sovay: (Viktor & Mordecai)
[personal profile] sovay
The status of the yontif this year is that my mother and I made honeycakes, but it is autumn and the head of the year and we are still here, the important thing. A sweet year, a safe. L'shanah tovah, all.

Cormorant to rock, gulls from the storm

Saturday, September 20th, 2025 02:52 pm
sovay: (Sydney Carton)
[personal profile] sovay
I did not post it last night because I was so tired, but [personal profile] spatch took a proof of life when I was finally home which does indeed look much more like a person than my fluorescently washed out self-portrait of a couple of nights ago and amazingly more so than the traditional tubes-and-wires effigy of earlier in the week. It's peculiar to look back on. Concentrating to talk to doctors during that period worked well enough that I was asked more than once if I had a medical background and had to answer only in the sense of having had a lot of medical to deal with, but otherwise much of what I remember of the first few days involved drifting in and out of weird half-overheard half-sleep acutely punctuated by conversations or procedures. It was amazing to go back to sleep this morning after my medications without having to discuss them extensively with anyone.



[personal profile] fleurdelis41 seasonally sent me some cases of piracy tried at the Old Bailey, of which my favorites are the prosecutor no-show, the punch line of the stolen hats, and the dudes whose defense was having been very drunk at the time.

S2 Bonus Episode 2 - DWJ Shorts of the 70s and 80s

Saturday, September 20th, 2025 12:58 pm
[syndicated profile] 8daysofdwj_feed

"She has tremendous talent, of course, or she couldn’t do it at all, but I do sometimes feel that she—well—she repeats herself. Put it like this: I think maybe Carol doesn't give herself a chance to be herself any more than she gives us."  

Endless questions, out-of-control characters, silly adults and weird bad dads: this week we're discussing the playground of ideas that makes up DWJ's short fiction of the seventies and eighties. 

Titles discussed include  "Carruthers" (1972), "Auntie Bea's Day Out" (1978), "The Fluffy Pink Toadstool" (1979), "The Sage of Theare" (1982), "Warlock at the Wheel" (1984), "Dragon Reserve, Home Eight" (1984), "No One" (1984), "The Plague of Peacocks" (1984), "Carol Oneir's Hundredth Dream" (1986), "Enna Hittims" (1987), "The Fat Wizard" (1987), "The Green Stone," (1988), and "The Master" (1989). Transcript available here.

Please note: we've postponed recording our Q&A episode for the eighties until September 25th, so if you understand what's happening in 'The Master,' please write in and tell us!

The dark sleek heads are risen from the water

Friday, September 19th, 2025 11:38 pm
sovay: (Sovay: David Owen)
[personal profile] sovay
Home from six days in hospital with a plan designed not to land me back there any time soon, I have been passed into the care of Dr. Hestia, who is already carrying out her duties with enthusiastic ministrations of purr. I have washed my hair for the first time in a week. I have eaten food prepared by my family. I napped like a stone in the late afternoon, which I will have needed since my regimen for the foreseeable involves a schedule of medications I cannot let slide even when some of them require me to be awake at hours I have preferred my entire life to spend unconscious. My calendar is inevitably full of further maintenance, but I am truly looking forward to an increase in conversations that have nothing to do with the monitoring of my vitals. Mostly I am marrow-tired and vague with new chemistry and glad to be home in my own clothes and drinking water I don't have to ring anyone to bring me in bed. I was not expecting and delight in the gift of a plush harpy eagle that arrived while I was away.
sovay: (Otachi: Pacific Rim)
[personal profile] sovay
In honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I respectfully wish to submit that if I had just had scurvy, this whole week would have been much easier. Have a suspicious ghost crab, the Changelings' "Port Royale" (1998), and Tim Eriksen rocking out Bellamy's setting of Kipling's "Poor Honest Men" (2011). In keeping with the recent influx of Kevin McNally in the eighteenth century, when I get back to my stack of DVDs I could just rewatch Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006). For all the varied and undeniable flaws of those second two films, their sea-iconography has clung to me like dream-wrack for nearly twenty years and I wouldn't have a cycle of stories without them.

She was an excellent governess and a most respectable woman

Thursday, September 18th, 2025 11:48 pm
sovay: (Renfield)
[personal profile] sovay
This afternoon I voted Miss Jessel from Jack Clayton's The Innocents (1961) one of my favorite ghosts on film, a tall order but a true one. A masterstroke of sound design and suggestion, she's not spectral, she's uncanny: as real as the reflection she casts on the sunlit shiver of the lake, as motionless in the heat as the bulrushes she stands so far out among, she could be walking on water, though we will learn she drowned herself in it instead. Her slight, dark-dressed figure in long shot gives no impression of a threat, nor even any particular emotion such as hunger or melancholy that would make her apparition easier to read. Her incongruity becomes its own eeriness, the noonday drabness of her presence more frightening than its disappearance between one look and the next, which is after all only characteristic of her kind, though part of the film's chill is that really it has no such rules by which a haunting may be mapped and governed, only the inexplicable facts of things that should not be. Once we have heard that she grieved sleeplessly for her rough, flaunting lover until she died of him, the governess played like a doorway of possession by Deborah Kerr can hear her sobbing, a desolate, gulping, wretchedly echoing sound that when finally traced to the schoolroom has nothing to do with the still-faced, dry-eyed imprint of Miss Jessel at her desk and yet when the governess rushes to the empty chair and touches the slate left by her own earlier lesson, it is wet with tears. Without a parapsychological conversation in sight, it gives the effect of a ghost that has stained through time in all its layers, desynched to perpetuity. The parallel sightings of Peter Wyngarde's Peter Quint with his cock-strut and his bestial snarl of a smile, always smeared through sun-mist, night-glass, steam-sweat until he can cast his unfiltered shadow from a crumbling ring of statues at last have their own rude potency, as malignantly charged as one of the more explicitly libidinous legends of Hell House, but it is his ruined lover who looks as though you could never scrape her off the air, so soaked into this patch of reality that trying to part her from the grounds of Bly would be about as efficacious as trying to exorcise an ice age. Their voices whisper like tape loops on the candlelit stairs. The children are watching. The children are watching. The children are watching. Like the uncredited radiophonics of Daphne Oram that accompany her first, summer-humming manifestation, Miss Jessel or whatever has been left of her belongs to the weirdness of time just really starting to flower in British film and TV, more Nigel Kneale than Henry James or even Truman Capote and yet she fits as exactly into the sensibilities of the Victorian Gothic as she would into the bright horror of that lakeside to this day. She was one of three images left on film by the artist and director Clytie Jessop and I doubt you could get her off the print, either. This excellence brought to you by my watching backers at Patreon.

Missing trumpet slide on bike path

Thursday, September 18th, 2025 10:09 am
bettyw: (Default)
[personal profile] bettyw posting in [community profile] davis_square
 Last night a friend got on the bike path by the Lowell St stairs/bridge carrying a trumpet, and one of the valve slides (U-shaped silver metal) fell off as he headed towards Davis. If you find it please let me know and I'll put you in touch with the owner.

Thanks! 

 

If I press button A, all my pennies will go

Wednesday, September 17th, 2025 04:25 am
sovay: (Rotwang)
[personal profile] sovay
I just had my first opportunity to shower in four nights, even without washing my hair, so I just had the same opportunity to free-associate in the shower.

I have no explanation for why I was singing the blessedly abridged setting of Kipling's "The Ladies" (1896) that I learned from the singing of John Clements in Ships with Wings (1941) except that it's been in my head ever since it displaced Cordelia's Dad's "Delia" (1992).

As a person who does think all the time about the Roman Empire, I am incapable of not associating Rosemary Sutcliff's "The Girl I Kissed at Clusium" (1954) with Sydney Carter's "Take Me Back to Byker" (1963)—as performed by Donald Swann, the only way I have ever heard it—even though Sutcliff was obviously drawing on Kipling's "On the Great Wall" (1906) with her long march and songs that run in and out of fashion with the Legions and the common ancestor of all of them anyway is almost certainly "The Girl I Left Behind Me" (17th-whatever).

Somehow I remain less over the fact that Donald Swann was the first person to record Carter's "Lord of the Dance" (1964) than the fact that he did a song cycle of Middle-Earth (1967) and an opera of Perelandra (1964).

Oh, shoot, Swann would have made a great Campion. You register the horn-rims and immediately tune out the face behind them.

Ignoring the appealingly transitive properties of Wimsey, Edward Petherbridge and Harriet Walter, I am not going to rewatch the episode of Granada Holmes starring Clive Francis, I am going to lie down before someone wakes me.

Afghanistan banana stand

Tuesday, September 16th, 2025 10:59 pm
sovay: (Claude Rains)
[personal profile] sovay
When I heard tonight about Robert Redford, I did not think first of the immortal freeze-frame of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) or the righteous paranoia of All the President's Men (1976) or even the perfectly anachronistic jazz of The Sting (1973) where I almost certainly first saw him, effortlessly beautiful even before he shines up from street-level short cons to the spectacular wire of the title grift. I thought of The Hot Rock (1972), a freewheelingly dumb-assed caper film of which I am deeply fond in no small part because of Redford. Specifically, his casting makes it look at first like the inevitable Hollywood misrepresentation of its 1970 Donald E. Westlake source novel, a cool jazz glow-up of the canonically, lankily nondescript Dortmunder whose heists always look completely reasonable on paper and in practice like a Rube Goldberg machine whose springs just sprang off. Only as the setbacks of the plot mount past aggravation into absurdity approaching Dada, of which the attempt to sneak into a precinct house via helicopter must rate highly even before the crew land on the wrong roof and the siege-minded lieutenant mistakes their break-in for the revolution, does the audience realize that this Dortmunder has the face of a screen idol and the flop sweat of a shlimazl, a man whose charisma is not an asset when it makes people think he knows what he's doing. "I've got no choice," he says doggedly of the eponymous diamond which he did at least once successfully steal, whence all their troubles began. "I'm not superstitious and I don't believe in jinxes, but that stone's jinxed me and it won't let go. I've been damn near bitten, shot at, peed on, and robbed, and worse is going to happen before it's done. So I'm taking my stand. I'm going all the way. Either I get it, or it gets me." When he acquires an incipient ulcer at the top of the second act, who's surprised? He glumly chews antacids as one of his meticulously premeditated schemes trips over its own shoelaces yet again. It may be the only time Redford played so far against his stardom, but he makes such a gorgeous loser with that tousle of coin-gold hair and an ever more disbelieving look in the matinée blue of his eyes, the Zeppo of his quartet of thieves who only looks like the normal one and no slouch in a stack of character actors from Moses Gunn and Zero Mostel through Lee Wallace and even a bit-part Christopher Guest, not to mention George Segal by whom he is characteristically almost run into a chain-link fence, trying to collect him from his latest stint upstate in a hot car with too many accessories. "Not that you're not the best, but a layman might wonder why you're all the time in jail." Harry Bellaver figured in so many noirs of the '40's and '50's, why should he not have retired to run a dive bar on Amsterdam Avenue patronized by exactly the kind of never-the-luck lowlifes he might once have played? The photography by Ed Brown goes on the list of great snapshots of New York, the screenplay by William Goldman is motor-mouthed quotable, the score by Quincy Jones never sounds cooler than when the characters it accompanies are failing their wisdom checks at land speed. Watching it as part of a Peter Yates crime trilogy between Bullitt (1968) and The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973) may induce whiplash. It may not be major Redford, but it is beloved Redford of mine, and worthwhile weirdness to watch in his memory. This stand brought to you by my jinxed backers at Patreon.

(no subject)

Tuesday, September 16th, 2025 09:20 pm
skygiants: Cha Song Joo and Lee Su Hyun from Capital Scandal taking aim at each other (baby shot you down)
[personal profile] skygiants
I liked the Korean movie Phantom (2023) enough that I decided to hunt down the novel on which it's based, Mai Jia's The Message -- in large part out of curiosity about whether it's also lesbians.

The answer: ... sort of! The lesbians are not technically textual but there's a bit of Lesbian Speculation and then a big pointed narrative hole where lesbians could potentially be. It is, however, without a doubt, Women Being Really Weird About Each Other, to the point where I'm considering it as a Yuletide fandom (perhaps even moreso than the movie, where the women are also weird about each other but in a more triumphant cinematic way and less of an ambiguous, psychologically complex and melancholic way. you know.)

The plot: well, as in the movie, there's a spy, and there's the Japanese Occupation, and there's a Big Haunted House where we're keeping all the possible spies to play mind games with until somebody fesses up. Because the book is set in 1941 China, there are actually three factions at play -- the Japanese and collaborators, the Communists and the Nationalists -- and for the whole first part of the book, fascinatingly enough, we are almost entirely in the head of the Japanese officer who's running the operation and choreographing all the mind games in an attempt to ferret out the Communist agent in his codebreaking division. The result is sort of a weird and almost darkly funny anti-heroic anti-Poirot situation, in which Hihara is constantly engineering increasingly complicated locked-room scenarios designed to get the spy to confess like the culprit in a Thin Man movie, and is constantly thwarted by his suspects inconveniently refusing to stick to the script, even when presented with apparently incontrovertible evidence, placed under torture, lied to about the deaths of other members of the party, etc. etc.

The suspects include several variously annoying men, plus two women whom we and everyone else are clearly intended to find the most interesting people there: quiet and competent Li Ningyu, cryptography division head, mother of two, whom everyone knows is semi-separated from an abusive husband, and who somehow manages to keep calmly slithering her way out of every accusation Hihara tries to stick on her; and her opposite, loud bratty chic Gu Xiaomeng, whom Hihara would very much like to rule out as a suspect as quickly as possible because she's the daughter of a very wealthy collaborator, and who seems moderately obsessed with her boss Li Ningyu For Some Reason.

Both book and movie spend, like, sixty percent of their length on this big house espionage mind games scenario and then abruptly take a left turn, with the next forty percent being Something Completely Different. In the film this left turn involves DRAMATIC ROMANTIC ACTION HEROICS!!!! so I was quite surprised to find that the book's left turn involves spoilers )

Aikido class recommendations?

Tuesday, September 16th, 2025 05:13 pm
gingicat: orange butterfly on purple flowers (butterfly)
[personal profile] gingicat posting in [community profile] davis_square
My younger kiddo, a high school senior, is interested in studying aikido. Any recommendations? I may have more specific questions later.

Thanks!

(no subject)

Sunday, September 14th, 2025 09:01 am
skygiants: Hazel, from the cover of Breadcrumbs, about to venture into the Snow Queen's forest (into the woods)
[personal profile] skygiants
We watched Scavengers Reign because it was enthusiastically recommended to [personal profile] genarti as fun animated science fiction about being stranded on an alien planet with interesting alien biology. Which is true! This is not incorrect! Not Mentioned was the extent to which it is also very definitely lovingly animated body-and-survival horror ..... every time we watched we checked in with each other like 'still good to proceed? not too much eugughghhhhhh?' '[grimly] let's watch at least one more episode and see what happens,' and in this way we eventually crawled through all twelve episodes.

NONETHELESS I do think it was very good, once we acclimated to the eugughghhhhhh factor. (I ended up higher on it than [personal profile] genarti did, in some part because I liked the ending for my favorite character better than she liked the ending for hers.) The first episode introduces you in media res to the several sets of people stranded on this planet that the show will be following:

- Sam and Ursula, an older man and younger woman traveling together, who've developed a plan to bring down their heavily damaged ship, the Demeter,, still in orbit around the planet with most of the crew in cryosleep; Ursula is fascinated by the planet and interested in learning more about it, while Sam is laser-focused on Getting Out Of There
- Azi, a motorcycle butch who's been in crop-growing survival mode supported by (a) Levi (unit), a pleasant manual labor robot whose behavior is becoming increasingly altered by some kind of planetary growth thriving in its innards
- Kamen, alone and still trapped in his escape pod, on the verge of death until he encounters a telepathic creature that brainwashes him into symbiotic/parasitic collaboration, and yet somehow his biggest concern is still His Divorce

Over the course of the story, we learn through flashbacks more about who these people were on the Demeter and what happened to strand them on the planet, while they cope (or don't) with the various challenges of the planet and the hope of escape provided by the Demeter. The real fears that the show evokes, IMO, are isolation and transformation -- being, yourself, transformed without your knowledge or consent, or, perhaps even worse, seeing your only companion changing into something unrecognizable and untrustworthy. These are things that scare me personally very much and so I often found this a very scary show! But -- like Annihilation or Alien Clay, the two other stories that Scavengers Reign reminded me of the most -- it also evokes the flip side of this fear, the beauty and wonder of the transformative and strange. The animators loved animating these weird alien ecosystems.

You can watch the trailer here:



(The trailer is very clear and accurate to the amount of body horror in the show. From this you will be able to tell that we did not in fact watch the trailer before we began the show itself.)

A second season was planned, but has not been ordered and may never be made; IMO the first season does stand as complete but I would very much like to see the second season and I hope it happens.

On the edge and off the avenue

Saturday, September 13th, 2025 11:35 pm
sovay: (Rotwang)
[personal profile] sovay
I had not thought there were any meteor showers of consequence this month, but it seems that the swift pale streak between the telephone wires southwest of Cassiopeia belonged to the September Epsilon Perseids, so named despite their radiant in β Persei, the demon-star of Algol. I can hope it was not wildfire drift that accounted for the candle-tint of the half-moon, which was doing its autumnal trick of hanging like a lantern in the not yet leafless trees. The last of this summer's monarchs flew just before sunset, the twenty-second of her name.

(no subject)

Saturday, September 13th, 2025 08:08 pm
shati: teddy bear version of the queen seondeok group photo (Default)
[personal profile] shati
Normally I go silent on here for months because I randomly forgot how to write in full sentences, but this time it was just because things got too miserable -- politics, A/C breaking, work, health, other health, other health, health insurance, medical bills, other medical bills. I think I only ever demonstrate intellectual curiosity and a love of learning in response to illness and injury (perhaps a side effect of inflammation!), so like: --How's it going, Shati? --Well, I've been practicing a lot and my Spanish listening comprehension has gotten way better, I can watch almost all of the Latam A:TLA dub without having to pause or look words up. --Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.

Things are still in multiple kinds of limbo on the health front, to the point where I basically can't leave my house again right now for more than short car errands, but I guess at least work is getting less busy and I have A/C again.

Back on my birthday I treated myself to the international shipping fees on a couple of books I'm not sure I'm ready to read yet, Los días del venado and Los días de la sombra by Liliana Bodoc. If I like them I'll probably be really mad at myself for not just buying the whole series, but the shipping was already more than I'd normally spend on my birthday, and I may never get around to reading them because they don't have library due dates. I was just excited to come across fantasy originally written in Argentinian Spanish; most of what I can find is either translated to Spanish or from Europe. If any of you have read them (in any language) I'm curious if you liked them! On the rest of the book front, I basically stopped reading while work was really busy and I was working hours late every day, so I'm halfway through a bunch of books that I'll have to return to the library and then borrow again on another trip.

politics )

(no subject)

Saturday, September 13th, 2025 09:21 am
skygiants: clone helmet lit by the vastness of space (clone feelings)
[personal profile] skygiants
Broadly speaking, I liked Star Wars: The Mask of Fear, the first book in a planned trilogy of Star Wars Political Thrillers pitched as Andor Prequels, For Fans Of Andor.

This one is set right after the declaration of the Empire and is mostly about the separate plans that Bail Organa and Mon Mothma pursue in order to try and limit their government's whole-scale slide into fascism, with -- as we-the-readers of course know -- an inevitable lack of success. It is of course impossible not to feel the weight of Current Events on every page; the book came out in February '25 and so must have been complete in every respect before the 2024 elections, but boy, it doesn't feel like it. On the other hand, it's also impossible not to feel 2016 and Hillary Clinton looming large over the portrayal of Mon Mothma as the consummate politician who is very good at wrangling the process of government but whom nobody actually likes.

That said, as a character in her own right, I am very fond of Mon Mothma, the consummate politician who is very good at wrangling the process of government but whom nobody actually likes. With her genuine belief in the ideals of democracy and her practiced acceptance of the various ethical compromises that working within the system requires, she makes for a great sympathetic-grayscale political-thriller protagonist. I also like the portrayal of her marriage in this period as something that is, like, broadly functional! sometimes a source of support! always number three or four on her priority list which she never quite gets around to calling him to tell him she's back on planet after a secret mission before the plot sweeps her off in a new direction, oops, well, I guess he'll find out when she's been released from prison again!

Anyway, her main plot is about trying to get a bill passed in the Senate that will limit Palpatine's power as Emperor, which involves making various shady deals with various powerful factions; meanwhile, Bail Organa has a separate plot in which he's running around trying to EXPOSE the LIES about the JEDI because he thinks that once everyone knows the Jedi were massacred without cause, Palpatine will be toppled by public outrage immediately. Both of them think the other's plan is kind of stupid and also find the other kind of annoying at this time, which tbh I really enjoy. I love when people don't like each other for normal reasons and have to work together anyway. I also like the other main wedge between them, which is that both of them were briefly Politically Arrested right before the book begins, and by chance and charisma Bail Organa joked his way out of it and came out fine while Mon Mothma went through a harrowing and physically traumatic experience that has left her with lingering PTSD, and Mon Mothma knows this and Bail Organa doesn't and this colors all their choices throughout the book.

Bail Organa's plot is also sort of hitched onto a plot about an elderly Republic-turned-Imperial spymaster who's trying to find the agents she lost at the end of the war, and her spy protege who accidentally ends up infiltrating the Star Wars pro-Palpatine alt-right movement, both of which work pretty well as stories about people who find themselves sort of within a system as the system is changing underneath them.

And then there is the Saw plotline. This is my biggest disappointment in the book, is that the Saw plotline is not actually a Saw plotline; it's about a Separatist assassin who ends up temporarily teaming up with Saw for a bit as he tries to figure out who he should be assassinating now that the war is over, and we see Saw through his eyes, mostly pretty judgmentally. I do not object to other characters seeing Saw Gerrera pretty judgmentally, but it feels to me like a bit of a cop-out in a book that's pitched as 'how Mon Mothma, Bail Organa, and Saw Gerrera face growing fascism and start down the paths that will eventually lead to the Rebel Alliance' to once again almost entirely avoid giving Saw a point of view to see his ideology from within. But Star Wars as franchise is consistently determined not to do that. Ah, well; maybe one of the later two books in this trilogy will have a meaty interiority-heavy Saw plotline and I'll eat my words.

(NB: I have not yet seen S2 of Andor and I do plan to do so at some point, please don't tell me anything about it!)
sovay: (I Claudius)
[personal profile] sovay
I am glad to read that a classicist on Tumblr whom I do not know feels validated by a poem I wrote a dozen years ago, because she's right in turn about the linkage of ideas that led to its writing: the evocatio of Juno from Veii in 396 BCE, the evocatio of Tanit from Carthage in 146 BCE, the assimilation of Tanit to Juno Caelestis rather than Ištar-starred Venus, the self-fulfilling loop of enmity that a double-thefted goddess makes of the Aeneid and under it all the irony that Vergil even in his Renaissance aspect as magician could not foresee, that Carthage-haunted Rome was itself built on the needfire of the most famously sacked city of the ancient world, Troy whose gods Aeneas salvaged from the night of its destruction and now we remember Rome as the epitome of decadence, the eternally, contagiously falling city.

Also I had just been turned down by a housing situation that I had painfully wanted, but the classical stuff was all still bang on.

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