It is so rare that I like a sitcom, but this one is smart and funny, and the actors terrific.
As our flight was not until after lunch, this morning after we'd packed and put our luggage in store we went to the Hipolit House: more historical domestic interiors, plus exhibition on the actress Antonina Hoffman and on theatre/acting more generally in C19th. Rather interesting.
Of the journey, not a great deal to be said except for the enormous distances walked within airports.
Anyway, ome agen.
It is shaping up to be more of a Trek show, and dealing with serious issues. And there have been variations in the dramatic approaches Trek shows have taken to tackling difficult issues. Classic Trek, Kirk could redo entire societies and fix all their problems with a good brawl with the world's leader. I loved classic Trek for that enduring belief that solutions were always possible.
ST:TNG was not always so optimistic. I remember the episode (I'm a bad fan, I don't know the title) where Crusher is kidnapped by freedom fighters/terrorists who are using a personal teleportation device, and she determines that device is causing their health issues, but they refuse to stop using it, as it is their only advantage against the dominant culture. The ST:TNG crew rescues her and then... (as I recall, it's been a long time)...they leave. It seemed a realistic ending, and something of a commentary on the Middle East, that no, America, you can't stumble into a situation you don't understand well, and fix it. But mostly I remember that sense of ... huh. Wow, that's a bummer. Where's Kirk? Kirk woulda fixed this and left those two groups on the way to a happy bonding.
( spoilers for the third episode of The Orville )
I was pleased that Kasidy Yates from Deep Space Nine is a regular, good to see her again, and that Bashir's father had a guest role in the pilot. It was a mini-DSN reunion, yay.
I mean. My daily average is 2km. Again - of running. Per. Day!
This totally merited a whole post of me kind of boggling at/feeling accomplished about this particular lifestyle change and achievement.
But today's run did not go as planned. I was on a pedestrian/cycle path, crossing a local green space when three young teen boys cycled towards me - rudely taking up almost all the path, forcing me to the very edge as they passed - when
The shitty brats had thrown paint all over me. Fortunately nothing worse than paint - I can think of quite a few less pleasant options - but yeah. Bright neon pink paint on my face, neck, t-shirt, shorts, headphones and a bit on one of my shoes and in my hair. I was so shocked I fumbled getting my phone out and they were quite far away when I snapped a shot of them (but I do have one - and then I took one of my own paint-covered self).
I called the non-emergency police line, because this is Britain and I can do that without risking getting some kid shot. And it felt so good to report it and hear the lady I talked to call it ASSAULT and note down all the details so if this happens again there will be an incident report to link it to my case. I don't think anything is going to come of this, but I was offered victim support and asked if I wanted to follow up and generally got the impression the police agreed that this was Not OK and that I was right to have called them about it. It took the edge off my fury (I was so angry I was actually crying when I started the call) and by the time I made it home the report had been made and I could focus on getting sympathy from doctorskuld and wash the drying paint off.
Which it did, quite easily. The clothes are in the washer, but hopefully they'll be fine too. (Update: they're not fine. We're trying to find ways of getting the paint out of them, but...)
And I'm not angry anymore, but I know I'll feel uneasy the next time I run that particular stretch of path, and the next time teens - any teens - come biking towards me. Ugh.
But the worst part is that I was aiming at being at 55km for this month at the start of the week, and now I'm not. I had plans and goals and those kids just ruined it for absolutely no good reason except "lol lets throw paint at that woman". (There were plenty of other people out and about, and they only targeted me - I'm pretty sure because I'm a woman and slow and neither young nor athlete-lithe...)
Anyway my lovely wife has made portobello mushroom burgers for dinner and I am clean and warm and safe. And on Tuesday I'm making 55k for sure. ♥
( Under the cut: me, splashed in paint. )
2) This Stephen Colbert tweet and particularly the discussion following it was plenty funny. But it made me think about an issue I hadn't considered before. Do movies made elsewhere ever try to make up countries in North America? ( Read more... )
3) Boy does the Internet look weird when you're used to browsing without scripts and suddenly ADS! Clashing backgrounds! Video inserts! It's like being deaf and suddenly being blasted with sound. Yuck. (Makes me glad I rarely have the speakers on too...)
4) If only we had more of this kind of guy, who spends his time investigating corporate wrongdoing. "I can’t believe a year and a half after the financial crisis, no one is doing this stuff. I’m not talking about writing these massive, 10,000-word thumbsuckers about some crappy company that did something to a politically vulnerable population. I’m talking about companies that wake up every day and, using the imprimatur of the law, do things that are unconscionable and appalling."
5) Because of a cold snap at the start of September we brought in our hibiscus from the balcony -- the earliest we've had to do so.
( Read more... )
I've also got some photos up at common_nature about hummingbirds.
It's a strange book. Essentially, it's the story of a friendship between an elderly man and little girl, growing and developing across the space of years, but it's also a complicated web of allusions through which Smith considers questions of time, memory, love and art; key influences are Dickens (the opening sentence is "It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times") and Ovid's Metamorphoses although there are many others. Its time-hopping, non-linear format jumps between the aftermath of the Brexit vote (the novel was published last October and it was clearly written, fast, after the referendum), the 1990s, the Profumo scandal of the 1960s and World War 2 and the years immediately preceding it. It's funny and thought-provoking, melancholy and angry and also somehow hopeful. And the prose is beautiful and poetic. It's a short book, and a quick read, but I think it will stay with me.
2. Apple-picking with Mr. Kid today! This is one of our fall traditions and it is so sweet. The orchard is near our old house. Rows and rows of beautiful apple trees stretching toward fields and hills. And we got two bags of honeycrisps, my favorite apples of them all.
3. Related to the above, there is a granola-topped apple crisp cooling now on my counter. I'm also making a chicken curry in the slow cooker to eat all week, and I've cooked up some ground turkey and vegetables with soy and sesame and cilantro and will add rice noodles to them later for dinner tonight.
4. Dishwasher (now running) and washing machine (also now running.) The fact that we have these appliances; the fact that we have power with which to run them.
5. Watching Mr. Kid gleefully play with Mr. Kitten, who has a catnip mouse and is carrying it proudly around the room in his mouth. I can't tell whether the catnip is making the kitten goofier, or whether this is just his natural three-month-old goofitude, but either way, it's adorbs.
WIPs currently active: 6
Words written this week: 817
WIPs that got no words this week: 3 - broken dick epic, ace!Bitty longfic, Jack/Bitty kidfic
WIPs that did get words this week:
Born in the Blood: 223, and I have nearly! made! an important! transition! almost! maybe!
Slavefic #6: 203, and Threetoo! is thinking! some thoughts! about! something! I think I remember what I figured out about this literally a month ago! probably!
Kinktober fic for Day 1 (Bucky/Steve): 391, and I have remembered that the key to writing genuinely short PWP for me is “start with both characters in bed and at least one of them naked” so good job me.
from Tumblr http://ift.tt/2hoJBaL
In this book, Gil (now officially charged with investigating murders, after his earlier successes on an amateur basis) is called to a Glasgow almshouse where the unpopular Deacon has been found stabbed with no shortage of people who might have had a motive to kill him. He's also due to be married in a week's time and his investigations are both helped and hindered by family and friends arriving in town for the wedding, while he and his fiancée, Alys, are both suffering from pre-wedding nerves.
I enjoyed this a lot - the series really seems to be hitting its stride by this stage, with the core characters established enough to feel like old friends now; Gil's investigations manage not to feel out of place in the historical setting while still allowing him to do things like estimate times of death from the condition of a corpse. I did spot a couple of clues well ahead of Gil, and had worked out the identity of the murderer by about two-thirds of the way through the book, but then it's always nice to feel cleverer than the detective!
2. I am very slowly beginning to tackle the backlog of Stuff I Kept Putting Off While Studying; this week has been all about the clothes / fabric. I have assorted piles of worn-out clothes and out-grown clothes accumulating around my room. I pulled out all the actually worn-out stuff, and bagged that up to go to recycling. I bagged up two sets of bedding we never use for the charity shop. I bought myself some underwear that doesn't have holes in, and added all the ones that did to the recycling bags, along with my oldest & least useful bras. I sorted through my socks, and chucked a good few pairs in the recycling bags, and a few others into the charity bag. Finally I ended up sorting through my stash of pretty scarves and wraps and kept only the ones that I really love and may actually wear more than once a year. (I sort of aspire to be someone who routinely wears pretty scarves etc but in practice I am never that put-together very often.)
3. I took the charity bag to the EACH shop, and came back with a very shiny pair of not!DMs and a metallic blue stripey hat. (Amusingly, I had been whinging this week about needing new shoes for winter, and hating shoe shopping, so that was very well timed.)
4. Last Saturday I watched Robocop with fanf . He was inspired by this post (linked by andrewducker ), and I'd never previously watched it - not on purpose, just never got round to it. It's very very Paul Verhoeven isn't it? Gratuitious mixed-sex shower scene, gory violence, horrible-future-media & horrible-future-adverts. Although my reaction to the project manager with the huge glasses was a. love those glasses b. you are really enjoying imagining watsisface having his hand broken c. please tell me watsisface dies horribly after forcing a kiss on you and taking credit for your work (spoiler - he does). Watsisface really is a walking example of the unwarranted confidence of the mediocre white man.
5. Nicholas saw Trolls at holiday/after school clubs and asked for his own copy. It's not awful, and I like the music, but after sitting through it with him three times in less than a week, I think I have had enough of it for now. The trailers on it include Home (based on The True Meaning of Smekday) which I've been meaning to watch, and Nicholas is keen to do so too, so hopefully I'll enjoy that more.
Sandy stroked the lovely back at present turned towards him, body out-flung in relaxation after pleasurable exertions. If Geoff was dog-like, Maurice Allard was more like a cat, and he never knew whether the claws would be out or whether it would be curling up and purring.
Maurice rolled over and looked at him. Is it not time you were leaving?
What, have I over-stayed my welcome?
Maurice glowered. All I may offer now is my company: even if you are not, I am by now entire done.
I am wont to consider myself a somewhat prickly fellow: but you are entire porcupine. Am I supposed to hurry into my clothes and pretend this did not happen?
Maurice sat up and clasped his arms around his knees. Why, are fellows enough will try to pretend 'tis not happening even when 'tis.
That cannot conduce to much felicity in the act. But might I not enjoy your company?
Maurice looked at him in astonishment. How could you so?
Oh come, here you are a fellow of learning, that Chumbell will admit even did you never attend Oxford, and very widely accepted in Society, how could you find my company agreeable?
My dearest friend is a former courtesan that had no education but what she gleaned as a child of the theatre, and is quite the wisest person of either sex that I know. You are a fellow that appears entire accepted and respected at the club –
Maurice snorted. I first entered the club by that discreet back door that admits young fellows that will oblige members for a guinea or so –
Also, while I daresay ladies will go cry up your eye for style and fashion, 'tis also given out that you are a fine businessman, that you manage your money very prudent, have sound investments –
How do you know all this?
Sandy sat up. Because, my dear fellow, I had your relatives coming to me, one by one, to inform me that indeed you were not one to fall into hysterical panic, that were you worried about some matter to do with your establishment there was surely something behind even did you not see clearly what it was, that I should not be put off by your manner, that is entire what is expected in your profession, that you have quite made something of yourself -
My dear, said Sandy, taking him by the shoulders, I fancy that you will feel a deal better once you have dined – is there anywhere nearby we might go do so?
You cannot wish to be seen dining with me! He threw himself off the bed and began looking for the clothes he had quite recklessly discarded.
Do you suppose that must be quite obvious that we have been about committing a capital offence, do we go dine?
Why else would you be in my company?
I might wish to give Lady Bexbury some present – say a fine fan, or a decoration for her hair, or a bracelet – and wish to be assured that 'twill sort with her wardrobe; I might be going to write some piece in a newspaper or even a pamphlet, upon the business of fashion and the sufferings of needlewomen; or, since 'tis given out that I am very clandestine and under a false name a writer of novels, seeking information for some fine tale of the silver fork school now that the Gothic strain is no longer in fashion.
Maurice stared at him.
Sandy slid off the bed and began to gather up his own scattered garments and to remember where he had left his spectacles. He observed Maurice moving about the room and was reminded of Josh Ferraby describing a panther: Josh was wont to enact whatever animal he was talking of, in private conversation, if not when he addressed scientific meetings. Undoubtedly something feline.
Well, said Maurice, when they were both dressed, do you care to dine at a common chop-house there is one in the next street.
So they went around the corner and into the next street and found a comfortable booth in the chop-house and ordered beef-steak and ale, and while it might not be as finely-cooked as anything that came out of Euphemia’s kitchen, it was perfectly wholesome and very welcome. Even did they sit in entire silence.
Eventually, when hunger was satiated, Sandy pushed away his plate and said, why do you stare so at me?
Maurice shook his head. You – surprize me. He fell silent again.
Indeed, said Sandy, in order to do something that looked like making conversation, I fancy that 'twould be a pretty gesture to buy some present for Clorinda that would be somewhat unexpected. Sure I have given her a deal of books over the years –
Jade bracelet, said Maurice. She lately saw some lady wearing one and wondered would it suit her.
I have no experience whatsoever in buying jewellery for ladies –
Say you so! (Well, that had evoked a smile.) I have a fair notion of the kind of thing she meant, and know where I may acquire one: I am also well-acquainted with the dimensions of Her Ladyship’s wrist. I will be about the matter and send it to you.
Or, said Sandy, I might come and collect it.
So you might, had you no more pressing business.
They looked at one another. 'Tis exceeding good of you to take the trouble, said Sandy.
Sure I owe you some favour.
They fell silent again, drank up their ale, and left. The rain had stopped. I can walk from here, said Sandy. Shall, I daresay, see you at the club if not before.
Maurice nodded and turned in the other direction.
Sandy shrugged mentally, and walked off towards Clorinda’s house.
Where he found her, seated at her desk and scribbling away with great ardour.
My dear, surely you have not been all this while at that immense bore Linsleigh’s party for his painting, that I daresay includes a deal of fellows in dishabille.
No, had opportunity to pursue this investigation –
That minds me, I am a sad forgetful Clorinda when I have been burying myself with abbots and monks and priors &C – came a note for you from Geoffrey Merrett, the boy was hoping for a reply but we sent him away. But do you write a reply, we might send William.
Sandy looked up from the note. He writes that something very troubling has occurred and would desire dine with me at his club at my earliest convenience. But I think we may spare William until the morn: I will write something now and he can take it then.
Clorinda got up from the desk and waved him towards it. Be about the matter and we can give it to Hector. Sure I hope 'tis not that he has got the lady with child. And, now I am come back from the Middle Ages, I mind that there was another troubling matter I wished open to you.
After the note had been given to Hector with instruction that he need not dispatch it immediately, and he had brought in port and madeira, Clorinda pushed the book in which she had been writing into a drawer of the desk and went to sit down by the fire.
May be nothing at all, she said, but Lucy Lowndes came call, saying that she had been to call upon Gretchen Paffenrath, and found her in a very great taking, saying that she thinks she saw her husband lately while she was shopping in Oxford Street. But did not want to go too close and did not get a clear view, but ‘twas very like indeed.
Hmm, said Sandy, I am surprized that he did not immediately go call upon her.
He may not know that she was left so very well-provided by Mr Knowles: oh! I hope he tied up any settlement carefully against any claim by that dreadful fellow.
I fancy Sebastian Knowles might know somewhat of the matter: I will go call upon him as soon as maybe.
Sandy suddenly sneezed.
My dear! I hope you do not go take a chill. You had better go to bed at once, I will send Prue up with a warming pan.
I don't think Essun destroyed any cities at all this book! I'm so proud!
( The rest is disconnected spoilery thoughts )