More planopodes

Oct. 22nd, 2017 09:48 pm
firstfrost: (knit)
[personal profile] firstfrost
 Three sets of nine octopodes made to look like planets

Okay, [personal profile] dcltdw and [personal profile] astra_nomer are in on it too. Delivery soon!


Oct. 22nd, 2017 08:02 pm
settiai: (D&D -- settiai)
[personal profile] settiai
Wow. This weekend has been an absolute roller coaster when it comes to D&D. Rambling under the cut. )


Oct. 22nd, 2017 07:34 pm
settiai: (Keyleth -- settiai)
[personal profile] settiai
So... as those of you who follow me on Twitter know, I accidentally adopted a new cat last weekend. Oops?

Long story short: one of my coworkers has a teenage son who's in college. Said son adopted a cat back in the spring, decided over summer vacation that she was too much work, and left her with his parents when he went back to school. His mom is severely allergic to cats. They tried keeping her for a few weeks, but my coworker's wife ended up in the emergency room unable to breathe because of it, so the cat ended up with me somewhat unexpectedly.

(I'd volunteered to take her, on the condition that WWIII didn't break out in my apartment when I tried introducing a third cat to the mix, but it was something that was tentative and wasn't planned for at least several more weeks. Then I got a phone call last Saturday night asking if my coworker could come by the next morning.)


Everyone, meet Keyleth (also known as Kiki.)

Garrus and Percy have been fine with her from the beginning. They've definitely been more curious than anything else. She, on the other hand, has been a little more wary. At this point, she's just starting to get used to being in a new environment with two much-larger-than-her cats around. (Kiki's approximately two years old, but she's tiny. Even smaller than Tali was, which is saying something.)

So far, so good. I left them alone without shutting anyone up in the bedroom for the first time earlier today, while I played D&D over at the game store near my place, and the apartment was still standing when I got home. Kiki's still somewhat wary of Garrus and Percy, but the worst she's done is hiss and go pout under the bed for a little while before coming back out. And neither of them seems to be taking offense to it, so they're just leaving her be for a bit when she gets to that point.
sovay: (PJ Harvey: crow)
[personal profile] sovay
Today was very pleasant but very tiring. It has been a sleepless week, most of yesterday was a migraine, and I feel exhausted to the point of stupidity. In lieu of a movie I really need my brain for, here's one I can talk about while wanting to pass out.

Last October I watched but never wrote about Norman Foster's Woman on the Run (1950), a famously near-lost noir painstakingly restored by the UCLA Film & Television Archive and the Film Noir Foundation and released last year onto home media as a double bill with Byron Haskin's Too Late for Tears (1949). Part of the delay is that I liked but did not love the former film as I did the latter with its stone cold antiheroine and uncompromising final shot; this one suffers more from the congealing sexism of the nascent Fifties and as a result its emotional resolution leaves a tacky taste on my teeth and an inchoate longing for the advent of no-fault divorce. If you can bear with its limitations, however, Woman on the Run is worth checking out as a thoughtfully layered mystery and a fantastic showcase for Ann Sheridan as an unapologetically bitchy, unsentimentally sympathetic protagonist, a rare combination in Hollywood even now.

The 1948 source short story by Sylvia Tate was titled "Man on the Run" and the film begins with one: late-night dog-walker Frank Johnson (Ross Elliott) who takes a powder on learning that the murder he conscientiously reported—and witnessed at close enough range to know the killer again—was connected to a high-profile mob trial. A failed artist with a bad heart and a marriage that's been on the rocks almost since it launched, he looks tailor-made for the dark city, a loser coming up on his final throw. The camera doesn't follow him into the night-maze of San Francisco, though, to face or keep running from his demons in the kind of psychomachia at which an expressionist genre like noir so excels; instead the point of view switches almost at once to his estranged wife Eleanor (Sheridan), wearily deflecting the inquiries of the hard-nosed Inspector Ferris (Robert Keith, who will always look like Lieutenant Brannigan to me) with flat sarcastic cracks and an indifference so apparently genuine and total, it can take the audience a beat to recognize the depths of anger and resignation that underlie lines like "No, sometimes he goes to sleep and I walk the dog." Ever since Max Ophüls' The Reckless Moment (1949), I have been wary of assuming the limits of women in noir, but Eleanor still stands out for me in her flippant, abrasive intelligence and her willingness to look bad—she knows it shocks the conservative inspector that she isn't all housewifely concern for her man and she needles him with it, referring to the dog as their "only mutual friend" and dismissing the bare kitchen with "He's not particular and I'm lazy, so we eat out." Faced with the possibility that Frank has taken his brush with the underworld as an excuse to run out on his marriage, she's more than half inclined to let him. But she's not inclined to let him get killed, especially not playing star witness for a police force whose last star witness got whacked while Frank was watching, and so in the best traditions of amateur detecting, complete with dubious Watson in the form of "Legget of the Graphic" (Dennis O'Keefe), the flirty tabloid reporter who offered his services plus a thousand-dollar sweetener in exchange for exclusive rights to Frank's story, Eleanor sets out to find her missing husband before either the killer or a duty-bound Ferris can. He's left her a clue to his whereabouts, a cryptic note promising to wait for her "in a place like the one where I first lost you." In a relationship full of quarrels and frustrations, that could be anywhere, from their favorite Chinese hangout to the wharves of his "social protest period" to the tower viewers at the top of Telegraph Hill. Let the investigations begin.

I like this setup, which gives us the city as memory palace after all: Eleanor's memories of her relationship with Frank, what it was like when it was good and where it failed and how it might be reclaimed again, if she can only find him alive. She is almost being asked to perform a spell. And while I suppose she could have done it on the sympathetic magic of a Hollywood backlot, it is much more satisfying to watch her revisit real statues and sidewalks, real crowds unaware of the private earthquake taking place in their midst. Hal Mohr's cinematography is a street-level document of San Francisco in 1950, with a cameo by our old friend Bunker Hill; he can organize shadows and angles as effectively as the next Oscar-winning DP when he needs to, but he keeps the majority of the action on the daylit side of noir, the lived-in, working-class city with Navy stores and department stores and parks and piers and diners and lots of California sun, which only looks like it shows you everything. The literal roller-coaster climax was filmed at Ocean Park Pier/Pacific Ocean Park, last seen on this blog in Curtis Harrington's Night Tide (1960). Back at the Johnsons' bleak, hotel-like apartment, Eleanor mocked Ferris for "snoop[ing] into the remains of our marriage," but increasingly it seems not to be as cold a case as she thought. Going back over old ground, she discovers new angles on her missing person; nondescript in his introductory scenes and ghostly in his own life, Frank Johnson becomes vivid in absence, hovering over the narrative like Harry Lime in Carol Reed's The Third Man (1949) or the title character of Otto Preminger's Laura (1944) until his wife begins to see a curiously attractive stranger in the place of a man whose familiarity had long since bred hopelessness. To fall in love with someone who might already be dead, to find someone in the process of losing them, these are the kinds of irony that noir thrives on and Woman on the Run derives as much tension from the audience's fear that irony will carry the day as it does from the actual unknowns of the plot, the killer's identity, Frank's status, Eleanor's own safety as her sleuthing calls for ever more active deception of the police and reliance on Legget, who keeps saying things like "I'm sorry I was so rude a moment ago, but it's always discouraging to hear a wife say that her husband loves her." He is another unexpected element, not without precedent but nicely handled. In most genres, his pushy charm and his genial stalking of Eleanor would mark him as the romantic hero, or at least an appealing alternative to a husband so avoidant he couldn't even tell his own wife when he was diagnosed with a serious heart condition. Here, with a triangle already established between Eleanor and the husband she knows and the husband she doesn't, the reporter is a fourth wheel at best and the audience hopes he accepts it. Without a reciprocating spark, it's not as cute as he thinks when he encourages Eleanor to call him "Danny Boy" ("People who like me call me Danny Boy") or leads her casually under the same wooden coaster where he used to bring dates, his contribution perhaps to the film's romantic psychogeography.

Honestly, I don't even dislike the resolution on the strict level of plot. By the time Eleanor realizes that the place where I first lost you isn't a bitter dig at a bad memory but a hopeful allusion to a good one, the audience is sufficiently invested in the reunion of these long-fractured lovers—despite the fact that we've never once seen them together, even in photographs or Frank's sketches and paintings—that to frustrate it would feel deliberately unfair, although of course in noir that never rules anything out. They're both taking chances, not just with their lives but their hearts. Frank who always runs away is standing his ground, risking being found by a gunman and a partner he's disappointed. Eleanor who has built such prickly defenses is lowering them, making herself reach out rather than preemptively rebuff. You want to see that kind of bravery rewarded, even when heart conditions and prowling killers aren't involved. What I dislike in the extreme is the film's attitude toward this conclusion. In its examination of the Johnsons' marriage, the facts of the script assign plenty of blame to Frank, an artist too scared of failure to try for success, a husband who retreated from his wife as soon as he felt that he'd let her down, a man who could talk about his feelings to everyone but the woman he was living with. The dialogue, however, insists repeatedly that the ultimate success or collapse of a marriage is the woman's responsibility—that it must be Eleanor's fault that her marriage went south, that she wasn't patient or understanding or supportive enough, that she has to be the one to change. It's implied in some of her encounters; in others it's stated outright. Inspector Ferris constantly judges her as a wife and a woman, even once asking "Didn't your husband ever beat you?" when she tells him to back off. He's the dry voice of authority, the hard-boiled but honest cop; I want to believe that Eleanor is decoying him when she apologizes for not believing his criticism sooner ("I guess I was the one who was mixed up—a lot of it's my fault anyway—I haven't been much of a wife"), but I fear we're meant to take her at face value. He's too active in the film's ending not to be right. Hence my wistful feelings toward California's Family Law Act of 1969. Sheridan's acting carries her change of heart from resolutely not caring to clear-eyed second chance, but I almost wish it didn't have to. At least she has a good rejoinder when Frank queries their future together, wry as any of her defensive cracks: "If this excitement hasn't killed you, I'm sure I can't."

The movies with which Woman on the Run links itself up in my head are Robert Siodmak's Phantom Lady (1944) and Roy William Neill's Black Angel (1946), both stories of investigating women with ambiguous allies and ghostly romantic patterns; Sheridan's Eleanor is a harder, less conventionally likeable protagonist than either Ella Raines' Kansas or June Vincent's Cathy, which may account for why the patriarchy comes down on her with such personified, decisive disapproval, or it may be the distance from wartime, or it may be some other idiosyncratic factor that still annoys me. The fact that I can read the ending as happy rather than rubber-stamped heteronormativity is due almost entirely to Sheridan, who never loses all of Eleanor's edges any more than she slips out of her angular plaid overcoat into something more comfortable, plus the final cutaway to the Laughing Sal on the lit-up midway, rocking back and forth as if a husband and wife embracing is some great joke. Maybe it is. What makes this couple, so fervently clinging to one another, so special? He writes a nice love-note. She climbs out a skylight like nobody's business. They named their dog Rembrandt. This reunion brought you by my particular backers at Patreon.

Woman on the Run

...the purrmian what?

Oct. 21st, 2017 07:06 pm
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[personal profile] gale_storm

Purr and Meow!

The other day, these tie pins I ordered from Doodlecats arrived, and Per asked, ‘What, is that for the purrmian extinction event?’

’If it involved cats, maybe,’ I said, laughing.

For anyone who doesn’t know, he was referring to the Permian-Triassic Extinction Event, from 252 million years ago, when a significant amount of biodiversity on the planet was lost. Could’ve been called a re-boot incident, for all I know. But, this is one of the odd things about Per that make me love him like I do!

Graze Box #35

Oct. 20th, 2017 03:21 pm
fauxklore: (Default)
[personal profile] fauxklore
Salted Fudge & Peanut Cookie: This is a mixture of salted peanuts, redskin peanuts, vanilla fudge, and miniature chocolate cookies. It has 230 calories and 7 grams of protein. There are a lot of peanuts, compared to cookies and fudge, so it is harder than usual to eat all of the components together. This is tasty but could be better balanced.

Lightly Salted Popping Corn: This is really straightforward – 130 calories worth of microwave popcorn. It pops up well and the serving size is very good as far as I’m concerned. Not exciting, but a perfectly good snack.

Sweet Rhubarb Jam: This is a mix of dried fruit – rhubarb slices, apples slices, and cranberries. It has 110 calories. It’s an excellent mix of sweet and tart. This is one of the more interesting fruit snacks Graze offers and I am always happy to get it.

Apple & Cinnamon Flapjack: This is a soft oat granola bar with dried apple and cinnamon. It has 240 calories. I like all of the Graze flapjacks. This is one of the ones I like less, which means it is still good, while others are absolutely spectacular. It’s filling enough to be handy when you know lunch will be delayed (if eaten at all).

Active Nutrient Blend: This is a mix of walnuts, pumpkin seeds, and chopped dates. It has 170 calories. This is a very tasty and reasonably well-balanced snack. The only issue I have is that the walnut pieces are rather bigger than everything else, so it’s hard to eat all three components together. I should note that I really like dates, but I hardly ever eat them. I should do something about that.

Sweet & Spicy Beet Crunch (new): This is a mix of beet chips, jalapeno chickpeas, and sunflower seeds. It has 100 calories. I was looking forward to trying this, but was also apprehensive since the reviews on Graze’s website were decidedly mixed. I’m relieved to say that I liked it a lot. The beet chips (which are dried, not fried, by the way) were crunchy and tasty. The chickpeas were not super spicy but were nicely crunchy. The sunflower seeds were the least interesting part of this, but mixed well with the other ingredients. This is, admittedly, a bit weird, but it worked for me. I should note that beets are something else that I like but don’t really eat often. There seems to be something of a pattern here.

Caramel Apple: This consists of dried apple slices and a caramel sauce to dip them in. It has 80 calories. The caramel sauce is incredibly delicious, probably because it is heavy on the golden syrup. Yum.

Louisiana Wild Rice and Reans: This is a mix of wild rice sticks and chili broad beans. It has 140 calories. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Louisiana since wild rice is actually a northern Plains thing, but who cares? It’s nicely crunchy and spicy, which are pretty much the primary attributes of good savory snacks as far as I am concerned. Very good,

Accomplishment chart, 10/13 – 10/19

Oct. 20th, 2017 09:48 am
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[personal profile] breakinglight11
Accomplishment chart, 10/13 – 10/19


- wrote "Love is Dead" ten-minute play for Theatre@First's 24-hour charity fundraiser play festival
- drafted parts 1 and 2 of CORP-CRIM faction companion quest for Susurrus game

- scenic design with Bernie for Gilded Cages at Arisia 2018
- blocked scenes 1.2a-b, 1.5b, 2.1a, 2.2a-c, 2.6b-c for Gilded Cages at Arisia 2018
- had 2 rehearsals for Base Instruments at Arisia 2018
- had 1 rehearsal for Gilded Cages at Arisia 2018

- 3 two-mile runs
- 2 weight machine routines

- listened to episode 131 of Tom and Lorenzo’s Pop Style Opinionfest

- taught 4 English Comp classes and 2 Writing and the Literary Arts classes
- graded 20 Writing and the Literary Arts essays

- made pork chops and steamed broccoli
- made cream of broccoli soup

Much Socializing

Oct. 19th, 2017 03:29 pm
fauxklore: (Default)
[personal profile] fauxklore
Stupidest Swag Ever: When I wrote about the MIT School of Engineering Reception, I forgot to mention the swag they gave us. The silver shopping bag looked elegant, but what it had was a sleep mask with the words "engineer at rest." Oy.

The Grapevine: I dragged myself to Busboys and Poets in Takoma last Wednesday for storytelling with Angela Lloyd and Robin Bady, two of my favorite wild women. Angela had a great mix of stories, ranging from shopping with a man who was going to hop a train to her version of Cinderella. (Glass slippers go with everything.) Robin focused on the ghostly. As I expected, it was a great evening of stories and I only wish I’d had more time to hang out with both of these wonderful ladies.

Fall For the Book: Thursday night was another storytelling event – a Better Said Than Done show for the Fall for the Book festival. The theme was "Air Guitar: stories about faking, music, and playing with heart." I told a story about the trauma I suffered as a child at the hands of (well, keys of) a Baldwin Acrosonic spinet piano - and my brother. The story mostly worked, though I still think the ending could use some improvement. Overall, it was interesting to see how various tellers interpreted the theme and the show was a lot of fun, though the audience was on the small side. There was also lots of great conversation with other tellers before and after the show.

TCC: On Saturday, I went to a Travelers’ Century Club luncheon. TCC is a group for people who have been to over 100 countries and territories. The catch is that their list of countries and territories is rather broad (e.g. Alaska and Hawaii get counted separately from CONUS). So I have rather mixed feelings about the whole thing, but it is always good to hang out with other well-traveled people. I had a lot of good conversations with interesting people (e..g the U.S. ambassador to Benin and her husband; she was surprised to be sitting between two people who had actually been to Benin). There were other people I would have liked to have gotten more time to talk with. Schedule permitting, I will try to go to future luncheons.

An Act of G-d: I saw this play at Signature Theatre on Sunday afternoon. The premise is that the Lord has come down to earth, inhabiting the body of actor – make that 7-times Helen Hayes award nominated actor – Tom Story and is going to revise the 10 commandments. The show is based on a twitter feed by David Javerbaum. That twitter sensibility makes for a lot of wisecracking and no real narrative line. There’s a lot of local insider humor (e.g. a reference to Bobby Smith, who is a better-known local actor). Some of it is genuinely funny, while some of the jokes are total groaners. The basic premise is that G-d created man in His image – and He is an asshole. Illustrative examples abound. It’s worth seeing as long as you aren’t really expecting anything particularly profound.

WBRS Reception: Sunday night was another reception at the Willard Intercontinental, this time for the William Barton Rogers Society, which has to do with donating above a certain amount of money to MIT. There was plenty of good conversation and very tasty food (heavy appetizers before the speaker, desserts after). The speech was about the D-Lab, which is MIT’s effort to involve students with projects in the developing world. I wish something like that had existed back in my undergraduate days, though I would probably have been too wimpy and conventional to get involved in it. As well-traveled as I am now, I can’t imagine 19-year-old me going to, say, Ghana. Anyway, the reception was a nice evening out. And, thankfully, no swag.
[personal profile] ron_newman posting in [community profile] davis_square
Bernie Sanders is coming to ONCE Lounge, 156 Highland Avenue, next Monday, October 23, at 9:30 am. He will be endorsing progressive candidates for local office in Somerville and Cambridge. RSVP here.

Apologies like the birds in the sky

Oct. 18th, 2017 05:29 am
sovay: (Haruspex: Autumn War)
[personal profile] sovay
I have been having an absolutely miserable night, but after venting at length to [personal profile] spatch about Brian Jacques' Outcast of Redwall (1995) I spent at least an hour reading about various mustelids online, including several species (tayra, hog badger, ferret-badger, grison) I hadn't known existed, and I think that was good for me.

(I liked ferrets. I found them clever, beautiful, charming creatures. I had had a stuffed animal black-footed ferret since late elementary school. By the time Outcast came out, I even knew several domestic ferrets in person; they were playful and I did not object to their smell. That was the novel where I realized that Jacques' species essentialism was immutable, and I felt painfully betrayed. I understood the long shadow of The Wind in the Willows, but I couldn't understand how Jacques could miss that his readers would at some point identify with Veil, the orphaned ferret kit adopted into a society of mice and voles and moles—the outsider, the one who feels there's something wrong with them for just being what they are—and then fail to see how it would hurt them to have Veil confirmed as irredeemable, genetically evil after all. He went so far as to give a morally ambiguous character a selfless death scene and then retract it a few chapters later. That ending accomplished what endless recipes for damson and chestnut and Mummerset dialect could not: I burnt out on the series on some deep level and have never even now gone back, despite positive memories of the first four books and their unique combination of cozy talking animals and total batshit weirdness. If you can't appreciate ferrets, I'm out of time for you.)

Midnight Snack Time

Oct. 17th, 2017 03:40 pm
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[personal profile] deguspice
The cat is making it very clear that I should step away from the computer and instead that I should worship feed him.

Genealogy Notes

Oct. 17th, 2017 03:08 pm
fauxklore: (Default)
[personal profile] fauxklore
I have plenty of things to write about, but I want to make sure to capture this before I forget about it.

More NODEL Mysteries:

A while back I’d found some interesting info in Kaunas, Lithuania voter registration records from December 1940. Namely, that my grandparents had other people living in their apartment who were almost certainly relatives. Those were Icik and Leja NODEL. I finally got around to doing a bit of digging for them and found their marriage record. It turns out Icik was Icik Leizer, the son of Iser. His mother was Base Leja SAVELOVICH and he was born in Naumiestis in 1910. On 29 August 1937 in Palanga, he married Leja LIKHTER, the daughter of Codik and Beile, born in 1917 in Raseiniai. This all matches the voter registration record, so I can be fairly sure these are the right people.

A bit more searching turned up his brother, Yankel Leib, born 19 January 1912 in Zemaiciu Naumiestis, whose father’s name is given as Sroelis. (Which is really Sroel, once one removes the Lithuanian endings of names.) Yankel Leib married Asne BLIUMBERG (born 1909 to Chackel and Feige in Zemaiciu Naumiestis) on 3 June 1939. Basia Leya shows up with her two sons in a 1915 family list in Zemaiciu Naumiestis, along with a daughter, Sora Dobe, who appears to have been born in 1914. The family fled to Kvedarna / Koinstantinov and the sum of their destroyed property was 907 rubles. I have no idea where that placed them economically at the time. Basia Leya is shown as the head of household. Had Srol / Iser died? Or were they divorced?

So who is Srol / Iser? Those are both nicknames for Izrael. Unfortunately, that leads to lots of confusion. My great-great-grandfather did have a brother named Izrael Ber, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to tie him to Naumiestis. And he never shows up as just Izrael in any records. Moreover, he died in 1925 in Rokiskis and he’d had several children there, during a period that seems to overlap with the births above. So I’m not convinced that’s him. There are other possibilities, but I need more records to prove anything.

My Great-Grandmother's Husbands:

On an entirely different note, I think I have finally sorted out all of my great-grandmother’s marriages. She was born Tsivia BRUSKIN in Daugavpils, Latvia in about 1876. She married:

  1. Shlomo BIKSON in Vilnius on 20 Dece3mber 1895. He died in Vilnius on 12 April 1901 of typhoid fever.

  2. Pinchas NODEL (my great-grandfather) in Vilnius on 11 September 1905. He died in Vilnius on 15 December 1909 of appendicitis.

  3. Rubin SHUB. Not clear exactly when they were married, but they were divorced in Kaunas on 12 May 1929.

  4. Gerson TSESLITSKI in Kaunas on 19 July 1932.
sovay: (PJ Harvey: crow)
[personal profile] sovay
I am not really catching up on anything. The night we got home from New York, there was an exciting cat-related incident at five in the morning that kept everyone from sleeping until after the sun came up (everyone is fine, cats included), and this morning we were awoken shortly after eight by the sounds of construction thinly separated from our bedroom by some tarpaper and shingles. It is the roofers finally come to prevent further ice dams, but they were supposed to come this weekend while we were out of town and instead they are forecast for the rest of the week. I assume I will sleep sometime on Saturday.

1. There is a meme going around Facebook about the five films you would tell someone to watch in order to understand you. I've been saying Powell and Pressburger's A Canterbury Tale (1944), Ron Howard's Splash (1984), Derek Jarman's Wittgenstein (1993), John Ford's The Long Voyage Home (1940), and The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953). Which is hardly complete, but adding postscripts feels like cheating, so I haven't. The internet being what it is, of course, I first saw this meme in the mutated form of the five weird meats you would tell someone to eat in order to understand you, to which I had no difficulty replying: venison, blood sausage, snails, goat, and raw salmon.

2. In other memetic news, I tried the Midwest National Parks' automatic costume generator:

National Park Costume Ideas

and while I don't think "Paranoid Hellbender" is a good costume, it'd be a great hardcore band.

3. I haven't done an autumnal mix in a while, so here is a selection of things that have been seasonally rotating. This one definitely tips more toward Halloween.

The sound of a thousand souls slipping under )

I would really like to be writing about anything.

P.S. I just want to point out that if you have recently seen The Robots of Death (1977) and you open a copy of the official tie-in anthology Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View (2017) and see a pair of characters named Poul and Toos, it is extremely confusing that the former is female, the latter is male, they are respectively a senior and a junior officer aboard the Death Star, and neither of them has a problem with robots.

Holly Poly

Oct. 16th, 2017 10:14 pm
settiai: (Numinous World -- settiai)
[personal profile] settiai
Whoever nominated all of the Numinous World relationships for Holly Poly, I love you. ♥

(If it's not someone reading this, I'm going to be very surprised. Impressed, but surprised.)

Farewell Foodler

Oct. 16th, 2017 06:25 pm
bex77: (Cutlery)
[personal profile] bex77
Welcome to my personal wake for Foodler this evening.  

Tonight is the final night before my favorite restaurant delivery service ceases to exist, having been absorbed by the more pedestrianly named GrubHub during some corporate shenanigans.  So I went for a little cruise around their website for the last time.  After 904 personal orders and 104 for work, I will be headed elsewhere the next time I want to order in.   

We've been together for nearly 10 years - my first order was from Cinderella's in Central Square on November 9, 2007.  My final order was October 9, 2017 from Beantown Taqueria in the same area.  

I ordered from restaurants around the corner and across the river, from places I know to places I learned about on Foodler and have never been inside.
 There are lots of places long gone - Pu Pu Hot Pot, Dolphin Seafood, Snack Bar, Spice & Rice, Alfresco, Lady Siam, Cambridge Coffee & Pizza, Potato Freak.  Some places we placed one order and decided never again, others we ordered over and over... and over.  I never lost the thrill of not having to call to place an order or read my credit card - just click on "repeat order," tweak it a bit and hit SUBMIT.  

I remember the breakfasts, lunches, dinners, late night snacks and random indulgences like ice cream or chocolate cake.  I've had all sorts of food - pizza, burgers, omelettes, muffins, rice, noodles, mashed potatoes and home fries and fries and chips, wraps, subs, gyros, wings, smoothies, sushi, dim sum, turkey dinners, dumplings, soups and even Cream of Wheat!  I enjoyed Thai, Chinese, Italian, Vietnamese, Korean, Mexican, Indian, Japanese, Greek, Swiss and more!  

I learned all the tricks to maximize the points earned for each order, and ended up with hundreds of dollars in free food over the years.  I am so sad to see that benefit go!  

I adored their "Best Bets"
 sectiontelling me what they thought I'd like to eat, based on my past orders.  I especially like the little green check marks telling me I'd ordered it before.  I often look for those on menus in restaurants and then slowly realize why they aren't there!  

It wasn't all good times - we had delivery drivers who wanted us to go out in the street to meet their car rather than coming up to the fifth floor, a few who "got lost" and made us wait 90 minutes for them to appear, wrong items, missing items... but the nice folks at always made it right.  I wonder what will happen to them.  

It seems just my luck that I tried a number of delivery sites - Doordash, GrubHub, AllMenus, BeyondMenu, MixMenu - and decided I like Foodler best, so of course, they are the ones who are disappearing.  *sigh  I may have to... cook more.  Argh!  

So Farewell Foodler. Thank you. It's been delicious!  

Me Too

Oct. 16th, 2017 02:33 pm
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[personal profile] fauxklore
Unless you have been living in an internet-free bubble for the past 48 hours or so, you probably have seen that posted on facebook and twitter and whatever other social media sites people use nowadays. (I prefer being longwinded, but I do use facebook. Too much, in fact, but that’s another matter.) It refers to (primarily) women posting those words if they have been sexually harassed or assaulted. The idea is to raise awareness of this problem.

I am one of many women who admits to being surprised if any woman could not answer "yes" to having been harassed or assaulted. I’m concerned, though, that just saying that, without including the story, may be inadequate to help others understand.

I’ve been fortunate enough not to be raped. I was once in a situation where I came closer than I was comfortable with and where I still believe a lot of people would have blamed me. The short version is that I was upset about something that had happened with respect to a relationship I was in. Another man, who I thought of as a good friend, offered me a drink and a shoulder to cry on. And then suggested that I should see him as a substitute. He could easily have overpowered me – he was a big guy and I had been drinking. That he didn’t showed that he had some fundamental decency, but his suggestions continued afterwards whenever we saw each other (which circumstances made frequent). I had to go out of my way to make sure we weren’t alone together.

The scariest story is a string of voicemail messages I got over the course of a few months in which a guy threatened to rape and sodomize me. I had my suspicions as to who it was leaving the messages, but couldn’t prove anything. There were various reasons I didn't think the threat could be acted on, but it was still scary.

I can think of another incident during a summer when I was working as a camp counselor and was on duty with another counselor who thought it entertaining to fill the time of our hanging around in between patrols by masturbating in front of me.

Another summer camp incident was when I was about 11 and a couple of older girls (yes, girls) groped me and pulled off my bra. I reported what had happened and they were expelled from camp.

There are countless incidents of catcalls, guys leaving inappropriate photos around (hint: if you have to apologize for the nudie pictures on the ruler on your desk, maybe you should go out and spend a buck or two on an inoffensive ruler. Also, your apologies might be more plausible if you didn’t then throw in comments about "all those coeds always …"), men in certain countries who believe American women are all loose, …

None of these are huge things compared to a lot of the stories I have heard from other people (or, in some cases, witnessed.) But the point is that they’re common and it is bloody exhausting to deal with this crap. And I am also sure I have behaved inappropriately plenty of times myself, because I am a product of my culture.

So, yes, me too.


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