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I forgot to mention that Young Sherlock went to Constantinople. Naturally, I was legally mandated to recite all the words.

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So sorry, I should've posted this when we finished watching the first season.

Cold, wet leaves
Floating on moss-coloured water
And the croaking of frogs—
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight.

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but I did not expect this audiodrama to have a random jab at Robert Moses five minutes into the first episode.

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And I have some thoughts.

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( Minor season 5 spoiler )

I actually have a similar thought about the most recent episode I watched of Young Sherlock, ( Read more... )

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Or several corpuses? (Corpora?)

I’m just getting tired of people claiming that “nobody” says things that I’m certain I’ve recently heard on contemporary lowbrow media. But I just can’t prove it! And I can’t make them prove it either!

Even fansites with searchable scripts would be something.

In a random reddit thread this time.

Truly, people will never, ever stop complaining about the man.

Also on reddit: "This is an old book" but also "snapchat was mentioned". Uh....

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before I put in the A/C for the summer.

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(E: It's like watching TV in the olden days!)

and ended up with Young Sherlock.

Let me make my position on Young Sherlock absolutely clear: If Sherlock and Moriarty do not kiss and/or fuck by the end of this series, I will not be responsible for my actions.

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The moral of the last two episodes can be summed up as "never air live when you can air on a delay instead". Though I did find those chyrons for the show trial pretty amusing!

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In which this teacher earnestly wants a word to substitute for "chink" in Midsummer Night's Dream, and one person suggests kink which doesn't mean the same thing.

And on the one hand, I'm sure they all have their hearts in the right place, but on the other hand, maybe they should collectively teach a different play instead. Shakespeare wrote plenty of comedies, just pick a different one off the shelf.

And every one of those recs is better than the books. Well, I've shared my opinion on the books, the problems and characterization are insufficiently balanced for dual viewpoints.

But anyway, that's not what I'm thinking about. What I'm thinking about is Fabian and his generically shitty parents who clearly don't care about him very much. ( Read more... )

For

minoanmiss

Them: Go look at any official communication from a company. Have you ever received a ConEd bill that says, “Ya should of paid ya bill on time, now we gonna haveta cut off ya powa”? Of course not. Why? Because that is not standard English, and it would reflect poorly on the company.

Me: I take it you've never called ConEd on the phone in NYC? Because, whew, that'd disabuse you of this fiction pretty quick. Them and National Grid, wow. And I'm not even talking about their representatives, I'm talking about their recordings! Never heard such a thick NYC accent in my life, and I grew up here!

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Things!
Look upon my Works, ye Mighty, and Repair!"
Everything inside remains. Round the tools
Of that colossal Bench, all arranged
The shiny level and sander are neatly put away.

This is the best comment in that thread, nothing will top it.

"The best have strong convictions, while the worst / Are full of resignation and are sad.
[...]
And if a lion slouches toward Bethlehem, / That's 'cause it's native to the Levant."

Gosh, I wish.

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And isn’t everything risk?

The beloved lives
Then dies,
Then (if we’re lucky)
Rises again
Into a poem or song

Or into the world
In some other form
Impossible to predict.

Simplest story, oldest tale:

Sparrows sing it
From every hedge;

And swallows, also,
From their nests on the ledge.

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Link

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that the Roman calendar was batshit.

Today is the Ides, okay, and yesterday was pridie Ides, so far so good, and the day before that was three days before the Ides, because the Romans a. counted backwards and b. did this weird inclusive counting, so Friday, Saturday, Ides = three days.

(Which is also how Good Friday is three days before the Resurrection, when it blatantly isn't.)

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Not to worry, I'll return it. We have plenty enough as it is.

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Seriously, asleep more than I've been awake. And I never did manage to work out the logistics to get to the memorial, which halfway sucks but halfway is "Welp, social anxiety" so....

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So, yesterday I go to catch the bus to get to work. As I'm waiting, the bus disappears off the app and then actually disappears, it never shows. So I say "Okay, I'll catch the other bus route. Sure, I've never taken this before, but it's a short walk and it's only a little drizzly out, how bad can it be?"

Welp, I stepped off the bus, the heavens opened up, I got totally drenched. I also got turned around, twice. What ought to have been an 8 minute walk was closer to 20, and the whole way I said "It's okay, I'll get there, go to the laundry room, strip naked, and spend half an hour drying my clothes. Nobody can fault me for this!"

I show up, and the first thing that L says to me when she answers the door is "The dryer is gone".

I'm not proud, but I cursed her out. And then apologized. And then cursed some more.

I found the ironing board but no iron, so I ended up spending half an hour using a hair dryer on my socks just to get them slightly less drenched.

Link to a sample letter/email

A friend let me know about a new Bureau of Prisons guideline for treatment of inmates with gender dysphoria, which you can read in its entirety here. The short form is that they're denying trans inmates gender-affirming care despite medical consensus, and substituting conversion therapy, which has been proven to be harmful and does not in any way "cure" gender dysphoria

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

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Jenn related everybody's lack of sleep, ending with a hopeful "So, you're not working tonight, right?"

Ah, no, I am working, and under no circumstances will I call out on the grounds that my dog is crazy.

Other than dementia, which she shows no signs of (the dog, not my sister... I mean, not her either, but that's not what I'm talking about), what could cause this sudden barking spree in an otherwise pretty quiet doggie?

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And there's an increase in mortality with every change of the clocks.

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I'm worried I lost my kindle when I misplaced my red bag in which everything is. Well, not everything, but perhaps my kindle. Or maybe not. My kindle might be under my bed. If it's not under my bed, I'll have to replace it sooner or later. I'm a bit wary of looking and finding out one way or another.

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(or ever) but I also don't want to not do it, so here we are I guess?

In order to make this a normal post, let me say that my Robert Moses counter is incrementing up again. It has now been 0 hours since the last time somebody brought up Robert Moses, but it's my fault for reading an article about walkable cities and then scrolling to the comments.

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Which, to be honest, is probably for the best - I don't think sitting at home being sad would really have been better than being at work being sad.

I am not good at eulogies, and won't even try. I just miss her already.

(Note: This post was under lock in case it causes problems with her family, but now they know apparently.)

And, incidentally, freaked the fuck out of my sister

I did tell her there was a fox!

But not for the East Coast, not really. So whatever.

and on the packaging it says:

"This product is not a toy and is intended for collection or use by individuals aged 14 or above"

They're superhero stickers! 14 and above! What do they think kids are doing, eating them!?

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This is some wag the dog garbage, but with worse naming, isn’t it.

Not me specifically, I don't think, she just wants to offload a rabbit on somebody.

I actually would like a rabbit, but I think I probably have enough pets. Also, my sister would surely lose her mind.

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And was there not a king somewhere who said:
“Back, waves! I do command you!” I forget
His name, beloved, or his race, and yet
I know the story and am comforted.
The tides will rise, are rising—see, they spread
About your robes, your ermine will be wet,
Your velvet shoes, your dear dear feet! Ah let
Me warn you, sir, the waves will reach your head!

My king, my kingly love, how shall we stay
The bold broad lifting of this lovely sea?
What is the master word that we must say
To bring these roaring waters to the knee?
The other king went scampering away!
Will you so do? Or will you drown with me?

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This poem is by Leonora Speyer

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I didn’t guess that I’d be stuck with the roads closed until at least noon tomorrow.

Well, I’m getting paid every hour I’m here, at least.

Oh boy....

The evening darkens over
After a day so bright
The windcapt waves discover
That wild will be the night.
There’s sound of distant thunder.

The latest sea-birds hover
Along the cliff’s sheer height;
As in the memory wander
Last flutterings of delight,
White wings lost on the white.

There’s not a ship in sight;
And as the sun goes under
Thick clouds conspire to cover
The moon that should rise yonder.
Thou art alone, fond lover.

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So, you got my opinion on Heated Rivalry, but I gotta say, I will never not read fanfics structured like ongoing internet sagas.

Also, gotta love the one dude, BostonSportsBro69, who posts in both /r/relationship_advice and /r/hockey going around in /r/hockey saying "Uh, no, it's just normal sportsbro rival stuff, you're all reading way too much into this" ~~when~~ because he absolutely knows better. (I don't think he's supposed to be one of Ilya's teammates, just a fan.)

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And lemme tell you, my team picking was solely on the basis of "Are people in this team active" and "Do they have an open slot for me", because active team members send you more lives and you're more likely to win prizes in the team competitions, but most teams are 100% people who joined and never play.

But you can talk to each other, great, except that there's this one person who is very active and posts every single day about how they've changed the game so she can't win, she sucks, she is always stuck, she doesn't like it anymore, she's gonna quit - this all prompts a flood of "Oh, don't go, please stay" responses, and I can't help but wonder if that's the sole reason she posts like this.

One day I'm going to tell her that if she really feels that way she ought to quit, or at least shut up about it, because her posts bring my enjoyment of the game way down. Don't know what sort of response I'll get from everybody else who isn't her, but I can't be the only one who's itching to say it.

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and then read the books, and I gotta say, I think the author and I fundamentally disagree on a key principle of storywriting.

I believe, strongly, that if you have two viewpoint characters, or two love interests, or two viewpoint characters who are also love interests, then they need to have balanced problems - and, ideally, the interaction of those two characters should affect those problems in some way - by making them realize that they have problems, by making them realize that those problems aren't so bad, by solving or exacerbating those problems - who knows? But they need to start off with the same level of problems, and then by the end of the plot those problems need to have been changed in some way.

And pretty much that never happens in these books. Just look at the two that make up the TV show. We have two couples.

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This opinion on problems was brought to you by: The Overnight Shift! I have so much time on my hands, guys!

Why am I better than all other men?
I do not have to prove it. I admit it.
Here is the nail, and I am here to hit it.
A blow that glances somewhat now and then.
With pure intention I take up the pen
That writes the truth, if any ever writ it.
Venom is vulgar. I decline to spit it.
Still if I must—Well, nine times out of ten

I do. I am tired. That book must be a bore.
Jones wrote it. He was rude to me at lunch,
And nobody quite likes him in our bunch.
Smith said he liked my novel. In my bones
I feel that I like Smith. But more and more
My conscience tells me to eviscerate Jones.

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The 1916 (Olympic) games were cancelled due to an international dispute occurring during that year

A dispute that left millions dead, sure. Not how I'd describe WWI, but okay.

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How much do you love me, a million bushels?
Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a lot more.

And tomorrow maybe only half a bushel?
Tomorrow maybe not even a half a bushel.

And is this your heart arithmetic?
This is the way the wind measures the weather.

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What the hell sort of question is that? Of course I'd pay up! I have money, pride, and my teeth, and of the three, I can least afford to lose the last. Wouldn't almost anybody submit to the shakedown? That's how protection rackets work, after all - everybody does the same math and comes to the same conclusion as I just did.

(Of course, the context was "I think this company was rude to me over the phone, therefore I decided to live without hot water and heating because I have my principles" so, you know, I guess we have different approaches to life?)

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( Cut for poop )

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(Mission Rejected, if you're curious)

and they took the time at the start of the most recent episode to talk about a charity in Minnesota that will bring food safely to people. I don't have the name of the charity, it's not on their website right now.

But what really struck me is that they spent a few minutes on this and never once mentioned or even alluded to why some people might need food to be delivered safely.

I'm not sure what I think about that, but I'm sure I don't like it much.

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Or is something up with the create entry page?

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You can watch episode 1 here.

Also, since I have a few videos:

( Hobey Baker, probably gay hockey player from the early 20th century )

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( Curling and all the nitty-gritty )

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The wave yearns at the cliff foot: its pale arms
Reach upward and relapse, like down-dropped hands;
The baffled tides slip backward evermore,
And a long sighing murmurs round the sands . . .

My heart is as the wave that lifts and falls:
Tall is the cliff—oh! tall as that dim star
That crowns its summit hidden in a cloud—
Tall as the dark and holy heavens are.

The sad strange wreckage of full many ships
Burdens the bitter waters’ ebb and flow:
Gold diadems, like slowly falling flames,
Lighten the restless emerald gulfs below;

And withered blossoms float, and silken webs,
And pallid faces framed in wide-spread hair,
And bubble-globes that seethe with peacock hues,
And jewelled hands, half-open, cold and fair.

Sea creatures move beneath: their swift sleek touch
Begets sweet madness and unworthy fire—
Scaled women—triton-things, whose dark seal eyes
Are hot and bloodshot with a man’s desire.

Their strange arms clasp: the sea-pulse in their veins
Beats like the surf of the immortal sea—
Strong, glad and soulless: elemental joys
Bathe with green flame the sinking soul of me.

Downward and down—to passionate purple looms,
Athrill with thought-free, blurred, insatiate life,
Where the slow-throbbing sea-flow sways like weed
Dim figures blended in an amorous strife—

I am enclasped, I sink; but the wave lifts,
With all its freight of treasure and of death,
In sullen foamless yearning towards the height
Where the star burns above the vapour-wreath;

And a deep sob goes up, and all the caves
Are filled with mourning and a sorrow-sound.
The green fire fades: I rise: I see the star—
Gone are the triton arms that clipped me round.

Hope beats like some lost bird against the cliff—
The granite cliff above the burdened wave,
Whose fleeting riches are more desolate
Than gems dust-mingled in a nameless grave . . .

When all the wordless thirsts of Time are slaked,
And all Earth’s yearning hungers sweetly fed,
And the Sea’s grief is stilled, and the Wind’s cry,
And Day and Night clasp on one glowing bed—

Oh! in that hour shall clay and flame be blent—
Love find its perfect lover, breast on breast—
When dream and dreamer at the last are one,
And joy is folded in the arms of jest.

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