oursin: (lolyeats)
[personal profile] oursin

From all overish:

Grab the nearest book.
Turn to page 126
The 6th full sentence is your life in 2026.

Huh. The nearest book is (probably) Eve Babitz, Eve's Hollywood (1974), and the sentence is

'And songs.'

Hmmmmm.

Alternatively, the nearest book is Callum G Brown, 90 Humanists and the Ethical Transition of Britain: the Open Conspiracy, 1930-80, in which p 126 is a blank page between chapters.

***

I rather liked this, because it accords with a lot of my own feelings that The Internet is not entirely a seething pit of toxicity and there are, actually, benefits:

[A]s someone who, like millions of others, lives in a different place to where I grew up, interacting with other people’s lives online and posting about my own could still provide a surprisingly wholesome function. It’s not just about bitching about my ex-classmates being arrested or getting into multi-level marketing scams. It’s also a way to stay connected, to feel less homesick.
During the pandemic, and before that when I had to isolate myself during chemotherapy, social media wasn’t just a distraction; it was a lifeline. It was a way to feel sane and engaged with people I couldn’t reach out and touch. If we couldn’t be together in person, I could at least see snippets of their world.
Even now that I am free to be out and about, I miss those snippets. I wish we weren’t too cool or too bored or too frightened of being judged to invite each other into our online lives a bit more. I think it’s time to bring back that connection.

***

*Though I had a version of 'the place that was there just now has disappeared' dream last night, where I was in some kind of train station, or maybe it was a platform with indicators, and saw a destination and time that I didn't need at that moment, and went back again because that was now what I wanted, and of course it was all different. Symbolickal?

(no subject)

Jan. 5th, 2026 10:10 am
[syndicated profile] apod_feed

Most galaxies have a single nucleus -- does this galaxy have four?  Most galaxies have a single nucleus -- does this galaxy have four?


(no subject)

Jan. 5th, 2026 09:49 am
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [staff profile] denise!

Choices (1)

Jan. 5th, 2026 09:22 am
the_comfortable_courtesan: image of a fan c. 1810 (Default)
[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan
But this election!

Alexander MacDonald, MA (Edinburgh), known to his intimates as Sandy, mounted the short flight of steps to the front door of the attractive residence in Mayfair that he shared with his dear friend Clorinda, Dowager Marchioness of Bexbury. The door was opened to him with almost sinister expedition by Hector, her major-domo.

Over the years he had more or less got over any embarrassment at being helped off with his over-garments, his hat placed carefully upon a rack, stick put out of the way, umbrella, should it be raining, taken to be put somewhere to dry – really, he was quite used to all this, after his years at Raxdell House and now here.

Is Her Ladyship in? he enquired.

In the parlour – and quite alone, Hector added. For one could not at all count upon that, even though it was not Clorinda’s usual day for being At Home to callers. There were so many of her acquaintance might come call for a more private convocation, or to discuss various matters of philanthropy in which she was engaged. He had no desire to intrude on anything of the kind.

Hector announced, Mr MacDonald, Your Ladyship –

O, really, Hector, why so ceremonious? La, I know what it is, he is still overcome that the dear Bishop came to call earlier –

Who would have supposed, years ago when Sandy had first come to know Clorinda, in those days one of the crack courtesans about Town, that she would be having bishops come call? She had first met Bishop Tanton by way of her dear friends the Reverend Dr Hugh Lucas, that was a rector in the diocese of Wyreminster, and his wife Agnes, and discovered him an enthusiast for the drama of the Middle Ages.

And, Sandy had remarked, your lovely eyes, for I am sure bishops do not dwell upon such things as what you were wont to refer to as your famed bubbies. Is he not a widower?

Clorinda had drooped her eyelids at him and said Sandy was a great teaze.

– There is some festival approaches – commemoration of some great event in the diocese – and he is very ardent to have their own miracle play produced. And really, I am by no means confident that it is suited to the refined taste of the present day, sure 'tis of great historic interest no doubt –

And hopes you may introduce him to your theatrical connexions?

Much about the like! said Clorinda with a sigh.

Came in Hector with the tea service and a well-supplied cake-stand.

As if I had not already had my fill, she said, but do you, Sandy, refresh yourself after your endeavours at enlightening young minds.

Tea and the various products of Euphemia’s baking came very grateful!

But in news I am sure you will find more interesting, she went on, for I know church matters are quite anathema to you, I have had a fine budget of news from Emmy di Serrante in Naples. And 'tis by no means the most important matter, but 'tis very amuzing I think you will admit: turns out that in Virginia, the sad end of the late Earl of Nuttenford is considered in the light of a cautionary tale about going about the woods unprepared as to the proper conduct when encountering a bear. For so happens some friend of the father of this Virginian family that she has met there was of the party, and avers that the inhabitants of those parts all know what to do in such a contingency to avoid being eat by the beast.

Sandy grinned and said, To point a moral, and adorn a tale!

Quite. However, it rather spoilt their chances of making up to the Imbremeres when they told the tale in their presence. But to proceed – Basil Linsleigh lingers there, quite besotted with the charms of the young man Marcello and his confederates have put in his way, painting him as every sort of god and hero –

Sandy groaned.

So it is quite the like of Odysseus and Circe. While as for the Imbremeres, they were intending to travel on, but Giulia read her cards for Verena and was very concerned about the prospects of travel. But Emmy supposes that that is less about any omens she saw and about observing Verena having been somewhat sickly and qualmish lately, and does that portend what one must suspect, 'tis wisest not to go to sea just yet. Also, Gussie finds a good deal of botanical interest, so is quite content to linger.

We apprehend that the young di Serrantes are also quite content to linger in those parts, rather than venturing further in the peninsula!

Clorinda sighed and said, 'twas a very pleasant spot. But that she fancied that Nardo found Marcello quite the finest mentor in matters of the cultivation of grapes and making of wine, and that, from what Sir Vernon hinted, Emmy was gleaning useful intelligence in those parts. Who would have supposed?

Sandy lifted his eyebrows and said, fancied her letters to La Signora Umberti also conveyed useful, if somewhat different, intelligence. He glanced at the clock and remarked that he should change – otherwise would be late for his chess game with Father O’Donoghue.

It is good of you to indulge an old fellow that believes you destined for hellfire!

Plays a very sharp game – and one must consider his fine dedication to the cause of Ireland –

Clorinda smiled at him. One might enquire whether he hears aught from Jimmie O’Callaghan in California.

When Sandy arrived at the aged priest’s lodgings, where he was looked after by a couple of much younger priests, or possibly religious of some other kind, Sandy did not interrogate, he discovered that Father O’Donoghue already had a visitor and had not yet set out the chessmen.

MacDonald! – sure the time has run away with us – let me introduce Rory Sullivan from Cork, that has been bringing me a fine budget of gossip, and also some whiskey – I daresay that as a Scot you will turn up your nose –

Sullivan the distiller? asked Sandy, one hears very well of his liquors. He had heard from Matt Johnson that this relative of Lady Wauderkell had been seen in Town about finding his errant cousin and resolving the matter of the family lawsuit, but had not known he still lingered.

Mr Sullivan said indeed so, was obliged to spend some time in England about this sad matter of his cousin Juliana – Lady Wauderkell that was, one understands that she is not entitled to the name of O’Neill and there is a bigamy action being brought against the scoundrel that lately eloped with her, but it waits upon the arrival of certain evidence.

But at least, praise God, she was in safe haven with those fine nuns – must be quite the best thing for her after her ordeals – what a very holy creature was her friend Sister Benedict –

Sandy managed not to splutter his whiskey at this description of a lady who, prior to taking the veil, had been a noted purveyor of special pleasures for gentlemen.

He was talking to the legal fellows at Hassetts – and had also been give several names about the possibility of importing Sullivan’s fine liquors – so remained in Town longer than had originally anticipated – and had heard that the good father was still in life –

Sandy wondered whether there was still some matter of the Irish Cause in play. Sure he had the greatest sympathy with that unhappy island, even was it still direly afflicted with Romish superstition besides the oppressions of the British government.

The conversation drifted towards the failings of the present government and the forthcoming election, though none of 'em were entire sanguine that matters would be improved. There was no suitable opening to enquire whether Father O’Donaghue had any intelligence of how Jimmie O’Callaghan got on in California, or indeed was he even still there.

So Sandy returned to the Mayfair house, and discovered matters there rather more pleasing than he had been in any anticipation of.

Though here was Sophy came to him in the library to wax somewhat indignant that here was Timothy, finds himself in a muddle over some matter to do with the Song and Supper Rooms, and thinks there is naught for it but to beg Maurice for his advice – at this time o’year! With all this additional press of business! 'tis quite shameful. But, at least, here is Euphemia goes make him a good sustaining supper, and you may persuade him to rest and that that he may sleep here –

It was, he supposed, no wonder that the household took his relations with Maurice quite in the normal order of things – Sophy had known how it was with her cousin since their youth – Clorinda’s establishment had ever been in great sympathy to love beyond the usual rules – not merely her lack of concern for monogamous union – but her long happy triangular relation with the late Josiah and Eliza Ferraby – her present liaison with Leda Hacker – and her long friendship with Gervase, the late Viscount Raxdell, Sandy’s former employer and lover, whose secrets she had protected for many years.

Came in Maurice, indeed looking somewhat worn. He threw himself into one of the easy-chairs and commenced upon complaining, not about Timothy’s demands, but the trials that at present beset that crack modiste’s, Mamzelle Bridgette.

'Tis bad enough that we do not have just the usual flurry upon on hand of dressing our patrons for a summer of going about country house parties, that we are used to accommodating – no, that is an expected thing – but this election! – o, there will be all sorts of balls and ceremonious occasions &C to dress for and aside from being dressed appropriate for such things, ‘tis a matter of the colours must be correct – even do they not in the least suit the lady in question, and one dares not suggest they turn their coat –

Sophy sighed in sympathy and said, very trying indeed. She would just go see did Euphemia have his supper ready.

Sandy went to kiss Maurice, stroke the dark curls, and then go to the cupboard in which he prudently kept a bottle of gin alongside port, brandy, and whisky, and poured out a glass.

There, my dear, you will feel better for that.

Maurice took a sip and looked up at Sandy with a sudden, enchanting, mischievous smile. La, you all go indulge my megrims! Well, I will go be a good boy and eat up my nice supper. And then – mayhap a little healthful recreation?

He could still make Sandy blush, but this had fortunately faded by the time Euphemia entered.


cahn: (Default)
[personal profile] cahn
I would like to show you a thing [personal profile] mildred_of_midgard, [personal profile] selenak, and I have been working on! Two things :D Two covers of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire," 18th-century versions!

Chronological, Prussian-centric version:



Non-chronological, Euro-centric (but not quite as Prussian-centric) one:



These were inspired by the Hildegard von Blingin' medieval/Renaissance cover that came out a year and a half ago. Clearly this was not something salon could let stand without trying to produce its own 18th-century version. (In fact, [personal profile] selenak posted about it on her DW and within twenty-four hours I was reading not one but TWO first drafts, one written by [personal profile] selenak and the other by [personal profile] mildred_of_midgard!)

So then we were committed to putting this thing together. It obviously took a while from there (quite a lot of that gap was unfortunately due to me, as I had limited times that I could record properly, and it took me a while to figure out the best way to do it -- the last time I did something even faintly like this was in grad school). [personal profile] mildred_of_midgard is the real MVP in terms of doing all the video/video-audio syncing, which was a LOT. Also: I apologize abjectly for pronunciation, which has never been my strength even in English, let alone anything else. But I hope you enjoy anyway! (And of course if you have any questions as to what any of the lines refer to, feel free to ask here or there and someone will answer! :D )
rachelmanija: (Books: old)
[personal profile] rachelmanija


I picked up this 1969 novel at a library book sale based on its premise. I had never heard of the author. One of the great pleasures of reading, at least for me, is trying random old books I've never heard of. In addition to the possibility that they might be good, they're also an interesting window into other times. (Often, alas, extremely racist and sexist times.)

Sixteen people, eight women and eight men, who were on a flight to London, wake up in plastic boxes on a short strip of road with a hotel, a grocery store, and two cars without engines. Everything else is a forest. Naturally, most of the women scream, faint, and cry, while most of the men randomly fight each other (!), or run around yelling. Our hero does this:

Russell Grahame, feeling oddly detached from the whole absurd carnival, ran his left hand mechanically and repeatedly through his hair in the characteristic manner that had earned him the sobriquet Brainstroker among his few friends in the House of Commons.

He then goes to the hotel, finds the bar, and has a drink. Everyone else eventually follows him, and he fixes them all drinks. They are a semi-random set of passengers, including two husband and wife couples, plus three young female domestic science students, one Indian, and one West Indian girl improbably named Selene Bergere. I have no idea why that name is improbable, but it's remarked on frequently as unlikely and eventually turns out to not be her real name (but everyone goes on calling her Selene, as she prefers it.) They can all understand each other despite speaking different languages.

Russell takes charge and appoints himself group leader. They find food (and cigarettes) at the market, select hotel rooms, and then the husband-and-wife physics teachers point out that 1) the constellations are not Earth's, 2) gravity is only 2/3rds Earth's and they can all jump six feet in the air! Astonishing that none of the others noticed before. I personally would have immediately run outside and fulfilled my lifelong dream of being able to do weightless leaping. Sadly none of them do this and the low gravity is never mentioned again.

They theorize that possibly they've been kidnapped by aliens, maybe for a zoo or experiment, and the gender balance means they're supposed to breed. Russell approvingly notes that many of the single people pair up immediately, and three of them threesome-up. This is like six hours after they arrived!

On the second night, one of the three female domestic science students kills herself because she feels unable to cope. The next day, a party goes exploring (Russell reluctantly allows women to take part as the Russian woman journalist reminds him that women are different from men but have their own strength) and one of the men falls in a spiked pit and dies. Good going, Russell! Three days and you've already lost one-eighth of your party!

All the supplies they take are replenished, and one of the men spies on the market and sees metal spiders adding more cartons of cigarettes. He freaks out and tries to kill himself.

I feel like a random selection of sixteen people ought to be slightly less suicidal, even under pressure. In fact probably especially under a sort of pressure in which everyone has quite nice food and shelter, and they seem perfectly safe as long as they don't explore the forest.

One of the guys tries to capture a spider robot, but gets tangled up in the wire he used as a trap and dragged to death. Again, this group is really not the best at survival.

We randomly get some diary entries from a gay guy who's sad that no one else is gay. He confesses to Russell that he's gay and Russell, in definitely his best moment, just says, "Wow, that must be really hard for you to not have any sexual partners here." Those are the only diary entries we get, and none of this ever comes up again.

They soon find that there are three other groups. One is a kind of feudal warrior people from a world that isn't earth where they ride and live off deer-horse creatures. Another is Stone Age people, who dug the spiked pits to hunt for food. The third are fairies. The language spell allows them all to communicate, except no one can speak to the fairies as they just appear for an instant then vanish. The non-fairy groups confirm that they were also vanished from where they come from.

Russell and his now-girlfriend Anna the Russian journalist theorize that the fairies are the ones who kidnapped them. They and a Stone Age guy set out to find the fairies...

And then chickens save the day! )

So, was this a good book? Not really. Did anyone edit it? Doubtful. Did it have some interesting ideas and a good twist? Yes. Did I enjoy the hour and a half I spent reading it? Also yes. Would I ever re-read it? No. Do I recommend it? Only if you happen to also find it at a library book sale.

I am now 2 for 2 in reviewing every full length book I read in 2026! (I have not yet gotten to one manga, Night of the Living Cat # 1, and six single-issue comics, three each of Roots of Madness and They're All Terrible.) I think doing so will be good for my mental health and possibly also yours, considering what I and you could be doing on the internet instead of reading books and writing or reading book reviews.

Can I continue this streak??? Are you enjoying it?

Culinary

Jan. 4th, 2026 07:54 pm
oursin: Frontispiece from C17th household manual (Accomplisht Lady)
[personal profile] oursin

This week's bread: the Collister/Blake My Favourite Loaf, strong white/wholemeal/light spelt flour. Okay, but not as nice as sometimes.

New Year's Eve evening meal: partridges with ducky little bacon weskits, pot-roasted in brandy and port (the drainings of the port, less than I thought we had) (one of them for some reason turned out partially undercooked, not sure why that was); served with cornmeal cakes, which for some reason turned out less satisfactory than usual, possibly the batter was a tad too slack, fine green beans and sliced baby peppers roasted in walnut oil with fennel seeds and splashed with gooseberry vinegar and cauliflower florets roasted in pumpkin seed oil with cumin seeds and splashed with tayberry vinegar.

Saturday breakfast rolls: basic buttermilk, light spelt flour, worked rather well.

Today's lunch: kedgeree with smoked haddock and quails' eggs (the rice took an unconscionable time to cook and possibly I slightly I overdid the cayenne), and a salad of little gem lettuce, white chicory and baby tomatoes dressed with salt, pepper, lime juice and avocado oil.

Snowflake (pet), and 2025 book meme

Jan. 3rd, 2026 07:04 pm
hamsterwoman: (ASOIAF -- Blinky Tully)
[personal profile] hamsterwoman
two log cabins with snow on the roofs in a wintery forest the text snowflake challenge january 1 - 31 in white cursive text

Challenge #2: Pets of Fandom: Loosely defined! Post about your pets, pets from your canon, anything you want!

I was going to say that I don’t have any pets, but I guess that’s not true anymore: we do have the “sidewalk fish”, so called because we rescued them from the sidewalk when our neighbors moved out and left an aquarium full of murky water along with other garbage for trash pickup. Sidewalk fish story ) My daughter subsequently added some shrimp to the tank (now known as “the shrimpfestation”) and also a mystery snail, who proceeded to do what mystery snails do and gift us with progeny. The current snail count of the tank are two adult snails, a blue and a magenta, who are the children of that original snail, and >20 baby snails, the third generation. (Anyone want a mystery snail?)

Feeeesh )

As for pets-in-my-fandoms, a couple pop up here and there, more or less significantly – I mean, Bill the Pony is not quite a pet, Bel Thorne’s exotic pet hamster is hilarious to me personally but extremely minor, I’m not all that fond of more significant pets/pet-adjacent critters in my fandoms, like Toby the wonder dog in Rivers of London or Greebo in Discworld. But my answer to this is definitely Loiosh in the Vlad Taltos books. He is also not exactly a pet, being, rather, a witch’s familiar with a very serious job to do, and also a sapient creature, but he is also not NOT a pet, and I’ve wanted a wiseass shoulder-dragon ever since meeting him.

*

2025 books and book meme:

2025 book list )

My usual year-end book meme )

Butterfly, by Kathryn Harvey

Jan. 3rd, 2026 12:11 pm
rachelmanija: (Books: old)
[personal profile] rachelmanija
My New Year's resolution is to attempt to review every full-length published book that I read this year. We'll see how it goes. For my first full-length read of 2026, which is obviously highly symbolic, I have of course carefully selected a beautifully written novel with deep themes and social importance.

Just kidding! I randomly picked up a trashy beach read novel from the 80s, purchased at a thrift shop, while in the bathroom, got surprisingly engrossed in it, and took it out of the bathroom to read on the sofa. Which, to be fair, is probably symbolic of both the year to come and my reading habits in general.



Above an exclusive men's store on Rodeo Drive there is a private club called Butterfly, where women are free to act out their secret erotic fantasies.

I have a thing for "fancy sex club/brothel with highly-paid sex workers who like their jobs and fulfill your erotic fantasies." So I bought this book (50 cents, at a thrift shop) and actually read it even though it's in a genre I almost never read, which is the fat beach read about rich people's sex lives written in the 1980s.

Butterfly follows three women who patronize the club, Butterfly. It's named for the beautiful little butterfly charm bracelets women wear to the store to identify themselves to the staff as patrons of the club, so they can be whisked upstairs to have their sexual fantasies satisfied (just by men, alas), whether that means recreating a cowboy bar complete with sawdust on the floor to a bedroom where a sexy burglar breaks in to a dinner date where you argue about books, yes really. The women are all accomplished and successful, but have something missing or wrong in their lives: the surgeon can't have an orgasm, the pool designer deals with on the job sexism, and the lawyer is married to an emotionally abusive asshole. Their time at Butterfly leads, whether directly or indirectly, to positive changes in their lives.

Spoilers are almost certainly not what you're expecting. )

This novel, while dealing seriously with some serious topics, is also basically a fun beach read. I read it in winter with a space heater and hot cider, which also works. I'm not sure it converted me to the general genre of 80s beach reads, but I sincerely enjoyed it.

Content notes: Child sexual abuse, child sexual slavery (not at the Butterfly sex club, everyone's a consenting adult there), forced abortion, emotional abuse.

Randomish things

Jan. 3rd, 2026 03:50 pm
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin

This one got occluded by festivities - Converts by Melanie McDonagh review – roads to Rome:

There is, too, a notable lack of women in this book, notwithstanding chapters on Gwen John, Spark and the Oxford philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe.

So, not just literary stars who took The Road to Rome and NO LETITIA FAIRFIELD who probably breaks a lot of the patterns by continuing to be a left-wing and feminist (stroppily so) public health doctor and vocal against what we would now call patriarchal misogyny within the Church (she was so Dame Rebecca's sister even if they didn't get on).

***

Lucy Mangan on John Lewis's 'members' lounge' - I have a distant recollection that back in the day when department stores were first A Thing, they did in fact have lounges where shopping ladies could repose themselves, along with facilities. Probably not drinkies and chocs, though.

***

The only known photographs of mathematician and computing pioneer Ada Lovelace have been acquired by the National Portrait Gallery just before they were expected to be sold to a private buyer. Fairly early instances of the photographic art, too.

***

Murkying the waters: The Lies and Falsifications of Oliver Sacks:

Rachel Aviv explored the personal journals of the celebrated neurologist and writer Oliver Sacks. What she found was shocking: he had fabricated and embellished some of his most well-known work — like Awakenings and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

***

On a rather different diary story: the prolonged saga of publishing Pepys: who would have believed this, over whether to go ahead and include all Samuel's more smutty adventures:

In 1960, while Penguin was being prosecuted for the publication of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Magdalene sought the advice of its fellows on whether to proceed with a complete edition. C.S. Lewis argued that it would be ‘pusillanimous and unscholarly’ to hold back. Society, he wrote, was already so corrupted that the supposed further harm of ‘printing a few, obscure and widely separated passages in a very long and expensive book, seems to me unrealistic or even hypocritical’.

Yay Jack!

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