i just wanna say that i’m 25 and still figuring shit out. what i wanna do and who i like and what i like.
the idea that you’re supposed to inherently know your true gender/sexuality by like age 6 and then just not mention it until you’re a teen or in college is strange because it assumes that gender/sexuality is a fixed trait from birth for every single person and also that the self-discovery process is something that should be, at its core, shameful and repressed. and that everyone who didn’t realize they weren’t straight from their zygote state is fake or deceptive or attention seeking
and also just in general tumblr’s idea that everyone 18+ is ideologically static for life or has permanent character traits. adults are growing and changing all the time. you don’t turn 18 or 21 and have the outlook or opinions you’re going to have for the rest of your life. and even OLD people 30 or 35 can totally come out or learn new things and have radically different perspectives than they had 10 years ago!
relax, you’ve got time!
basically no identity or life change has a time line or expiration date. adulthood isn’t the cement that solidifies your personhood forever. everyone is always redefining themselves and how they see the world. i know being a teen feels like you have to undergo massive transformations (whether it be identity or politics or professional goals) year to year and i’m sure everyone over 20 seems like a Certified Grandparent to a lot of y’all, but we’re all still becoming who we’re meant to be.
adulthood isn’t cement, it’s more like jello. jello with bills.
my favorite trope maybe ever is the shitty witch. the witch who doesnt give a fuck about atmosphere or anything. if you ask her for an energy potion she’ll make you coffee with redbull in it and toss in a few herbs for flavor. her spellbook is this crusty ass 50-cent journal she picked up at walmart with coupons wedged between the pages. uses a candlestick for a wand. her familiar is a rabid squirrel she picked up off the street that exclusively dines on raw meat. probably owns a set of brass knuckles. they’re not enchanted or anything she just likes to do things the old-fashioned way sometimes
“How many people work for government in the United States?” he asked, with the excitement of a child showing off a new toy, before displaying the answer. “Almost 24 million. Would you have guessed that?”
“Then people say, ‘Those damn bureaucrats!’” Mr. Ballmer exclaimed, channeling the criticism that government is bloated and filled with waste, fraud and abuse. “Well, let’s look at that. People who work in schools, higher ed, public institutions of education — they are government employees.” And they represent almost half of the 24 million, his data shows.
“And you say, O.K., what are the other big blocks?” Mr. Ballmer continued. “Well, active-duty military, war fighters. Government hospitals. Really? I didn’t know that.”
Suddenly, he explained, the faceless bureaucrats who are often pilloried as symbols of government waste start to look like the people in our neighborhood whom we’re very glad to have.
“Now people might not think they’re government employees, but your tax dollars are helping somehow to pay 24 million people — and most of these people you like,” Mr. Ballmer said.
One of the great fad desserts of the 19th century, the Dobostorta, Dobos torta or ‘torte Dobosh’ was invented by the famous Hungarian confectioner Jozsef C. Dobos in 1884. Dobos owned a far-famed shop in Budapes,t that specialized in gourmet foods generally: at a time when shipping food over distance was usually unreliable, his shop routinely featured as many as sixty imported cheeses, as well as foreign wines, breads, and occasionally cakes.
The fame of the torte to which Dobos gave his name was probably at least partly due to its extravagant use of chocolate buttercream / buttercreme, at a time when most cakes were iced or filled with cooked creams, whipped creams, or custards. Dobos had brought the buttercream recipe back with him from one of his many exploratory journeys – in this case, a trip to France – and shortly thereafter introduced the cake at the National General Exhibition of Budapest in 1885, as well as featuring it in his shop. Due to all this publicity (for it became a favorite of the Emperor and Empress of Austro-Hungary), people in cities across Europe began clamoring for it: but Dobos refused to license out the recipe. Instead Dobos developed a special container in which it could be safely shipped, and “the cake with the secret recipe” soon started appearing in all the great European capitals. In fact, Dobos actually toured with the cake, personally introducing it in city after city, until the early 1900’s, when he retired.
The cake itself is straightforward to make. It involves either five or seven individually baked layers and these must never be sliced from a single cake: chocolate buttercream made with the best available chocolate: and a layer of caramel-glazed cake on top. Commercially available versions may taste nice enough, but cease to become authentic the moment there are more than five layers.
One of the most underrated films of the last few years is certainly Guy Ritchie’s sexy spy thriller The Man from U.N.C.L.E. The film is basically a three-way flirtation romp between Henry Cavill, Armie Hammer, and Alicia Vikander, and it is an absolute delight.
FUCK YES! I LOVED THE FIRST FUCKING MOVIE!! IT WAS EASILY THE MOSE UNDERRATED FILM OF THE YEAR!!!
Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.
The first generation of this snooping began with the desktops you used at the office (but also used to access your personal webmail and social media); then came snooping on company-issued phones and laptops you took home with you; now snooping via software you must install on your own devices if you want to access your workplace accounts.
At first, the argument for this snooping was that people just shouldn’t use workplace equipment for personal things (nevermind that these gadgets came home with you, and that no one, not even the Director of the CIA and the Vice President of the USA can remember to switch devices for personal business).
Then, once this stuff started to creep onto devices that you owned through BYOD default installations, the argument faded away, and became something like, “If you didn’t want your employer to know about sensitive, private information, you shouldn’t have a sensitive, private life, mumble mumble mumble” (recent corollary: “if you don’t want to be in the FBI’s giant, illegal face-recognition database, just don’t have a face”).
Now, employers are fining employees who refuse to wear junk-science fitness trackers (that is “offering health insurance discounts” to people who “opt in” to wearing them). They’re requiring fingerprints to use the vending machines. They’re handing out badges that listen to everything you say and tell you how your conversational style is affecting your co-workers. And hey, Congress just voted to allow your boss to force you to get a full genetic test!
Again, this is even funnier if you know what a fucking production nightmare, with a possible curse attached to it no less, this robot prop was for the Doctor Who crew…
I want to know about the cursed robot
So the robot isn’t a guy in a suit, it’s an animatronic/puppet thing, and it wasn’t built for the show. In fact, no one knows who built it, one of the producers just FOUND IT ONE DAY in a building near the studio. It had apparently been built for another production that was cancelled and then just left to gather dust. So they thought “oh cool, let’s make this dumb robot the Doctor’s new companion, it’ll look neat and weird, everyone will have a gas with it.” NOPE.
Kamelion was incredibly complicated to operate, so they assigned a guy named Mike Powers to figure out the best way to go about it. Apparently he did a great job streamlining Kamelion’s operation, and then he promptly died in a boating accident (which is where the “curse” idea comes from.) He didn’t leave any notes or instructions, and the show was already behind schedule, so they had to rush Kamelion’s scenes into production with no idea how it worked. It was a gigantic pain in the ass to use, took forever to set up, and needed constant upkeep and repairs. Everyone hated working with the prop, to the point that before Kamelion’s first episode even aired, they had already decided to kill him off later in the same season.
Peter Davison, who played the Fifth Doctor, had the most scenes with Kamelion, and absolutely hated it. When Kamelion dies, the Doctor is really sad, but Davison said later that it was one of the best acting jobs of his career, because in reality, he was absolutely giddy with joy at being rid of the thing.
tl,dr: In the 80′s a Mystery robot prop built by unknown hands caused chaos on the Doctor Who set.
finding an abandoned mystery robot and bringing it home, leading to death, is the most doctor who plot ive ever heard
anyway: if any of my followers here have gotten anything out of my ‘media talk’ tag and the times I talked/ranted about media and fandom over the years (the Lucy clusterfuck, the Interview clusterfuck, the Dr Strange clusterfuck, the multiple white fandom and white feminism clusterfucks) please consider donating to the PPN Kickstarter or just reblogging one of the posts to spread it. we’re on our last day, we really want to hit that stretch goal.
I don’t want to guilt trip people, but writing about race and representation is goddamn exhausting and frustrating and getting angry is not very rewarding in the long term - but doing this podcast absolutely is because it means I get to create representation for myself.
so it would mean a lot to me if y’all helped out a bit because it’s been a long four years on this site and I’d like to be able to create something for myself - so if my ramblings, rants and angry long-winded text posts if they were ever helpful or informative in any way, do help out, even if it’s just a reblog or just a dollar.
I’m still gonna try to talk about race and representation in media when I can. that’s not gonna change. but this would really help.
Did anyone notice how quickly the internet turned into a
Lovecraftian horror scenario?
Like we’ve got this dimension right next to ours, that
extends across the entire planet, and it is just brimming with nightmares. We
have spambots, viruses, ransomware, this endless legion of malevolent entities
that are blindly probing us for weaknesses, seeking only to corrupt, to thieve,
Add onto that the corrupted ones themselves, humans who’ve
abandoned morality and given up faces to hunt other people, jeering them,
lashing out, seeing how easy it is to kill something you can’t touch or see or
smell. They’ll corrupt anything they think could be a vessel for their message
and they’ll jabber madly at any who question them. Their chittering haunts
every corner of the internet. They are not unlike the spambots in some ways.
Add on top of that the arcane magisters, who are forever
working at the cracks between our world and the world we made. Some of them do
it for fun, some of them do it for wealth, others do it for the power of
nations unwise enough to trust them. There are mages who work to defend against
this particular evil, but they are mad prophets, and their advice is almost
never heeded, even by those who keep them as protection.
All people know several spells to use the internet. Facebook
asks you for the magic words to log in, so does your email, so does your
twitter and on and on. The spells are words or a gesture with the hand, some
use the colour of your eyes, or the shape of your finger. Our chief of security
joked about requiring users to give a drop of blood before they could log in.
Many do not understand the humour of mages.
The cracks between the two are breaking. IP cameras filled
our world with eyes and the magisters learned how to open almost all of them.
We all carry magic slabs of glass that if you hold it up to your ear can sing to
you with a loved one’s voice, but if you look at it with your eyes, can show
you a corrupted human with bleeding orange skin scream the profane with a
thousand voices. The other day I saw someone hack a moving vehicle. At one
point they made it stop. At another they made it so it couldn’t stop. Some of our best and brightest are going to create
an army of four winged bats hovering throughout every city and we are going to
connect them directly to the dimension where the nightmares live.
I’m not saying it’s all bad, but I am saying Cthulhu lies
deathless dreaming in this web we built him and he is waking up.
Nostalgia, most truly and most meaningfully, is the emotional experience—always momentary, always fragile—of having what you lost or never had, of seeing what you missed seeing, of meeting the people you missed knowing, of sipping coffee in the storied cafés that are now hot-yoga studios. It’s the feeling that overcomes you when some minor vanished beauty of the world is momentarily restored, whether summoned by art or by the accidental enchantment of a painted advertisement for Sen-Sen, say, or Bromo-Seltzer, hidden for decades, then suddenly revealed on a brick wall when a neighboring building is torn down. In that moment, you are connected; you have placed a phone call directly into the past and heard an answering voice.
Japan’s recently expanded prisons are already at 70% occupancy, an incarceration epidemic blamed on hungry pensioners who account for 35% of the nation’s shoplifting, with a high rate of re-offending.
Japan’s state pension of ¥78,000 (USD6,900) is at least 25% below subsistence, and prison sentences for property crimes are harsh – a stolen sandwich can result in a 2-year custodial term at a cost to the government of ¥1.4M.
Japan, like many developed states, is in the midst of a demographic crunch: the richer a state is, the better its pension system and the lower its overall fertility. This means that each generation of retirees depends on a smaller generation of workers to support its pensions.
Japan’s crisis is badly exacerbated by runaway xenophobia, which makes immigration reform a no-go area. Without a cohort of young workers from elsewhere in the region, there are just not enough people paying into the system to support the aged. This problem is in turn magnified by the need of young, productive workers to divert themselves from waged work to look after their elderly parents, which has the double effect of reducing their ability to support children (who will provide the labor to support their pensions) and reducing the present-day tax-base, increasing the pressure on yet more elderly people and thus more young workers.
Japan, like the UK and the US, is crippled by its misperception of migration by young workers as a burden on the state, rather than a benefit to it. As the demographic crunch of a too-small cohort of young workers working to sustain the medically prolonged lives of their parents and grandparents makes young workers even more desperate (a situation that is made much worse by the unethical housing bubble that converts shelter from a human right to an asset whose “value” must be increased at all costs), they blame the young workers from abroad who “compete” with them, failing to see that these workers are needed to sustain a system designed on the premise that working generations will outnumber the retired.
Populist politicians – Abe, Trump, Farage, etc – blame migrants (rather than the rich rentier investors) for the crisis, and win popular support, pushing mainstream parties to denounce the migration that’s keeping their countries solvent.
Meanwhile, the elderly live in fuel poverty and food poverty, and the state ends up paying a huge premium to rehouse them in prisons or hospitals, and another, hidden premium when their children are taken away from productive work to a desperate struggle to save their parents from misery.
Today we learned that gravity is a fine musician. A team of Japanese filmmakers constructed an incredibly long wooden xylophone along a steady slope in the middle of a beautiful forest in Kyushu in southern Japan. Once the awesome instrument was built and carefully tuned a wooden ball was released at the very top. As the ball rolls down the xylophone it strikes each wooden bar once, producing a single note, performing Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring“ accompanied by the gentle sounds of a peaceful forest:
i hate writing historical fic because every five sentences you’re googling random shit like “when did billiards become popular in america” & i’ll have you know it was the 1820s
fun fact my pals the word ‘okay’ or ‘O.K.’ (the abbreviation for the old timey spelling of ‘all correct’) was popularized in 1840 by Van Buren’s US presidential election slogan and seeing it in historical fiction before then feels like a little glitch in the matrix, but seeing it in an Old Timey Fantasy setting sends me down the rabbit hole of how a fantasy world language would be brutal to translate, and language in general is a trip, and nothing means anything, probably
I just want to add a correction: O.K. was not an abbreviation for an “old-timey” spelling of “all correct”; it is in fact an abbreviation for an INTENTIONAL MISSPELLING of “all correct.” There was a short-lived period in the 1800s where it became amusing and trendy to flagrantly misspell conversational phrases and then abbreviate them, and “O.K.” is the only one to survive to the present day.
O.K. is an ancient MEME.
You telling me like 100 years from now, words like “birb”, “smol”, and “bode” are gonna be actual words?
Well they kinda already are. You say or type them, others know what you mean. That’s what words and language do. Of course we have to make new ones, because we keep finding new concepts. Even if it’s ‘that thing is small but differently small than a normal small.’ Like two different shades of blue.
I love oll korrect for exactly this reason. So much of our language us just what a bunch of cool kids for two years in the 18th century thought was funny
You can go church camping in
England’s abandoned medieval churches.
“Champing” is a new form of tourism that
benefits both the church and the traveler:
you get a unique experience spending
the night inside a historic church in a
quiet village, and the proceeds from your
stay helps support the upkeep of
these ancient buildings. SourceSource 2Source 3
1. What kind of Lord Byron nonsense is this?
2. Who wants to do this Lord Byron nonsense with me?
*jumping up and down* I DO I DO!
Get in, losers, we’re going champing.
I wanna go champing!!
my historian brother says: in a medieval sense, anyone wanting to “sleep in the church” would mean being buried in the nave. might as well go camping in a graveyard.
also: just priests up to their old tricks again, tempting you into the church one way or another.
Richard Taruskin, in the Oxford History of Western Music, writes “Chaikovsky,” something which I have never seen repeated elsewhere. It is the only thing that he has written in the OHoWM that I immediately reject without looking for further evidence to disprove its existence. @tchaikovsky-official what do you think?
It’s spelt Чайкoвский so you can do whatever you want with it in English.
Investigators concluded that Seeger’s association with known communists and his Japanese-American fiancee pointed to a risk of divided loyalty.
Seeger’s “Communistic sympathies, his unsatisfactory relations with landlords and his numerous Communist and otherwise undesirable friends, make him unfit for a position of trust or responsibility,” according to a military intelligence report.
Famously, Seeger was later blacklisted during the Red Scare as a member of The Weavers, his band…
Seeger and Lee Hays were identified as Communist Party members by FBI informant Harvey Matusow (who later recanted) and ended up being called up to testify to the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1955. Hays took the Fifth Amendment. Seeger refused to answer, however, claiming First Amendment grounds, the first to do so after the conviction of the Hollywood Ten in 1950. Seeger was found guilty of contempt and placed under restrictions by the court pending appeal, but in 1961 his conviction was overturned on technical grounds. Because Seeger was among those listed in the entertainment industry blacklist publication, Red Channels, all of the Weavers were placed under FBI surveillance and not allowed to perform on television or radio during the McCarthy era. Decca Records terminated their recording contract and deleted their records from its catalog in 1953. Their recordings were denied airplay, which curtailed their income from royalties. Right-wing and anti-Communist groups protested at their performances and harassed promoters. As a result, the group’s economic viability diminished rapidly and in 1952 it disbanded. After this, Pete Seeger continued his solo career, although as with all of them, he continued to suffer from the effects of blacklisting.
Then the 1960s happened. And then, everything else. May you build a ladder to the stars; may you stay forever young.
Aunt Dan: Susie, I’m simply saying that it’s terribly easy for us to criticize. It’s terribly easy for us to sit here and give our opinions on the day’s events. And while we sit here in the sunshine and have our discussions about what we’ve read in the morning papers, there are these certain other people, like Kissinger, who happen to have the very bad luck to be society’s leaders. And while we sit here chatting, they have to do what has to be done. And so we chat, but they do what they have to do. […] Well, do you think Kissinger […] makes those decisions lightly? What do you think? Do you think he just sits in his office and tosses them off? Do you think he just makes them in two minutes between bites of a sandwich?
A long silence.
Mother: Dan, I’m sure he makes his decisions thoughtfully. And I’m sure he believes himself to be justified. But I was asking, is he actually justified, as far as I am concerned? I’m sure he’s weighed those lives in the balance against…some large objective. But I was asking, has he weighed them, actually, at––at what I would consider their correct measure? (A silence.) Does he have a heart which is capable of weighing them correctly?
Aunt Dan: What? What? I don’t believe this! I don’t believe what I’m hearing from you! Look, I’m sorry, Susie, but all I can say to you is that if he sat at his desk weeping and sobbing all day, I don’t think he’d be able to do his job. That’s all I can say. He has just as much of a heart as anyone else, you can be sure of that, but the point is that the heart by itself cannot tell you what to do in a situation like that. The heart just responds to the present moment––it just sees these people in a village who’ve been hit by a bomb, and they’re wounded and dying, and it’s terribly sad. But the mind––the mind sees the story through to the end. It sees that yes, there are people who are wounded and dying in that village. But if we hadn’t bombed it, some of those same people would have been marching tomorrow toward the next village with the grenades and machine guns they’d stored in that pretty little church we blew up, and when they got to that village, they would have burned it to the ground and raped the women and tortured the men and killed whole families––mothers and children. Of course, those things aren’t actually happening now, so the heart doesn’t care about them. But the things that will happen tomorrow are real too. When it is tomorrow, they’ll be just as real as the things that are happening now. So I’m asking you, Susie, here is Kissinger. Here is the man who must make the decisions. What do you want this man to do? I am only asking what you want him to do. What is it that you want him to do?
Mother(after a long pause): Well, I suppose I want him to assess the threat he is facing…with scrupulous honesty…and then I want him to think about those people. Yes, I suppose I do want him to weep and sob at his desk. Yes. Then let him make his decisions.
-Wallace Shawn’s anti-fascist classic Aunt Dan and Lemon, 1985
You know, if they get on with a RoL tv series anytime soon it’s possible that a show about a brilliant young black man who solves problems with science, his Nazi-tank-destroying boss, his second-generation immigrant local goddess girlfriend, his former political refugee Somali hijabi co-worker, and their other queer and non-white colleagues fighting a rich white prick who espouses white supremacy might be seen as slightly too on-the-nose for the current state of world affairs, but I think that’s exactly what we need right now.
The Rivers of London audiobooks and graphic novels kept me sane in November.