Post Trangst Angst

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

_ _

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Not at all.

I've been doing an archive binge through Questionable Content. So far it's been filled with male privilege, cisprivilege, neurotypical privilege and I'm only barely halfway through the archive. The author makes anti-feminist jokes and then in the notes section he tells feminists to get a sense of humour. He makes a joke where his character's new girlfriend tries to freak him out by saying "I used to be a man". Two of his characters have mental health issues and become the butt of jokes because of it. The privilege is knee deep and rising.

It's filled with fail yet still compelling. Damn it, the story is consistent, the characters engage the reader's sympathy and most of the jokes are actually funny. There's so much privilege fail yet I can't bring myself to hate it. I'm conflicted. It's like a train wreck: I want to look away but find my eyes dragged back.

I'm reading A History of the World in 6 Glasses. In the section on coffee, I came across this little gem, written in 1610 by Georde Sandys on his travels in Egypt and Palestine:
"...although they be destitute of Taverns, yet have they their Coffa-houses, which something resemble them. There they sit chatting most of the day, and sippe of a drinke called Coffa (of the berry that is is made of) in little china dishes, as hot as they can suffer it; blacke as soote and tasting not much unlike it."

And there is captured the experience of coffee, for all the world to appreciate anew.

I always wondered how it was done.

He (or possibly his smell) has been spotted in Midkemia :)
Jimmy the Hand deals with an obvious expy of Ron called Noxious Neville in order to help members of Krondor's Mockers (the thieves' guild) escape from prison. Much later on in the story, Jimmy is fighting with a mercenary of suspect bathing habits: They circled for an instant, with breath nearly as bad as Foul ol' Ron's issuing from the mercenary. and then Jimmy managed to stamp downward and land his heel on the other man's instep P.352 of the Eos paperback edition.

It seems that Foul ol' Ron and his smell may be a little more widely travelled than Pterry knows.

Xposted to discworld

Yesterday in the way home I was approaching the Queensborough Bridge just before the exit to Ewen Avenue. This is typically where the traffic starts backing up and sure enough as I got nearer everyone started slowing down. The guy in the other lane a couple of cars ahead apparently couldn't deal with getting stuck in slow traffic so he abruptly pulled out and roared away down the exit lane. I just knew that he was going to cut right across the intersection and pull into the entrance, hoping to get ahead of the rest of us poor suckers in line.

He neglected to account for kharma though. By the time I arrived where the traffic was merging in at the base of the bridge, who should appear but Mr. Impatient? Not only had he not saved any time, he actually wound up behind me. Keep up that rushing dude, you'll go far.

Now we find out why the Fundies don't want trans women in ladies' rooms. They're wanting to protect us from themselves!

How did I learn about Hasenpfeffer? From the Master, of course!

Today at the grocery store I noticed a poster up on the community notice board advertising free bunnies. They're 6 months old and need to go to good houses before winter. Being my evil self, I immediately looked for the free Hasenpfeffer recipes that should be posted beside each free bunny notice. Since the world is not as evil as I am, there was no recipe to be found. The bunnies are relieved.

It seems that our good Tories are getting some advance party publicity by putting the Conservative Party logo on giant cheques that Tory MPs hand out at photo ops. This was poorly thought out. After all, the use (and misuse) of political imagery on Government business has had a pretty sorry past and such does not belong in a 21st Century democracy.

Of course the Conservative party spokeswonks deny all knowledge of this practise. At least now that they've been caught red-handed they deny all knowledge. That they know about. Yes. Take their word for it; you can trust them.

Mr. Harper, you're showing your agenda again.

Happy disguised pagan Harvest Festival to all who celebrate it this day. And to my readers South of 49, happy Lost Dead European Explorer Day.
Feasting will commence later. Bon appétit!

Is all I have left to be 46. The day of doom approaches wherein I once again officially get older. Funny, I don't feel like I'm 47. I feel like a fraud.

(A wee bit of background to set the story up: BC's Paramedics and ambulance drivers have been on strike all summer. Since they can't exactly walk off the job, they're driving around with big black ON STRIKE signs plastered all over their ambulances)

Today on the road home, I noticed an ambulance being carried on a flat-deck truck, obviously broken down. I couldn't help but think to myself, that this particular ambulance was just a little more on strike than most of them.

Many of us didn't get the correct life skills coaching we needed when we were younger. And of course, the world is biased against us.

(image courtesy of fail blog)

The Georgia Straight's annual Best of Vancouver list has been published, and TAS features prominently!
Xposted about in various forms.

So quiet that I really don't know where to start anymore. Life's been griniding away unspectacularly for the most part. Work is slow and I'm beginning to get a little worried that my bosses are going to lay me off because I'm not doing much. I try to look busy and stretch out what I have to do so it lasts all day but I'm not very good at that. I get my day's routine stuff done quickly and then have long stretches of nothing to do.

I've also been worried about my relations with mom and dad. They invited us to come up for a visit over Labour Day so we made arrangements for the time off and reservations in the same place we stayed at last time. Apparently this was the wrong thing to do and mom got all bent out of shape. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to put myself back under that man's roof while he hasn't changed. Maybe mom isn't willing to recognise the pattern of abuse but I am, and I'm not going to let it continue. If not staying in their house is not acceptable, then maybe that's the way it's going to have to be. I'm tired of being made out to look like the one at fault.

Summer ends this afternoon. Equinox is 2:18 this afternoon and Autumn will begin. Already there are a few impatient trees changing colour. Actually I think that those are the ones suffering from premature baldness. Hey, it's a theory.

This blogger has read so many entries in the TV Tropes Wiki that she has begun dreaming in the style of the articles. This has been proven to have detremental effects on one's life.

I've had a migraine for the last 12 hours or so. Even though it looks bad to take a Monday off, I stayed home this morning; I just couldn't face going in to that desk feeling the way I was. Nausea and blinding headache do not a happy Jessie make.

I'm not completely recovered, and the bright sunlight doesn't make me feel any better. I still need a quiet dark room to hide in.