(no subject)

Sep. 25th, 2017 08:26 pm
sheafrotherdon: (Default)
[personal profile] sheafrotherdon
me: OMG WHY IS THE VIETNAM WAR STILL ONGOING????

[profile] siriaeve:it... is?
i thought it ended in the 70s :-?
did trump start another thing

me: . . . sorry, I meant the documentary on PBS.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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Well, it’s 91F at the end of September so we’re in the creek after a sweaty, hectic day. (at Laughing Earth)
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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copperbadge:

Ha Bun Shu: A Book of Wave and Ripple Designs by Mori Yuzan, 1919

This book brings together a wonderful selection of wave and ripple designs produced by the Japanese artist Mori Yuzan, about whom not a lot is known, apart from that he hailed from Kyoto, worked in the Nihonga style, and died in 1917 (which would make this a posthumous collection). Similar work is also collected in Hamon shu (Wave patterns), a multi-volume work brought out at the beginning of the 20th century. Both these works would have acted as a kind of go-to guide for Japanese craftsmen looking to adorn their wares with wave and ripple patterns. The designs would have found their way onto swords (both blades and handles) and associated paraphernalia (known as “sword furniture”), as well as lacquerware, Netsuke, religious objects, and a host of other items.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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liberalsarecool:

I did not realize it only started in 2009.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
via http://ift.tt/2fLYmRj:sugarspiceandcursewords replied to your post “oh my gosh we came home from brunch and said ok, let’s get a picnic…”

I officially feel better about the quirks of both my mother and my mother-in-law now. Thank you for that.

singelisilverslippers replied to your post “oh my gosh we came home from brunch and said ok, let’s get a picnic…”

lordy

It’s not that I have no drama at all in my family. But most of my mother’s family is dead– in fact, she’s all that remains, so the end-of-life drama of Grandma not really losing her marbles but getting so old she couldn’t cope is a faint fond memory, and my eccentric uncle dying abruptly of cancer he’d procrastinated diagnosing until it was in the end stages was kind of short-lived.

(Yesterday at brunch I met another friend of his– one of those names I vaguely knew, one of those Troy people who sees me, recognizes me because I’m the spitting image of my mother circa 1977, and knows who I am, but who I know only third-hand by name and not on sight. He said, I always meant to take one of his tours of Washington Park, but never got around to it, and I regret it all the time. He’d all but written a book, I said; Mom found his research, three organized boxes all meticulously laid out, and hasn’t had the heart to go on and write the book. The friend looked pained; I don’t know that he’d known that. Mom hasn’t felt able to talk about it much.)

Anyway. So we’re low on drama largely because of little opportunity for such. But, more importantly maybe, my mother is a Type A competitive person who decided as soon as my older sister got engaged that she was going to be The Best Mother-In-Law Of All Time, and has applied herself studiously to that pursuit in the intervening decade. It can be a little much, but you only have to kind of peek at the alternatives – my older sister’s mother-in-law is a real prize too– to understand that being a little intense is hardly the worst thing a person can be. (Older sister once came home after a two-week work trip for the Army and had her four-year-old marvel that she’d forgotten how to brush her teeth, because Nana had never one time had her do it.)

Sucks getting old

Sep. 25th, 2017 10:17 am
danceswithgary: Fractal (Apophysis-Lilac)
[personal profile] danceswithgary
Our hearing checks out, and yet...

Him: no gut...asses...morning
Me: 🤔You have no gut classes?
Him: Yoga, but that works.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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tobermoriansass:

One of the biggest flaws of the expanded universe and like the whole clone wars conflict is that fucking everything is manipulated and orchestrated by palpatine which means every single political conflict is in some way or the other, artificially manufactured. Which also makes the pay off nonexistent bc this whole thing implies there’s no legitimate grievances to be resolved, only created ones and that there are no populist movements that oppose the republic on grounds of legitimate cause because all of them without exception are just manipulated and so are suckers for palpatine.

It just makes the political backdrop incredibly frustrating because you hint at legitimate resentment and then veer away from any critique of the republic because in the end, all the opposition to the republic was fake anyway.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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a vignette: well, first, background: we had a good week for flowers, sold almost entirely out at market. So, no big arrangements came home. Those are the ones my sister decorates her house with because what else do you do. 

another background: as we were arranging flowers Friday afternoon (and Friday afternoons are a bit exhausting, because it’s quitting time for everyone else, and we’re stuck there still working, and it looks like fun because it’s flowers but it’s sort of mournful because everyone comes by on their way out for the weekend and looks so happy, and we still have eight… seven… five… two buckets to fill, endlessly…), the vegetable manager came by cradling an eggplant in his hands. It was a beautiful eggplant. He just wanted to show it to us, I suppose; he’d seen it, unharvested, in the field, and it was so perfect– the surface was slightly flawed in one spot, but it was a beautiful shape, a perfect fullness, a classic eggplant. What will you make with it? my sister asked. (She took his portrait with this exemplar of his craft and Instagrammed it, and it looks like a professional shot.) Oh, he said, probably eggplant parmesan, I haven’t done that yet this year. oh, I said, I love eggplant parm so much. i never make it, but it’s like, my favorite. you should make it for all of us. oh, he said, ha ha, i’d need more than one eggplant. I’m kidding, I told him hastily, Lord, I wouldn’t actually demand that you cook for me, I’m not an animal.

Well. He comes to my sister yesterday and says, I’m making eggplant parmesan for all of you Sunday night, and in fact he did, and he also made tiramisu, including making the ladyfingers himself, so.

Anyway. Such a nice dinner needs flowers on the table, my sister decided, so she rediscovered that place inside herself that does actually enjoy making flower arrangements, and went out and harvested just a handful of flowers, and made herself an arrangement for the dining room table, since she’d already set the table with a cloth and napkins and the good china and all– because, being an adult, she owns these things, and so why wouldn’t she break them out for every Sunday dinner?

So, it’s 5 pm, Veg Manager is banging pots around cheerfully next door, periodically coming by to borrow very promising things from my sister’s much larger kitchen. Sister has her flowers laid out on the kitchen counter and is arranging directly into a vase.

She trims all the stems, picks up the flowers, is placing them one at a time into the vase.

A little cloud of insects and spiders go scurrying off across the kitchen counter, having been on the flowers when they were harvested, and now seeing an opportunity to jump ship.

I watched this, and she watched this, and she said, “I’m just– going to let this happen,” because what else was she going to do?

I don’t know what gardeners do; we usually harvest into buckets that chill in a fridge overnight (if you see “conditioned” flowers for sale, that’s what that means; it does prolong their bloom period significantly), and we arrange on a table in a barn, so we notice bugs once in a while but it’s nothing like this little scatter pattern of many-legged refugees was. It was impressive. 

Hours later, after a sumptuous repast (made of that perfect eggplant and some of its friends!) and much conversation, my sister hastily drank the dregs from a water glass on the table and put it down on the floor inverted. “What,” I said, and then I saw the spider, a goldenrod crab spider I’d seen run off a zinnia, clamber up the side of the glass. She took it outside and put it into the hostas. We felt better. 

Giant Days, Vol. 5, by John Allison

Sep. 24th, 2017 04:42 pm
runpunkrun: dana scully reading jose chung's From Outer Space, text: read (reading)
[personal profile] runpunkrun
Giant Days: Volume 5, written by John Allison, illustrated by Max Sarin, colors by Whitney Cogar: Nonsensical, disjointed, and not as charming as earlier volumes. Even Esther's clothes are visibly less amazing. Plus the episode where a stranger from Susan's past—another one—drugs her drink. No thanks.

I think I'm done with this series for reals now.

Cool things

Sep. 24th, 2017 10:56 pm
tamsin: (Vampire Diaries - Elena)
[personal profile] tamsin
- I'm really happy to see [community profile] 50books_poc active again. I used to get tons of recs from it and am looking forward to it broadening my reading again.


- be yourself my ally A Wonder Woman fic featuring Etta/Diana. Pretending to be lovers is such a fun trope and it's deftly applied to a great pairing here. Themyscira was my favorite part of the movie so it made me happy to see it explored a bit here. I love how the author fleshed out Etta - her down-to-earthness, her warmth, her pragmatism and her ability to enjoy the little things. And I really appreciate how she portraits her as a queer lady who has had relationships with other queer ladies and who knows her worth.


- The Superhusbands Aluminum Anniversary Anthology is out! If you're into Steve/Tony at all, go check it out. It contains nearly 600 pages of new fanfic and fanart and is available for download for free.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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one-step-enough:

delicatepr1ncess:

Stop telling girls they have to be super heroes and not princesses. Stop telling girls that wanting to be a mother or a homemaker isn’t a real job. Stop telling girls that makeup isn’t art. Stop making fun of girls who like being in a relationship and looking for love.  STOP telling girls that femininity is bad. I thought being a feminist and being a woman’s rights activist was about giving women the freedom to choose. Stop the internalized misogyny. 

I had a professor/research mentor in college who was a very left-wing feminist. Like, we had to buy some supplies at a craft store for one of our experiments, and she made us drive to a Michaels 30 minutes away because she refused to support the Hobby Lobby that was only 10 minutes away.

Anyway, she was telling me once about friends of hers with two daughters, who were intentionally raising the girls in a gender-neutral environment. No pink clothes, no Barbies. Which isn’t necessarily wrong; certainly girls can play with trucks and boys can play with dolls. But, my professor was lamenting that despite the careful avoidance of anything overtly girly, by the time they were in preschool both daughters loved princesses, pink, dress-up. Much to their parents’ chagrin, they were both girly-girls.

And none of these very progressive people recognized how problematic their attitudes were. Certainly, we should not force girls to engage in traditionally feminine activities. BUT, perhaps more importantly, that doesn’t mean we should deride these activities in and of themselves. It is misogyny to condemn or ridicule something just because it is a stereotypically feminine activity.

Both of my sisters who are married have mothers-in-law who don’t agree with them about not buying constant truckloads of shit for children and enforcing heteronormativity and such. When my older sister found out she was pregnant with a girl, she actually put her foot down and sent out an email: NO. PINK. SHIT. She said it nicer than that, but she said, “This child will have enough pink stuff in her life. If you are buying something new for her, please please please, buy a color other than pink.”
It worked for the first… minute or so. Of course everything secondhand was a random mix, and often was pink, and that was fine. But it worked so well my other sister, upon giving birth to a girl a year and a half later, adopted the same principle, which was tremendously difficult to enforce with her own junk-shop-addicted mother-in-law. (But said child celebrated her first birthday in the most adorable, badass neon yellow tutu, which mother-in-law may have bought in protest about the no pink rule, but it turned out to be totally delightful.)

And now that said girls are three and five, their favorite colors are, of course, pink. (Well, the younger one likes yellow too, and the older loves purple too, but pink things are guaranteed paths to their hearts.) Both mothers understand that they don’t want to crush their daughters’ spirits, and always accept their choices when they express a preference and such. The younger one is a little less pink-obsessed. But the older one, who has two big brothers and is probably somewhat reacting to having to wear their hand-me-downs, is OBSESSED with shades of bright pink and pale lavender. 

Are their mothers disappointed in this? No. Do they sometimes encourage them to pick a color other than pink? Sometimes. (Older child’s mother, when the girl wanted to paint her room pink, talked her into a pink base wall covered in rainbows, which looks awesome.) Are they ashamed of their daughters for “betraying” them? No, not at all. Do they wish their daughters liked blue or yellow better? Not really; not any more than, say, the older sister wishes her eldest son hadn’t chosen to paint his bedroom bright neon orange with neon green trim. (She talked him into maybe a gray base wall with the other colors in stripes, and he actually came up with a pretty cool design. He’ll still grow out of it sooner rather than later, but for now, he’s nine and it’s great, and when it needs repainting he’ll be big enough to do it his damn self.)

And many of the little girls I know are growing up excited to be princess super heroes. Their mothers are fighting the adults who tell them that thinness is important. There’s one mother in pre-K who sends her daughter in high-heeled shoes (I’m astonished; they make platform pumps for four-year-olds), but everyone else is politely horrified, and the pre-k insists on all children changing into slippers indoors anyway.

I think it’s far more important to agitate for legislation to protect the health, safety, reproductive rights, and access to education and protection from sexual assault for our daughters than to constantly police one another over what kind of activities we encourage them to. It doesn’t really matter one way or another what dolls we buy our daughters/nieces/nonbinary babypals if our sons– hell, their doctors and teachers and bosses– can assault and harass them with impunity and they’ve got to have their healthcare approved by a panel of moralizing judges and there’s no funding for it anyway and they can’t afford it because they legally can be paid less for the same work their brothers do.

I have a hard time giving a fuck either way about Barbies, with that kind of bullshit going on.

(no subject)

Sep. 24th, 2017 11:34 am
elayna: by casset (McKay the man the myth)
[personal profile] elayna
Anyone watching The Orville? I've seen the three episodes but am still waffling a bit. I have heard of Seth MacFarlane but never watched anything he's done. The humor, especially in the first episode, has been what I expected, pinging between irreverent and crude. I like the former, could do without the latter.

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.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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Up in the Mt Greylock War Memorial tower looking toward NY State. (at Mount Greylock)
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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oh my gosh we came home from brunch and said ok, let’s get a picnic lunch together so we can go on that drive, and my sister said, “give me 20 minutes,” and we all went off on our separate tasks. At nineteen and a half minutes, her mother-in-law came into the room where Sister was just putting the last things into the picnic bag, and said, “I’m gonna go get some gas in the car,” and Sister said, “I will be ready in one minute,” and m-i-l said “okay” and drove away, and now we’re all sitting in the kitchen (including the toddler, who was carefully managed to be ready in 20 minutes) waiting for her to come back.

(The best punchline to it was her son, my brother-in-law, who looked bewilderedly at the empty driveway and said, “but the tank was full?” [he drove her car to breakfast with us all in it].)

WELP.

She’s here for another week.

I don’t think I’ll time how long she takes to come back, it’s not helpful to know it.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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i woke up at 5 am and have been puttering around, cleaning things, tidying the yurt, and so on. came inside around 7:15, farmsister’s mother-in-law was awake and puttering around too. farmsister told me, we’re going out to breakfast and then on a drive, and i thought that sounded nice, so i went and took a shower. 

It is now 8:55 and farmsister’s mother in law, who was told the plan at the same time as me and was in the shower when I got out (there are two showers in this house) is still doing her makeup. 

it’s sort of astonishing, i think, how long she spends, when I honestly can’t tell the difference between the before and after. 

anyway. i’m goddamn starving and have been awake for 4 hours with no coffee so it’s starting to get dire in this lil brainspace. I just thought I’d document the moment here.
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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honeyandwormwood:

magnvsbvrnsides:

sale-aholic:

1eleven:

aleshakills:

sale-aholic:

Perhaps the people that claim “immigrants are taking their jobs” should go work on those farms.

So now they can suddenly afford to pay above minimum wage

it’s almost like they were paying people less than their labor was worth :Y

Exactly

Oh wow I am so incredibly shocked. Are you telling me that our entire agricultural infrastructure was predicated on the exploitation of foreign-born workers who were forced to live in inhumane living conditions and paid next to nothing? And that now that this presidency has created an extremely hostile environment that those immigrants are going elsewhere? Causing a shortage of cheap exploitable labor? Who could have seen this coming??????

Not just “this presidency.”  As someone who comes from a family with a small, family-sized orchard (9 acres), who has always paid well over the standard, I can tell you there has been a worker shortage for going on a decade, since Obama started mass deporting people.  

My father, 72, with an MBA, retired from both a state job and the Army, was spending his summers working as a farmhand for an 81-year-old friend who literally could not find anyone else to help him harvest crops.
The 81-year-old has since changed what he grows to something less labor-intensive. High school kids won’t do the work. You literally can’t find anyone. All the local large-scale operations have long-term crews of Mexicans or Jamaicans that they get in on those provisional visas every year. I toured a conventional melon farm recently up by Greenwich, and the owner proudly said, “These are my Mexicans. Enrique’s been with us for 22 years.” It was a Sunday afternoon and Enrique was out there working, along with all the others. That same farm hosted a gala benefit dinner, and the tent was set up next to a field, and as the sun went down and we wined and dined, there was a crew of Mexicans two rows over, harvesting until it was too dark to see. (I watched the pickup truck headlights come on as I went up to get another drink.) 
[personal profile] dragonlady7
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Whiskey. Buddy. The yurt roof is not where the cat goes.
I can’t reach her to get her down, which I’m pretty sure she smugly knows.
Being awoken by an animal leaping onto your canvas roof is not, hm, conducive to heart health, let’s say.
#yurtlife

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