So. Home.

Oct. 22nd, 2017 11:12 pm
archangelbeth: Woman doing a zombie "braaaaains" pose (Braaains!)
[personal profile] archangelbeth
Much banging on the ceiling, of course. And we're finished now, right?

Right?

NOPE.

They will be back tomorrow to work really fast and hard because there will be terrible winds Tuesday and rain Wednesday, and they ARE NOT FINISHED WITH THE ROOF DESPITE THE GIANT BEEPING MECH. (Illustration of mech: https://twitter.com/emccoy_writer/status/922141497054711808 . SO MUCH BEEPING.)

The angry yellowjackets in the ground did not sting anyone so far as I know.

Anyway, we will be woken up at first light, probably, by banging and beeping and I just cannot EVEN. (This is why I'm letting social interactions drop on the floor right now. Because. I cannot even.)

I need to get to sleep.

Plus side: last night I managed 733 words on... Dragonsmut, not CLB. *mutter* But at least I am that much closer to getting something there done.

Havva Quote
---------------------Quoted by w•••••••---------------------
Imagine that there are bandits in your house, your kid is bleeding out, the house is on fire, seven big-ass trumpets are playing in the sky, and your cat is demanding food.

The priority should be obvious.
------------------------------------------------------------
E____ says, “Yeah, you gotta feed the cat.”
E____ says, “Put the cat and the food outside, otherwise you'll trip over him as you try to do other stuff. Get the kid out of the house. Then wrap the kid's wounds.”
E____ says, “The bandits will die in the fire and if the final trumpet is playing there's not a whole lot I can do about that.”
w••••••• says, “Sounds like a decent job of prioritization.”


(It is a very good job of prioritization. Especially from the cat's point of view.)

Havva Star Trek Opera
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2i1vcPtsJk
(C******* found it.)



INwatch+Bookwatch )
s
Dragons under fold )
sovay: (Viktor & Mordecai)
[personal profile] sovay
So while I had known for some time about Dolly Wilde, Oscar's niece, I had somehow never heard of the fellow ambulance driver with whom she had an affair in WWI Paris, Joe Carstairs. I am going to be neutral about their pronouns because I don't want to get them wrong—all the sources I'm finding treat Carstairs as female, and it's pretty narrow to think that short hair, tattoos, tailored suits, and speedboats automatically make a man, or at least not a woman, but when a person renames themselves "Joe" from "Marion" and says of themselves, "I was never a little girl. I came out of the womb queer," I feel I should try to take them at their word. It's easy to see why they attract biographers and Tumblr posts. The part where they ran an all-female driving service in London—"X Garage"—is pretty great. The part where they were the only one of Marlene Dietrich's lovers to call her "babe" and live is amazing. The part where they bought an island in the Bahamas and effectively ruled it for forty years is like something out of Conrad, which is a little harder to enthuse about, but it definitely is different.

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.

(no subject)

Oct. 23rd, 2017 12:37 am
beccaelizabeth: my Watcher tattoo in blue, plus Be in red Buffy style font (Default)
[personal profile] beccaelizabeth
I think one of the reasons I ever wanted to go to college was that living on campus seems pretty ideal. Not that I ever could. And student rooms are tiny, I need more room for my books.

But:

Walking everywhere, No Cars, places that make breakfast and other foods, small shops (probably too small but the dream has actual food supplies in it), book shops, and a really big library. Plus rooms for to be social and book games nights and so forth. And interesting stuff to study and things to do. And you can go look in the art museum whenever you want to. And just, university campus, all the useful and necessary things, no waiting.

Too many humans, vast majority young, too much noise, weird focus on loud music events, probably lots of stuff going on I couldnt be having with.

But as a daydream, that's what I want. No cars, big library, places to meet.




But I got a degree in a subject I'm kind of Done with, because I get bored tired fed up pointing out all the ways things continue to be the same sorts of annoying.

And I remember how difficult that was and cant even aspire to go do it again in possibly bigger classes.

I don't know how I coped with all the humans but I'm not feeling the benefit side of the cost/benefit any more.



I can think of all the reasons to not do things but then the future will continue to look like the past few years and that's really boring.

I should dream better.

Interesting things to read, people to talk to them about, and places I can get to without crossing a stupid road. Good dream.
austin_dern: Inspired by Krazy Kat, of kourse. (Default)
[personal profile] austin_dern

I didn't technically leave my mathematics blog fallow this past week. This coming week, maybe. But if you missed it, here's what you missed:

And do you know What's Going On In The Phantom (Weekdays)? Did you miss the end of The Curse of Old Man Mozz and maybe the Phantom's death? Did you miss the start of The Return of the Locust? Your chance to stay informed here. So how about that Bronner's Christmas Wonderland, huh? Enjoy. A lot.

SAM_8489.jpg

Of course Bronner's has rabbit-themed merchandise, although I think this tag might just say everything. A gift for [profile] porsupah's improving spirits.


SAM_8492.jpg

I may have mentioned but point your camera anywhere in Bronner's and you have an interesting picture. Here, looking up: Santa and reindeer suspended from the ceiling. Also lots of decoration even that high.


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I don't deny that there are more dog ornaments than there are penguin ornaments. You maybe noticed there's three signs just in view guiding people to dogs. But still: they've got a section worth labelling that's nothing but penguin ornaments.


SAM_8502.jpg

If you're one of those people who decorates their trees with bees and ceramic honeycomb but don't know where to go, I can tell you where to go: it's wherever these shelves are. PS also spiders.


SAM_8504.jpg

Also aliens and some ornaments labelled ``Robotics'' in case you want your Christmas tree to celebrate the concept of doing things with self-governing machinery.


SAM_8505.jpg

So that friend who wants to put sloth ornaments on his tree? Did he need a selection of sloth ornaments? Because, look at the figures: the ones on the right are a different style. Also underneath are some kind of dinosaur.


Trivia: Atlanta banned cattle from the public streets in 1881, against the objections of a large number of working people. (One J D Garrison described the law as ``the dictation of a codfish aristocracy,'' calling it ``an issue [ ... ] between the front yard of the rich man and the sustenance of the poor family''.) Source: Down To Earth: Nature's Role In American History, Ted Steinberg. (Garrison wasn't speaking crazily; laws against farm animals in the city did deprive poorer people of their milk, meat, and egg supplies. And leave them responsible for cleaning food waste off their streets. Nothing's ever completely straightforward.)

Currently Reading: The Greek War of Independence: Its Historical Setting, C M Woodhouse.

Sunday foliage report

Oct. 22nd, 2017 02:39 pm
jhetley: (Default)
[personal profile] jhetley

More leaves down, more rusty colors. A few asters have resumed blooming, and saw an incongruous patch of daisies in the middle of a lawn. Autumn advances.

Roadkill limited to gray squirrels.

Temperature got up to about 55 F with light wind, so I added the ski top to my bike gear and headed out. Did not die.

May be the last ride of the year, depending on weather. Put me at 1200 miles for the season.

20.73 miles, 1:44:31

Yankees out

Oct. 22nd, 2017 08:00 am
jhetley: (Default)
[personal profile] jhetley

Air temperature 46 F, dew point 35, broken clouds, wind north about 8 mph. Bike ride may be on schedule.

sovay: (PJ Harvey: crow)
[personal profile] sovay
Today was very pleasant but very tiring. It has been a sleepless week, most of yesterday was a migraine, and I feel exhausted to the point of stupidity. In lieu of a movie I really need my brain for, here's one I can talk about while wanting to pass out.

Last October I watched but never wrote about Norman Foster's Woman on the Run (1950), a famously near-lost noir painstakingly restored by the UCLA Film & Television Archive and the Film Noir Foundation and released last year onto home media as a double bill with Byron Haskin's Too Late for Tears (1949). Part of the delay is that I liked but did not love the former film as I did the latter with its stone cold antiheroine and uncompromising final shot; this one suffers more from the congealing sexism of the nascent Fifties and as a result its emotional resolution leaves a tacky taste on my teeth and an inchoate longing for the advent of no-fault divorce. If you can bear with its limitations, however, Woman on the Run is worth checking out as a thoughtfully layered mystery and a fantastic showcase for Ann Sheridan as an unapologetically bitchy, unsentimentally sympathetic protagonist, a rare combination in Hollywood even now.

The 1948 source short story by Sylvia Tate was titled "Man on the Run" and the film begins with one: late-night dog-walker Frank Johnson (Ross Elliott) who takes a powder on learning that the murder he conscientiously reported—and witnessed at close enough range to know the killer again—was connected to a high-profile mob trial. A failed artist with a bad heart and a marriage that's been on the rocks almost since it launched, he looks tailor-made for the dark city, a loser coming up on his final throw. The camera doesn't follow him into the night-maze of San Francisco, though, to face or keep running from his demons in the kind of psychomachia at which an expressionist genre like noir so excels; instead the point of view switches almost at once to his estranged wife Eleanor (Sheridan), wearily deflecting the inquiries of the hard-nosed Inspector Ferris (Robert Keith, who will always look like Lieutenant Brannigan to me) with flat sarcastic cracks and an indifference so apparently genuine and total, it can take the audience a beat to recognize the depths of anger and resignation that underlie lines like "No, sometimes he goes to sleep and I walk the dog." Ever since Max Ophüls' The Reckless Moment (1949), I have been wary of assuming the limits of women in noir, but Eleanor still stands out for me in her flippant, abrasive intelligence and her willingness to look bad—she knows it shocks the conservative inspector that she isn't all housewifely concern for her man and she needles him with it, referring to the dog as their "only mutual friend" and dismissing the bare kitchen with "He's not particular and I'm lazy, so we eat out." Faced with the possibility that Frank has taken his brush with the underworld as an excuse to run out on his marriage, she's more than half inclined to let him. But she's not inclined to let him get killed, especially not playing star witness for a police force whose last star witness got whacked while Frank was watching, and so in the best traditions of amateur detecting, complete with dubious Watson in the form of "Legget of the Graphic" (Dennis O'Keefe), the flirty tabloid reporter who offered his services plus a thousand-dollar sweetener in exchange for exclusive rights to Frank's story, Eleanor sets out to find her missing husband before either the killer or a duty-bound Ferris can. He's left her a clue to his whereabouts, a cryptic note promising to wait for her "in a place like the one where I first lost you." In a relationship full of quarrels and frustrations, that could be anywhere, from their favorite Chinese hangout to the wharves of his "social protest period" to the tower viewers at the top of Telegraph Hill. Let the investigations begin.

I like this setup, which gives us the city as memory palace after all: Eleanor's memories of her relationship with Frank, what it was like when it was good and where it failed and how it might be reclaimed again, if she can only find him alive. She is almost being asked to perform a spell. And while I suppose she could have done it on the sympathetic magic of a Hollywood backlot, it is much more satisfying to watch her revisit real statues and sidewalks, real crowds unaware of the private earthquake taking place in their midst. Hal Mohr's cinematography is a street-level document of San Francisco in 1950, with a cameo by our old friend Bunker Hill; he can organize shadows and angles as effectively as the next Oscar-winning DP when he needs to, but he keeps the majority of the action on the daylit side of noir, the lived-in, working-class city with Navy stores and department stores and parks and piers and diners and lots of California sun, which only looks like it shows you everything. The literal roller-coaster climax was filmed at Ocean Park Pier/Pacific Ocean Park, last seen on this blog in Curtis Harrington's Night Tide (1960). Back at the Johnsons' bleak, hotel-like apartment, Eleanor mocked Ferris for "snoop[ing] into the remains of our marriage," but increasingly it seems not to be as cold a case as she thought. Going back over old ground, she discovers new angles on her missing person; nondescript in his introductory scenes and ghostly in his own life, Frank Johnson becomes vivid in absence, hovering over the narrative like Harry Lime in Carol Reed's The Third Man (1949) or the title character of Otto Preminger's Laura (1944) until his wife begins to see a curiously attractive stranger in the place of a man whose familiarity had long since bred hopelessness. To fall in love with someone who might already be dead, to find someone in the process of losing them, these are the kinds of irony that noir thrives on and Woman on the Run derives as much tension from the audience's fear that irony will carry the day as it does from the actual unknowns of the plot, the killer's identity, Frank's status, Eleanor's own safety as her sleuthing calls for ever more active deception of the police and reliance on Legget, who keeps saying things like "I'm sorry I was so rude a moment ago, but it's always discouraging to hear a wife say that her husband loves her." He is another unexpected element, not without precedent but nicely handled. In most genres, his pushy charm and his genial stalking of Eleanor would mark him as the romantic hero, or at least an appealing alternative to a husband so avoidant he couldn't even tell his own wife when he was diagnosed with a serious heart condition. Here, with a triangle already established between Eleanor and the husband she knows and the husband she doesn't, the reporter is a fourth wheel at best and the audience hopes he accepts it. Without a reciprocating spark, it's not as cute as he thinks when he encourages Eleanor to call him "Danny Boy" ("People who like me call me Danny Boy") or leads her casually under the same wooden coaster where he used to bring dates, his contribution perhaps to the film's romantic psychogeography.

Honestly, I don't even dislike the resolution on the strict level of plot. By the time Eleanor realizes that the place where I first lost you isn't a bitter dig at a bad memory but a hopeful allusion to a good one, the audience is sufficiently invested in the reunion of these long-fractured lovers—despite the fact that we've never once seen them together, even in photographs or Frank's sketches and paintings—that to frustrate it would feel deliberately unfair, although of course in noir that never rules anything out. They're both taking chances, not just with their lives but their hearts. Frank who always runs away is standing his ground, risking being found by a gunman and a partner he's disappointed. Eleanor who has built such prickly defenses is lowering them, making herself reach out rather than preemptively rebuff. You want to see that kind of bravery rewarded, even when heart conditions and prowling killers aren't involved. What I dislike in the extreme is the film's attitude toward this conclusion. In its examination of the Johnsons' marriage, the facts of the script assign plenty of blame to Frank, an artist too scared of failure to try for success, a husband who retreated from his wife as soon as he felt that he'd let her down, a man who could talk about his feelings to everyone but the woman he was living with. The dialogue, however, insists repeatedly that the ultimate success or collapse of a marriage is the woman's responsibility—that it must be Eleanor's fault that her marriage went south, that she wasn't patient or understanding or supportive enough, that she has to be the one to change. It's implied in some of her encounters; in others it's stated outright. Inspector Ferris constantly judges her as a wife and a woman, even once asking "Didn't your husband ever beat you?" when she tells him to back off. He's the dry voice of authority, the hard-boiled but honest cop; I want to believe that Eleanor is decoying him when she apologizes for not believing his criticism sooner ("I guess I was the one who was mixed up—a lot of it's my fault anyway—I haven't been much of a wife"), but I fear we're meant to take her at face value. He's too active in the film's ending not to be right. Hence my wistful feelings toward California's Family Law Act of 1969. Sheridan's acting carries her change of heart from resolutely not caring to clear-eyed second chance, but I almost wish it didn't have to. At least she has a good rejoinder when Frank queries their future together, wry as any of her defensive cracks: "If this excitement hasn't killed you, I'm sure I can't."

The movies with which Woman on the Run links itself up in my head are Robert Siodmak's Phantom Lady (1944) and Roy William Neill's Black Angel (1946), both stories of investigating women with ambiguous allies and ghostly romantic patterns; Sheridan's Eleanor is a harder, less conventionally likeable protagonist than either Ella Raines' Kansas or June Vincent's Cathy, which may account for why the patriarchy comes down on her with such personified, decisive disapproval, or it may be the distance from wartime, or it may be some other idiosyncratic factor that still annoys me. The fact that I can read the ending as happy rather than rubber-stamped heteronormativity is due almost entirely to Sheridan, who never loses all of Eleanor's edges any more than she slips out of her angular plaid overcoat into something more comfortable, plus the final cutaway to the Laughing Sal on the lit-up midway, rocking back and forth as if a husband and wife embracing is some great joke. Maybe it is. What makes this couple, so fervently clinging to one another, so special? He writes a nice love-note. She climbs out a skylight like nobody's business. They named their dog Rembrandt. This reunion brought you by my particular backers at Patreon.

Woman on the Run

(no subject)

Oct. 22nd, 2017 03:50 am
beccaelizabeth: my Watcher tattoo in blue, plus Be in red Buffy style font (Default)
[personal profile] beccaelizabeth
Stressful times (paperworks urgh) lead to stressy dreams
which are mostly very boring, for all they leave me waking up often and in a fear sweat.

I liked the one dream yesterday featuring me, Leonard Snart and Mick Rory, on a houseboat, in summer dresses in the riverbank shaded summer sun, but even that one was all wrapped up in repetitive worries.

leaves me with little to write about.

It is unpleasant being caught in a worry loop.



I would like to win on the premium bonds so I can buy a bunch of housing for disabled people and live off the rent and never have to fill in another form ever in my life.

that seems like a well rounded plan.



I would also like video of that dream, which seems just about as likely.

*sigh*
austin_dern: Inspired by Krazy Kat, of kourse. (Default)
[personal profile] austin_dern

After the bookstore we wandered around for the other scenes in town. A couple of art galleries --- the peninsula is thick with art galleries --- and antique shops. Also the curious shuttered and abandoned building named The Pier Group Shops, according to a sign that looks like it was abandoned in place in 1982. It turns out the place was abandoned in place in 1982, the result of some impossible-to-follow argument among people with money in the thing. The building's shockingly dilapidated considering how much tourist money there is in town, and even the sign is growing so shabby as to be almost too affected. The 'E' in ``Pier Group'', for example, had two of its nails rust through, and so it dangles, almost upside-down, from the last, below the line of the text. Plans to do something with the property are allegedly under way, according to what is clearly not the same local news article that's run every sixteen months since 1983.

We went to the ice cream shop next to the water wheel restaurant. [profile] bunny_hugger had been in there way back in the day, before it was closed to all but private functions. We sat on the open porch and drinking coffee and tea and watching the small river and the wheel. It turns out the wheel was always an affectation, and never did any milling or other work. I seem to remember there also being some story about the wheel being built without construction permits, but that's been forgiven because now it's been around a long while and people take pictures of it and stuff. I may have the details wrong. It's in too damaged a shape to turn, which somehow puts it in that weird class of things that improve the look of the area by looking like ruins.

North of town is a mill pond and we went up there to look for wildlife, particularly fish. When we'd been there before we would look into the still water and consider how we didn't see any fish, and then we blinked and suddenly we saw them all. This time, despite being open to it, we never did see fish. Maybe we were too early in their life cycle; the 2013 visit was in early August, after all. We didn't see any fish to speak of. Just the occasional --- splash!

And then we did see something. A good-sized mammal, puttering its way across the pond. Then another going back the other way. We were too far away to get a good look at it, but I did my best to take photos and a movie and that ... doesn't quite clear up what we saw. A beaver seems like the obvious guess. Possibly an otter, although its head seems a bit stocky for that. Something that's able to dive under and stay a good while and will vanish into shore-side wood-lined burrows anyway.

After this crossing we waited a good long while hoping to see a return from these creatures. They never came back, and eventually we walked back to the main areas of town, along the way spotting a red squirrel with some harsh words for us.

Though we had been to the beach at Omena and at Suttons Bay we hadn't done much beach-walking this trip. And [profile] bunny_hugger wanted to find a fossil. So we went to the marina and wandered around the sand there, at least once a flotilla of geese finished their march through the lawn, beach, and water. While [profile] bunny_hugger looked I tromped along this wedge of grass that was on the verge of caving in to the waters beneath. (It would be a drop of like two feet, but you could photograph it to look dramatic.) She would have a magnificent find: a Petoskey stone. These are fossilized coral, named for the town of Petoskey in northern Michigan where they came to public attention, and who knew you could just grab one like that? She's got an eye for fossils that I just haven't.

We were going to meet [profile] bunny_hugger's father and brother for dinner. Her mother still wasn't up for going out anywhere. We got back to the house to find that they had gone already, to the restaurant, in Northport, where we had just come from. I concede we could have better organized this. The restaurant was the one that had the dog prints in the cement out front, which it turns out is just part of the chain's gimmick. The place has some decent 10-to-20-dollar dinners ([profile] bunny_hugger's father was particularly taken by the au jus sandwich, and insisted on going back the next day, when he did not get the au jus). And it has an arcade. It's not as frenetic a blend of restaurant and arcade as, say, a Dave and Busters, but it does give kids something to do besides trying to sit still and read the menu.

Among the things it gives: pinball. They had a Junkyard, a late-90s Williams table that's familiar enough from home, but still a pretty reliable game to play. We gave [profile] bunny_hugger's brother the quick explanation of what to shoot for (it's the wrecking-ball crane in the back of the playfield) and had a three-player game in which he beat [profile] bunny_hugger. We took another round and this time he beat me.

Still, it's an appealing combination of things. They also had a two- or three-lane bowling alley, bringing to us thoughts of how we like bowling, although not enough to actually bowl.

Back home we'd continue our progress through Mice and Mystics and after a couple handily successful rounds we started to believe we just might finish the last chapter while on this vacation, with [profile] bunny_hugger's brother composing the whole story about how the archer-mouse Lily would become the ultimate hero. It didn't happen that Thursday, but we'd have two more days to try.

Trivia: After the defeat of Western Union's Americal Speaking Telephone Company in patent suits in 1879, stock in the Bell Telephone Company rose from $50 a share to nearly $1,000. Source: Destiny of the Republic: A Tale Of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President, Candice Millard.

Currently Reading: The Greek War of Independence: Its Historical Setting, C M Woodhouse.


PS: OK, but what does Bronner's have in raccoons and guinea pigs? More than just this.

SAM_8482.jpg

Animatronic raccoon drummer. This critter would keep swaying back and forth and hitting the marshmallow drums and if it doesn't make perfect sense what he's doing, so what?


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A flock of guinea pig ornaments. More guinea pig ornaments than I imagined to exist, although they missed the Abyssinian breed, the one with the complicated sworls of fur that look all crazy. The guinea pigs shared space with hedgehogs.


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Hiking and log cabin ornaments! And I know you're thinking to joke about that clearly being a German-made hiking raccoon, but we know better. Would he only have the one walking-stick if he were German? Yeah.


Today, at the Opry House!

Oct. 21st, 2017 09:24 pm
ericcoleman: Cheshire Moon (Cheshire Moon)
[personal profile] ericcoleman
Such a fun show today. The audience played along and joined in. Silliness happened! Songs were played! Drums were hit! New songs were stumbled over! Thank you for coming and skipping through our little worlds today! Let's do this again soon!

Set One
Banshee
Horizon
In This Place Of Steel And Stars
Seaside Evening Market
Stream of Consciousness
Tea & Fireflies
Hamlin’s Bow
Callenwood Pt 1
Alice In Zombieland
She Moved Through The Faire

Set Two
Mermaid’s Scar
Ghost Train
Beast Within
Nachthexen
Shadow Moon
When Monkeys Fly
Nighty Knights
Snow White Red Road
Solstice

wow

Oct. 21st, 2017 08:48 pm
ericcoleman: Cheshire Moon (Cheshire Moon)
[personal profile] ericcoleman
OVFF is in full swing, others have started to talk about it. I think that it is safe to say now.

We are thrilled beyond all capacity for rational thought to finally be able to say;

Cheshire Moon will be the Guests Of Honor at OVFF 34, Oct 19-21, 2018 along with Toastmaster Rob Wynne, Honored Listener Harold Stein and Interfilk Guest Julia West.

Forgot to update yesterday. Oops.

Oct. 21st, 2017 07:49 pm
archangelbeth: Woman doing a zombie "braaaaains" pose (Braaains!)
[personal profile] archangelbeth
Am in yet a third hotel. Back home, I am informed:
Main roof is all stripped, and half of front part re-shingled. That's the hard part with the dormer over the door. Most of one side of big room is cleared off. Siding is off front of house over big room; roofer said that part seemed in good shape.
Oh, and we have a large underground bee nest in the plant area under library window. They were not happy having shingles dropped in them.


I think that those are not bees, but rather the wasps that I saw the other day. Yellowjackets, probably, building underground nests for the larvae to overwinter in. Probably drove out the chipmunks, or the chirpmunks had moved out of those holes earlier.

The roofers and the yellow-jackets will just have to cope with each other.

I got some editing done, but no writing at this time. Too sleepy.

Made it to hotel breakfast, yay. Not enough sleep, boo.

So far, first hotel has been best hotel. Kitchenette suite for the win! This one is okay (beats out the second one overall, primarily by having breakfast be open till 10 and not 9:30), but the chair in front of the desk is way low, and it's kind of impossible to use a computer at it. How long do they think my torso is?? ...maybe they didn't set it up for humans.

Hotel breakfasts at mid- and upscale places have waffle-makers now, it seems. I can live with this. (This place only has scrambled eggs as the Egg Dish (well, and hard-boiled), though, and no cheese omelets, like Hotel 1 had for one day, and Hotel 2 had the day that I made it down there.)

...I am so judging hotels now. -_-

Havva Quote
Kid: "Senya, No! Your attempts to tank are interfering with my tanking! Stop Guarding me! I can't guard when I'm being guarded!"
--The kid is playing the Star Wars MMO...


I am not near my other computer that has all the book data so I can't update that at the hotel. Tomorrow e come home, though.

Happy Birthday, [personal profile] editrx!

Oct. 21st, 2017 07:35 pm
malkingrey: (Birthday Cake)
[personal profile] malkingrey
(Adjust numeral on cake as appropriate.)

Morse Overdrive...

Oct. 21st, 2017 08:04 pm
hrrunka: A small radio transceiver (morse)
[personal profile] hrrunka
I did my best to keep the rest of Thursday relaxed., and took Friday morning slowly, too. A bit after 11am I left to catch a bus to Bromley, where I did a little shopping before heading to the pub down near Waitrose to meet Alice for lunch. It involved Singapore noodles and a lot of catch-up chat, and was very welcome. I went home via the shops, and then had a brief nap. My nephew arrived at about 3pm. After an early supper I headed out to spend the evening helping with a JOTA station at one of the local Scout huts. It was a good evening, but ran a little late. I'd expected this to be over well before 10pm, but I didn't get home 'til almost midnight.

This morning I was up early in order to drive up to Witham in deepest Essex for a day of intensive Morse code related activity. The late night last night and the early start this morning had left me slightly less alert than I'd have liked, but the drive was an easy one with no traffic hold-ups, and took less than an hour. I started off in a group of folk who were all far better at Morse than me, but at the first coffee break I found someone to swap with and moved into a less challenging group. Even so it was quite challenging and interesting enough to stretch me past my usual limits. I missed the opportunity to take an official Morse test, but I was struggling with receiving more than usual, so that was probably a merciful escape. By the time the day's formal activities were wrapped up at about 3pm I was thoroughly morsed out. Thankfully the drive home was almost as free of slow traffic as the drive up. I got home a bit before 5pm. I'm planning as quiet an evening as I can manage...

Sunlight

Oct. 21st, 2017 01:16 pm
blackmare: (coffee)
[personal profile] blackmare


Thursday, 10/19/17. Cell phone pic; click for full size.

As photos go, it’s nice enough but nothing to write home about. As compositions for paintings go, it’s got a whole lot of potential.

This is how I see the world, much of the time. “Will this fit a 24 x 48”?” And “I could add a horse or two in silhouette behind those trees...”

(no subject)

Oct. 21st, 2017 10:02 am
twistedchick: General Leia in The Force Awakens (Default)
[personal profile] twistedchick
I am jumping on the bandwagon for The Good Place with both feet! Philosophical discussion with disasters! Veronica Mars and Ted Danson and a lot of other excellent actors in a whacked out version of the afterlife.
It is wonderful!

The fault lies not in our stars

Oct. 21st, 2017 08:35 am
jhetley: (Default)
[personal profile] jhetley

But in our planets. Two bright ones for the newspaper walk, I presume Venus and Mars. Air temperature 39 F, dew point 35, calm, scattered clouds.

May 2017

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