It can be a new achievement or adventure, or just that you climbed and had fun; it can be that your favourite climbing wall is expanding or that you bought new rock shoes or that you found a cool ice-climbing vid on YouTube. No glee is too small -- or too big. Members are encouraged to cheer each other on and share the squee.
N.B. Please feel free to post your glee on any day of the week; the Friday glee is just to get the ball rolling.
To enhance this week's glee: legend Yuji Hirayama cruises classic E5s at Millstone.
Orpheus hunched in a gust of wind
That tore at his coat, rolled past in waves of fog,
Tossed the leaves of the trees. The headlights of cars
Flared and dimmed in each succeeding wave.
He stopped at the glass-paneled door, uncertain
Whether he was strong enough for that ultimate trial.
He remembered her words: “You are a good man.”
He did not quite believe it. Lyric poets
Usually have—as he knew—cold hearts.
It is like a medical condition. Perfection in art
Is given in exchange for such an affliction.
Only her love warmed him, humanized him.
When he was not with her, he thought differently about himself.
He could not fail her now, when she was dead.
He pushed open the door and found himself walking in a labyrinth,
Corridors, elevators. The livid light was not light but the dark of the earth.
Electronic dogs passed noiselessly.
He descended many floors, a hundred, three hundred, down.
He was cold, aware that he was Nowhere.
Under thousands of frozen centuries,
On an ashy trace where generations had moldered,
In a kingdom that seemed to have no bottom and no end.
Thronging shadows surrounded him.
He recognized some of the faces.
He felt the rhythm of his blood.
He felt strongly his life with its guilt
And he was afraid to meet those to whom he had done harm.
But they had lost the ability to remember
And gave him only a glance, indifferent to all that.
For his defense he had a nine-stringed lyre.
He carried in it the music of the earth, against the abyss
That buries all sound in silence.
He submitted to the music, yielded
To the dictation of a song, listening with rapt attention,
Became, like his lyre, its instrument.
Thus he arrived at the palace of the rulers of that land.
Persephone, in her garden of withered pear and apple trees,
Black, with naked branches and verrucose twigs,
Listened from the funereal amethyst of her throne.
He sang the brightness of mornings and green rivers,
He sang of smoking water in the rose-colored daybreaks,
Of colors: cinnabar, carmine, burnt sienna, blue,
Of the delight of swimming in the sea under marble cliffs,
Of feasting on a terrace above the tumult of a fishing port,
Of the tastes of wine, olive oil, almonds, salt.
Of the flight of the swallow, the falcon,
Of a dignified flock of pelicans above a bay,
Of the scent of an armful of lilacs in summer rain,
Of his having composed his words always against death
And of having made no rhyme in praise of nothingness.
I don't know—said the goddess—whether you loved her or not.
Yet you have come here to rescue her.
She will be returned to you. But there are conditions:
You are not permitted to speak to her, or on the journey back
To turn your head, even once, to assure yourself that she is behind you.
And so Hermes brought forth Eurydice.
Her face no longer hers, utterly gray,
Her eyelids lowered beneath the shade of her lashes.
She stepped rigidly, directed by the hand
Of her guide. Orpheus wanted so much
To call her name, to wake her from that sleep.
But he refrained, for he had accepted the conditions.
And so they set out. He first, and then, not right away,
The slap of the god's sandals and the light patter
Of her feet fettered by her robe, as if by a shroud.
A steep climbing path phosphorized
Out of darkness like the walls of a tunnel.
He would stop and listen. But then
They stopped, too, and the echo faded.
And when he began to walk the double tapping commenced again.
Sometimes it seemed closer, sometimes more distant.
Under his faith a doubt sprang up
And entwined him like cold bindweed.
Unable to weep, he wept at the loss
Of the human hope for the resurrection of the dead,
Because he was, now, like every other mortal.
His lyre was silent, yet he dreamed, defenseless.
He knew he must have faith and he could not have faith.
And so he would persist for a very long time,
Counting his steps in a half-wakeful torpor.
Day was breaking. Shapes of rock loomed up
Under the luminous eye of the exit from underground.
It happened as he expected. He turned his head
And behind him on the path was no one.
Sun. And sky. And in the sky white clouds.
Only now everything cried to him: Eurydice!
How will I live without you, my consoling one!
But there was a fragrant scent of herbs, the low humming of bees,
And he fell asleep with his cheek on the sun-warmed earth.
-- Czesław Miłosz (tr. Robert Haas)
It's got a lot of details, and I expect some readers will get caught up in those details, and insist that the article is flawed because he ran the numbers wrong, because renewables are more efficient than he claims, or because he's missing the point of how much various economies will change if their power sources switch from oil/coal to wind/solar. But the core of the argument is this paragraph:
To replace current US energy consumption with renewables, you’d need to devote at least 25-50 percent of the US landmass to solar, wind, and biofuels, according to the estimates made by Vaclav Smil, the grand doyen of energy studies. Is there room for that and expanding human habitation? For that and pasture for a massive meat and dairy industry? For that and the forest we’d need to take carbon out of the air? Not if capitalism keeps doing the thing which it can’t not keep doing—grow. The law of capitalism is the law of more—more energy, more stuff, more materials. It introduces efficiencies only to more effectively despoil the planet. There is no solution to the climate crisis which leaves capitalism’s compulsions to growth intact.Emphasis added. This is the heart of the problem of capitalism: the idea that there will always be "more" in the future: more resources, more people to exploit them (or manage them, if we're being generous), more space for people to occupy, more money for them to spend, which only needs to be appropriately allocated for everyone to have enough to be comfortable.
There's some truth to that, depending on one's definition of "comfortable." But not if the definition includes the current US urban lifestyle; it's not just the power source of our lights and fans and cars that are unsustainable.
( Not the first time I've seen these ideas. )
Contents: Spoilers! Implied time travel, Guo Changcheng POV, flashfic I wrote in a meeting this morning, ~700 words
Note: This was inspired by a post at the plot bunny farm, but doesn't actually manage to fill the plot bunny at all, darn it.
Summary: Wherein a second Chief Zhao arrives via wormhole just as the team summons Hei Pao Shi, and Guo Changcheng is very confused.
So brave! at fan_flashworks
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir
Additional Tags: Nonbinary Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Trans Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Aged-Up Character(s), First Time, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Outdoor Sex, Mutual Pining, Misgendering, Community: dick_or_treat
Series: Part 1 of Pound (It)
Adrien catches their hand. "What are you doing?" he whispers, and Ladybug looks up: darkened eyes, flushed face, wrinkled brow. Like he wants them. But he's not quite sure.
"I heard you playing Fuck Marry Kill," Ladybug says, pitched low and with a slow smile. (It's true; Marinette did.) "I heard you want to fuck me."
Adrien sputters a moment, and looks up and west, biting his lip, and down at them again. "Are you offering?"
"Well," says Ladybug, and moves to lift their hand away from his hipbone. "If you don't want to..."
- Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs & Shaw: different trailer, still like getting bludgeoned with testosterone.
- 21 Bridges, has extra opening seconds. I would like to think that Chadwick Boseman is going to pick movies that are thoughtful about the police's exercise of power, and there are a few hints toward that maybe, but based on this it's a hell of an uphill battle to get me to believe it.
- The Lion King: I just can't even.
- Long Shot, but none of the trailers at IMDB seem to be what we got? Anyway: oh look, Seth Rogen screws things up for Charlize Theron, whee.
- Godzilla: King of the Monsters: that's a lot of giant monsters, none of which looked really convincing, and also you don't get to use "One X to rule them all," sorry, you just don't.
- Gemini Man, has about one extra opening second. Will Smith fights his younger clone; I have no feelings about this.
- Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. The thing is, okay. The Last Jedi had major problems, but I feel, in retrospect, that it was at least trying to do something that wasn't just "coast on nostalgia," that it had a point of view that it was trying to express? And this does not give me confidence that that's going to be carried through. Because giving a trilogy to different directors and letting them do, apparently, whatever the fuck they want is a bad creative decision.
I wasn't planning on seeing it Thursday night, because I had an oral argument scheduled for this afternoon and I knew it would be very tiring (it was, much more so than usual—good, I mean, I love oral argument, but), but that's how logistics worked out. (Reserved seats are so great.) And, as I've said at various points here, I did not have high expectations. So I went in feeling somewhat muted and cynical, reflected in my choice of t-shirt.
Let's do it in this order: non-spoiler content note; general reaction with no plot details; spoiler content note; all the spoilers.
Anyway, if you have a name for this let me know, and if you have other examples also let me know because it's a genre I really enjoy, as I have been reminded by reading Caroline Stevermer's When The King Comes Home, which kate_nepveu was extremely correct to recommend to me an age and a day ago.
The protagonist: artist's apprentice Hail Rosamer, who has recently become obsessed with the work of Famous Historical Artist Maspero, who lived about two centuries prior and did a lot of work around the profile of Historically Good King Julian.
This means that when Hail stumbles over a distressed-looking hobo under a bridge with Good King Julian's exact profile, she knows exactly what to do.
HAIL: omg you're Good King Julian returned, just like in the stories! I recognized you from Maspero's art!
A MAN WITH GOOD KING JULIAN'S EXACT PROFILE: well, it's complicated, and there's an evil necromancer that -
HAIL: TELL ME ALL ABOUT MASPERO. 😍 WAS HE AMAZING. 😍 WHAT COLOR PALLETTES DID HE USE
A MAN WITH GOOD KING JULIAN'S EXACT PROFILE: ... you mean the Maspero who occasionally moonlighted as an artist?
HAIL: YES 😍
A MAN WITH GOOD KING JULIAN'S EXACT PROFILE: ..... I mean I can tell you he drank a lot and owed me money?
HAIL: OKAY BUT WHAT ABOUT HIS LINEWORK 😍
Obviously, the fact that a dead king has been brought back from the dead by an evil necromancer does in fact turn out to have sociopolitical implications in which Hail becomes inextricably involved ... mostly by trailing around on various efforts to stop the necromancer, attempting to engage anyone and everyone in conversation about Maspero and his artwork until they're all thoroughly sick of it. I love her? I love her. 3/4 of the way through the book she participates in some important art magic and also is forced to grudgingly admit that Maspero's color work may not have always been up to the highest standards.
I mean, don't get me wrong, the tone of the book is as much wistful melancholy as anything else -- the underlying themes are about death and the inevitability of loss and the myths we tell ourselves about the past -- but also, it is truly an enormous amount of fun to watch the entire plot unfold through the lens of a hyper-focused art student.
( Some of my other favorite scenes are mid-book spoilers )
Mod Manager: "passionate about online safety and protecting users to help us with moderation duties, and building a team of volunteer moderators. Previous experience moderating online communities is a must."
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( I wonder how much experience they're talking about. )
In 2016 a family film had one of the estranged brothers queer, but obvs not openly at all, and we were all very relieved that he was a lead character and nothing offensive was perpetrated onscreen. In 2013, while stuff was still decriminalised, we had a prestigious short film about a young man having a brief fling with his boss' very closeted husband. In 2005, an AIDS film that had queer domesticity and was stupendous for the time. In 2004, we had a film that posited queerness as a result of CSA and also was very confused about lesbians v. transmen. This is all Bollywood, of course: regional industries do their own thing and the Bengali film industry--which is the one I know--has had some nuanced queer depictions in telefilms, and a couple commercially-released ones, primarily because of the fantastic Rituparno Ghosh, who ventured into acting in the last few years of his life. Still mostly sad gays, because well.
In 2015, a film called Family Album promised--in part--the story of a mid-late 20s woman going on dates with a view to immediate marriage and being completely icked out by the process, who falls for an artsy bisexual woman, and then just leaves her family and goes away with this chick. I can't begin to tell you how fucking revolutionary that was: two grown women (so it's not a phase) and the more conservative one actually choosing queer love over convention. We don't get those stories. I wanted to watch that film so very badly I cannot even begin to tell you. But obvs it wasn't releasing nationally, and I wasn't in the relevant state. But! SO also wanted to see the film very badly, and she was in the right place right time, and it was around her birthday, so I got her a ticket.
And she sat through a rather nuanced film, with a lovely soft queer storyline, and then the bisexual woman, after they've run away together and have had A Perfect Day at the beach, decides "well it can't get any better than this" and commits suicide. That was it, that was the film.
So, I mean. I'm glad my SO didn't find time to start watching The Magicians is what I guess I'm saying.
I'm not trying to stay unspoiled out of any feeling that the movie will be RUINED!! if I know what happens in it. Generally speaking, I'm not actually a spoilerphobe and will cheerfully read recaps of show episodes I haven't watched yet or whatever. But with Endgame, I emphatically DO NOT WANT spoilers, for wholly personal emotional reasons. Like, I KNOW if I spoil myself, I will just find it unpleasant, because I will work myself up about a likely decontextualized, incomplete piece of information that once I actually see it in the movie, will work out just fine in the movie's broader context. Also, I want to have my first, unmediated emotional responses to the movie during the movie itself, not when I'm mentally taking apart whatever bit of information I find out before even seeing the whole movie. (I know some people are the exact opposite: they want to have the first emotional response before seeing it, but different strokes for different folks.)
In all the talk of avoiding spoilers and how avoiding spoilers is ruining film that's floating around the internet, I'm kind of interested in the air of weird dread/anxiety around Endgame, and I'll be interested to see if the series of finale of Game of Thrones ends up being similar. Because I think a big part of the weird dread is in fact a form of FOMO, where people want to see Endgame ASAP so they can participate in the cultural and social conversations around it right away. Social media makes everything fast paced, to the point where someone seeing Endgame next weekend might well feel like all the best and most immediate conversation and hot takes passed them by, never to return. But I think the dread and anxiety from MCU fans specifically is coming from a somewhat different place. Like, sure, we're all worried about our faves dying. (At any given moment, I waffle between 60%-90% sure Steve Rogers is going to die, and I'm Upset about it.) But more than that, I think a lot of us have weird, ambivalent, or sad feelings about how this is the end of an era. We've spent ten years watching these movies, and that's a lot of investment. To come to the fairly definitive end of Phase Three of the MCU is kind of a big deal, like reading the last Harry Potter book kind of big deal.
Personally, I'm kind of like, "I'm not ready to let go!!!" while also simultaneously being like "oh my god just give me an ENDING, for SOMETHING." I see a lot of people out there doing their best to project Ironic Distance from their feelings about this movie, and like, I tire of it. I am hype, and I am invested, and despite knowing that the movie will undoubtedly deeply disappoint me in one way or another, I'm not really in the mood for seeing people having cynical responses.
All that said, the MCU has me for the foreseeable future because: 1) FALCON AND WINTER SOLDIER SHOW YESSSSSSSSSSSS; 2) more Black Panther; and 3) more Captain Marvel.
Anyway, if anyone who's seen Endgame would like to advise me about good bathroom break opportunities during its ludicrous three hour run time, in the least spoilery way possible, that would be much appreciated. I do not care at all about Hawkeye, especially not when he Looks Like That, so let that guide your suggestions. (I already know there's no mid or after credits scene.)
The other weekend, Belovedest had made paired appointments for us at their mechanic. The car had become inoperative after the last battery replacement and attempt at emissions testing (which failed due to a sudden check engine light).
The symptoms were similar, and indicated that this new battery was not serving up enough electrons to turn on the "door open" light, let alone turn over the engine.
( Adventur, ending in mechanic. )
The car was ready the next morning. I paid for the fix and started it with some trepidation.
It started. It ran.
It shifted into gear without a flicker.
I drove home on surface streets, carefully but with increasing confidence.
Next, we're looking for a day when my brain, health, and sleep cycle will allow me to venture forth to start on the paperwork to allow me to move it in order to get the next emissions test.
And how to fill them
is the problem of cigarettes and paint.
First time I felt my undoing
was in front of
a painting—Sam Francis, I believe.
Oh, his bloomed out, Xanax-ed California.
I liked the word guard, but you know
we made each other
nervous, standing too close
for everyone concerned. All art being
a form of violence
as a peony
Here you come
with your open hands.
My relationship with art is complicated. I've never been a "creator," and that used to eat at me. Where was the missing part of me that seemed to drive so many of the people I find important? I still don't know where that drive to make is, but I've more or less found my peace. Even if I never write a creative word, the violence of art can still reach me and, for now, that's enough damage.
I don't know how to fill the space
I do, however, keep trying to move my hair so that it won't get in the way when I'm doing routine things-- picking up my purse, rinsing my mouth after brushing my teeth-- and it's not in the right place. It's long enough that my hand still touches it, but I only brush the ends. It's weird.
I've managed to get my Wayback Exchange assignment moving again, but I have no idea how I'm going to get from where I am to what I intend. Optional details are optional, but I'd like to manage something in the general vicinity of what my recipient is hoping for. I'm sitting on the H/C Exchange story for a few days while I figure out the bits that need to go into the already written part to make it work. I think I know what they are, but I need to set them in place just so or it won't work.
I've decided to return one library book without even cracking it open. It's due Sunday and has holds, and while I'm kind of interested in reading Elfquest some day, I don't think I actually care enough to deal with the book. It's too big and heavy (and I never cared enough to look at the comics online, so...). Mostly, I'm interested in it as something that people I played AD&D with in college were really into. The DM built his elves on the comics.
It's possible that tonight I won't have to turn the heat on, but I'll still have to bundle up well. As ever, temps are set to drop again the next five days, and some lucky folk will get snow.
Accomplished one item on my feet-dragging list. Took bike to store and asked about tune-ups. "Leave it today and you'll have it back in a week." Yes, well.Next step: check out new bikes. Foot-dragging on this is a luxury. In the past I've always had to buy a new bike because the old one was stolen. Maybe being bikeless for a week will give the same impetus.
( Reading )