Then last night my lecturer for the Monday lecture said UCU voted for a strike today.
While I have no problem supporting the strike, I'm really sad to miss a lecture for this class (Language Mind and Brain; the one I've enthused about (sometimes drunkenly...) whenever anyone's asked me how my course is going)!
And I'm sad for whatever has happened to my lovely Arabic teacher, but I'm relieved because three hours of language-learning all in a row is brutal, makes Wednesdays by far my longest day in uni, and this week I'd have had a meeting partway through so I'd have worried about what I was missing after I had to leave.
But with no Arabic and no lecture, I'm left with only one lecture and two seminars all week! And next week is Reading Week (a concept my American brain is still struggling to understand). I feel kind of grateful for this chance to catch my metaphorical breath: I've been doing okay (if not perfectly) at keeping on top of uni things, but I'm way behind on housework, spending any quality time with my partners, etc.
I do have an essay due this Friday and one next Friday, and Arabic teacher has said she might try to make up this week's lessons during Reading Week too, so it's not as if I have nothing to do. But it does feel like a very light week for me, and solemn though the reasons for that are, I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm kind of glad.
For the rest of us, though... :)
Instead of having all stories posted at once, we're doing it a little differently this time: starting now, Quantum Mirror Alphabet Soup will run until the end of November. Any author may post a story between now and November 30th. Leave a link to your story in the comments below and e-mail me a copy of your fic and your filled-out template for the table of contents.
As there are still letters left to claim, authors may take a second letter once their first story is up. Please go to this entry to claim a second letter, or even your first if you haven't yet chosen to participate!
I look forward to reading all the new gen fic... and ~cough~ finishing my own. ;)
I bought the honeycomb at the rain-walled farmer's market on Saturday -- that and bright late strawberries and a sachet of strong lavender.
Saturday was the best day I've had in ages -- the kind where you forget the good things you did in the morning because the good things you did in the evening were even better.
The best thing I did was see, or I would say witness, Tanya Tagaq perform Qiksaaktuq.
I hope to write about that as soon as the words to do so have been invented.
The next best thing I did was attend a poetry workshop. I'd been violently nervous out of mostly phantom social fears, but in the event there was much mellowness and pleasant chill and a little magic.
We did three pieces of freewriting: one based on people reading out various poems and bits of prose (the only one that comes to mind now was a Poe poem); one a letter to a friend (I had trouble with that); and one was a set of directions or instructions (the guy next to me had a lovely line: "Don't go down / go back down").
This is a second draft of my first, vaguely Poe-inspired piece (& obvs. a whole raft of Romantics are running around in there). I don't know if it can be anything, ultimately, what with its oddly formal voice, unless something speculative from a world where such a voice would fit, but I liked things about it enough to work with it a bit.
Where is my
What is buried up to its neck in me?
In this deep old desert
where all experience is reduced
to rubble, to gravel, and at last to dust
Whatever I broke, whatever I toppled or shattered,
it fell where I pushed it and lay there, decaying.
Who built these monuments? Of what materials?
I must have built them. It must have been of sand.
Statue or pleasure-dome, shattered,
fallen, sifted, heaped up,
bound with lime and water, refashioned.
Do they improve with iteration, my idols?
If inhaled, chewed out of the air,
do they provide -- sustenance? Flavour? Information?
Make up your mind: are you a ruin or a desert?
If a ruin, you must once have been magnificent.
If a desert, you must once have been
a forest full of cool vapour
or the bottom of a sea, seething with life.
Who is the wanderer?
Who is it breathes in my dust,
contemplates my ruin?
It must be me again. How tiresome.
Unless someone else can be recruited.
Unless you will do it.
Who is my Ozymandias?
It must be that man
I thought I could become
I must be the sculptor who captured his curled lip.
No kiss, not even of this outsized stone mouth.
Well, why not? Climb up and kiss it. As dry
as anything imaginable.
Fandom: Batman Forever
Music: Headlong by Queen
Summary: 'there's nothing you can do about it' Chase Meridian, Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson.
Notes: Quick cuts and flashes throughout (there's a bunch of flashing lights at 3:49 - 4:12 in particular).
( streaming )
AO3 | tumblr | youtube
( additional notes )
My thanks to DuckDuckGo for sponsoring this week’s DF RSS feed. DuckDuckGo is the search engine that doesn’t track you. DuckDuckGo and Safari’s Intelligent Tracking Prevention together address the top three private browsing misconceptions:
- 41% of users believe private browsing prevents websites tracking them.
- 39% of users believe private browsing prevents ads from tracking them.
- 35% of users believe private browsing prevents a search engine from knowing their searches.
I’ve been using DuckDuckGo as my primary search engine for a few years now and I haven’t looked back.
Oh, all the things I didn't say the last time about politics...I didn't say, but probably still should. First of all, I've always known this and never cared, but it's starting to bother me: This is a super-liberal, mostly feminine-influenced and nearly-antifa leaning site and I'm a middle of the road/left-leaning person. This site hasn't changed me (well, it's made me more sympathetic on race issues, but hasn't changed me much, otherwise).
Lest I forget I'm middle of the road as I was seven, 10, or even 25 years ago, not more than days after my last post Other Person and I were discussing a particularly politically-minded neighbor while sitting outside after dinner (a Trump supporter, a definite part of The Base, and my God they're the worst) when he looked at me and said, "Of course, you'd never want to talk to him when he gets like that [off on a political rant] because you're so middle of the road". And I felt the flush come up as I thought: "My God, does it show?".
It's my best (or worst) kept secret: I won't take sides because that's the side the party name on my voter registration card says I'm on. While I'll never go around agreeing Nazis are nice people, I've known a nice person to be a Nazi - a distasteful thought, but also as much a fact as a subjective decision about someone's temperament can be. I mean, I don't know, maybe he burned Jews upside down in effigy in his backyard, or stabbed little dolls with Swiss knives in his room late at night as he cursed them for being tiny proxies of the elitist worldwide global conspiracy. Maybe he did even worse. I wasn't privy to that and never will be. I only know he was nice. And a Nazi.
Also, my dad was Jewish, so shut up.
This is one of the reasons I'm middle of the road though maybe you're not: Because not only do I know they exist, but I know that among the greatest dangers to Jews on the face of the Earth is a nice Nazi. Mean and out-there arrogant ones are immediately even worse, of course, but no, they should not be punched (that's another post, maybe not tonight). But everyone dismisses the juxtaposition of niceness and Naziness as impossible, a mistake humanity makes over and over - twice in less than a hundred years now, from what I can see.
But no one thinks millions of German psychopaths fought the Nazi cause on battlefields and supported the politics in order that the war could carry on. No one seriously thinks Germans were all monsters down to the last woman, man and child who stood behind the cause? Because many of them were like the guy who waves to you each morning as he picks his paper up off the lawn, then drives from his neatly kept suburban home wearing a white shirt with short sleeves and a little bow tie off to be an accountant each day.
They were like the curly-haired cashier at the local grocery who always remembers the stamps you buy each Friday before you can even remind her to pull the book out of the till. They were like the mom down the road who watches her three year old - and yours - every day after pre-school so you can hold that little part-time job without going broke on day care; because she's cool like that, she looks out for you.
And though I'm limiting my examples to but a few, you can multiply the everydayness of them by tens of millions: the psychopaths in Germany, from Hitler on, were present, and caused more psychological (to this day) and collateral damage than the rest of the citizenry combined, but much of the citizenry was right there with them - either in spirit or else in fear of what might happen to their own lives should they dare turn from politically-based, state-sanctioned hatred of The Other.
And if you think none of them were "nice" - let's define nice, first: What does it mean to you? To me it means someone friendly, someone kindly to family, friends, neighbors, pets, coworkers, others. Your definition might differ from mine. If you think none of them were "nice" - not by any means - then you might think again, because there's no version of Earth that's been created yet where you can trust a Nazi *not* to be some seemingly nice person you know.
Until people can get a central idea through their heads - that like opioid addiction, Nazism can strike anyone anywhere, not just "skinheads" or that guy with the raggy, uncombed beard and tattoo sleeves who makes you wonder if he's some fascist motherfucker though he's probably not, but without asking him you honestly don't know - you can't make progress against it. Not just that, but not knowing who a Nazi was or is literally lost the world Germany back in the 1940s - perhaps too much seeming niceness run amok.
The problem is everyone thinks classical definitions of niceness can't exist alongside a bona fide felt or acted upon hatred of The Other, yet they can, and one of the most insidious ways this spreads is by nice people becoming convinced there's an Us and a Them, and that the Them is out to get (or kill) Us. Us - we're the nice people getting walked all over. But Them - the evil [fill in race signifier here, since most racists don't just hate one race] are out to DESTROY Us, so let's do something, or let's support the state in their fight against Them. Because it's not Us and Them. It's Us. Or Them.
That's all it takes. It's that easy to make hate live side by side with kindness. I just explained like thousands of years of racism (and most of modern-day US politics) in one crappy little paragraph.
Getting back to middle of the roadness - for me, it doesn't stop with relativism around who's nice and who's not and how that relates to any possible Nazism on the part of "nice" people (hint: it doesn't). Years ago I used to say there was no political party that could contain me. But there's no body of political thought that can, either, because they're too confining, and I'm not a doormat. Just because some ideology says if I believe this then I must believe that doesn't mean that I do, nor that I ever can or will. I'm not an IFTTT program. And I'm not an ideologue.
And so my discomfort with politics grows and grows, stuck between the cracks and crevices of ever-narrowing ideologies. The cracks widen and liberals seem to widen them more - which reminds me, I read an article recently (no link) that explained (finally! I've pondered this question for a year and a half) why Trump encourages the base as he does: Because if he keeps them and Dems divide between libs and moderates (middle of the road), mods will go rogue, and so will all the Independents and those on the fence on both sides of the political bushes. Which isn't genius. But is probably closer to the truth then whatever dreams libs are having about 2018.
I mean, I'd go jump off a bridge a la Mitt Romney winning in 2012 before I go vote for Trump or any R (check the 2012 archives; I almost actually did), but it's safe to say I'll never vote for Trump or any R as long as people who lean more to the left of them exist. There will always be an alternative. Just not the one I want.
This is what party wags don't get: we don't want - or aren't ready for, as a country - a far left political party, and by "we", I mean the 65 million Hillary Clinton voters - does everyone think we all just up and dropped dead on November 10th? We're here. And we're the biggest bloc of middle of the road voters - outside of those who held their nose to vote for Trump or abstained but didn't vote for Clinton, either - that you'll find. But party honchos keep dragging us left, left, left until it's like, "Fine, let me off then, because I'm not hanging one more left until you folks realize you need to just hang tight here for a while".
Progress doesn't happen by dragging the entire population into it, en masse, head first. It takes time for a society to accept (so many) changes. I just want the pace to slow down, because it's trying to change - as a society - too fast that stops progress altogether, that makes people halt and panic and do the opposite, and with Rs especially, we're dealing with a lot of people who emotionally have not even left the Stone Age.
You can't legislate acceptance, you can only create the conditions - slowly and patiently - to allow it to more casually, and permanently, occur.
( Full list of fics by fandom below the cut )
Or browse the collection by the tag cloud.
NYR2017 is now closed. The New Year's Resolution collection for 2018 will open on January 1. Works for past Yuletide prompts may be submitted there.
( Everybody else thought so, so I thought so, too. I would have liked me. )
And twenty minutes ago I'd had no idea. I love the people that history contains.
One of the results of that is me agreeing to foster about 30-odd years worth of houseplants here at War Drobe until SiL decides what she wants to do. ( and that was how we nearly went full jungalow )
That's my Slow Fashion October moment for the year: don't buy petroleum-derived clothing anymore (minus waistband elastic/similar and bras, though I'm working on the latter---I mean polyester/nylon/rayon fabric blends; nylon in sock yarns can instead be silk, alpaca, or mohair; even tencel is better in terms of poisoning fish with every laundry load or handwash). Mend things, buy durable things I can't reasonably expect to make if replacing things I've worn out, don't support expensive-for-its-own-sake unless it actually translates to good wages for those in the labor/production chain. I couldn't handle making all my clothes even if I had no outside job time-wise (exacerbating joint pain is a valid limitation), but I'm moving in a direction I prefer. (In a poorer situation I would need to be part of a larger group where it'd be viable to trade intangibles for others' help. I've been pondering this piece alongside this one and the fact that till recently, I haven't had clothes nice enough that mending made sense: when they wear out, they're crap enough that mending would mean substantial remake and/or dyeing.)
The week was upside down due to after-effects of the mild back/pelvic sprain and a new cold, so let's ignore knitting's dismally slow progress in favor of something speculative.
( Read more... )
But things have gotten more complicated. I injured my leg and when I told her about it and asked if I could sit for the several hour long ceremony she told me I shouldn’t be a bridesmaid anymore. I’m hurt that she would kick me out of her wedding because I’m injured and I’ve already spent a lot on her gift, a flight there, etc. I’m not sure I can change my flight either (I had to be there several days early as a bridesmaid and I’m supposed to share a hotel room with her, I don’t think I can afford a room myself). My friends said if I don’t go to her wedding at all now I’m probably throwing away the friendship. I feel like she’s the one doing that by kicking me out over something I can’t control.
More than that, I’m afraid that if I go as a guest or try to suck up the pain to stand during the ceremony as a bridesmaid, that she will ultimately reject my friendship anyway when I do come out to her and I don’t want to put in all this time for nothing. If she rejects me for an injury it seems easy enough to reject me for being queer too since I know she thinks that’s a sin. I don’t know what to do.
A: Ayyyyy. I humbly submit that your first order of business is calling about your flight. Just see what the deal is there.
And wow yeah, she does sound like the kind of person who would reject you because of your queerness! What do you want to do? Like what feels like a decision you could live with. If I were in your position, I would slap a shipping label on that gift and take myself out for a milkshake. If I were in your position and feeling especially obligated for some reason, I’d change my flight to arrive closer to the actual wedding date, get my own hotel room, and be the cutest happiest friendliest son of a bitch at that party, where I would talk openly about my darling girlfriend and share my thoughts on a single-payer system and how abortion bans are class warfare, then leave with an air of smug superiority the likes of which that town had never seen.
Do what makes you feel like the best version of yourself, whether that’s protecting your feelings by not attending, or taking one on the chin to avoid a fallout. Make the decision you can live with, but above all else please know that you deserve friends who care more about your injured leg than the optics of a wedding party. Also, you know who has ceremonies that last for several hours when that shit can easily be handled in 45 minutes or less? Showboating assholes, that’s who. THERE I SAID IT.
It's also the first day I'd seen him since Friday! I do miss him when I'm away. I tend to dream about him when I'm somewhere else overnight, not so much when I'm at home. Tonight we collected him from mother_bones and as we walked home I noticed he was doing that weird thing again, sniffing not just at the ground or bins or where other dogs have peed but sniffing the air in what seems like a weird new way that doesn't have an obvious explanation.
I mentioned this to Andrew last week when I first noticed it, when I'd taken him on one of his evening walks. "Yeah," Andrew said, "he's been doing that lately."
"I hadn't noticed it in the mornings," I'd said (I usually walk him in the mornings, and Andrew in the evenings." That it's time-of-day specific made it seem even more remarkable.
"He's so earnest about everything all the time," I said. (He does. It's one of his most endearing traits.) "So he looks like he's a little CSI or something."
I thought for a second and then, thinking of it as a parallel to "checking his wee-mail" (a phrase I think I picked up from miss_s_b), I added "a WeeSI!"
And I've been thinking of it that way ever since.
Fandom: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen | Breq/Seivarden Vendaai
Characters: Justice of Toren One Esk Nineteen | Breq, Seivarden Vendaai
Additional Tags: Unrequited Love, Drug Use
Seivarden feels like she is still in stasis while Breq rushes onward, but there are two sides to every coin.
lilacsigil gives utterly great Imperial Radch.