Ayn Rand’s been on my mind lately. Galt’s Gulch, Chile (hurrhurrhurr) and the more-than-rare spotting of a “Where is John Galt?” bumper sticker in this fair desert land mean I’ve not had more than a couple of days without some reminder of that hack and her warmed-over Nietzsche.
But here, a couple of quick points:
Written in the middle of the century of the automobile, her “masterpiece” is all about train technology. She’s the original (the only time one can say that about her hackneyed writing) steampunk. So far behind the science and technology curve, she thought great innovations were coming from an industry that had seen its heyday almost a century prior. And ‘Rearden Metal’…oy. Look…there are innovations to be made in metallurgy, but even in the ’50s, SF writers were building their spaceships with “plasteel”; SF writers being aware that material scientists were going to make their bones in future in organics, not metals.
A great libertarian treatise. With trains at its center. Trains. Those things that are only possible when the government takes private land. Eminent Domain being super-high on libertarians’ list of good things in this world.
At least Nietzsche could write. He’d have been an excellent screenwriter, not a failure.
This has been the summer of our discontent. On a personal level, July and August have been needles stabbed at us again and again - my husband landing in the hospital for heart problems, being forced to sell our house - and while the pain of these months have settled to a dull, constant ache, there…
I wanted to respond to this question from Michele: "Am I wanted in this fight? Should I be out there at the forefront, finding ways to combat racism, to bring people together, to fight injustice?"
Yes. Yes. YES.
If you want to know how it feels from the other side, let me ask this rhetorical question of you: Should I, as a man, involve myself in women’s fight for equality and control of their bodies and destinies? Or should I stand on the sidelines because it’s not my fight?
Allies are important for many reasons. They help the principal combatants know they’re not alone; they help the principal combatants know the true depth (or shallowness) of their enemy’s support; they provide numbers; they provide succor and moral support. Allies and principals in social justice fights don’t always get along and don’t always see eye to eye and sometimes have massive fallings out. But stand together we must.
It is not a fight, in the case of Ferguson, of Black vs White; it is Justice vs Injustice, Good vs Evil, Harmony vs Control, Right vs Wrong.
Sometimes it’s easy to see which side is right and which wrong; sometimes there is a lot of hazy gray. But when you can tell which is the just side, it is right to stand up and stand with.
Kelly’s first read through is tonight, so I thought I’d take a stab at writing a rider for her. It’s never too soon to let your inner diva out. Y’all should feel free to reblog with your addenda and changes.
For Friday night performances, there shall be a bowl filled with red plain M&Ms and green peanut M&Ms.
For Saturday and Sunday performances, there shall be a bowl filled with green plain M&Ms and red peanut M&Ms and 17 blue peanut butter M&Ms.
Three heavy glass pitchers of water shall be provided. The water shall be drawn from the West Branch or Croton Falls reservoirs in New York.
No fewer than five and no more than seven silk covered seat cushions shall be provided.
She had curves in all the wrong places. She had a boob sticking out of her kneecap and I’d never seen an ass on the back of someone’s head before
She had legs that went on forever. And ever, and ever. Legs going on into the endless primordial void from which we all came from and to which we shall all return. Her toes touched infinity, her hips perched on the cessation of existence.
She was a tall drink of water.
But I loved her anyway and wiped the condensation off her glass in the hot summers and floated little googly eyes on top of her. I called her, “Mabel”.
Apparently everyone else knows this because none of the reviews I read (while trying to avoid spoilers) seemed to say.
UPDATE: or maybe it isn’t. That would explain why no one mentions the other two. Now I can’t remember where I saw that it was. Weird.
There are Hempstock women in The Graveyard Book (Liza), Stardust (Daisy), and The Ocean at the End of the Lane (Lettie). They are all related, Neil has confirmed this several times, but the books themselves are not a series.
Ah, ok. Sort of like several characters in Christopher Moore’s books set in San Francisco who appear in other books, but you don’t really need to have read the other books to understand their appearance in this book.
You know…it never occurred to me before, but I wonder if the Hempstock women aren’t a little inspired by Mrs. Who, Which, and Whatsit.
But I agree, In’N’Out’s fries, while wonderful, aren’t all they could be. And I don’t understand, because what the heck should you do differently? I mean, you get to actually see the potato get peeled and diced and fried right there, how could it be fresher? WE NEED FRENCH FRY SCIENCE TO STUDY THIS PROBLEM.
And in a recent major magazine survey, the Habit was found to produce the best fast food burger in the country. I believe this to be accurate, but there aren’t many Habits and In’N’Outs are conveniently located by many freeway offramps, so! Why can’t we, all, you know, get along? /rodney
French Fry science has studied this. Its greatest practitioner, in fact, studied hard.
The fries need to be frozen in order for the ice crystals to break down some of the internal cell structure prior to the final fry. You want great fries, you follow Kenji.
I get cold calls. I don’t use my work phone for anything, preferring to use Voice/Hangouts and my headphones on those rare occasions I do need to speak with anyone at work. But I have a work phone and my name & number is out there somewhere.
So I get cold calls. Mostly, from telemarketers trying to sell me JRebel (a tool for which had I even the slightest interest, I would long-since have been turned off). Multiple times a week. No matter how often I’d told them to excise me from their lists or how loudly I’d berated the caller, I’d get calls.
So, starting the other day, I’ve taken a new tack.
I did the “little child talking about his fun day” approach earlier this week; this morning, I tried to entice “Andy from JRebel” to tell me how he was going to take off his clothes and rub chocolate and whipped cream all over his naked body, because I certainly didn’t want to talk about JRebel.
After the call, I saw I had a LinkedIn request from Andy.
LinkedIn has a block feature; I didn’t ever feel a need for it before today.
Curious what I’ll do next when the cold callers come a-callin’.
Said he was wearing a plaid shirt, but I told him he’d have to take it off and get some whipped cream and chocolate. I had no interest in hearing about his company’s shitty product, but I was happy to hear about how he was going to rub food all over his naked body.
"The device, called Freedom4, brings the quantitative PCR method of DNA sequencing to the field. The brick-sized machine has a six-hour battery life and can process DNA samples in one step, identifying the presence and extent of, say, a norovirus infection in under an hour."
Hello, prototype tricorder.
I just want to know if it can distinguish tuna from butterfish so I can frakin’ eat sushi again.
First, let’s eliminate Saturday for obvious reasons. And Sunday? Well, sometimes Sunday night can be a bummer but we really can’t penalize a full day off for just a few hours at the end, can we?
Friday is pretty cool and Thursday brings the promise of Friday, so those two are off the list.
This leaves us with Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Wednesday is the middle of the week—Hump Day—which signals that you have somehow survived the first half. In my opinion, this places Wednesday in the “good pile” with both Thursday and Friday. Half-full days, if you will.
Now we are down to Monday and Tuesday. Monday gets all the hype for being crappy, first day of the work week, etc. But it does have a certain notoriety, celebrated in countless laments, jokes and even songs.
Tuesday on the other hand, is also at the beginning of the work week but lacks that level of celebrity. It. Just. Plain. Sucks. What does Tuesday have going for it? That it’s isn’t Monday? Right, and Stalin wasn’t Hitler. The promise of Wednesday? Woo hoo, tomorrow is the middle of the week.
No, Tuesday exists in its own lonely little hell that it agrees to share with us every week thanks a lot screw you, Tuesday.