Rhapsody to humid heat
Jun. 24th, 2025 07:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asakiyumeWaking up this morning was like waking up in the Amazon, and I AM HERE FOR THIS. Out my back window, a northeastern jungle, so many shades of green, dappled sun, morning mist. An aural bouquet of birdsong and small critter sounds. Right now there's a scent of wood smoke.
I love the way the medium of humid air makes you intimate with every other thing. The way everything is right on your skin and in your lungs. The glass of water sweats, you sweat. Time dissolves, sound travels nonlinearly, odors are more vivid. I love the lassitude, the exhaustion.
I love the way the medium of humid air makes you intimate with every other thing. The way everything is right on your skin and in your lungs. The glass of water sweats, you sweat. Time dissolves, sound travels nonlinearly, odors are more vivid. I love the lassitude, the exhaustion.
I know you're waiting for me in secret places
Jun. 23rd, 2025 11:29 pmsovayFor the hundred and thirteenth birthday of Alan Turing, spatch and I drove to Gloucester to watch the sunset on the water, so, queer joy?
I have worn this T-shirt since his centenary in 2012: it is a word cloud derived from "Computing Machinery and Intelligence" (1950). The tide filled in around the barnacle-colored, seal-colored boulders we had climbed out onto, swirling the olivine shag of the rockweed in the late mirror of the sea. I had not been to Gloucester since before the last glaciation, in a warm autumn that was still cooler than this heat dome settled over Massachusetts like a fitted block of Death Valley. We saw the red-and-white blinks of buoys, the oil-slick necks of cormorants. We checked in on the ghost sign for Moxie at the top of Tablet Rock in Stage Fort Park. From our vantage point of one of the granite horns of Half Moon Beach, we saw three crewed boats practicing for what we realized later would be the races for St. Peter's Fiesta, the blessing of the fleet which had hung the streets with tricolor bunting and Italian flags and set up the Ferris wheel and concessions of a carnival as well as an open-air altar brilliantly painted with a seascape of Ten Pound Light, its foreground wheeling with gulls with their own successful fisher's catch in their beaks. The fisherman in his sunken-green bronze oilskins still holds the wheel against more than four centuries of the remembered drowned. Our designated clam shack had closed an hour before we expected it, so we drove down Route 1 in a sailor's delight of clouds like an electric fire and came to a bewildered halt in a retina-searing splatter of blue lights, because it turned out that half of Revere Beach was closed to traffic thanks to a hit-and-run on a state trooper. We managed nonetheless to salvage roast beef and fried clams from Kelly's at the cost of several miles' walk in the gelatinous night, which compensated at least with the white noise of waves at high tide. The cable-stays of the Christina and John Markey Memorial Pedestrian Bridge were lit up in rainbow neon. I admire Aimee Ogden's "Because I Held His Name Like a Key" (2025) for not being any of the things expected of a Turing fairy story. I look forward to whatever comes of these unshredded papers. We drove home covered in sea-salt and sweat-salt and an unavoidable admixture of strangers' weed smoke and I had a really nice time.
If telepathy is admitted it will be necessary to tighten our test up.
—Alan Turing, "Computing Machinery and Intelligence" (1950)
spatch and I drove to Gloucester to watch the sunset on the water, so, queer joy?
I have worn this T-shirt since his centenary in 2012: it is a word cloud derived from "Computing Machinery and Intelligence" (1950). The tide filled in around the barnacle-colored, seal-colored boulders we had climbed out onto, swirling the olivine shag of the rockweed in the late mirror of the sea. I had not been to Gloucester since before the last glaciation, in a warm autumn that was still cooler than this heat dome settled over Massachusetts like a fitted block of Death Valley. We saw the red-and-white blinks of buoys, the oil-slick necks of cormorants. We checked in on the ghost sign for Moxie at the top of Tablet Rock in Stage Fort Park. From our vantage point of one of the granite horns of Half Moon Beach, we saw three crewed boats practicing for what we realized later would be the races for St. Peter's Fiesta, the blessing of the fleet which had hung the streets with tricolor bunting and Italian flags and set up the Ferris wheel and concessions of a carnival as well as an open-air altar brilliantly painted with a seascape of Ten Pound Light, its foreground wheeling with gulls with their own successful fisher's catch in their beaks. The fisherman in his sunken-green bronze oilskins still holds the wheel against more than four centuries of the remembered drowned. Our designated clam shack had closed an hour before we expected it, so we drove down Route 1 in a sailor's delight of clouds like an electric fire and came to a bewildered halt in a retina-searing splatter of blue lights, because it turned out that half of Revere Beach was closed to traffic thanks to a hit-and-run on a state trooper. We managed nonetheless to salvage roast beef and fried clams from Kelly's at the cost of several miles' walk in the gelatinous night, which compensated at least with the white noise of waves at high tide. The cable-stays of the Christina and John Markey Memorial Pedestrian Bridge were lit up in rainbow neon. I admire Aimee Ogden's "Because I Held His Name Like a Key" (2025) for not being any of the things expected of a Turing fairy story. I look forward to whatever comes of these unshredded papers. We drove home covered in sea-salt and sweat-salt and an unavoidable admixture of strangers' weed smoke and I had a really nice time.
If telepathy is admitted it will be necessary to tighten our test up.
—Alan Turing, "Computing Machinery and Intelligence" (1950)
(no subject)
Jun. 22nd, 2025 08:02 pmskygiantsWhen I'm reading nonfiction, there's often a fine line for me between 'you, the author, are getting yourself all up in this narrative and I wish you'd get out of the way' and 'you, the author, have a clearly presented point of view and it makes it easy and fun to fight with you about your topic; pray continue.' Happily, Phyllis Rose's Parallel Lives: Five Victorian Marriages falls squarely in the latter category for me. She's telling me a bunch of fascinating gossip and I do often disagree with her about what it all means but we're having such a good time arguing about it!
Rose starts out her book by explaining that she's interested in the idea of 'marriage' both as a narrative construct developed by the partners within it -- "a subjectivist fiction with two points of view often deeply in conflict, sometimes fortuitously congruent" -- and a negotiation of power, vulnerable to exploitation. She also says that she wanted to find a good balance of happy and unhappy Victorian marriages as case studies to explore, but then she got so fascinated by several of the unhappy ones that things got a little out of balance .... and she is right! Her case studies are fascinating, and at least one of them (the one she clearly sees as the happiest) is not technically a marriage at all (which, of course, is part of her point.)
The couples in question are:
Thomas Carlyle and Jane Baillie Carlyle -- the framing device for the whole book, because even though this marriage is not her favorite marriage Jane Carlyle is her favorite character. Notable for the fact that Jane Carlyle wrote a secret diary through her years of marriage detailing how unhappy she was, which was given to Carlyle after her death, making him feel incredibly guilty, and then published after his death, making everyone else feel like he ought to have been feeling incredibly guilty. Rose considers the secret postmortem diary gift a brilliant stroke of Jane's in Triumphantly Taking Control Of The Narrative Of Their Marriage.
John Ruskin and Effie Gray -- like every possible Victorian drama happened to this marriage. non-consummation! parent drama! art drama! accusations that Ruskin was trying to manipulate Effie Gray into a ruinous affair so that he could divorce her! Effie Gray's family coming down secretly to sneak her away so she could launch a big divorce case instead! my favorite element of this whole story is that the third man in the Art Love Triangle, John Millais, was painting Ruskin's portrait when he and Gray fell in love instead, and Ruskin insisted on making Millais keep painting his portrait for numerous awkward sittings while the divorce proceedings played themselves out and [according to Rose] was genuinely startled that Millais was not interested in subsequently continuing their pleasant correspondence.
John Stuart Mill and Harriet Taylor -- this was my favorite section; I had never heard of these guys but I loved their energy. Harriet Taylor was married to John Taylor but was not enjoying the experience, began a passionate intellectual correspondence with John Stuart Mill who believed as strongly as she did in women's rights etc., they seriously considered the ethics around running off together but decided that while all three of them (Harriet Taylor, John Taylor, and John Mill) were made moderately unhappy by the current situation of "John Mill comes over three nights a week for passionate intellectual discussions with Harriet Taylor while John Taylor considerately goes Out for Several Hours", nobody was made as miserable by it as John Taylor would be if Harriet left John Taylor and therefore ethics demanded that the situation remain as it was. (Meanwhile the Carlyles, who were friends of John Mill, nicknamed Harriet 'Platonica,' which I have to admit is a very funny move if you are a bitchy 19th century intellectual and you hate the married woman your friend is having a passionate but celibate philosophical romance of the soul with.) Eventually John Taylor did die and Harriet Taylor and John Mill did get married -- platonically or otherwise is unknown but regardless they seem to have been blissfully happy. Rose thinks that Harriet Taylor was probably not as brilliant as John Mill thought and John Mill was henpecked, but happily so, because letting his wife tell him what to do soothed his patriarchal guilt. I think that Rose is a killjoy. Let a genius think his partner of the soul is also a genius if he wants to! I'm not going to tell him that he's wrong!
Charles Dickens and Catherine Dickens -- oh this was a Bad Marriage and everyone knows it. Unlike all the other women in this book, Catherine Dickens did not really command a narrative space of her own except Cast Aside Wife which -- although that's probably part of Rose's point -- makes this section IMO weaker and a bit less fun than the others.
George Eliot and George Henry Lewes -- Rose's favorite! She thinks these guys are very romantic and who can blame her, though she does want to take time to argue with people who think that George Eliot's genius relied more on George Henry Lewes kindling the flame than it did on George Eliot herself. It not being 1983 anymore, it did not occur to me that 'George Eliot was not primarily responsible for George Eliot' was an argument that needed to be made. "Maybe marriage is better when it doesn't have to actually be marriage" is clearly a point she's excited to make, given which one does wonder why she doesn't pull any Victorian long-term same-sex partnerships into her thematic examination. And the answer, probably, is 'I'm interested in specifically in the narrative of heterosexual marriage and heterosexual power dynamics and the ways they still leave an imprint on our contemporary moment,' which is fair, but if you're already exploring a thing by looking outside it .... well, anyway. I just looked up her bibliography out of curiosity to see if she ever did write about gay people and the answer is "well, she's got a book about Josephine Baker" so I may well be looking that up in future so I can have fun arguing with Rose some more!
Rose starts out her book by explaining that she's interested in the idea of 'marriage' both as a narrative construct developed by the partners within it -- "a subjectivist fiction with two points of view often deeply in conflict, sometimes fortuitously congruent" -- and a negotiation of power, vulnerable to exploitation. She also says that she wanted to find a good balance of happy and unhappy Victorian marriages as case studies to explore, but then she got so fascinated by several of the unhappy ones that things got a little out of balance .... and she is right! Her case studies are fascinating, and at least one of them (the one she clearly sees as the happiest) is not technically a marriage at all (which, of course, is part of her point.)
The couples in question are:
Thomas Carlyle and Jane Baillie Carlyle -- the framing device for the whole book, because even though this marriage is not her favorite marriage Jane Carlyle is her favorite character. Notable for the fact that Jane Carlyle wrote a secret diary through her years of marriage detailing how unhappy she was, which was given to Carlyle after her death, making him feel incredibly guilty, and then published after his death, making everyone else feel like he ought to have been feeling incredibly guilty. Rose considers the secret postmortem diary gift a brilliant stroke of Jane's in Triumphantly Taking Control Of The Narrative Of Their Marriage.
John Ruskin and Effie Gray -- like every possible Victorian drama happened to this marriage. non-consummation! parent drama! art drama! accusations that Ruskin was trying to manipulate Effie Gray into a ruinous affair so that he could divorce her! Effie Gray's family coming down secretly to sneak her away so she could launch a big divorce case instead! my favorite element of this whole story is that the third man in the Art Love Triangle, John Millais, was painting Ruskin's portrait when he and Gray fell in love instead, and Ruskin insisted on making Millais keep painting his portrait for numerous awkward sittings while the divorce proceedings played themselves out and [according to Rose] was genuinely startled that Millais was not interested in subsequently continuing their pleasant correspondence.
John Stuart Mill and Harriet Taylor -- this was my favorite section; I had never heard of these guys but I loved their energy. Harriet Taylor was married to John Taylor but was not enjoying the experience, began a passionate intellectual correspondence with John Stuart Mill who believed as strongly as she did in women's rights etc., they seriously considered the ethics around running off together but decided that while all three of them (Harriet Taylor, John Taylor, and John Mill) were made moderately unhappy by the current situation of "John Mill comes over three nights a week for passionate intellectual discussions with Harriet Taylor while John Taylor considerately goes Out for Several Hours", nobody was made as miserable by it as John Taylor would be if Harriet left John Taylor and therefore ethics demanded that the situation remain as it was. (Meanwhile the Carlyles, who were friends of John Mill, nicknamed Harriet 'Platonica,' which I have to admit is a very funny move if you are a bitchy 19th century intellectual and you hate the married woman your friend is having a passionate but celibate philosophical romance of the soul with.) Eventually John Taylor did die and Harriet Taylor and John Mill did get married -- platonically or otherwise is unknown but regardless they seem to have been blissfully happy. Rose thinks that Harriet Taylor was probably not as brilliant as John Mill thought and John Mill was henpecked, but happily so, because letting his wife tell him what to do soothed his patriarchal guilt. I think that Rose is a killjoy. Let a genius think his partner of the soul is also a genius if he wants to! I'm not going to tell him that he's wrong!
Charles Dickens and Catherine Dickens -- oh this was a Bad Marriage and everyone knows it. Unlike all the other women in this book, Catherine Dickens did not really command a narrative space of her own except Cast Aside Wife which -- although that's probably part of Rose's point -- makes this section IMO weaker and a bit less fun than the others.
George Eliot and George Henry Lewes -- Rose's favorite! She thinks these guys are very romantic and who can blame her, though she does want to take time to argue with people who think that George Eliot's genius relied more on George Henry Lewes kindling the flame than it did on George Eliot herself. It not being 1983 anymore, it did not occur to me that 'George Eliot was not primarily responsible for George Eliot' was an argument that needed to be made. "Maybe marriage is better when it doesn't have to actually be marriage" is clearly a point she's excited to make, given which one does wonder why she doesn't pull any Victorian long-term same-sex partnerships into her thematic examination. And the answer, probably, is 'I'm interested in specifically in the narrative of heterosexual marriage and heterosexual power dynamics and the ways they still leave an imprint on our contemporary moment,' which is fair, but if you're already exploring a thing by looking outside it .... well, anyway. I just looked up her bibliography out of curiosity to see if she ever did write about gay people and the answer is "well, she's got a book about Josephine Baker" so I may well be looking that up in future so I can have fun arguing with Rose some more!
How do we sleep while our beds are burning?
Jun. 21st, 2025 09:02 pmsovayFor whatever it is worth to history, I wish to register that I do not like finding out that we are suddenly at war with Iran. I do not need any more specters of annihilation, nuclear or otherwise. I get enough stress from my regular life.
(These Crusader fantasists. My entire lifetime. Their Armageddon wet dreams. Why will the sand not eat them alone.)
(These Crusader fantasists. My entire lifetime. Their Armageddon wet dreams. Why will the sand not eat them alone.)
a wonderful day
Jun. 21st, 2025 06:44 pmasakiyumeToday was wonderful!
It started out with meeting a young woman in a wheelchair, birdwatching by a small pond with cattails.
"I think I saw an American bittern," she said.
Later I brought some catalpa blossoms to a friend, and they gave me an iced, homemade-banana-syrup-and-oat-milk latte to take with me on my errands. It was a hot day and the drink was perfect!
My errands included buying a sickle to cut this long grass.
Not now: now I want to let it alone, as the fireflies and butterflies and bees enjoy it (and also I enjoy it). But later, in the fall, when the time comes to cut it. A lawn mower does a horrible, chewy job, and the shears I have are blunt.** So I want to try a sickle. I saw people cutting grass with sickles in Timor-Leste. Here is my sickle. I've named her Kusakari (grass cutter).
Now, as it happens, I also have a lump hammer, which the healing angel named Petra, and which is great for smashing open hickory nuts or acorns. Here she is, posing with some of last year's hickory nuts.
Well ... if we introduce.... Petra to Kusakari.... OMG!
Then on the way home from my errands, I was driving along a stretch of road that's marked "Turtle Crossing." Usually this is a depressing stretch of road because in spite of the sign, what I mainly see are crushed turtles -_-
But today I saw a live one, craning its neck, preparing to risk its life to get across the road. So I pulled over, went back, picked it up, and carried it across. When I set it down, it trundled on down to the water that was waiting for it.
ONE TURTLE LIFE SAVED. Yaaay!
And now I'm going to eat strawberries and whipped cream. PERFECT DAY.
**Yes, I could sharpen them. In fact I have sharpened them in the past and probably will in the future... but ... sickle!
ETA: The sickle's name should be KusaKARI, not KusaKIRI--corrected that now.
It started out with meeting a young woman in a wheelchair, birdwatching by a small pond with cattails.
"I think I saw an American bittern," she said.
Later I brought some catalpa blossoms to a friend, and they gave me an iced, homemade-banana-syrup-and-oat-milk latte to take with me on my errands. It was a hot day and the drink was perfect!
My errands included buying a sickle to cut this long grass.
Not now: now I want to let it alone, as the fireflies and butterflies and bees enjoy it (and also I enjoy it). But later, in the fall, when the time comes to cut it. A lawn mower does a horrible, chewy job, and the shears I have are blunt.** So I want to try a sickle. I saw people cutting grass with sickles in Timor-Leste. Here is my sickle. I've named her Kusakari (grass cutter).
Now, as it happens, I also have a lump hammer, which the healing angel named Petra, and which is great for smashing open hickory nuts or acorns. Here she is, posing with some of last year's hickory nuts.
Well ... if we introduce.... Petra to Kusakari.... OMG!
Then on the way home from my errands, I was driving along a stretch of road that's marked "Turtle Crossing." Usually this is a depressing stretch of road because in spite of the sign, what I mainly see are crushed turtles -_-
But today I saw a live one, craning its neck, preparing to risk its life to get across the road. So I pulled over, went back, picked it up, and carried it across. When I set it down, it trundled on down to the water that was waiting for it.
ONE TURTLE LIFE SAVED. Yaaay!
And now I'm going to eat strawberries and whipped cream. PERFECT DAY.
**Yes, I could sharpen them. In fact I have sharpened them in the past and probably will in the future... but ... sickle!
ETA: The sickle's name should be KusaKARI, not KusaKIRI--corrected that now.
But I was cruising Gawain in the mist
Jun. 21st, 2025 07:10 amsovayThanks 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!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.
thursday reads and things
Jun. 19th, 2025 04:30 pmisisWhat I recently abandoned reading:
I got just over halfway through Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao before deciding that YA mecha is not my thing, even when it's a YA mecha AU of Chinese history. I think I'd rather read an actual historical novel or even nonfiction about Wu Zetian, who seems to have been an impressive-as-hell woman. (I will take recommendations!)
What I'm reading now:
Lamentation, the 6th Shardlake book by C. J. Sansom. (An actual historical novel! 😁)
What I recently finished watching:
S2 of Andor, which as I said, weirdly ironic to be watching as we grapple with our own ascendant Evil Empire. The pacing of this season was strange, big time-skips and characters that had seemed important in S1 (or in early episodes of S2) disappearing completely, or reappearing briefly only to be killed. I was expecting more about Mon Mothma's family, after all the screentime lavished on the wedding and her sort-of-blackmail situation. I was also expecting more of a resolution, though that's probably because I only vaguely remember Rogue One, so a lot of the breadcrumbs were, "wait, who was that again?" instead of, "aha!" for me. But I liked Kleya a whole lot, and also the snarky ex-Empire droid, and some of the spycraft bits were fun.
What I'm watching now:
We are giving American Primeval a try, despite it probably being on the violent/gory side for our tastes. We're two episodes in, and - I immediately recognized Shorty Bowlegs from the most recent season of Dark Winds! (Derek Hinkey, playing Red Feather.) Also, there is a local(ish) woman in it, Nanabah Grace from Cortez just down the road, who plays Kuttaambo'i. An article about her in the local newspaper was the way I first heard of this series, actually.
I'm enjoying the historical stuff; it's set during the Mormon War, which I actually researched a bit for my Yuletide fic, the premise of which was that the main reason that Deseret became an independent republic in the alt-history of Francis Spufford's Cahokia Jazz was that President Buchanan backed down in the face of united Mormons and natives, as both religion and respect for the tribes were stronger in that universe's US. I also like seeing the Old West, even though it was all filmed in New Mexico pretending to be Wyoming, although I'm getting a bit tired of the washed-out sepia filter.
What I recently finished playing:
Okay, not quite finished, but I have completed the last major quest in Mass Effect: Andromeda, so it's basically over. (I mean, the credits rolled! Therefore, it's over!) I know that Andromeda is considered ME's poor stepchild, but - I really enjoyed it. The "major threat to the world as we know it!!1!!one!" of the main trilogy is such a staple plotline of video games like this that I appreciated the "survive, explore, and (hopefully) thrive in a NEW UNIVERSE (and also defeat the major threat to the world as we know it)" plotline for its novelty. I thought the structure of quests opening new planets and objectives in a rough but not strict order worked well, and I really liked that most (maybe all?) decisions are not hugely critical, so you don't doom yourself to a bad ending by choosing X instead of Y. I did check the wiki a few times when I was nervous about things, but pretty much none of these decisions made any real difference, which meant I was free to actually role-play as "what WOULD (me as) Sara Ryder do?" and I find that much more relaxing.
I wasn't quite completionist - I didn't do all the fetch quest type quests, and I didn't do one vault (Elaaden, which I might go back and do), but I did pretty much everything else. I liked the glyph puzzles, and I hated the Architects, ugh. I played mostly as what in the main trilogy would be Infiltrator (combat + tech). I romanced Liam (after a fling with Peebee). It was fun!
What I'm playing next:
I think I will try some shorter games; I got Lorelei and the Laser Eyes a while back because a friend recommended it, and Skabma - Snowfall from a recent deal, because it looked pretty. I might try Baldur's Gate 3 again - I never managed to get into it and found it frustrating and annoying. Eventually I plan to get Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and also probably Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, which I've heard good things about.
(Or sell me on your favorite adventure game!)
I got just over halfway through Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao before deciding that YA mecha is not my thing, even when it's a YA mecha AU of Chinese history. I think I'd rather read an actual historical novel or even nonfiction about Wu Zetian, who seems to have been an impressive-as-hell woman. (I will take recommendations!)
What I'm reading now:
Lamentation, the 6th Shardlake book by C. J. Sansom. (An actual historical novel! 😁)
What I recently finished watching:
S2 of Andor, which as I said, weirdly ironic to be watching as we grapple with our own ascendant Evil Empire. The pacing of this season was strange, big time-skips and characters that had seemed important in S1 (or in early episodes of S2) disappearing completely, or reappearing briefly only to be killed. I was expecting more about Mon Mothma's family, after all the screentime lavished on the wedding and her sort-of-blackmail situation. I was also expecting more of a resolution, though that's probably because I only vaguely remember Rogue One, so a lot of the breadcrumbs were, "wait, who was that again?" instead of, "aha!" for me. But I liked Kleya a whole lot, and also the snarky ex-Empire droid, and some of the spycraft bits were fun.
What I'm watching now:
We are giving American Primeval a try, despite it probably being on the violent/gory side for our tastes. We're two episodes in, and - I immediately recognized Shorty Bowlegs from the most recent season of Dark Winds! (Derek Hinkey, playing Red Feather.) Also, there is a local(ish) woman in it, Nanabah Grace from Cortez just down the road, who plays Kuttaambo'i. An article about her in the local newspaper was the way I first heard of this series, actually.
I'm enjoying the historical stuff; it's set during the Mormon War, which I actually researched a bit for my Yuletide fic, the premise of which was that the main reason that Deseret became an independent republic in the alt-history of Francis Spufford's Cahokia Jazz was that President Buchanan backed down in the face of united Mormons and natives, as both religion and respect for the tribes were stronger in that universe's US. I also like seeing the Old West, even though it was all filmed in New Mexico pretending to be Wyoming, although I'm getting a bit tired of the washed-out sepia filter.
What I recently finished playing:
Okay, not quite finished, but I have completed the last major quest in Mass Effect: Andromeda, so it's basically over. (I mean, the credits rolled! Therefore, it's over!) I know that Andromeda is considered ME's poor stepchild, but - I really enjoyed it. The "major threat to the world as we know it!!1!!one!" of the main trilogy is such a staple plotline of video games like this that I appreciated the "survive, explore, and (hopefully) thrive in a NEW UNIVERSE (and also defeat the major threat to the world as we know it)" plotline for its novelty. I thought the structure of quests opening new planets and objectives in a rough but not strict order worked well, and I really liked that most (maybe all?) decisions are not hugely critical, so you don't doom yourself to a bad ending by choosing X instead of Y. I did check the wiki a few times when I was nervous about things, but pretty much none of these decisions made any real difference, which meant I was free to actually role-play as "what WOULD (me as) Sara Ryder do?" and I find that much more relaxing.
I wasn't quite completionist - I didn't do all the fetch quest type quests, and I didn't do one vault (Elaaden, which I might go back and do), but I did pretty much everything else. I liked the glyph puzzles, and I hated the Architects, ugh. I played mostly as what in the main trilogy would be Infiltrator (combat + tech). I romanced Liam (after a fling with Peebee). It was fun!
What I'm playing next:
I think I will try some shorter games; I got Lorelei and the Laser Eyes a while back because a friend recommended it, and Skabma - Snowfall from a recent deal, because it looked pretty. I might try Baldur's Gate 3 again - I never managed to get into it and found it frustrating and annoying. Eventually I plan to get Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and also probably Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, which I've heard good things about.
(Or sell me on your favorite adventure game!)
(I’m currently in the waiting room at the dentist’s, so I’ll add to this post later)
Jun. 18th, 2025 08:44 ammoon_custaferBreakfast of Champions (1999) would make an interesting double-bill with True Stories (1986)—both take place in small towns where the American Dream has gone very, very weird. Midland City is holding an arts festival, while Virgil is honouring the Texas sesquicentennial with a “Celebration of Specialness.”
Both movies feature a manic local businessman, and a woman who stays in bed watching tv all day, among their cast of characters. They have a similar quirky visual style. True Stories has more musical numbers, although Breakfast of Champions does have Lukas Haas crooning ‘Take My Hand, I’m a Stranger In Paradise’ while covered in glitter.
ETA—
Breakfast of Champions flopped when it came out—the Vonnegut purists didn’t like how it diverged from the novel, and nobody else had any idea what to make of it.
Everybody involved was giving it their all, and it’s weird, but it’s not messy—all the parts fit together, even if the connections often operate on dream or myth logic. Everything and everyone’s connected—I’m pretty sure the thin/fat couple Francine (Glenne Headley) mocks while watching the local news show up again as the customers Wayne Hoobler (Omar Epps) sells a vehicle to for $32. Hoobler’s compulsion to yell Fairyland! when he’s happy or excited gets triggered in the last reel when Dwayne Hooper (Bruce Willis), his madness given solipsistic form by Kilgore Trout (Albert Finney)’s story ‘Now It Can Be Told,’ calls Hoobler “a trust machine” and Hoobler embraces it. I’m not completely sure, but I think Hoobler’s excited shout may be what opens the portal in the mirror that allows Trout to leave for another universe.
Everyone keeps saying that Dwayne’s wife Celia (Barbara Hershey) does nothing in the story—even the director says this and claims it because her character was already dead in the original book—but I think she is trying to push Dwayne to understand what’s going on; and at the end, she throws him the galoshes that allow him to cross the toxic creek.
Both movies feature a manic local businessman, and a woman who stays in bed watching tv all day, among their cast of characters. They have a similar quirky visual style. True Stories has more musical numbers, although Breakfast of Champions does have Lukas Haas crooning ‘Take My Hand, I’m a Stranger In Paradise’ while covered in glitter.
ETA—
Breakfast of Champions flopped when it came out—the Vonnegut purists didn’t like how it diverged from the novel, and nobody else had any idea what to make of it.
Everybody involved was giving it their all, and it’s weird, but it’s not messy—all the parts fit together, even if the connections often operate on dream or myth logic. Everything and everyone’s connected—I’m pretty sure the thin/fat couple Francine (Glenne Headley) mocks while watching the local news show up again as the customers Wayne Hoobler (Omar Epps) sells a vehicle to for $32. Hoobler’s compulsion to yell Fairyland! when he’s happy or excited gets triggered in the last reel when Dwayne Hooper (Bruce Willis), his madness given solipsistic form by Kilgore Trout (Albert Finney)’s story ‘Now It Can Be Told,’ calls Hoobler “a trust machine” and Hoobler embraces it. I’m not completely sure, but I think Hoobler’s excited shout may be what opens the portal in the mirror that allows Trout to leave for another universe.
Everyone keeps saying that Dwayne’s wife Celia (Barbara Hershey) does nothing in the story—even the director says this and claims it because her character was already dead in the original book—but I think she is trying to push Dwayne to understand what’s going on; and at the end, she throws him the galoshes that allow him to cross the toxic creek.