Happy birthday, ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ookpik!
ookpik!Having now taken steps to divest myself of some old pajamas, it's feeling a little easier to approach some other clothes I look at often. I haven't done anything yet, but I feel better about the prospect of doing so, which is one of the bigger initial hurdles.
Next up: DVD box sets of TV shows and deciding if I want the object of the box set after ripping the media. It'll be a while before I need to start thinking about digital storage space, but at the moment, I'll be happy to get some floor back. There's no point in buying a 12TB hard drive right now - at least, not yet. By the time I can buy what's on the market, I'll probably be able to spend that much on 16TB with no issue.
Next up: DVD box sets of TV shows and deciding if I want the object of the box set after ripping the media. It'll be a while before I need to start thinking about digital storage space, but at the moment, I'll be happy to get some floor back. There's no point in buying a 12TB hard drive right now - at least, not yet. By the time I can buy what's on the market, I'll probably be able to spend that much on 16TB with no issue.
I made these salt bread rolls today (pic), and they are very tasty, but I think I still like pretzel rolls better, even with the mess of having to boil them before baking. There isn't much I like better than a big old soft pretzel, so pretzel rolls are where it's at for me. The salt bread is good though - very buttery.
I also made rice this afternoon in preparation for making a crispy rice salad tomorrow. I am very intrigued by the idea of crispy rice salad, but I don't know if I will like it in actuality, even though I like all the components I plan to put in it. (I'd also be more confident if every recipe I look at didn't call for a different type of rice. I made basmati, for the record.) I guess I'll report back tomorrow and how it goes.
And it's been a full day of watching hockey, after a long night of watching hockey last night. It's been exciting, but so much more relaxing since my team isn't in it.
And finally, here is today's poem:
Why You Should Never Marry A Poet
by Heather Bell
Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea,
vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will
all never be enough. The poet wishes
with her deepest bones
and writes that she wishes
she would have killed you
in the supermarket. She wonders why
she ever loved you in song.
She publishes book after book. Each line detailing
how your hair is ugly and monstrous in the morning. And how,
like moss, you cling to her
so piteously.
But you marry her anyway.
and she looks like a roar of snow
in white. You figure she will read a poem about you
that day in front of everyone: her throat
is, after all, a stamen
or matchstick.
But she is silent, says only the I DO's
and a few Bible verses.
The poet loves with a most violent
heart. What you have not known-
she has wanted to tell you the truth
all of these years,
but grew silent as an old lover does
at eighty. There is no way to say
how one loves the ache of your cracked lips,
the heavy belly of your tongue, the years she spent
feeling not loved,
but still loving. Think about it-
the poet is fearful of others knowing and finding your mouth.
She is frightened of you -
realizing you could have been
loved better or harder
or with real words.
***
I also made rice this afternoon in preparation for making a crispy rice salad tomorrow. I am very intrigued by the idea of crispy rice salad, but I don't know if I will like it in actuality, even though I like all the components I plan to put in it. (I'd also be more confident if every recipe I look at didn't call for a different type of rice. I made basmati, for the record.) I guess I'll report back tomorrow and how it goes.
And it's been a full day of watching hockey, after a long night of watching hockey last night. It's been exciting, but so much more relaxing since my team isn't in it.
And finally, here is today's poem:
Why You Should Never Marry A Poet
by Heather Bell
Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea,
vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will
all never be enough. The poet wishes
with her deepest bones
and writes that she wishes
she would have killed you
in the supermarket. She wonders why
she ever loved you in song.
She publishes book after book. Each line detailing
how your hair is ugly and monstrous in the morning. And how,
like moss, you cling to her
so piteously.
But you marry her anyway.
and she looks like a roar of snow
in white. You figure she will read a poem about you
that day in front of everyone: her throat
is, after all, a stamen
or matchstick.
But she is silent, says only the I DO's
and a few Bible verses.
The poet loves with a most violent
heart. What you have not known-
she has wanted to tell you the truth
all of these years,
but grew silent as an old lover does
at eighty. There is no way to say
how one loves the ache of your cracked lips,
the heavy belly of your tongue, the years she spent
feeling not loved,
but still loving. Think about it-
the poet is fearful of others knowing and finding your mouth.
She is frightened of you -
realizing you could have been
loved better or harder
or with real words.
***
( Six of Pentacles )
( What is this about? )
There's another really cool tarot meme here:
The Mystical Dream Tarot & Citadel Oracle
Prompt Meme
Open to all fanworks. Come play with us!
( What is this about? )
There's another really cool tarot meme here:
The Mystical Dream Tarot & Citadel Oracle
Prompt Meme
Open to all fanworks. Come play with us!
Woman in question was clearly the despair of her family and the local police who failed to discourage her from sending £££ to a series of romance scammers.
The family even spoke to her doctor, who said she was of sound mind, merely 'brainwashed'.
Eventually she
was contacted by a man in Ghana known as Kofi. He claimed he was a doctor and had found out she was being scammed when he came across her details while working part-time in a phone shop. Kofi told her he would help her get her money back and she flew to Accra in October 2022.... The relationship with the man appeared to develop into a romance and Fordham agreed to marry him, the inquest heard.
I am now wondering if there is a whole further layer of scams which are 'HAVE YOU BEEN SCAMMED? I/WE WILL HELP YOU GET YOUR MONEY BACK'. Meta-scamming?
This also makes me think of a possible historical sort of parallel, whereby in the days of belief in witchcraft if you got cursed, there was also - well, perhaps not quite a profession - a class of individuals whose job it was to lift curses, cunningfolk. (Am not going to rush off and delve into the fairly numerous works on the subject around here.)
And more generally on the topic of spam, that conference in Kyoto is still anxiously asking for my response on whether I will be joining them.
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A couple years ago, I did a daily tarot prompt (see this tag), which I'm thinking about doing again, but realising that consistency isn't going to be my best point, I'm not sure if it's a good idea. I guess I could draw a card when I remember to do it, and not commit to writing a drabble/ficlet every day? I really did have fun last time, but I also wasn't... fully burned out. so
Thoughts?
Does anyone know where I can get a Trinity Santos icon? [eta: icon acquired!]
*
Always need some Dorianne Laux during poetry month, so here's today's poem:
Prayer
by Dorianne Laux
Sweet Jesus, let her save you, let her take
your hands and hold them to her breasts,
slip the sandals from your feet, lay your body down
on sheets beaten clean against the fountain stones.
Let her rest her dark head on your chest,
let her tongue lift the hairs like a sword tip
parting the reeds, let her lips burnish
your neck, let your eyes be wet with pleasure.
Let her keep you from that other life, as a mother
keeps a child from the brick lip of a well,
though the rope and bucket shine and clang,
though the water's hidden silk and mystery call.
Let her patter soothe you and her passions
distract you, let her show you the light
storming the windows of her kitchen, peaches
in a wooden bowl, a square of blue cloth
she has sewn to her skirt to cover the tear.
What could be more holy than the curve of her back
as she sits, her hands opening a plum.
What could be more sacred than her eyes,
fierce and complicated as the truth, your life
rising behind them, your name on her lips.
Stay there, in her bare house, the black pots
hung from pegs, bread braided and glazed
on the table, a clay jug of violet wine.
There is the daily sacrament of rasp and chisel,
another chair to be made, shelves to be hewn
cleanly and even and carefully joined
to the sun-scrubbed walls, a sharp knife
for carving odd chunks of wood into small toys
for the children. Oh Jesus, close your eyes
and listen to it, the air is alive with bird calls
and bees, the dry rustle of palm leaves,
her distracted song as she washes her feet.
Let your death be quiet and ordinary.
Either life you choose will end in her arms
*
*
Always need some Dorianne Laux during poetry month, so here's today's poem:
Prayer
by Dorianne Laux
Sweet Jesus, let her save you, let her take
your hands and hold them to her breasts,
slip the sandals from your feet, lay your body down
on sheets beaten clean against the fountain stones.
Let her rest her dark head on your chest,
let her tongue lift the hairs like a sword tip
parting the reeds, let her lips burnish
your neck, let your eyes be wet with pleasure.
Let her keep you from that other life, as a mother
keeps a child from the brick lip of a well,
though the rope and bucket shine and clang,
though the water's hidden silk and mystery call.
Let her patter soothe you and her passions
distract you, let her show you the light
storming the windows of her kitchen, peaches
in a wooden bowl, a square of blue cloth
she has sewn to her skirt to cover the tear.
What could be more holy than the curve of her back
as she sits, her hands opening a plum.
What could be more sacred than her eyes,
fierce and complicated as the truth, your life
rising behind them, your name on her lips.
Stay there, in her bare house, the black pots
hung from pegs, bread braided and glazed
on the table, a clay jug of violet wine.
There is the daily sacrament of rasp and chisel,
another chair to be made, shelves to be hewn
cleanly and even and carefully joined
to the sun-scrubbed walls, a sharp knife
for carving odd chunks of wood into small toys
for the children. Oh Jesus, close your eyes
and listen to it, the air is alive with bird calls
and bees, the dry rustle of palm leaves,
her distracted song as she washes her feet.
Let your death be quiet and ordinary.
Either life you choose will end in her arms
*
Reform UK will tell Welsh museums how to present history, manifesto says - and I am getting out a whole school of, er, perhaps not codfish, something more sustainable and perhaps with nasty spines, for Reform UK, who prate on
Reform leader Dan Thomas told BBC Wales there were "some museums that take a very niche view on our past that may talk about slavery, without the whole picture of the fact that the British empire was the first to abolish slavery, and that other countries have done it for, you know, millennia".
I am pretty sure that back in the early C19th the ancestors, whether actual or in general leanings, of Reform UK, would have been screaming loudly at the very thought of abolishing slavery and denouncing Wilberforce as WOKE. But now they are able to claim abolition as Great Achievement of the British Nation.
***
I do wonder whether fellow Esperantists actually read these, it sounds niche to the point of eccentricity, not that that was exactly uncommon in those circles: Why Was the Discovery of the Jet Stream Mostly Ignored? Maybe because it was published in Esperanto:
The somewhat eccentric Ooishi was not only the director of Japan’s Tateno atmospheric observatory but also the head of the Japan Esperanto Society, proponents of the artificially constructed language, created in the 1870s as a means of international communication. Ooishi announced his discovery of the swift, high-altitude river of air in the Tateno observatory’s annual reports, which he published in Esperanto. Not surprisingly, his research was ignored[.}
On the other hand, would they have gained much traction beyond Japan anyway - observatory annual reports hardly usual scientific journals mode of dissemination.
***
Urban life: The LCC and the Arts I: The Open-Air Sculpture Exhibitions - do wonder if there is a slightly condescension of posterity going on in the assumption of 'the elite aesthetics and values of its ‘natural’ middle-class constituency'.
The Disappearance of the Public Bench
***
Tourist finds rare chunk of oldest sea crocodile - actually turns out she was an amateur fossil hunter on a guided walk along the Lyme Regis shore, although she had no idea just how rare a find she'd made (She Was No Mary Anning...)
***
I like this: The Destructive Myth of “Getting Outside Your Comfort Zone”.
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Earlier today, I overheard someone saying that she ate "like a pig" last night, largely for her having eaten ice cream. I wanted to make a joke about acorns or truffles, but decided against it on the grounds that I knew she wouldn't know what I was talking about.
It did get me thinking, though, and it had me fairly pleased to find out that acorn ice cream is a thing people do - not on any commercial scale, but individual restaurants and kitchens. I'd thought it might taste malty, and all the descriptions provided agree with that.
I highly doubt I'll get a chance to try it anytime soon, but knowing it already exists is good enough for tonight.
It did get me thinking, though, and it had me fairly pleased to find out that acorn ice cream is a thing people do - not on any commercial scale, but individual restaurants and kitchens. I'd thought it might taste malty, and all the descriptions provided agree with that.
I highly doubt I'll get a chance to try it anytime soon, but knowing it already exists is good enough for tonight.
It's been a few years since I posted some Shakespeare on his birthday, but I am tired so have one of the most famous poems in the Western canon:
Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
By William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
*
I was all excited that it's Thursday, thinking about how there'd be a new episode of The Pitt until I remembered, alas, that there will be no new episodes until next January. Sigh.
I keep meaning to post my thoughts here and not doing it, so in brief, my thoughts on the season 2 finale of The Pitt: ( spoilers )
I guess this sounds like I had a lot of complaints but I really loved this season - I just thought the writing fell down a little sometimes, for some characters.
*
Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
By William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
*
I was all excited that it's Thursday, thinking about how there'd be a new episode of The Pitt until I remembered, alas, that there will be no new episodes until next January. Sigh.
I keep meaning to post my thoughts here and not doing it, so in brief, my thoughts on the season 2 finale of The Pitt: ( spoilers )
I guess this sounds like I had a lot of complaints but I really loved this season - I just thought the writing fell down a little sometimes, for some characters.
*
Involved in proving, for certain life admin purposes, that partner and I are real people who are who we say we are, involving downloading an app, which one then has to validate by entering one's ID and they will send a code by text 'may take a few minutes', they have a very capacious definition of 'few minutes', ahem. Then entering various details, scanning various documents to a satisfactory quality (don't ask, just don't ask, I have done screaming now, thanks), and taking a selfie.
***
Do we even wish to detain ourselves over Michael Billington's ranking of the works of the Bard? I pretty much Dorothy Parkered, as much as one can with a newspaper, when I saw he had not only put Much Ado 20th out of 35, but considers B&B the subplot.
Light the barbecue in the marketplace, I have a heart to eat there!
***
Though it is hardly anywhere near the same class for utter crassness of this - honestly, why are these people? A tourist has been charged after allegedly climbing a colossal marble statue in Florence to touch its genitals for a pre-wedding prank.
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Laugh Track [Fanvid] (0 words) by periru3
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: MASH (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Sidney Freedman & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Sidney Freedman, B. J. Hunnicutt
Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Mental Institutions, Infant Death, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Episode: s11e16 Goodbye Farewell and Amen
Summary:
Goodbye Farewell Amen: the vid. periru3 took the prompt and ran with it to suitably heartbreaking triumph.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: MASH (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Sidney Freedman & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt & Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Sidney Freedman, B. J. Hunnicutt
Additional Tags: Fanvids, Embedded Video, Mental Institutions, Infant Death, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Episode: s11e16 Goodbye Farewell and Amen
Summary:
All I am is shreds of doubt.
Goodbye Farewell Amen: the vid. periru3 took the prompt and ran with it to suitably heartbreaking triumph.
Today's poem:
Pyrocumulus
by Arthur Sze
Peony shoots rise out of the earth;
at five a.m., walking up the ridge,
I mark how, in April, Orion's left arm
was an apex in the sky, and, by May,
only Venus flickered above the ridge
against the blue edge of sunrise.
In daylight, a pear tree explodes
with white blossoms—no black-
footed ferret slips across my path,
no boreal owl stirs on a branch.
At three a.m., dogs seethed and howled
when a black bear snagged a shriveled
apple off a branch; and, waking out
of a black pool, I glimpsed how
fire creates its own weather
in rising pyrocumulus. Reaching
the ditch, I drop the gate: it's time
for the downhill pipes to fill,
time for bamboo at the house
to suck up water, time to see sunlight
flare between leaves before
the scorching edge of afternoon.
***
Pyrocumulus
by Arthur Sze
Peony shoots rise out of the earth;
at five a.m., walking up the ridge,
I mark how, in April, Orion's left arm
was an apex in the sky, and, by May,
only Venus flickered above the ridge
against the blue edge of sunrise.
In daylight, a pear tree explodes
with white blossoms—no black-
footed ferret slips across my path,
no boreal owl stirs on a branch.
At three a.m., dogs seethed and howled
when a black bear snagged a shriveled
apple off a branch; and, waking out
of a black pool, I glimpsed how
fire creates its own weather
in rising pyrocumulus. Reaching
the ditch, I drop the gate: it's time
for the downhill pipes to fill,
time for bamboo at the house
to suck up water, time to see sunlight
flare between leaves before
the scorching edge of afternoon.
***
Tags:
What I read
Finished The Tortoiseshell Cat, which was Royde-Smith's first novel, and rambles around a bit before it gets going, and the protag is really somewhat unbelievably naive about the world and its ways, but it's still pretty good and readable. Okay, there is character who turns out to be a Predatory Lesbian with a backstory of relationships with other women with masculinised names, and it got namechecked by Lilian Faderman for being bad representation of the period (1920s) but there is a certain ambivalence (VV is awful but is the sapphic desire itself bad? Gill seems to feel a certain reciprocity.). And there is a certain amount of evidence that Royde-Smith had leanings at least, and did write another novel with v sympathetic lesbian lead. Anyway, quite aside from Here Is A 1920s LGBTQ Pioneer Who Is Not Radclyffe, would read more of her if it was only available.
Some while ago picked up Le Guin's The Books of Earthsea omnibus as a Kobo deal and while I think I have all except maybe some short stories on my shelves or somewhere, it's handy to have them all together with Ursula's commentaries. Made my way through the initial trilogy, found the narrative style rather reminded me of the various myths and legends recounted in works of my youth (and probably hers too). I do wish, see earlier post, she had had some contact with Mitchison's works but I don't know if they were even published in N Am.
On the go
Took a break from going straight on to Tehanu to do my re-read of Dorothy Richardson, The Tunnel (Pilgrimage, #4) (1919) - the text I originally downloaded from Project Gutenberg was no longer playing nicely with the ereader but I downloaded the most recent version and it's fine. This is the one that is embedded in bits of London very very familar to moi - even if Euston Station looks quite different these days.
Up next
Probably back to Le Guin and Earthsea.
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Happy Wednesday!
I'm taking search offline sometime today to upgrade the server to a new instance type. It should be down for a day or so -- sorry for the inconvenience. If you're curious, the existing search machine is over 10 years old and was starting to accumulate a decade of cruft...!
Also, apparently these older machines cost more than twice what the newer ones cost, on top of being slower. Trying to save a bit of maintenance and cost, and hopefully a Wednesday is okay!
Edited: The other cool thing is that this also means that the search index will be effectively realtime afterwards... no more waiting a few minutes for the indexer to catch new content.
.