Book review: Glorious Exploits

Mar. 28th, 2026 06:55 pm
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Title: Glorious Exploits
Author: Ferdia Lennon
Genre: Historical fiction

Hello friends ヾ(•ω•`)o I feel like it's been a while! Today I finished Glorious Exploits by Irish author Ferdia Lennon. It turned out to be the perfect book to read after finishing my lectures on the Greek and Persian wars, because it takes place in Syracuse during the Peloponnesian War (I caught that reference to the Athenian silver mines!)

The book is written in a contemporary Irish dialect, which put a lot of reviewers off. However, I think it works well for making the language accessible and readable to a modern audience in the sense that reading it, we can immediately tell who is likely educated, who is not, who is being casual, who is being disingenuous, etc. As long as you're prepared for it, I don't think it causes much disruption.

The audiobook is narrated by the author himself, which was fun. It's always great to hear an author's own take on their work. For instance, the way Lampo says "good morning," both to the Spartan guards and the Athenian prisoners of war at the start of the book. This could have been a nothing exchange, but the obnoxious way Lennon says that "good morning" tells us almost right away that Lampo is a guy who delights in being a thorn in others' sides and a guy who thinks he's hilarious

The plot of the story is simple: Gelon, Lampo's childhood best friend, decides they're going to put on a Euripides play with the Athenian prisoners, because the Athenians are the only ones who know enough of the script to pull it off. 

That's all. The story moves at a leisurely pace, with Lampo and Gelon working through various technical snags in this plan and trying to garner support in Syracuse for the idea (there's not much). 

I think Lennon excels at showing characters who are sometimes disappointingly realistic. Gelon and Lampo are not heroes. They are not conscientious objectors to the war. They are not activists against the obvious abuse the Athenian prisoners of war are going through. They're just two poor dudes put out of work by the war, who sort of maybe kind of thing it's not the greatest thing in the world for the Athenians to be tortured or starved to death and possibly someone might want to do something about that, at some point. 

Similarly, the Athenians were undoubtedly the aggressors in the war. They invaded Sicily, they burned other villages on the island to the ground, they fully intended to conquer Syracuse. They allegedly killed Syracusans who had already surrendered. But the book asks, when is enough enough? When have they been punished enough? When have the Syracusans gone from victims seeking justice to perpetrators seeking vengeance? 

Lampo himself, the main protagonist, is a prime mixed bag. His humorous nature makes him come off a bit harmless, but he can be wildly insensitive, even mean, even to people he likes. He can swing rapidly from mood to mood. He's often focused on himself and his insecurities can make him lash out or give up too easily. And yet, it's Lampo, not Gelon, who has the first confrontation with Bitton, a man who roams the quarries beating Athenian prisoners of war to death at random to soothe his grief for his son who died in the war. It's Lampo who inserts himself between Bitton and some Athenian strangers to try to talk the man down. And it's Lampo who urges action at the secondary climax, Lampo who sets that entire plot point in motion when no one else in Syracuse seems to give a shit.

In a way that feels characteristic of Irish tales, Glorious Exploits does not shy away from the gross, unglamorous reality of its story and its characters. It doesn't try to dress anyone up in shining armor or sacrifice the dull reality for a romantic sheen. Yet in the muck and the mire, a shocking gleam of poetry emerges. The play starts off as a lark for Lampo, a silly, ridiculous thing he's doing to humor his melancholy friend, but gradually, it becomes important. And as it becomes important to him, it becomes important to the reader. The plot is slow, and a reader may find themselves wondering why they're bothering with all this--but for me, the later two climaxes of the book hit like gut punches.

I'm still chewing this one over, but I enjoyed it and I would read more from this author. It's not a story that will shock and wow you upfront, but the heart of it really hits if you stick with it.

Recent Reading: Glorious Exploits

Mar. 28th, 2026 06:55 pm
rocky41_7: (Default)
[personal profile] rocky41_7 posting in [community profile] books
Hello friends ヾ(•ω•`)o I feel like it's been a while! Today I finished Glorious Exploits by Irish author Ferdia Lennon. It turned out to be the perfect book to read after finishing my lectures on the Greek and Persian wars, because it takes place in Syracuse during the Peloponnesian War (I caught that reference to the Athenian silver mines!)

The book is written in a contemporary Irish dialect, which put a lot of reviewers off. However, I think it works well for making the language accessible and readable to a modern audience in the sense that reading it, we can immediately tell who is likely educated, who is not, who is being casual, who is being disingenuous, etc. As long as you're prepared for it, I don't think it causes much disruption.

The audiobook is narrated by the author himself, which was fun. It's always great to hear an author's own take on their work. For instance, the way Lampo says "good morning," both to the Spartan guards and the Athenian prisoners of war at the start of the book. This could have been a nothing exchange, but the obnoxious way Lennon says that "good morning" tells us almost right away that Lampo is a guy who delights in being a thorn in others' sides and a guy who thinks he's hilarious

The plot of the story is simple: Gelon, Lampo's childhood best friend, decides they're going to put on a Euripides play with the Athenian prisoners, because the Athenians are the only ones who know enough of the script to pull it off. 

That's all. The story moves at a leisurely pace, with Lampo and Gelon working through various technical snags in this plan and trying to garner support in Syracuse for the idea (there's not much). 

I think Lennon excels at showing characters who are sometimes disappointingly realistic. Gelon and Lampo are not heroes. They are not conscientious objectors to the war. They are not activists against the obvious abuse the Athenian prisoners of war are going through. They're just two poor dudes put out of work by the war, who sort of maybe kind of thing it's not the greatest thing in the world for the Athenians to be tortured or starved to death and possibly someone might want to do something about that, at some point. 

Similarly, the Athenians were undoubtedly the aggressors in the war. They invaded Sicily, they burned other villages on the island to the ground, they fully intended to conquer Syracuse. They allegedly killed Syracusans who had already surrendered. But the book asks, when is enough enough? When have they been punished enough? When have the Syracusans gone from victims seeking justice to perpetrators seeking vengeance? 

Lampo himself, the main protagonist, is a prime mixed bag. His humorous nature makes him come off a bit harmless, but he can be wildly insensitive, even mean, even to people he likes. He can swing rapidly from mood to mood. He's often focused on himself and his insecurities can make him lash out or give up too easily. And yet, it's Lampo, not Gelon, who has the first confrontation with Bitton, a man who roams the quarries beating Athenian prisoners of war to death at random to soothe his grief for his son who died in the war. It's Lampo who inserts himself between Bitton and some Athenian strangers to try to talk the man down. And it's Lampo who urges action at the secondary climax, Lampo who sets that entire plot point in motion when no one else in Syracuse seems to give a shit.

In a way that feels characteristic of Irish tales, Glorious Exploits does not shy away from the gross, unglamorous reality of its story and its characters. It doesn't try to dress anyone up in shining armor or sacrifice the dull reality for a romantic sheen. Yet in the muck and the mire, a shocking gleam of poetry emerges. The play starts off as a lark for Lampo, a silly, ridiculous thing he's doing to humor his melancholy friend, but gradually, it becomes important. And as it becomes important to him, it becomes important to the reader. The plot is slow, and a reader may find themselves wondering why they're bothering with all this--but for me, the later two climaxes of the book hit like gut punches.

I'm still chewing this one over, but I enjoyed it and I would read more from this author. It's not a story that will shock and wow you upfront, but the heart of it really hits if you stick with it.

Utility henchqueer

Mar. 28th, 2026 11:43 pm
[personal profile] cosmolinguist

Today is brought to you by [personal profile] diffrentcolours, who rescued me from missing lift club by offering to drive me there when I slept through my alarm and woke up ten minutes before we'd have had to leave the house.

(This also means that we could deliver the outdoor cat shelter, which is no longer needed by our neighborhood cat, to a friend who's in the process of being adopted by what had been his next-door neighbor's cat.)

And then this afternoon he drove V and me to the garden center to buy compost to re-pot a giant houseplant and straw mulch (it's called Strulch!) for the outdoor gardening season. And then to B&M to buy a bag of rocks. V is working on making a barrel pond for the backyard, which leads to some funny purchases -- last time I bought three random biggish rocks, called "rustic slate."

And then sadly D was too wiped out to go to a gig tonight that we'd been kinda planning to, which is a shame but probably would've meant that if we hadn't done errands this afternoon we wouldn't have gotten much further than the bus into town before he was wiped out. Still calibrating as recovery goes on.

And I was pretty tired too, having lifted all the bags around. The rocks were tricky because we couldn't get a shopping cart so I just had to fireman-carry the bag around the store. It wasn't super heavy but it was really awkward, and I was worried about tearing the bag. Plus the rocks were cold, seeping the body heat out of me. The bag was labeled "North Sea cobbles" and I feel like they remembered their chilly home while pressed to my shoulder.

So I made easy dinner (bangers and mash) and we watched the Twins second game. Which they won! But I was so pessimistic the whole time, D made fun of me. The bullpen didn't collapse! Royce Lewis had a great game! It was weird but I hope this happens every day!

It was a nice day. And tomorrow we have D&D -- the DM spun up a character for me last time, but we ended up just watching the movie (sadly without audio description this time!), but I offered to come along this week as a couple of the usuals won't be there because they're sick. I'm a fighter, my favorite thing to be, and the DM described the niche as Utility Himbo so that's basically his name. Bo, for short! So I'm looking forward to that tomorrow.

Assignment in Brittany

Mar. 28th, 2026 04:21 pm
marycatelli: (Golden Hair)
[personal profile] marycatelli posting in [community profile] books
Assignment in Brittany by Helen MacInnes

A thriller about an British undercover agent in Brittany, in 1940. The work was published in 1942.

Read more... )

Fatimatou and Folasade

Mar. 28th, 2026 09:45 am
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[personal profile] mallorys_camera


Day off.

At some point, I am going to trek across the bridge to grab my tomato cages from the Hyde Park Community Garden & deliver them to the New Paltz Community Garden.

###

I'd had some vague thought of joining one of the numerous No Kings Marches today, but I'm not feeling it.

Besides! I gave at the office yesterday with my last two clients of the day, Fatimatou and Folasade (not their real names), who turned out to be from Guinea, which fact I extracted when I realized the impenetrable language they were trading with one another was actually a strangely accented French.

"Tu parle français?" I asked in my own execrable French.

"Ah, toi aussi, tu parles français?" asked Fatimatou, the more fluent of the two young women in English.

"Un peu," I said. "Un petit peu. Très mal. Tu viens du Sénégal?"

"On vient de Guinée," Fatimatou said.

Guinea!

I had no idea where Guinea actually was, except that most of France's former African colonies are on the west coast.

###

Fatimatou had come to this country as a child with her parents. Product of the Brooklyn public school system, she was bright and enterprising, and had earned a bachelor's degree in the rapidly obsolescing field of data management. This degree qualified her for a string of jobs at places like Sephora and Tori Burch. I had no idea why Fatimatou decided to move to Middletown, where there are far fewer Sephoras and Tori Burches.

When she'd worked at the Sephora in Brooklyn, Fatimatou had been vested in the company's 401(k), so when she left the company, they'd presented her with a check for several thousand dollars. Unfortunately, they'd neglected to instruct her about rollovers, so she'd spent the money and was now facing a tax penalty. Fortunately, she'd been conscientious filling out those W4s, so the tax penalty wasn't huge

"Three hundred and seventy-three dollars," I said, switching back to English.

Fatimatou said something to Folasade in that weird French, and they both squealed with joy.

"I did it myself, and it showed I owed $10,000," she explained.

This, in fact, is why most first-time users come to Schlock: They fuck up their Turbotax return somehow.

###

Folasade was a more recent immigrant.

She had a green card, but I could feel the tension in the two women around that.

She was also in the unenviable position of understanding a lot more English than she could actually speak. But not quite enough English to understand what I was saying without Fatimatou's interpretation.

She'd had exactly one job in 2025—as a holiday worker at Tori Burch, where she'd made exactly $266. And they'd taken out nothing in federal taxes.

I grimaced when I saw that.

"I don't know what to tell you about this," I said. "We're going to charge you $164 for this return. It hardly seems worth it. On the other hand, with the situation here being what it is right now, it seems wise to make some sort of paper trail, establishing you as a law-abiding wannabe citizen."

The situation got even more complicated when it turned out that even the minute amount of money Folasade earned qualified her for a minute amount ($28!) of earned income credit. EIC kicks up the Schlock pricing structure by a hundred bucks.

I sat there for a couple of seconds and then shot an email to the district head of Schlock's mid-Hudson Valley operations: If I can get her a deal this year, we'll have a customer for life, blah, blah, blah—because that's the kind of logic that works on corporate asswipes.

And lo and behold! They called me back and gave me a coupon to take $100 off her fee.

I still feel like she was exploited, but you can only do what you can do.

###

I'm halfway through The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny. It should be a page turner—the story is very interesting, India is very interesting—and yet it is not a page-turner because each and every sentence has exactly the same metric beat, so the prose, even with the razzledazzle of unusual metaphors and similes, is actually pretty boring.

One of the novel's focuses is the plight of upper-caste Indian women, sent abroad to be overeducated in foreign schools but unable to catch a husband, and so, who end up living lives of genteel poverty.

That is not so very different from my own plight, no? I'm nothing if not overeducated! And I married twice, but neither marriage stuck.

In the end, there is no such thing as exceptionalism—national or not.

###

"Comment tu vas, uh, passer reste de la journée?" I asked Folasade in my terrible French.

"We are going to look for jobs," Fatimatou said in English. "But it is hard because she cannot speak..." Fatimatou shrugged.

"You might try looking for housecleaning jobs," I said. "Because then English wouldn't matter. I know it's a bit demeaning, rabaissant, but it pays okay—"

The ghost of Barbara Ehrenreich groaned at me from Heaven.

Split the diffrence

Mar. 27th, 2026 09:21 pm
[personal profile] cosmolinguist

In today's team meeting when we were talking about the upcoming week, my boss (gently!) made fun of me for not realizing that next Friday is a bank holiday -- the other day when I was talking to someone about a thing that had to be rearranged from another day next week, they suggested Friday so I told my manager she could do Friday and he had to tell me Friday's the bank holiday.

To add to the making fun of me, I said it was extra bad of me to not know this because it's D's and my anniversary. That made my manager properly laugh, heh.

Then he asked "How many years?" and I just made an "oh god..." kind of noise, which sounds suitably middle-aged like who's even counting any more. But really all it means is that the long run-up of being good friends makes it feel like we've been together longer than the technical answer (seven years now). I will always treasure the memory of when we'd been dating only like three months, getting a train home at night, a young woman who needed help gravitated toward the table we were sitting at and we got chatting. She asked where my accent was from and I told her and we talked about that, she looked at D and asked him if he'd ever gone with me, and he said "not yet!" (which was true, it'd be another four years before he did!). She'd clearly been assuming that we'd been a couple for ages, and I don't blame her at all because I do think we gave off that vibe. So then she asked how long we'd been together. And I was delighted by D's casual answer, "a few years," splitting the difference between the technical reality of three months or so, and the vibe of people who'd been close for more than a decade.

I tried to channel that spirit to answer my manager's question, split the difference, especially when he added "estimate!" I think I said "fifteen?", dragged out to have about fifteen e's in it, and as many question marks at the end.

The World Is Nuts

Mar. 26th, 2026 08:17 pm
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[personal profile] mallorys_camera
The world is a fuckin' mess.

I just broke up a fight in the Stewart’s parking lot. Guy parked in a handicapped space, another guy called him on it. They were actually exchanging blows. I got between them, screaming, "Stop it, stop it, stop it," (which was a really stupid thing to do), and when they saw that I’m an old lady, they backed down.

I’m still shaking.

###

This came on top of a brutal day.

Phillip Osario (not his real name) forgot one of his W2s yesterday.

He brought it in today.

Phillip Osario is working four jobs just to stay afloat, but the paltry amount he made at that fourth job shaved $2,000 off his refund.

He stared at me with blank, uncomprehending eyes: "So, don't put the fourth job in."

I sighed and shook my head. "Doesn't work that way. I have to."

"But I don't want you to!"

"I know," I said. "But if I know about the job, I have to put it in."

Phillip Osario glared at me through slitted eyes.

If I had to guess, I'd guess he was a reformed gangbanger. Beautiful face, Orpheus in the asphalt underworld, with a tattoo of a woman's name in ornate copperplate script veering alongside his left eye. I made up a bio for him: Something—the birth of a child?—had made him want to make an abrupt about-face in his life, but now he was struggling in a world that had no use for him, had no place for him. I felt every hour of the meaningless drudgery he put in to get by—a few hours in Walmart, a few hours at the Home Depot. An underling. The lowest of the low whose real job was to let other people order him around. I wanted to tell him, Take the $3,000 and enroll in a HVAC course at a community college! You'll make $100,000 a year. But I didn't. Because we didn't have a telepathic bond, much as I wanted to pretend we did.

So, instead, I lectured him on all the dire things that befall people who lie to the IRS about their revenue streams. "They impose interest and high penalties. They garnish your wages. And in this day of AI, nobody gets away with lying to the IRS anymore. It's impossible, they will find you out. It's just a matter of time."

Eventually, I talked him into filing.

But I felt like crying.

###

He left, and Angel Meduro (not his real name) came in.

Angel Meduro looked a lot like Angel Batista in Dexter, right down to the porkpie hat. And he made a shitload of money doing something for the U.S. Treasury.

Angel Meduro wanted to do Married Filing Separately.

"How long have you been separated?" I asked.

"Oh, we live together," he said. "But I got debts & things I want to protect her from."

"That's fine," I said. "We'll still need her social security number though."

"They didn't need it last year," said Angel Meduro.

"Really?" I said. "Then whoever did your taxes last year did them wrong. That's a hard and fast requirement for Married Filing Separately."

We went back and forth a little, and eventually, he started trying to call his wife to get her permission to use her social security number.

She answered the sixth time he called.

He had her on speaker phone.

"What the fuck are you calling me for?" she asked furiously. "I told you I was going to the acupuncture guy!"

"Sorry, mami. But I'm with the tax lady, and she says I need your social security number—"

"What are you, some kind of fucking moron? I am not giving my social security number—"
She said a bunch of other things, too, that I can't remember except that they were all pretty humiliating, and after she finally hung up the phone, he looked at me with haunted eyes: "Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I can't do this."

The light bulb had already gone off over my head by this time: She was falsifying her filing status! Probably filing as Head of Household so she could rake in the earned income and child tax credits, and didn't want him imperiling her scam!

Poor Angel Meduro.

I hope she gives good blow jobs.

Melancholy, baby

Mar. 25th, 2026 10:31 pm
[personal profile] cosmolinguist

A new rug arrived today that V bought for the spare room. I took it upstairs and was admiring how soft it is. It's very differently printed -- leaves and swirls on a teal background -- but seems to be made of the same kind of material as my "space rug" in my bedroom, which has a colorful stylized rendition of the solar system.

Gary would love this, was my first thought. Because he loved my space rug. He'd rub his face on it and wiggle all over its soft smooth finish.

The other day I opened the box my new webcam came in, and admired how its internal cardboard packaging, along with its size and shape, would've made it the absolute perfect box for Gary, we liked to use the cardboard recycling to hide treats in for him to find. We re-used the ones he didn't joyoualy tear apart, but we were always on the lookout for new Good Boxes. And I guess that habit hasn't died out yet.

Sleepless Night

Mar. 25th, 2026 07:57 am
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[personal profile] mallorys_camera


Night before last, I couldn't sleep. I lay all night in that strange hypnagogic state where you're completely aware of the external world beyond your closed eyelids, but the passage of time is very distorted.

I hadn't had any caffeine since 8 am the previous morning.

I hadn't had any alcohol.

I was anxious, but anxiety is the matrix in which all of us humans live nowadays. Being alive right now is anxiety-provoking! Nothing is going unusually wrong in my little life, & there was no Horrible Thing awaiting me the very next day that I wanted to avoid.

So, my sleeplessness was a great mystery.

When the first light broke around 6 am, I got up from my bed.

You will simply call them at 9 & tell them you can't come in today, I told myself.

I was amazed by how guilty this made me feel! I mean, it's not like I owe Schlock anything but my labor while my ass is in their chair.

But I did feel guilty! What a horrible failure you are, said the little voice in my head. What a perpetual disappointment to all & sundry.

###

This sleeplessness has happened before. Not often—but often enough so that I'm familiar with its manifestation. Usually it happens on nights when I'm anxious about performing the next day.

Thus, it happened during a trip to Baltimore a few years back with a person I didn't know very well at the time (but subsequently became a good friend). Thus, it happened in Ithaca last Thanksgiving when I was about to be trotted out on a round of holiday parties.

It's one of the banes of old age.

Old people just don't sleep very well.

###

Anyway, I managed to have a fairly productive day with my ass not in the chair.

In the morning, I polished off Remuneration for one client & got a modest assignment from another. If I'm diligent about husbanding resources, I may actually be in better financial shape this year than I was last.

In the afternoon, I scampered off to the New Paltz Community Garden & puttered. My plot is in surprisingly good shape. Whoever had it before me stayed on top of the weeds, and the soil in those raised boxes looks surprisingly good.

In the late afternoon, I dropped by the Gardiner Bakehouse and spent an hour or so nibbling chocolate chip cookies and reading The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, which is the Big New Novel of the season.

I want to like Sonia and Sunny more than I actually like it. It has some surprisingly good insights:

An arranged marriage story, even one that ended six months later in divorce, felt true and false. True because it happened. False because it was feeding the West what it wanted to consume about the East. The audience made it false. Lifting this one story out of all the others made it false.

But I'm finding Kiran Desai's much-praised writing style a bit banal. Her metaphors are pretty word strings but they don't make much sense. And her non-Indian characters make no sense at all.



Claude sent me an email: Are keeping your garden this year . Hope you fine , spring is rite there . Lmk

Claude's spoken English is very good (though it preserves Gallic word order), but he never saw the slightest utility in learning how to write English.

It made me very sad to write back that no, I would not be coming back. I really love the Hyde Park Community Garden, it's just such a beautiful, serene place, and I really like all my fellow gardeners there:



But it's utterly insane to plan on driving across the bridge multiple times each week. The time sink, sure, but also, I don't like driving.

I still haven't decided where I want to move. Ithaca is attractive, but the problem with Ithaca is that just five miles outside the city limits, you're in Alabama except with snow. The Southern Tier is a Trumpy place & getting to anywhere else I might want to hang out (for which read New York City) is a real ordeal from there. Yes, RTT is there, and RTT loves me—but it's not as though RTT would want to hang out with me.

So, I'm also contemplating maybe moving back to Dutchess County. Where I know people. Where I'll be close to Metro-North train stations that can deposit me in Grand Central Station in just under two hours. My old friend Carl A has told me I can stay overnight in the guest room of his apartment on the upper West Side anytime. I should probably take him up on the offer.

Claude wrote me back: It’s sad that u leavin us but we ll keep u in mind for next year u decide to come back . I don’t ve a à person to replace u right now . Stay in touch

Witch Hat Atelier, Vol. 14

Mar. 24th, 2026 11:45 pm
marycatelli: (Golden Hair)
[personal profile] marycatelli posting in [community profile] books
Witch Hat Atelier, Vol. 14 by Kamome Shirahama

The tale continues! Serious spoilers ahead for the earlier works.

Read more... )

Pompeii and covid

Mar. 23rd, 2026 08:24 pm
[personal profile] cosmolinguist

I'm reading, and really enjoying, Annalee Newitz's Four Lost Cities.

I'm currently reading about Pompeii, and I was struck by the mention of about how little was recorded about that volcanic eruption and the cities that were "lost" in its aftermath.

I thought of how conspicuously absent our society's cultural response to the covid pandemic has been, even before Newitz themself drew an explicit parallel with the Spanish flu epidemic which apparently also had a similar effect.

I was struck by this because just this morning, I was in a meeting about an upcoming Mental Health Awareness Week event at work. I had to join a bit late so I don't know the context but as I joined, someone newish to my org -- which covers the whole country so we're mostly hybrid/remote -- said that starting this job was hard for me because going back to working from home was something he hadn't done "since covid." #CovidIsNotOver, of course. (I felt some kind of way listening to someone talk as if they were triggered by an event that is still ongoing if you ask me.) But he's totally right about how we haven't really addressed it in any meaningful way -- the lack of pragmatic mitigations almost requires us to participate in this cognitive dissonance of referring to the pandemic in the past tense when it's only the lockdowns, the testing, the mask mandates, the period of taking it as seriously as it warrants, which is past.

I was immediately reminded of that Audrey Watters piece I linked to the other day, about grief that isn't observed. If she's right that "it matters that GPT was released during the COVID pandemic (and ChatGPT shortly 'after')," (and how I appreciate the scare-quotes around "after" there!), this is a meaning that's lost if we don't talk about the covid pandemic.

I think covid is intimately linked to changes in transport infrastructure and the built environment that make my job harder -- hastily-enacted legislation to allow more tables and chairs on pavements means more obstacles that never had to undergo an Equality Impact Assessment; "pop-up" cycle lanes led to lasting trends in active travel infrastructure that still deprioritize pedestrians; e-scooters were seen as more useful in a world where people were discouraged to go anywhere but particularly to use public transport; I could go on -- and the further that lockdowns and other facets of pandemic mitigations get, the harder it is for me to address those things properly.

It's interesting to see what feels like such a modern ill also taking place as long ago as Pompeii, in as different a culture as that Roman one was. Is it such a fundamental human thing to just block out the bad times so thoroughly? I can't help but think we can do much better to look after ourselves, individually and as collective societies.

not exactly value for money!

Mar. 22nd, 2026 08:09 pm
[personal profile] cosmolinguist

A couple of days ago, I determined that my webcam wasn't working on my laptop, for calls with my parents, or on my work laptop.

D kindly took it away the other day, and diagnosed it as Dead. He also reminded me we had one that I could use for work but doesn't work on Linux -- something I'd entirely forgotten about; I think I'd conflated it with the other webcam which had stopped working entirely...

He also sourced a replacement, sent me a link. Which I said was terribly sweet of him but I didn't really need, just for my parents when I could shuffle things around and just use the camera on the laptop. But it arrived the next day; he'd bought it for me anyway. "Thirty quid to keep your parents happen seems worth it," he said. Awww.

So, tonight I was so looking forward to the call with my parents starting with something other than my mom complaining that she can't see me.

Instead, the first thing she said when my camera pops on was "You're getting those deep wrinkles in your forehead too, like Grandma [my mom's own mother]."

Which a) only when I frown, or raise my eyebrows [so maybe this is the only way my parents will ever see me, lol] b) my grandma was a badass, so I hardly mind looking like her! c) to age is to live!

But most of all: she's treating me in a way she'd consider horrible bad manners if I behaved this way toward anyone.

Again. (A story I'm fond of trotting out is the time we were in a restaurant, my appetizer arrived, she looked disgusted at it and asked me warily what that was; I said "butternut squash soup" and she said "oh yuck!" A thing I'd have been told off for if I'd reacted that way to someone else's food that I both didn't have to and shouldn't have eaten!)

Can't believe D paid £30 for my appearance to be insulted like this, heh. It's a fancy webcam too; he said he got "only" 720p rather than the £50 1080p, and I was thinking this is already too big a number, I don't want my parents to see me in high definition (unfortunately for me, I said this as "that's too many p for my face!" which made D snigger because his mind is always in the gutter!). it's very zoomed-in too, which is unsettling for me too since I have to have my monitor so close to me. It's been such a long time since Mom commented on my facial hair and I'd like that to become a much longer time, an unbroken streak. She's gonna say whatever she wants as soon as she (thinks that she) is off-mic; all I ask is for her to be polite to my face!

mallorys_camera: (Default)
[personal profile] mallorys_camera
Remarkable how quickly one loses muscle tone & wind at my age.

The Schlock job requires a lot of sitting on my ass. And I haven't really had the time to exercise formally. I noticed that yesterday, when a stroll up New Paltz's hilly Main Street left me breathless.

Yes, I should make exercise a priority.

But honestly?

It's all I can do to force myself not to quit the Schlock job.

Adding more "must"s to the list would be ill-advised at this time because I won't, and then I'll feel very guilty, worthless, & inadequate.

###

Meanwhile, by the time I made it to the New Paltz Community Garden, clouds were coming in, and the temperature had dropped. Weeding was not going to be fun. So I contented myself by circling back to the casa and weeding the Patrizia-torium instead, which is now a veritable dell of enchantment and clean! So clean.

I had quite a good time doing errands in New Paltz, tromping dyspnea notwithstanding:

Banner off somebody's porch:



Front window at the Cat Café mit bonus reflected Portrait of the Artist:



Solar power-operated Frida. Tough battle, but somehow I convinced myself I could live without it:



I splurged on books instead. Hard covers! When I closed up the house in Monterey, I swore I would never buy hardcover books again, since I had a library of something like 3,000 of them; I loved them all, but transporting them to the East Coast was completely out of the question, and nobody else wanted them, nobody! I did try. On the West Coast, libraries don't do periodic book sales to raise cash the way they do on the East Coast.

I do read digitally, but truth be told, I prefer physical books. I like the heft of them, I love the faint smell of bookbinding glue and the texture of paper pages.

My extravagant expenditure sparked a momentary tizzy. Books! Great! You can burn these for heat & light when an Iranian drone takes out all the power plants. Fahrenheit 451 was actually a survival guide!

###

On the way to New Paltz, I took a wrong turn & ended up on an unfamiliar road. But, of course, there are no such things as wrong turns; you are always exactly where the Universe wants you to be, and the Universe clearly wanted me to enjoy spectacular views of the Shawangunk ridge:



Plus bonus view of dead-seeming orchard, longing to become a symbol of spring & rebirth when it jumpstarts those pink blossoms in the next month or so—always assuming the brutal winter that now finally seems to be ending didn't murder it:

gremdark: An image of children's book characters Elephant and Piggie. Gerald the elephant is exclaiming, "The book ends?" (the book ends?)
[personal profile] gremdark
I love mysteries and heist stories, but I have trouble finding good ones that scratch that particular itch. Does anyone have recs?

I am particularly interested in books and television, but I would happily watch a good movie if you know the perfect one. Fantasy elements and/or strong worldbuilding are a definite plus. If something isn't necessarily a traditional mystery or heist but is similar to things I've listed below in other ways, I'd love to hear about it. I'm not a big fan of cops, but am willing to tolerate them for a strong story.

Behind the cut, I've listed stories I've particularly enjoyed and stories I've bounced off.

Data Points )

New to dreamwidth!

Mar. 22nd, 2026 10:42 am
mesona: Anime-style girl with dark green hair (Default)
[personal profile] mesona posting in [community profile] addme

Name: Mint


Age: 22


I mostly post about: Daily life and hobby updates


My hobbies are: I enjoy Vocaloid music, Vtubers, Anime/manga, literature, birdwatching, knitting and crochet, playing rhythm games. I'm also a programmer and may bring up tech stuff occasionally. I'm learning to draw.


My fandoms are: Current hyperfixation is NBA (go Nuggets). I keep up with F1 casually. I follow paleontology and aviation news. Currently reading JJBA, Chainsaw Man, slowly watching Dark Winds. Check my About Me sticky for the full list of stuff.


I'm looking to meet people who: Are also writing personal journals and forming community. Besides that, people who write or read more structured content. Such as personal journal, hobby updates, recipes, guides, media reviews, short stories. Bonus if you're posting outside of America (I'm from Southeast Asia myself).


My posting schedule tends to be: Few times a week.


When I add people, my dealbreakers are: Obviously don't be bigoted, though I assume most people on this site aren't. Probably won't come up often, but I'm not a big fan of people who post inflammatory or reactionary takes.


Before adding me, you should know: I will probably be posting about experiences with mental/physical health stuff, as I am AuDHD and am working through cPTSD. It won't be my main topic, but just a heads up that some of my posts will be heavy, and they'll have a content warning if they are.

[personal profile] cosmolinguist

On a single tube train alone the other day, I saw two people in black thin-rimmed aviators and all I could thin was well now I know what I want my next pair of glasses to look like!

Never felt so much like a dad, possibly because that style always reminded me of my dad since that's what he wore when I was a little kid.

But one of these two people was a young person of ambiguous gender presentation, so I have hope that such things can become fashionable among the queers.

I'm due an eye test, and presumably new glasses, so I've been keeping an eye out for what kind of frames I might want (since the narrow rectangular thick-framed "hipster glasses" that seem to suit me best are not as readily available as they once were! the frames I have now are boring as hell, too big and too round for me even though they're not as much of either as has been popular lately).

(no subject)

Mar. 21st, 2026 03:30 pm
gremdark: A cluster of orange, many-petaled marigolds (Default)
[personal profile] gremdark
This time I remembered to queue up two hours' worth of music before locking myself out of my phone with my focus app. I use Focus Friend, which is bare bones enough that I don't need to think about it too much when I use it.

Today's missions are to clean the kitchen, tidy surfaces in the living room, and declutter the bedroom. We ran dishes this morning, and our roommate is out of town, so there's one less person around to make messes. Not too much to do. In between I'm hoping to keep plugging away at my Rare Kink Buffet fills. I had hoped to write multiple short ones, but what originally seemed to be a short idea is ballooning into a multichap. So we shall see. Wish me luck!

Progress! The house is a little cleaner, and I've added about 1200 words to my Rare Kink Buffet fill. This is chapter three, which I had hoped would be the last chapter. I also hoped chapter two would be the last chapter, so it appears that the length of this one is just utterly out of my control.

When It Happens, It Happens Very Fast

Mar. 21st, 2026 01:08 pm
mallorys_camera: (Default)
[personal profile] mallorys_camera
Scary, scary, scary world.

Even before the Iran war, the U.S. was falling apart. In February, wholesale prices jumped 0.7%, twice the predicted inflation rate. When retailers pay more for goods, they pass those costs on to consumers through higher prices at the checkout counter.

And so far in 2026, there have been literally only slightly more than 18,000 new jobs created (in a nation of 365 million people).

The war adds a whole new level of economic misery, of course, since higher energy prices ripple through everything.

The cost of gasoline obviously hits consumers at the pump, but it also increases utility bills and transportation costs of goods, since so little of what we consume is produced close to where we live. The housing market is insane, and the world of imaginary money—the stock market with its more-or-less arbitrary valuations—is showing signs of unraveling: The Dow and Nasdaq are now in correction territory, meaning they’ve fallen more than 10 percent from their recent highs.

Nor will American exceptionalism be the only victim of Trump & Netanyahu's megalomania: The basis for almost all nonorganic fertilizers is ammonia, primarily manufactured from fossil fuels. Much of it is manufactured in places like Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, and, yes, Iran, and shipped through the Strait of Hormuz to places like India, Bangladesh, Brazil, and Pakistan. Without access to these fertilizers, agricultural production is going to plummet, so we can anticipate famine—which is going to increase the whole unwanted migration phenomenon.

It's a fuckin' mess, in other words.

How's a defenceless little mammal like me supposed to survive in this world of thundering dinosaur stupidity?

By scampering out of the way of their colossal footfalls, I suppose.

But just how exactly am I supposed to do that?

###

Anyway, this is the reason why though I loathe working for Schlock, I am determined to last out the season. Grimly determined, though I can see the toll that work is taking on both my physical & mental health. It is wise right now to position oneself as far ahead of that plunging economic curve as one can possibly get—though on my stumpy little mammal legs, that is not very far. The whole thing is gearing up to come crashing down very fast if Trump doesn't get bored enough with the Iran War to end it very fast.

###

When it happens, it happens very fast...

I remember thinking that after Sarajevo fell in 1996 because in 1970, when there was still Yugoslavia, I spent a couple of days in Sarajevo on my way to Greece, and unsophisticated little naif as I was back then, I remember marveling that Sarajevo was so much like Oakland, California. The same fading post-industrial architecture, and the sky wasn't orange or anything, it was blue!

How could a place that reminded me so much of another place I knew intimately be the site of a bloody civil war? My mind truly boggled.

And it was kind of like the Universe was whispering in my ear: When it happens, it happens very fast.

###

Schlock is truly awful. I like doing taxes, but I don't do a whole lot of those.

Mostly, I sit in a cubicle doing absolutely nothing beyond surreptitiously Googling Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell analyses. (Definitely the one book I would smuggle on to that desert island.) Doing nothing doesn't sound all that bad, but it's absolutely lethal. Boredom is not the worst thing in the world; the worst thing would be torture. But having the sort of mind that relishes facts & figures most other people find excessively dry, I am hardly ever bored, so boredom is a relatively unusual & unpleasant experience for me. It makes me feel invisible. It makes me feel... extinguished.

I did finally cop to the insanity of working every single day for 90 days straight, and thus carved out two days off in a row for myself.

I had all sorts of plans for yesterday, but found myself so exhausted that I did very little beyond vacuuming and refurbishing my purple hair. (...only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your purple hair)

Today, I have Big Plans to toddle off to the New Paltz Community Garden and begin weeding. Though if I don't, I will be gentle with myself.

Honestly, the most pressing dilemma I face at the moment is that the company that makes the hair dye I've been using for the past seven years has discontinued its production.

I'm pretty sure Schwarzkopf does not ship through the Strait of Hormuz, so what the hell is their problem, huh?

(no subject)

Mar. 20th, 2026 02:00 pm
gremdark: Barbara Gordon as Batgirl from Gotham Adventures. She's thinking hard, and looks frustrated. (Barbara thinking)
[personal profile] gremdark
Well, I've locked myself out of my phone. I have snacks, music, my laptop, and a list of things to do to make the house nicer to be in. Let's see what I can get done. 

Progress! The cat boxes are clean, there's a nice fire built up and ready to light for when our friends come over later this week, and I did a round of dishes before dinner.

Instead of writing, I rewarded myself with a nice sunny lie in the front yard, where I witnessed a minor car accident. Two drivers tried to go at a four-way stop simultaneously. Luckily the damage to both cars was minor and the drivers, from what I overheard, were civil about it.

Now that we've eaten and tidied, I'm going to take a crack at my Rare Kink Buffet fills. Knowing myself, I probably have 2-3 productive hours left until I get too sleepy. It's spring break, so free time isn't in short supply. I'll go to bed fairly early and be glad of the rest.
gremdark: Tamaki from Ouran High School Host Club, sobbing in a fancy suit. (sobbing Tamaki)
[personal profile] gremdark
The local school districts are starting spring break today, so there's little substitute teaching work to be had. What little there is gets snapped up seconds after the listings go live. So I'm giving myself the gift of sun, writing, and light chores.

When I want to force myself to do non-phone things instead of doomscrolling, I like to lock myself out of my phone with a focus app. Usually I set up a long music queue before I do. Today, I forgot. I stared sadly at the two hour countdown on my phone screen, knowing I'd be so much more productive if only I could listen to something. Then I looked across the room at my record player and felt a bit silly. 

In my defense, the record player has bluetooth, so I use it as a giant bluetooth speaker a lot of the time. I'm still embarrassed. At any rate, I'm listening to a Simon and Garfunkel record right now.
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