piecemeal in publications such as almanacs? Here's where I hit the buffers of ignorance - but I'd be interested to know at what point Wisden, for example (first pub. 1864) started noting records in the Guinness sense rather than merely keeping records of individual matches; or when people started thinking of the World Record for running a certain distance rather than who won a particular race. That seems to me an interesting epistemic shift. It was facilitated no doubt by technology (accurate chronometers) and organization (the creation of events such as the Olympics with the authority to declare results and have them universally accepted), but were people just waiting for that kind of opportunity, or did its arrival signal the creation of a whole new way of thinking about achievement, in absolute rather than relative terms?
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[personal profile] oursin

Nametag Day

Ever wanted to connect with the millions of New Yorkers walking past you? Each day brings opportunities to make new friends and share experiences. All too often, we can forget to notice the people around us. Nametag Day aims to break this barrier and strengthen the human element of the New York experience, adding a bit of spontaneity and silliness to people's day.

Possibly one should be relieved that they are not also about giving hugs?

Is it just me, or would other people fill in the tag with 'Jane Smith' or equivalent? (or, of course, not Jane Smith if that was their name.)

Though I would envisage, if they tried this in London, that well-known London-survival strategy, avoiding people's eyes and not engaging, or even crossing the road.

Can I get a heartfelt eeeeuuuuwwww?

Not as obsolete as I thought

May. 17th, 2013 10:02 am
oursin: Photograph of Stella Gibbons, overwritten IM IN UR WOODSHED SEEING SOMETHIN NASTY (woodshed)
[personal profile] oursin

I was thinking, as I walked up the road to the Tube (I will not, dr rdrs, recount the preceding sequence of thoughts that got me there) that you don't find the concept of 'nymphomania' around these days to the extent that it was in my younger days.

Which led me to wonder whether morally-loaded terms such as 'slut' had replaced a medically-pathologising, if still pejorative, one (which was always a bit confused between the idea of a woman with a high sex drive and the poor creature who was desperately seeking an actual satisfaction that eluded her).

However, a quick google suggests that it is still at least in vernacular use to some extent, though the top hit is all about debunking the concept:

Calling someone a nymphomaniac or accusing them of nymphomania isn't something that can be defined by science. Nymphomania is a layperson's term used to label a woman, or a nympho, whose sex drive or sexual activity is subjectively deemed too high. The term "nymphomania," is not scientifically meaningful simply because there are no specific criteria that would define a nymphomaniac. In other words, there isn't a way to determine how much sexual desire or activity is too much.
....
The label of nymphomania is used in a pejorative and derogatory manner, almost exclusively in reference to women. To many men, the idea of a woman with a greater sex drive than their own is somewhat threatening, so they may use the label to preserve their own egos by "proving" that the woman is abnormal.
Similarly, men with sexual dysfunction might accuse their partners of being oversexed in an effort to hide their own fears or sense of inadequacy

Many years ago - it must have been c. 1970, the summer I was in New York - I picked up a copy of Playboy which was lying around the place I was sharing, and in the correspondence columns, presumably in response to former discussion about the female sex drive, was the brilliantly circular argument, 'The only women I've ever met who were as horny as men were nymphomaniacs'. And that was back when Teh Menz prided themselves on being the logical sex...

Recent report in the Daily Mirror: Two men were left exhausted and crying for help after being targeted by a nymphomaniac in Germany - but what exactly is nymphomania?

(The metamorphoses of the vampire*, what?)

I also note that the latest Lars von Trier film is Nymphomaniac.

So the concept seems to be about, still.

Sigh.

*Edna St Vincent Millay translates Baudelaire: squeeeeeee.

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[personal profile] oursin
When modern mystery readers ponder the genesis of the genre, Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie come to mind. All-but forgotten are S. S. Van Dine, Dorothy L. Sayers, J. D. Carr, Earl derr Biggers, Clayton Rawson, Margery Allingham, Stuart Palmer, Ellery Queen, Rex Stout, Edmund Crispin, E. C. Bentley, Anthony Berkeley, Ronald Knox, and Ngaio Marsh. G. K. Chesterton might be called a proto-Golden Ager in that many of his short stories featured puzzle-plots, and because he is known to have inspired many of the Golden Age writers.

It’s difficult for modern readers to appreciate the richness of the Golden Age of puzzle-plotting that stretched from the 1920s to the late 1930s.

Okay, I will concede that some of those names are forgotten, or only remembered as part of the history of the mystery, but, ahem, some of them are still in print and quite likely never, or only briefly, out of it. Sayers, Allingham, Marsh, Stout: all in Kindle.

There is even a forthcoming conference on Fr Ronnie Knox (a dear friend of my beloved G B Stern), though I think it promises to be on rather more than his role in defining the mystery genre - didn't he devise the famous Crime Club rules, like 'no undetectable exotic poisons'?

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[personal profile] oursin

A couple of friends have been making ecstatic posts on FaceBook about dining at a Certain Upscale Restaurant where I have also been with partner (Project Posh Food Lunching), and, besides waxing lyrical about the food, have massive praise for the wonderfulness of the front-of-house staff.

And yes, that's been pretty much my experience too, fairly generally in our adventures in fine dining.

Yet I wouldn't be entirely sure that I don't have lurking somewhere some vision of superior maitre d' and snarky waiters, just waiting to put down anyone who is NQOSD and should probably be down the local chippy rather than sullying their elite premises.

While I'm sure there must be other literary sources, I feel this is probably down to my mother singing to me the song about 'you get no bread with one fishball'* in my youth.

*A version of which gets cited in the Katherine Mansfield story, 'Je Ne Parle Pas Francaise'.

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[personal profile] oursin

Thinking further about Red Riding 1980, I can see, I suppose, that he's writing about a certain macho culture which was profoundly complicit with the serial killer of women that they were supposed to be catching (the real-life Yorkshire Ripper) -

Because it's depicted as all about dominance displays, dick-sizing, defending one's turf even against the lawn specialist who's been sent in specifically to deal with the sickly yellow patch problem (as it were), hostile joking, cutting off from any kind of emotional connections that can be used to put on pressure -

Possibly not so much 'the corruption goes right to the top' but 'nobody's hands are clean' -

And therefore perhaps the extreme marginality of any women characters who aren't either dead already or victims of violence is part of the point.

But when the only thing I get about the first person narrator's wife is 'fertility problems/miscarriages', which is a situation and not a character, really, even though fpn appears to be deeply distressed about the situation (festering away because of course he can't talk about it) -

I think I needed the book to be offering me something that this hadn't got.

And which Hurley's Bel Dame Apocrypha did in spite of the grot and the bugs and the general crapsackery. Individuated characters certainly helped.

Or of course it might be the 'later book in ongoing series issue', though from looking it up it would seem that the different volumes are all different viewpoints: but presumably one would have more of a handle on the players, perhaps.

The Wednesday reading post

May. 15th, 2013 07:29 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

What I'm reading

Re-read of Jane Smiley's Ten Days in the Hills (2007), of which I discover I wrote the first time round

Readable enough, and yes, the whole metafictional thing of stories popping in and out of the narrative worked for me, but I'm still not entirely persuaded that this isn't Smiley's 'reading the telephone directory' book (i.e. a writer who writes well enough to keep you reading even when they don't appear to have that much to say: the equivalent of an actor reading the telephone directory).

And yes, pretty much still that, but it's the change of pace I needed after some highstakes, crapsack world narratives.

Ongoing on the e-reader: Yoon Ha Lee, Conservation of Shadows (2013: short stories).

What I've recently read

Finished Kameron Hurley, Rapture - the whole sequence is just very, very, good.

Actually even more of a crapsack world than the Bel Dame Apocrypha, and in fact given up on, David Peace, 1980 in the 'Red Riding' sequence. Perhaps this (no 3 in sequence) not the place to start? Hard to keep track of everybody and who they were and their connection with our angst-ridden narrator and what their agenda is (are they actually bent coppers or is it about the politics of him being from another force coming in on a special task force in their manor?). Has anyone else read any of these? Believe there was a TV mini-series, which might have been easier to follow (the prose has strong whiffs of aiming for acclaim for 'transcending the genre').

Also for the change of pace, a couple more of Simon Brett's 'Fethering Mysteries': The Body on the Beach and The Torso in the Town. Popcorn.

What I'm About to Read

Dunno, but one thing I have upcoming is reading half a dozen or so essays for a prize competition. Have asked for them in format I can put on the tablet and take with me on forthcoming travels.

(no subject)

May. 15th, 2013 08:03 am
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[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [personal profile] auroramama!

Hamlets All Around

May. 14th, 2013 11:40 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
This is well worth a look - Hamlet in 198 programmes and films (but less than 15 minutes):

Snippet from a life not in progress

May. 14th, 2013 10:57 am
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[personal profile] desperance
"He threw up politely in his cycle helmet."

"Eww, that's - wait, what? A cycle helmet's full of vents, it's all holes."

"Indeed. It was most unfortunate."


- Doesn't everyone compose an internal narrative, a rarely-written record of what didn't happen? Or is that just me?

My chains fell off at half-past two*

May. 14th, 2013 03:45 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

There are few feelings so gratifying, my dearios, than having been in a state of the frantix about a number of small, but nonetheless, time-dependent things I have committed to do**, and feeling them roll off like the bundles from the backs of the March girls when they got to the top of the house.

Well within the deadline, when I was fearing I was going to have to beg an extension on at least one.

I had several things which, really, had to be done by end of this month, which = before I leave for Wiscon.

And apart from some rather minor editorial style-tweakery on the encyclopaedia article, pretty much there.


*From a 'horrors! do we rewrite classic hymns in Modern Eng?' satire.
**And finding that early May was not the quiet lull for getting stuff done that I had anticipated.

Pre-Wiscon

May. 14th, 2013 03:19 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

Post on the Wiscon people filter with recent photo, contact details, etc

If you're going to be at Wiscon but can't see that post, let me know and I'll put you on the filter.

This is primarily for practical and organisational matters - I normally post about Wiscon en clair, unless I'm being particularly libellous.

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[personal profile] steepholm
Twitter - the bleating of the gulls
Facebook - a stone tossed out to sea
LJ - a sandcastle on the beach
Hardbacks - the old seawall.

(no subject)

May. 14th, 2013 08:02 am
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[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [personal profile] sibyllevance!

Slow, slow, quick quick slow

May. 13th, 2013 12:33 pm
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[personal profile] desperance
I do lovety-love the application of unhurried time to food. Which is not to say that I do not also love its opposite, the fire and flash of swift cooking, but there is something about a dish that takes all day, the way it saturates the house with its odours and the back of my mind with its presence, so that I know I'm cooking even while I'm cycling to the library or reading through my proofs or drinking a cold beer in the garden while I wait for m'wife to come home.

Like today, f'rexample. The yogis will be coming for dinner; and it's just barely past noon now, and the bulk of the cooking is done already. That's the other thing about long slow cooking, it tends to be very low-pressure: you've got all the time in the world to get it started and to get it right.

So I made chicken stock in the slow cooker overnight, and this morning I went to Lucky's first thing and bought a bone-in shoulder of pork. (They call it a picnic roast here, though I am not entirely clear why: "Pork shoulder picnic or shoulder arm picnic are labels defined by the government," says the internet, which is not entirely helpful.) By ten o'clock the rind had been diamond-cut [side-note: when you have to keep reminding yourself to go lightly, to glide the blade rather than slash, to let the rind open beneath the edge rather than cutting through to the meat? It is probable that your knife is adequately sharp. *smugs*] and the face of the meat rubbed with a garlic-and-herb paste; by ten-thirty it was in the oven, on a rack over stock and vegetables and port. Where it will stay until half-eight tonight. And there will be carrots, and a fava-bean salad, and I haven't decided what else (potatoes? bread? something, for those of us who don't feel we've eaten unless we've eaten carbs), but none of it is going to be in any hurry at all.

Terribly poor stuff is terribly poor

May. 13th, 2013 08:24 pm
oursin: Photograph of Stella Gibbons, overwritten IM IN UR WOODSHED SEEING SOMETHIN NASTY (woodshed)
[personal profile] oursin

How often is that one's response to the problems advanced to PSC or Private Lives in Guardian G2 of a Monday, sigh.

My boyfriend of three years has.... admitted he doesn't find vaginas particularly attractive, joking that mine is especially repulsive.... He jokes that bodily fluids are disgusting and always washes after sex. I feel self-conscious and unattractive and worry that we'll never enjoy the explorative sex life I've had with previous partners.

O, PSC, why is it you never say 'dump the guy already' but talk about ways to save a relationship which sounds dooooooooomed?

I am also less than prepossessed here:

I am a woman and my male partner of 13 years likes to dress in my underwear.... Now his dressing up has escalated to him wanting to go out with my underwear on. I have reassured him about this, however my support has angered him and he says I am making him feel like freak.

WTF? Don't go near the comments, which begin by assuming that she's somehow in the wrong in this scenario.

"The huntsmen are up in America"

May. 13th, 2013 05:19 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
Here's another niggling phrase - this time not mine but Sir Thomas Browne's. Towards the end of The Garden of Cyrus Browne decides it's time to go to bed, and writes: "The huntsmen are up in America, and they are already past their first sleep in Persia."

Marvellous stuff, I'm sure you'll agree. In fact, "The huntsmen are up in America" is a phrase I like so much that I sometimes catch myself saying it round about midnight. It's less infantile than "Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire," after all. But more often than not I bite the words back - because, as a moment's thought will reveal, Browne (being sleepy) got the Earth's direction of spin wrong. By the time the huntsmen were actually up in America he would have been tucking into his elevenses and the Persians would have been taking afternoon sherbet.

I've considered adapting the phrase to reflect geographical reality. There are several suitable candidates that would preserve the dactylic charm of the original. "The huntsmen are up in Mongolia," for example. However, it's just not the same.

The only other expedient I can see is to move to a part of the world where Browne's phrase would actually make sense. If I lived in Honolulu, for example, saying "The huntsmen are up in America" at midnight would work perfectly, at least for the huntsmen of the east coast (whom Browne no doubt had in mind), while in Iran it would be the small hours of the morning - not ideal, but adequate. [ETA Actually the small hours of the afternoon, of course. Not so good.]

In fact, the more I think about it the more inevitable it seems that some future graduate student will use this phrase as the basis of an article arguing that Sir Thomas Browne was actually a native of Hawaii. I, for one, wish that person well.

Purging a Pun

May. 13th, 2013 03:59 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
"Unter den Linden? How sublime!"

For years I've nursed that multilingual pun, looking for an opportunity to slip it naturally into conversation. "I wonder what Longinus would have made of the Brandenburg Gate?" I might say, a propos of nothing - only to see the other people in the bus queue shuffle warily away. Would anyone feed me a line that would allow me to unsheathe my devastating witticism? Would they heck. It became an albatross round my neck. An albatross called Moby Dick.

Today, in a fit of abandon, I put it up as my Facebook status - but it didn't get so much as a single Like. After that I was forced to face the fact that a) not many people would get the joke, and b) even those that did probably wouldn't find it funny.

Perhaps, in fact, it isn't very funny. There - I've said it.

I admit defeat. Take it. Do with it as you will. Publish it as your own, and make millions - I care not.

God, I feel so much better for that.

Techno-dreaming

May. 13th, 2013 11:11 am
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin

How long does it take for new gadgets to become part of one's dreaming world?

Had a dream the other night in which I was either reading something on the tablet, or reading it as if it were on a tablet*.

Last night I had a dream in which, due to transport problems, partner and I had got separated and I had ended up on a bus which I was not sure was even going to the right bit of destination.

Anyway, at some point I had got off and was walking around looking for the restaurant where we were supposed to be going, in sort-of the City (of London, for anyone for whom this is not the assumed subtext) -

And I was trying to locate myself via the map on my smartphone.

*I don't think I've yet done my love-song to my new tablet - about the only nark I have is that the virtual keyboard doesn't appear to have angle brackets, chiz.

(no subject)

May. 13th, 2013 10:09 am
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [personal profile] caulkhead!

We may need a new unit of measurement

May. 12th, 2013 06:58 pm
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[personal profile] desperance
That moment of time, between my producing a chicken from the fridge and the cats manifesting at my feet in expectation? It must be measurable to science - it is an article of faith with me, that all things that are, are lights measurable to science - but allowing for observational error, it is as near to instantaneous as makes no never mind.

Sometimes I think the cats even manifest before the chicken. Now that is downright scary.

Culinary

May. 12th, 2013 09:18 pm
oursin: Frontispiece from C17th household manual (Accomplished Lady's Delight)
[personal profile] oursin

Way back on my return from Le Continong, I rustled up a loaf of Shipton Mill Organic 3 Malts and Sunflower Brown Flour.

Friday evening I was feeling wiped not in a 'maybe I'd feel better for a gym session' way, so skipped going to the gym and made a Gujerati khichchari for supper instead.

No Saturday breakfast rolls as I was working.

Today's lunch: Icelandic plaice fillets, which I poached (in just simmering salted water for five minutes, then heat turned off and left for another 5 mins or so) and served with coriander butter - melt butter, add crushed coriander seeds, dill, tarragon, lemon zest, lemon juice and ground black pepper; with steamed tenderstem broccoli, stirfried baby pak choi, and healthy grilled sweet potato (this was an experiment - I cut the washed tuber into rounds of about a quarter-inch thick, brushed with pumpkin seed oil and whomped these into the healthy-grill. They cooked through far quicker than I had anticipated, turning out v nice).

This week's bread: the Blake/Collister My Favourite Loaf: strong white, wholemeal and einkorn flour with some wheatgerm and a splosh of macadamia oil, v tasty, nice texture.