You are 18-50 years old and live in the United States.
You have access to a desktop or laptop computer; smartphones and tablets will not work with this study.
You have been diagnosed with major depressive disorder or bipolar disorder.
You have been prescribed medication to treat major depressive disorder or bipolar disorder.
You are willing to provide a saliva sample for DNA testing.
You are willing to complete online study sessions over the course of nine months. Each study session takes between 10-30 minutes and may include surveys and a series of cognitive tests online.
If you have been diagnosed with major depression, or bipolar disorder I, or bipolar disorder II by a medical professional and you meet the other criteria listed above, you may be eligible to participate in this study.
What you get:
If you are new to 23andMe, when you participate in this study, not only will you contribute to this first-of-its-kind research and help us take a step toward learning more about the genetics of depression and bipolar, but you will also experience 23andMe for yourself and receive over 70 personalized genetic reports online about your health, ancestry and traits.
The one thing I really don't care for so far is the sandstorms in the Gerudo desert. It's a really obnoxious mechanic, and it makes it so frustrating trying to explore the area. (On the other hand, though: I really like the fact that the desert is burning in the day and freezing at night, rather than just being 'a hot place'. On the other other hand: Gerudo Link outfit is excellent and 100% worth it.)
I'm also getting into a bit of a fic-posting slump since starting my new job. (Previously it was also a writing slump, but I think I'm starting to build my writing muscles up again? Hopefully, at least.) Even with the fic I've got finished, I keep I forgetting to post them over and over again--I've got a couple shorter pieces that could go up, but proofreading them and figuring out tags and titles and summaries... ugh. I'm hoping I'll get a bit better about it once my commute gets a little less obnoxious.
(And, in other less-obnoxious-future-commute news, I went to an Ikea in person for the first time the other day. It is a whole lot to take in, holy cow. I felt like I'd wandered into some mythological labyrinth.)
Related to the above, I've got a whole lot of fic that needs finishing--my WIPs keep breeding like bunnies. I need a fic accountability partner or something, haha.
This morning, I woke up to find that I'd reached 90 days on holding a portal in Ingress. That's a badge increment. The next one is at 150 days and is highly unlikely. Of course, getting to 90 days surprised me. The Guardian badge is one of those that one can only hope will happen. I capture portals and keep recharging them as long as I still own them. Before this, the longest I'd held anything was 85 days (and I was cranky when that one went down because I'd started thinking it would last).
Scott had both days off this weekend. He's expecting to work next weekend but says he should be able to make sure he works Sunday. Saturday is a big Ingress event, called an Anomaly, here in Ann Arbor, and we've signed up for it as it's likely to be our only opportunity to participate in such a thing. I'm a little worried about my ability to participate fully since it's about four hours of constant walking. I specifically told them that I'm only good for an hour and that at a slow pace. I guess we'll see.
The hard part is trying to get the suggested in-game equipment for the Anomaly. A couple of local people who play a lot more than we do are helping us, but there's also the problem of what to do with the stuff we want to keep that we won't have room for.
Yesterday, our kitchen sink backed up. Scott spent a good bit of time getting it unclogged. He's a little freaked because he can't explain what he found which was a flaky, black build up rather than a wad of grease or something similar. He couldn't identify the substance at all. At least we can now run the dishwasher.
Tomorrow's going to be busy. Cordelia's high school registration will happen in the afternoon, and I need to make sure we get there on time. Cordelia's decidedly unenthusiastic about the whole thing.
Rarepairings is written and posted, but is being re-drafted due to my not liking the way the current ending plays out.
Genex assignments have a couple of notes, but no actual words.
Just put my name down for Remix Madness. Unlikely as always, but we'll see. May or may not get involved.
Sedoretu Promptfest has a few couplets, but nothing concrete: this will probably fail, but I'd kind of like to try it all the same.
Haven't even looked at AU Exchange or Crossovering, and have given Franzi and Gecko's Friends Exchange a quick lookover but nothing more.
I haven't responded for marvel Bang: no time, no inspiration, no brain.
Otherwise I think it's quiet until Yuletide/Santa set of exchanges, which will pop up just as I've completed these...
Contemplating joining wip_amnesty but not sure it's worth it. I mean, yes, the satisfaction of posting stories (and I have many many WIP), but I guess I can do that on AO3 and a few people will take a chance on reading it anyway...
So, yes, it's looking like my tentative plans to make it to PAX Unplugged are crashing and burning at the moment. And there's a very good chance that I'm not going to have enough money to cover some bills that will be popping up in the next 2-3 weeks, which means I'm probably going to be going through my belongings and putting up another virtual garage sale post in the next few days.
Mainly because the universe fucking hates me right now. Apparently, at least.
It's been awhile since I posted it, so here's my Ko-fi page if anyone has an extra couple of dollars to spare. If anyone makes a donation, I'd be glad to try to write you a short fic in a fandom that I know. And, like I said before, I'll probably be posting a bunch of books and DVDs (and probably some other stuff as well) for sale in the next few days if anyone's interested in such things.
Traveler of Worlds: Conversations with Robert Silverberg, by Alvaro Zinos-Amaro and Robert Silverberg, is one of the nominees for the 2017 Hugo awards in the Related Works category. It is a collection of interviews on a variety of subjects conducted by Zinos-Amaro with legendary sf writer Robert Silverberg.
In the Preface, Zinos-Amaro tells us that he became a devoted fan of Silverberg's work when he was still a teenager, an admiration that led to correspondence, then friendship, then a collaboration of sorts, in which Zinos-Amaro completed an unfinished novella by Silverberg, When the Blue Shift Comes. This long association, Zinos-Amaro suggests, was invaluable in helping him frame the interviews, based on his knowledge of Silverberg the writer snd Silverberg the man.
"Thus, while it is true in a literal sense that the conversations comprising Traveler of Worlds unfolded over four weekends in 2015, they were informed and shaped by years of deep, abiding curiosity about Silverberg’s art and life, his experiences, his attitudes and beliefs."
Each of the seven interviews is directed around a theme, but conducted with sufficient flexibility to embrace a variety of related thoughts. The first interview, titled "The Vividness of Landscape," explores Silverbergc's experiences as a world traveller, and how these influenced his work.
The next interview, "Aesthetics," which is one of the largest sections of the book, looks at Silverberg's ideas about writing as an artform - influences, theories, approaches to the structure and realisation of story, craft and technique - and art in general, from painting to opera, landscaping to film. The interview also devotes considerable time to Silverberg's assessment of many of the great writers of literature, including a longish discourse on various translations of Verne's works.
"In the Continuum" is a discussion of day-to day life for Silverberg, retired writer. In talking about his daily activities - professional, personal, and those shared with his wife Karen - Silverberg seems very conscious of the differences in his activities and schedules as a younger man, as someone still actively writing fiction as his job, and what he does now. At one point, he says: "Getting yourself to old age involves excusing yourself from a lot of things you once did. Saying, “I don’t need to do this,” or “I can’t do this, so don’t fool yourself into trying.” One by one, you let go of a lot of things that you formerly did. Or if you’re wise you do, instead of frantically running after them." This section also explores Silverberg's political views. He identifies himself as fiscally conservative - in the traditional sense, he accepts the idea that there should be some taxes, some regulation and some social network for the poor and disadvantaged - and socially libertarian, in that he rejects government intervention in non-economic matters. He has tended to support Republican politicians and expressed criticism of both Obama and Hilary Clinton. I wish I knew what he thinks of Trump.
The next section, "Enwonderment" takes its title from a word coined by Silverberg, who explains: "There are words like “empowerment” that are bandied about very freely, especially here in California. Enlightenment is also frequently heard. As well as I can remember this, I thought I would create “enwonderment” as a kind of analogous noun that explains what science fiction is supposed to do." In this section, Zinos-Amaro inquires about what things in his life have given Silverberg a sense of wonder, from his horticultural hobby to new developments in science, to, of course, science fiction and fantasy.
In "Libraries," Zinos-Amaro talks to Silverberg about libraries - the public and school libraries he frequented as a child and adolescent, the Columbia University library, the various international libraries he has visited as an adult, and his own personal library, which he began to seriously cultivate when as a working writer he had less time to spend doing reading and research outside his home. "So all through, from the Schenectady Avenue branch of the Brooklyn Public Library to my various school libraries—and I always took advantage of those—to the wonderfully sheltering high school library with the red leather banquettes, where I’d sit near a stained-glass window high above the quadrangle, to Columbia, libraries were always important to me. But when I became a professional writer I needed the time to work. I couldn’t spend my time commuting to libraries, especially as I got more and more remote from the nearest good library. I lived in Upper Manhattan, near Columbia, but I no longer had the stack pass, because I was no longer a student. Then I moved to a suburb where there was no library."
In the section titled "Potpourri," Zinos-Amaro poses Silverberg some questions submitted by fans as beginning points of conversation. A question about whether there is, or ever will be, a complete bibliography of all Silverberg's works in all genres, under all pseudonyms, leads to an anecdote about being investigated by the FBI for writing pornography. Silverberg also talks about what he considers to be good and bad writing, with examples from Thomas Hardy, Hemingway and Graham Green.
The final interview, "After the Myths Went Home," is devoted to Silverberg's responses to a question about "your perspective on age, and on what it’s like to look back on a professional writing career that’s lasted over six decades." The book concludes with a brief essay from Silverberg's wife, Karen Haber, about her life with Silverberg.
I enjoyed reading the interviews, seeing Silverberg's responses to some of Zinos-Amaro's questions, and came out with a sense of the man behind the books, although with a somewhat disjointed idea of the shape of his life. Worth reading for anyone who has enjoyed the works, and is curious about the man.
Manchán Magan writes about “the lost language of Ireland’s landscape”:
Do you understand the sentence: the banbh was hiding out in the clochán from the brothall? Or how about: I took the boreen over the bawn and down the congár through the cluain beyond the esker to fetch some dillisk on the cladach.
The language we use to describe landscape, farming and the natural world in Ireland is changing so fast that a person can be aged to within a few decades by their understanding of a single sentence. Your grandfather would likely know what biolar, caonach and bundún mean; while you probably understand bawn, kesh and crubeen, but your children mightn’t understand any of these. They mightn’t even know what a gandal is, or have ever been chased by a furiously hissing one.
The English spoken in Ireland (Hiberno-English) even 40 years ago was so speckled with residual Irish words that it can appear today like another tongue. Each of us holds fond memories of words our grandparents used that are now largely meaningless. Cróinín always held a particular fondness for me – it means the first run of small autumn salmon; and branar, which refers to a stretch of broken lea. Nowadays, even the English word “lea” is understand by few: in Britain it refers to meadow or arable land, while in Ireland it normally describes land that has been ploughed, or grubbed before seeding. As to what “grubbed” means, well, that’s a whole other story.
If you’re wondering, collop is “the old count for the carrying power of land” (“The grazing of one cow or two yearling heifers or six sheep or twelve goats or six geese and a gander was one collop”), and fíbín is “the running of cattle caused by the sting of a gadfly.” It’s a great read, and it quotes PW Joyce, the great-great-uncle of Trevor Joyce, who sent me the link — thanks, Trevor!
by Brenda W. Clough
Have you noticed how very many stories, and how the sweeping majority of movies, star young people? The hero, the heroine — always under forty, often under thirty. Even Spider-Man’s Aunt May has lost sixty years! It is as if people pass over an event horizon when they hit the big four-oh, becoming uninteresting, ignorable, and negligible. This is particularly a problem for women. Actresses complain about this all the time, as the roles dry up and they are demoted to second-string supporting roles: “First you’re another sloe-eyed vamp, then someone’s mother, then you’re camp, then you career from career to career.”
Actresses and trophy wives have to put up with this. Writers don’t! So when I wrote Making Love I deliberately made the protagonists retirees. They are every 70-year-old couple you have ever seen, married for half a century, feeling their aches and pains, watching reruns on cable TV. Nevertheless they love, and struggle, and defeat their foes with the tools they have.
And they knit! One of the best perks of writing fantasy is being able to invent a magic system. It’s a no-brainer that knitting can be magical. You have a two-dimensional thing and you turn it into three dimensions, how cool is that? It is creative in the same way as writing, or bees making honey, the slow accumulation of tiny bits of perfection until you have a whole jarful or an entire novel. It’s not a magic system that’ll carry a heavy plot; no one’s going to get the One Ring into the volcano and save Middle Earth from Sauron with a set of double-pointed sock needles. But it was Tolkien himself who said of his Elves that they put all that they love into all that they make. That’s what knitting is, the slow and steady building of love, a solid representation of emotion. So that’s what this story is about, how to get that love out there where it’ll keep you warm or soothe your pain or simply make you happy.
And here is a blog bonus: a knitting pattern, for a Beanie Baby sweater.
First, get yourself the Beanie Baby. This is because Beanies come in different sizes, and you need this sweater to fit your Beanie. Find some yarn — you won’t need much. This is an ideal project for odd balls and leftovers, as the heroine of my story has discovered, Fifty yards or so is plenty. Get needles suitable to the yarn; we will avoid the concept of gauge here, but essentially fat yarn needs fat needles and thin yarn needs thin needles. You have a wide leeway here, so just go for it.
Cast on some stitches. You want enough stitches to go across the Beanie’s belly. The simplest way to guess this is to cast on for a while and then hold the needle and its stitches up to the toy. Lay the Beanie flat on a table (the way the bear is lying at the top of this post) to get an accurate estimate. If you have enough stitches on the needle to extend from one side of the Beanie to the other, that’s about right.
Then knit. You can do garter stitch, or stockinette, or rib it, or any fanciness you desire. When you’ve done an inch or so, hold it up to the Beanie again. Is it the width of the Beanie? You have lots of leeway, but it’s better if it’s a little big. If it’s dreadfully small you might pull it all apart and cast on again, adding more stitches this time. The Beanie is not going to complain about fit, but if it’s too tight you’ll never get it on at all.
If you’re satisfied with the width of the knitting, go on. Knit until you have a length that will be a good sweater on the Beanie — shoulder to waist (if it has a waist) or wherever you want the garment to end. Then cast off, leaving a long end for sewing up. What you have now is a knit square or rectangle, the front of the garment. Cast on again and make another square or rectangle, identical to the first.
Then lay the finished square on top of your Beanie. Mark with a pin or something, where the armholes should be. Pin the two squares together, and (using the long end of yarn from casting off or casting on) sew the side seams, from the bottom hem up to the armhole. Use more yarn, and sew the shoulder seams. Be careful to keep these shoulder seams short. Leave plenty of room for the neck opening — Beanie heads are more solid than their squishy little bodies. Try it on to be sure the head will actually go through the neck hole.
Fasten off all the loose ends, turn the garment right side out, and cram your Beanie into it. Pull its limp little arms through the arm holes. If you want refinements, a little collar or teeny sleeves are easily knitted, just tiny rectangles that you can then sew on.
The Eyrie, Riverrun, Harrenhal and Dragonstone
We visited so many marvelous places in Westeros, but the Eyrie stands out in my mind as the most awe-inspiring of all the locations. Formidable House Arryn built the complex of castles over centuries—it was considered unbreakable, except of course by House Targaryn, whose dragons could easily summit it.
Our small group who had paid for this five-day adventure had been warned about the vigors of the mountain trek, only open to visitors in summer. We brought walking sticks, sturdy hiking boots, warm wind-breaker jackets, and had taken our high-altitude supplements. One of our party, a gentleman who had pooh-poohed the necessity of good walking shoes and wore flip flops, suffered a nasty fall down some steps and ended up with a head wound. He had to be walked back down by the EMTs from Sky, the third waycastle, accompanied by his tight-lipped wife.
Starting our journey at the Bloody Gate in the early morning, we walked through forestland to the Gates of the Moon where we gathered to learn about Eyrie-hiking safety. The oddest warning was about the eagles, who liked to swoop down and steal people’s hats. From here we walked to Stone, the first waycastle. The day was sunny and warm, and we laughed and joked about how easy it was. Our guides laughed too, telling us to remember how pleasant this leg of the journey was, when tomorrow we would take the treacherous road to Sky.
We lunched at Stone, a small castle built into the mountain’s feet with an imposing iron gate, then mounted mules to take us to Snow, the second waycastle. Here the road was very steep, winding up along the cliff-face, and the view from the back of my mule down into the chasm made me a little woozy. My husband fortified himself with Ativan to calm his nerves, and correctly did not look either down or up. Snow is a modest castle of only a single tower, and we were quartered like college students in a barracks-like setting, but the beds were comfortable and the food outstanding.
In spite of this I tossed and turned all night, worrying about the trip to Sky, which would take all day and be the most vigorous.
Adjusting to the altitude was difficult, but with the guides reminding us to take it slow, we pushed through it. There were a couple of harrowing moments of using hand holds—safety ropes were attached to the rock but I wanted to try it without, as the Arryns had—when I thought I would fall.
But this was worth it. Sky was only a fortress—a stone wall over which the defenders could push rocks down on any attacker. But above it stood the Eyrie, rising into the sky, spired and flagged, six hundred feet above us. Our guide showed us where the Moon Door could be seen through our binoculars. It was a chilling view.
We would summit the Eyrie that afternoon, arriving just before dark. Torch-light provided lights as the sun set behind us, throwing stark shadows on the gray rock. We had two nights at the Eyrie in the Maiden Tower, with tours of the harrowing sky cells and the High Hall were the Moon Door resides. It was a lonely place, and I could picture Lysa Arryn, already twisted in nature, becoming even more un-hinged during all the years she lived there.
House Tully’s Riverrun was a welcome sight as we traveled from the mountains and into the Trident valley. It’s a beautiful red sandstone keep, jutting into the confluence of two rivers. We recuperated here for two days after our exhausting trip to the Eyrie. The weather was warm enough that we could swim, a highlight for both of us.
Next was Harrenhal, a fascinating and monstrous place, half-ruined. The ruin is maintained exactly as a ruin—there are no plans to renovate, and this is because visitors want to see it the way it was. It’s the largest of all Westerosi keeps, and just as imposing. A tour of the entire place takes two days, but we opted for the shorter one, and from our cute little inn on the God’s Eye lake, we saw the House of the Hundred Hearths, the beautiful Godswood, and the Bear Pit.
From there we flew to Crackclaw Point and catamaraned out to Dragonstone, a place I was so excited to visit. It was far less impressive than I thought it would be, however, but mostly I wanted to see their collection of dragon glass and Daenarys memorabilia: gowns, dinner plates, jewelry and most famously, a long tress of her silver hair encased in a valyrian steel frame.
Next—at last!—Kings Landing, Casterly Rock and Highgarden.
Fandom: Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Pairing/Characters: Kujo Kiriya/Hojou Emu
Length: 11,800 words
Summary: How could he turn down a banana in distress?
Successful rebel Kiriya Kujo came to make peace with his past and his family. But he'd never thought that to appear "respectable," he'd become the pretend fiancé of a banana-wearing storeowner! Yet how could he refuse spunky Emu Hojou, the man under the costume, when he kissed him so sweetly— and so thoroughly—in the spaghetti aisle of the supermarket?
His gaze implored him to play the role of lover to show up his ex-fiancé. But remembering the kisses they shared were supposed to be pretend became more difficult, when all Kiriya wanted to do was to make love to the appealing Emu! Was the proposal turning into something…real?
Notes: The summary above (obviously with different character names and other minor changes) comes from the book "The Virgin's Proposal" by Shirley Jump. Thanks to Aryn for the betaread!
Link: Read the fic!
At this day and age, many find it difficult to leave everything and go follow their heart. Especially when it comes to jobs. But luckily, some take that leap.
Kanchan Singh at only the age of 24, decided that she will not be one not to follow her dreams.
According to the Internet, the best way to tell if an antelope is ripe is to locate a small depression at the bottom that yields somewhat when pressed. Sniff there to see if it smells sweet.
In unrelated news, I am not certain the voice search on my phone is working properly.
Originally posted at stories.starmind.org.
So you know. Maybe don't bring it up with me in ANY WAY other than believing the victim right now, because my overidentification will decide that means you wouldn't/didn't believe ME. And that was honestly the longer term trauma in a lot of respects.
Bears does not knows whys theys keeps tellings Bears to wears funnys hats. But Boys tolds Bears to be goods and Boys woulds feeds Bears all the fishes Bears could eats, so Kumas kepts quiets.
Tonights, ats a big places with lots of fishes, Girls gaves Bears lots of differents fishes to eats. Bears is happys.
Girls tolds Bears wes is goings homes tomorrows. Bears is readys to goes homes and sleeps for a whiles.
All panels present and correct, including the one I thought I moderated badly; I was asked after that one if I taught for a living (not for years and not in the sense they were asking) and my impostor syndrome was confused. I probably short-circuited my own reading, but again, I sold a copy of Ghost Signs (2014) afterward, so it cannot have been a disaster. All program items in which I was involved were a lot of fun, including the podcast on which I had not originally been scheduled to appear. The Lovecraftian erotica was amazing.
People kept handing me things. A lime-green rubber tentacle, a bandanna for the Lovecraft Readathon, a CD of Bohren & der Club of Gore's Black Earth (2002), a first edition of C.L. Moore's Doomsday Morning (1957), DVDs of The Bat (1959) with Vincent Price and Agnes Moorehead and The Lodger (1944) with Laird Cregar, a fictitious vintage program for the HPLHS' The Call of Cthulhu (
There was not enough seeing of people, but what there was was good. Late last night, I wrote three-quarters of a post on Penda's Fen (1974) that I did not manage to finish before having to check out this morning, so either I will finish it later tonight or I will sleep. Or both.
I am exhausted. Various parts of my body think I was trying to kill them and are now attempting to return the favor. It was worth the early mornings.
Disclaimer: I was provided with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Rory is a university student — and she’s just a little too fond of drinking and partying. But when she woke up with no memory of the evening, or the person beside her and what they did, that was the last straw.
Getting help seems the obvious first step, but it’s still hard to walk into the AA meeting, and harder still to stick to her goals.
But if she wants a chance to make things work with the beautiful Michelle, and further explore the submissive side she’s ignored, she’s going to have to commit to recovery and pull her life together, no matter how difficult that seems.
One Last Drop is a f/f romance that tackles some big issues but ultimately left me unsatisfied.
The primary focus of the story is Rory’s alcoholism and her ongoing recovery. It starts at Rory’s first AA meeting which gives a pretext for the skillful delivery of a traumatic backstory without making the reader experience it directly. As a teetotaler, I appreciated the way the story highlighted the alcoholic culture not only of university life but of society more generally. There were also some poignant moments examining shame and the way this manifests–particularly in Rory’s desire to keep her problem a secret and how this undermines her by depriving her of a support network.
However, the latter point was weakened somewhat by shallow characterisation. The close third-person perspective allows us to see what’s going on for Rory, but the characters around her felt flat. Michelle in particular came across as less of a character to connect to and more as a role: that of love interest and mature role-model for Rory to potentially grow into. When the trauma in Michelle’s background came up, it caught me by surprise, as there hadn’t been any foreshadowing. Perhaps this was by design–people don’t foreshadow their traumas in real life–but it left me feeling ambivalent.
The story takes a positive stance towards support groups and therapy, which I appreciated. I also liked the interplay between addiction and BDSM; Michelle is quite firm in not allowing Rory to avoid taking responsibility for her addiction by hiding in her new role as a submissive. Readers should not expect much in the way of onscreen sex. Instead, as is common for Field’s stories, the scene fades to black.
All in all, One Last Drop had some elements I liked, but I feel it ultimately failed to live up to its potential.
Mirrored from Earl Grey Editing.
Allentown has done something rather spectacular! The town has now opened its pools to not only the public this summer, but they decided to embrace a rather late summer tradition.. Now, one of Allentown's public pools has gone to the dogs! It happened this Saturday, August 19th, 2017!
In the wake of Charlottesville and the past week, I strongly recommend reading this article in the Guardian, which explores a bit of the ideology of this particular chunk of the far right. The heart of it is a reminder that Nazism is national socialism, and they are making hay with a philosophy that is basically a racist (and inegalitarian) corruption of classic socialism. It's bullshit, but seductive bullshit, now just as it was to Germany in the '30s.
It's a bit skin-crawling to think about (it's a bit hard to come up with a more exact opposite of my own worldview), but we're going to have to understand the enemy if we're going to fight them. And I think it's clear that we are going to have to fight them -- at the very least, this is a dangerous and rising memeset that needs to be opposed now, and vigorously...
On good days, when his teeth don't hurt, the bear takes midday naps.
Last Monday, I found takers for the four free tickets management gives us and I gave a fast (2½ hour) walking tour of the zoo. It gave me the opportunity to see areas I hadn't visited in a while, like the high platforms built for the jaguars in what used to be the spectacled bear exhibit (AKA the ex-tiger exhibit AKA the ex-lion exhibit).
It was a short tour, but we did manage to see more than half the area before they got their fill. They mostly wanted to see cats, but we stopped to gawk at other things, like good tourists.
I took pictures of uninvited vertebrates making their home in exhibits meant for other critters. Mallards breed in the tall plants at the edge of the goose and flamingo ponds where there's all-you-can-eat waterfowl buffets all summer.
Woild cottontail on the rocks, just out of reach of curious zebras.
I wonder if any of the people involved realized it would still be going two generations later?
( Read more... )
Goth Girl and the Ghost of a Mouse
Goth Girl and the Fete Worse Than Death
Goth Girl and the Wuthering Fright
by Chris Ridell.
Young readers (the alleged intended audience) will probably enjoy them - they're not quite graphic novels, but they have a lot of graphic elements[*], and very silly plots - but well-read, pun-loving adults with a good grounding in literature and contemporary British culture will probably enjoy them even more.
Since I started reading them the air has been punctuated by laughter every now and again when a penny drops. I am halfway through book two, and there seems to be a puddle of pennies at my feet...
And now I shall return to the statue of a sulking-looking seamonster known as 'Mopey Dick'.
[*] extra points for innovative use of footnotes
( spoilers )
So it was a good way to spend 7-ish hours, and it didn't leave me in a state of existential dread the way JJ did.
the other day, in anticipation of this show, I was making a list of ladies with robot arms, and I couldn't come up with many - Misty Knight, Nina Sharp, Lirael, Furiosa... who else is there?
Here the source of the inversion corrects it within a few minutes:
*overstate, sorry, I always mix that up
— Matt Pearce (@mattdpearce) August 19, 2017
For discussion see
"'Cannot underestimate' = 'must not underestimate'?", 11/6/2008
"Underestimate, overestimate, whatever", 3/23/2011
"'…not understating the threat", 6/5/2012
"Overestimating, underestimating, whatever", 1/11/2013
"'Impossible to understate' again", 3/1/2014
"The Estimation Game", 4/3/2014
…and many more…
It encapsulates both the jaw-dropping awfulness and bizarreness of the Orange Supremacist era, and the extent to which the mainstream media has gotten so appalled that they're dropping their usual false equivalency. I mean the old "both sides have a point," which works when both sides DO have a point, but does not when you're talking about Nazis vs. anti-Nazis or Cheetolini vs. human beings with empathy. Also, it made me laugh.
Yesterday post-rally hederahelix and I were discussing this.
"It's just so surreal," she said. "Hey... Is that a camel?"
I looked over. The U-haul next to us had a giant camel painted on the side.
Below the camel, as if in explanation of why a U-haul would be decorated with a giant camel, were a few lines of Wikipedia-esque notes on camels, something like "A camel is an even-toed ungulate within the genus Camelus, bearing distinctive fatty deposits known as "humps" on its back."
You can write remixes for it without signing up and you can sign up (offer your fic to be remixed) without writing anything. You can include previous remixes, collaborations, and WIPs and there are art options too, as many safe works as you want, and no eligibility besides "you have one fic in this fandom." So, go on over and offer your fic/art up for people to remix! Or have fun and remix something yourself.
Now I should go off and see about typing up my actual assignment before I go look, because, yay, Remix Madness! \o/
(I do enjoy Remix, sorry; you can probably tell. I suppose it's kind of like the ultimate fic-conversation you can have with someone, in some ways, and it's always pretty fun and fascinating. And you're not writing a gift for someone, so it's different than most exchanges.)
Bread: on Monday, Greenstein's 100% Wholewheat Loaf, made up of ordinary strong wholemeal/wholemeal spelt/einkorn flours. Tasty but a bit crumbly for some reason.
Saturday breakfast rolls: the adaptable soft roll recipe, 4:1 strong white/buckwheat flour, dried blueberries, maple sugar.
Today's lunch: quails, which I cooked yesterday as they were well pushing their use-by date, according to a recipe from Clarissa Dickson Wright. The Game Cookbook, only that used fruit chutney, which I did not have, so used damson jelly instead, roasted in foil at Mark 3 for 30 minutes: not bad. Served with sticky rice in coconut milk with lime leaves, buttered spinach, and asparagus healthy-grilled in olive oil and splashed with aged organic balsamic vinegar.
Have started the overnight rising version of the bread recipe in Laurie Colwin's Home Cooking, which I haven't made for ages.
Friday: in bed most of the day recovering.
Saturday: 3 hours of intense class (lots of discussion and a professor acting intimidating), then baseball game!!1!, then a midnight movie.
Today: may need some gentle self-care, despite desperately needing to do homework, study, etc. because tomorrow I have a meeting in the morning, physical therapy in the afternoon, and possibly receiving whatever the eclipse needs to awaken in me. It already feels harsh, because I'm so tired from doing so many things and my body hurting so much. And yet my "so many things" is most people's normal. I'm so tired of not being able to do nearly as much as most people my age.
Oh yes, and I need to do some planning today, and my head feels like mush. Need to make sure I have enough to eat this week. Keeping myself alive and able to do things takes soooo much energy. I get so down about it.
Meh. I'm never sure what to write or how I want to present myself. Survival, and my current priorities school & some social engagement, just takes too much out of me to be much more than that.
because they have had very different experiences on this team, and quite deliberately so.
( Read more... )
Mick did logical. Len did logical. They just had different data to logic with.
And were having too many feelings in too much danger to compare notes and talk it out.
So all that all happened.
Well written, and I like it
but stopping the episodes there for the night led to reading a lot of fic, because you can't just leave them like that...
It's not easy to come up with appropriate derogatory epithets for the right-wing extremists who are currently polluting politics. For example, condoms are anti-disease, pro-health, anti-harassment, and LGBTQ friendly. Condoms literally protect our freedom in a real and meaningful way. Those white-supremacists possess none of the virtues of the humble, yet noble scumbag.