muckefuck | Reading

What I read

Gail Godwin, Getting to Know Death: A Meditation (2024) - rather slight, one for the completist, which I suppose I am.

Robert Rodi, Bitch Goddess (2014): 'told entirely through interviews, e-mails, fan magazine puff pieces, film reviews, shooting scripts, greeting cards, extortion notes, and court depositions', the story of the star of a lot of dire B-movies who has a later-life move into soap-stardom. I hadn't read this one before and it was a lot of campy fun.

TC Parker, Tradwife (2024) - another of those mystery/thrillers which riffs off true-crime style investigation - somebody here I think mentioned it? - I thought it went a few narrative twists too far though was pretty readable up till then.

On the go

Apart from those, still ticking on with Upton Sinclair, Wide Is The Gate (Lanny Budd, #4), boy I am glad that I am reading these in e-form, because they must be monstrous great bricks otherwise. In this one he actually ventures back to Germany, his marriage starts to crumble, he continues his delicate dance between all the various opposed interests in his life while managing to get support to the anti-Nazi/Fascist cause, Spain is now in the picture, and I have just seen a passing mention to Earl Russell being sent down for his Reno divorce (that wasn't quite the story, but one can quite imagine that was what gossip might have made of it 30 years down the line).

Up next

New Literary Review.

The three books for the essay review.

I think more Robert Rodi might be a nice change of pace from Lanny's ordeals.

Tags:

mallorys_camera

Cool car I saw in the parking lot at the gym:

Shortly, I must toddle off to the New Paltz garden for more weeding as it's supposed to get hot this afternoon.

Yesterday, I did very little of anything except tromp (Winding Hills, steep) and start rereading Tracy Daugherty's biography of Joan Didion—which is not as good as Tracy Daugherty's bio of Larry McMurtry.

I suspect Didion simply did not engage Daugherty as much: She is an excellent prose writer, but comes across as an unsympathetic human being, unspontaneous, unlikeable, studied to an extreme. One gets the impression that Didion hovered over her words like a vulture hovering over a skull, wondering, Did I miss anything the first time I picked this clean? It probably took her half an hour to write a single sentence.

McMurtry, in contrast, was a kind of mad, slapdash writer. Every morning of his life, he was up and at that typewriter by 7:30 a.m., typing away like a maniac. By 9 a.m., he'd have produced 10 pages. And then he'd stop.

Ten pages in an hour and a half! That's crazy fast!

And probably accounts for his uneven output: Easily half of what McMurtry wrote is really baaaaad.

But McMurtry draws the reader in in a way that Didion is simply not capable of doing. One must parse Didion's sentences. And that is exhausting when one is reading for pleasure. Hence, one never reads Didion for pleasure.

Interestingly, both Didion and McMurtry are ultimately what you might call regional writers. Didion's region was California; McMurtry's region was Texas. And each writer's finest output amounts to kind of a harvest of regional tropes: Didion's basket is "the pioneer," while McMurtry's is "the American West."

Tags:

conuly

As always, Evil!Janeway is hot, though less so than the Living Witness version. It's the eyes - our main characters all have huge eyes, so the somewhat more realistically animated adult human characters look slightly uncanny valley, even though their eyes ought to make sense.

Also, damn, Chakotay has got some arms! Is this true IRL? I don't remember ever seeing the live actor ever without sleeves....

Also also, I honestly love every time Gwen gets a moment of happiness, no matter how small. She really has had a miserable life. Every second chasing replicated pie over the ship, or squirting whipped cream into her mouth, or, one hopes, finally spending some time playing goofy holodeck games, is a second worth living. And so, I will say, I appreciate that the animators took the time to let her smirk a little when Evil!Chakotay proposed starting his torture session with "the cute one", aka Murf the Indestructible. You gotta find those moments of joy when you can, sweetie!

(Question: Are mirror tribbles... nice? What about their new team pet, Bribble? Would Bribble have a goatee and be evil in the mirror verse? How sapient is that thing, anyway?)

********************

( Read more... )

oursin

Happy birthday,

angevin and

spaceoperadiva!

conuly

I don't want this getting lost in the links: A Journey Through the Dystopiaverse (some of those poems hit hard)

In personal news, how many nos is one expected to get before they get a yes?

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( I managed to find some non-doom-and-gloom links to shove in here as well )

conuly

Watch on YouTube

conuly

( Read more... )

mallorys_camera

The most interesting geopolitical analysis comes from Peter Turchin who sees political instability as a 50-year cycle, driven by stagnating wages, a growing wealth gap, a surplus of educated elites (without corresponding elite jobs), and accelerating fiscal deficit.

His extraordinarily prescient Nature piece was actually published 15 years ago at the height of the Obama Hope & Change hype.

###

I keep reminding myself that it's nuts to fixate on the stuff that's happening in LA because there's absolutely nothing I can do about the stuff that's happening in LA.

I've never seen the slightest utility in signing petitions or petitioning elected officials. And at this point, I'm wondering about continuing to participate in those rah-rah, feel-good demonstrations too. (Although I probably will. There's a big demonstration in Kingston this weekend.)

I want to turn myself into a cypher so I can slip into the deep underground as effortlessly as possible.

Though there's always the issue of how do you identify the deep underground? Do they advertise on NYC subway ads? As an ad flash at the end of Words With Friends games? On billboards along remote highways? Do they post notices on the backs of cereal boxes? Is there some secret tic or flash hand signal I can do while I'm walking around the Galleria that will validate me as prime recruitment material? It's so very Thomas Pynchon!!

And what exactly would this deep underground do?

Smuggle Hispanic workers from Home Depot parking lots in the States to Home Depot parking lots in Canada like an underground railroad?

###

Okay, I'm being facetious & obnoxious.

I think the political situation in much of Central America is appalling, and I completely sympathize with immigrants who are seeking asylum. I also sympathize with many of the folk who are up here for economic reasons: There are plenty of jobs that most Americans don't want to do; if immigrants want to do them, that's a good thing, right?

I also suspect in fewer than 15 years, American citizens will be desperately applying for asylum in various places around the world. Hello! My great-great-great-great grandfather migrated XXX years ago! Take me back!!!! PULEEEEEZE!!!!!

###

Anyway...

It's raining. It's been raining. The New Paltz garden is partially flooded, so no weeding for me today.

I couldn't figure out whether or not I was sick yesterday. My nose was running & I felt utterly exhausted, but it seemed to me that that could have been completely psychosomatic. Malingering, in other words!

So, I toddled off to the gym.

And I'd like to write, And going to the gym made me feel a whole lot better! Except going to the gym did not, in fact, make me feel a whole lot better. Though it did not make me feel a whole lot worse.

While I worked out, I thought about manifesting.

Like if I had this prompt thing down, I could materialize a wish that would net me $15 million—my neeeeeeeds are modest!—without imperiling the welfare of anyone I care about, or causing the destruction of some fabulous place I love, or adding to the misery of some beaten-down population segment.

I'll keep working on it.

Tags:

oursin

My attention, as they say, was drawn to this: Why Have So Many Books by Women Been Lost to History?

The question itself is reasonable, I guess, but what is downright WEIRD is they actually namecheck Persephone Press's acts of rediscovery -

- and one of the first books in their own endeavour is one that PP did early on and being Persephone is STILL IN PRINT.

And one of the others has been repeatedly reprinted as a significant work including by Pandora Press.

Do we think there is a) not checking this sort of thing b) erasure of feminist publishing foremothers?

Okay I pointed out that even Virago were not actually digging up Entirely Forgotten Works (ahem ahem South Riding never out of print and paid for a lot of gels to get to Somerville).

However, this did lead me to look up certain rare faves of mine, and lo and behold, British Library Women Writers have actually just reprinted, all praise to them, GB Stern's The Woman in the Hall, 1939 and never republished. Yay. This to my mind is one of her top works.

Also remark here that Furrowed Middlebrow are bringing back works that have genuinely been hard to get hold of, like the non-Cold Comfort Farm Stella Gibbons, and the early Margery Sharps, and so on. (Though Greyladies had already done Noel Streatfeild as Susan Scarlett.)

Confess I am waiting for the Big Publishing Rediscovery of EBC Jones. Would also not mind maybe some attention to Violet Hunt (unfortunately her life was perhaps so dramatic it has outshone her work? gosh the Wikipedia entry is a bit thin.)

Tags:

oursin

Happy birthday,

uhhuhlex!

flemmings

I've been feeling bloated and puffy these last weeks, which my ankles tell me is what I am, and anyway, mug and heat and all = summer life as normal. But I woke this morning oddly limber and decided I'd better see what the damage is, so went downstairs and weighed myself. To find I'm ten pounds/ 4.5 kilos less than I'd thought and fifteen pounds less than I'd feared. What I was last February, basically. This is what not drinking will do to you. So I need only lose 20 pounds/ 9 kilos to get to my pre-op weight, not 30.

The problem basically is that my body image hasn't really changed since my mid-30s while my body certainly has. So seeing my reflection in store fronts is a shock. Who's that short thick woman? Why, it's me.

It stopped raining mid-afternoon so I set out for the laundromat and ran into my garbage bin painters coming down the street with their newly purchased 3. So I was able to pay them then, and stop worrying about them coming some morning to roust me out of bed during one of my indulgent lie-ins. Not that I lay in this morning. My exhausted lungs took me to bed at 11 last night, meaning I was wide awake at 8:30.

Today was still not easy on the lungs but miles better than yesterday. Sinuses still fill, throat is still scratchy, eyes still itch. But laundry has been achieved, I have clean towels and hand towels and sleep pants, so count myself content.

Tags:

health,
rl_25

conuly

Every day is perfect, if
when you wake, you hear birds
in the garden, in the yard. Birds

up and down, ushering in one more day
in all the houses on Shaker Way. Birds
on telephone lines, light posts. Birds

twit, twittering on trees
hailing fellow birds
with a nod of beak—gray kingbird;

top-hatted, streamertail
tuxedoed, doctor bird—
busy-bodied hummingbird

tucking in, out, of pink, red ixoras
punch-drunk in love. Birds
preening for, chatting up other birds—

the oriole, the grass quit, in mid-song
on the lawn, in a dance of birds
an all-day-long conference of bird;

red-headed woodpecker
—drummer boy, or girl bird
in this daily symphony of birds

—an orchestra on Shaker Way
in serenade of each perfect day with birds—
from the very first mockingbird

heralding, in solo warble
one more day, filled with birds—
brightened, lightened, trilled by birds:

precious, diamond-throated
sweet song, miracle-toting birds
the-gift-of-day-is-here birds.

Bird, bird, bird. Hello bird.
You lift me up bird.
You sing the day beautiful, bird.

***********

_Link

oursin

Last week was the one where there was PANIC over whether I would have new supply of prescription drug; credit card issues including FRAUD; and also bizarre phonecall from the musculo-skeletal people about scheduling an appointment which suggested they hadn't looked at my record or are very very confused about what my next session is actually for.

HOWEVER

Though I began writing a review on Wednesday, did a paragraph, and felt totally blank about where it was going from there, I returned to it the following day and lo and behold wrote enough to be considered an actual review, though have been tinkering and polishing since then. But is essentially DONE.

And in the realm of reviewing have received 3 books for essay review, have another one published this month coming sometime, and today heard that my offer to review for Yet Another Venue has been accepted, where can they send the book?

While in other not quite past it news, for many years I was heavily involved in a rather niche archival survey, which is no longer being hosted in its previous useful if rather outdated form but as a spreadsheet (I would say no use to man nor beast but it does have some value I suppose). But there is talk of reviving and updating it (yay) and I have been invited to a meeting to discuss this. Fortunately I can attend virtually rather than at ungodly hour of morning in distant reaches of West London.

Also professional org of which I am A (jolly good?) Fellow is doing a survey and has invited me to attend a virtual Focus Group.

Oh yes, and it looks as though a nerdy letter about Rebecca West I wrote to the Literary Review is likely to get published.

Tags:

conuly

Rok continues to be the best at everything, and deserves all the hugs. Though I remain baffled how ST thinks they can on one hand have post-scarcity nearly everywhere (including, one presumes, in places just outside of the Federation where they can easily abscond with probable Federation citizens) and also have seedy underbellies everywhere as well. The problem is that they never actually worked out how it all works, and I think the only solution is to ditch the idea that even the Federation really has no currency and is totally post-scarcity. Everybody has their basic needs met, I'll agree is supported by the writing. Anything past that, no.

Anyway, Rok's friend in her tragic backstory was clearly no more able to leave that situation than she was and though I can see there's too much plot for that to happen in canon I really hope they could rescue him.

Speaking of tragic backstories, I cannot believe a. that Dal tried to say his was the worst and b. his version of being "the worst" absolutely skips past the part where ( Read more... ) But seriously, dude, you grew up as a slave on a mine full of child slaves. It's not a situation people get into because their life was just so great beforehand. If everything was hunky-dory, none of you would've been targeted in the first damn place. You all have a terrible backstory, you don't need to prove it!

Moving on, Murf continues to also be the best, but ffs, can somebody get him an AAC? Or a whiteboard, at least? Teach him sign language? This is a solved problem even in the real world, surely Starfleet can figure it out!

Nothing to say about Jankom, he's just there. *shrug* And I feel kinda ditto about Zero, tbh. I mean, I like them, but....

Ma'Jel, between her cool hair and her increasingly consternated expression as the turbolift got more and more crowded, is clearly not one of the most unemotional Vulcans out there. (I don't care what Vulcans say, the opposite of "logical" is not "emotional", it's just "illogical".) I feel like she and our darling T'Lyn would have a lot to talk about.

The adults on the ship - this show is clearly trying to walk a fine line between keeping them competent and allowing the kids to run circles around them. I'm not sure it always works, but I appreciate the effort, and also I appreciate how they were careful to make it clear that the adults, whether they're being strict or a bit Too Much, are only acting the way they do because they're sympathetic. (Frankly, all the kids could stand to appreciate their new situation a bit more - except Rok, she already gets it - but I understand why they're struggling a bit.)

( Gets a bit spoilery )

**************

( Ugh, the news )

mallorys_camera

Mr. & Mrs. Neighbor Ed got a present they didn't want.

A birdfeeder. With a digital camera. Courtesty of a well-intended offspring.

It feeds blurry photographs to various nearby digital receivers and has some kind of AI hookup thing that gives you info about the blurry photographs.

"Well, that seems like a perfectly nice present!" I cried.

Mrs. Neighbor Ed made a face. "When the jays grab the sunflower seeds, they knock all the other seeds out of the feeder, and then the field mice grab them and begin invading the house!"

"When your cat was around, we never had any problems with field mice," she added—and I realized, with a pang, that she was talking about the Meezer, dead & gone these—what? seven years? The Meezer had been the mightiest of hunters!

I hoped the Meezer was eavesdropping from Cat Heaven, where presumably there is an endless parade of self-regenerating field mice and squirrels for her to slaughter. It's always nice to hear nice things about oneself.

And I also felt this almost palpable strand of connection. Veritably ectoplasmic! The Meezer had really been the last link to my old life in California, and when she died, that link snapped: I was no longer someone who'd once lived in California; I was only someone who lived here.

That's the reason why I liked living in Dutchess County more than I like living in Ulster County, I thought. In Dutchess County, there'd been... continuity.

And also, of course, in Dutchess County, I had friends.

###$

I prattled merrily with Mr. & Mrs. Neighbor Ed for an hour, and our prattle was lively and hilarious and entirely without awkwardness, no long-time-no-see pauses or fumbles at all.

Neighbor Ed is almost as good at banter as Ben used to be!

I felt as though I was drinking water from a cool, sweet well.

Before that, I'd hung out with Loraine & Buff Ken & Rami on their back porch for an hour, watching the birds & talking about Buff Ken's latest bear sighting on his outdoor camera.

And before that, I'd got to play in the dirt in my garden for a few hours. There was a Claude sighting!

"When eet get hot last week, I water your garden," Claude told me.

"Thank you!" I said. Adding apologetically, "I can only get over here once a week—"

"I know, I know," Claude said, holding up a hand. "Eet is fine."

Everybody was glad to see me. Everybody liked me.

###

Icky was around this weekend. One of the Spawn managed to graduate from high school.

"He just totally ignored me!" Icky declared indignantly. "I came all the way from the City, and he ignored me! The only thing he said to me was how embarrassing it was that I was taking photographs of him!"

And you think I care exactly why? I wondered.

But I am well-trained in the art of making sympathetic sounds to people in distress.

Icky mistook my sounds for encouragement & began lamenting: It's hard, it's really fuckin' hard to be around the Spawn's mother, the Spawn's mother's new husband, the Spawn's mother's relentlessly cheerful father who'd been imported all the way from Texas—

"I was there all by myself!" Icky complained.

I clucked.

I would have expected him to head straight back to the City after this debacle. He's not supposed to be here till this coming Thursday! But, no. He stuck around. When I left for Dutchess County, he was sitting in front of his ginormous living room television screen, glaring at YouTube videos on how to sharpen knives. He had doused himself with cologne. I could smell it all the way from upstairs.

When I got back six hours later, he was still in front of the screen, watching what looked like the same YouTube video.

He saw me come in, jumped up, and immediately began doing pushups on the living room floor!

Like WTF???

He watched me cook my dinner. "That smells very good," he said, staring at my Cajun chicken.

No, fuckhead. I'm not offering you any.

Then he wanted to have a long conversation about changing propane canisters. He ushered me outside and handed me the wrench.

"I'm kind of a dummy about stuff like this," I admitted.

"Oh, no. Not you. You're a genius—"

Well, I am actually very smart, I thought. So you can can the fuckin' sarcasm. I didn't grow up using tools, so there's a learning curve involved.

But, you know. No need to prolong the conversation. And up close, that cologne was overpowering.

I thanked him for the tutorial, ran upstairs, and barricaded myself in the Patrizia-torium.

And eventually, he left.

###

In the past three days, three new place possibilities have popped up through my various real-life-people networks.

I don't really want to move until the fall, so I'm not sure how aggressively I should be following up the leads. But at the very least, they're a good auger, right?

Tags:

conuly

Or, anyway, I glanced at the headlines and oh fuck no. Can I just go back to bed, and somebody wake me when things improve?

flemmings

Looks like the wildfire smoke got me, in spite of there being no air quality warning. Or else I've started having hours-long anxiety attacks. Went up to Loblaws, halfway there began feeling tight-chested and dizzy, couldn't breathe deeply, and didn't get much better inside. Now sinuses are swollen but I can kind of breathe. So much for laundromat, and now of course it's raining.

Tags:

rl_25

oursin

This week's bread: a loaf of Dove's Farm Organic Seedhouse Bread Flour, v nice.

Friday night supper: penne with a sauce of sauce of Peppadew roasted red peppers in brine drained, whizzed in blender and gently heated while pasta cooking.

Saturday breakfast rolls: basic buttermilk (as buttermilk reaching its bb date), 3:1 strong white/rye flour, turned out nicely.

Today's lunch: panfried seabass fillets in samphire sauce, served with cauliflower florets roasted in pumpkin seed oil with cumin seeds, padron peppers (as we have noted on previous occasions, these had not been picked as young and tender as they might be), and sticky rice with lime leaves.

Tags:

cooking,
recipes

mallorys_camera

The immigration demonstrations in LA right now are not the first time the National Guard has been called in to quell a protest.

I'm thinking about the People's Park protests in Berkeley. The National Guard advanced on us with rifles drawn & then the helicopters descended. Was it the National Guard or the helicopters that dropped the tear gas canisters? I can't remember.

I do remember fleeing across campus, pushing the then-toddler Alicia in her stroller, tears & snot streaming down my face. Maybe this is the reason why Alicia grew up to be such a bitch: Exposure to tear gas addled her unmylinated brain!

Still, it's always news when the gub'mint uses military-style force against white people.

And, of course, the People's Park incident happened in 1969. Which is to say a trillion million years ago. I was only 17, or I would have known better than to bring a toddler to a political protest. On account of skipping all those years of school, I actually started at UC Berkeley when I was sixteen.

###

Sadly, I will not be around for the NYC pride parade because it is Lew & Ed's wedding reception weekend, so I will be in Edinboro, Pennsylvania.

I avoided all those Pride demonstrations when they were just about marketing.

But this year, Pride has a political dimension so it has regained its gravitas. I'll go to as many Pride demonstrations as I can stuff into my schedule.

Anyway.

The Pinebush Alien Fair did take place yesterday—rather stupidly because yesterday it poured relentlessly whereas today, the scheduled Rain Day, it's not only dry but pleasantly balmy.

I grabbed an umbrella and drove on up.

The chief joy of the Pinebush Alien Fair is its costumes. But very few people wanted to wear costumes in the rain. I'm sure this dog didn't:

But its mean humans made it dress up anyway.

There were a couple of good window displays:

But mostly, it was just yr typical tacky upstate New York small town craft fair. Disappointing!

###

I went home & spent the rest of the day Remunerating. Because those fuckin' MacArthur Foundation people keep forgetting to send me my genius grant money.

Went for a looooong tromp—five miles!—when it finally cleared up at sunset.

Watched The Beauty Queen of Jerusalem. (Excellent if you don't mind low production values.)

Abluted.

Slumbered.

And then at 3 in the morning, awakened with a bolt & decided to try and read myself back to sleep.

Grabbed the first book at hand from the stack on my night table—Tracy Dougherty's remarkable biography of Larry McMurtry.

Which is even more remarkable on second read:

Consciousness: the sense of self, the voice chattering at us in our heads, the apparent awareness of a presence, a spirit, a soul inside us, distinct from our bodies and the electrical firings in our brains. Scientists and philosophers fall all over themselves trying to explain, define, or locate consciousness. It is like searching for darkness with a flashlight...

“I have felt largely posthumous since [my open-heart] operation,” McMurtry said. “My old psyche, or old self, was shattered—now it whirls around me in fragments … The heart-lung machine allows for biologic survival, but my own feeling is that the person, as opposed to the body, dies anyway … For a certain period of time one is technically alive but in another, powerful sense, dead. Then one is jump-started back into life, but the Faustian Bargain has been made: you’re there, but not as yourself. That self, that personality, lies back beyond the time when you were on the pump. That gap, in my case at least, has proven unclosable.”

I have heard that from several other open-heart surgery survivors, too.

And sometimes you can just look at people like Bill Clinton who've had the surgery & know that's what happened to them.

###

Larry McMurtry wrote one perfect novel—The Last Picture Show—and several flawed novels I have deep affection for—Lonesome Dove, Moving On.

And a whole lot of dreck.

It occurs to me that McMurtry's biographer Tracy Dougherty is a much better writer than McMurtry ever was.

What gave McMurtry the edge, I suppose, was that he was actively elegizing a dying mythology (i.e. the American West.)

Humans revere their mythmakers.

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oursin

Happy birthday,

badgerbag and

randomling!

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muckefuck

January 2025

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Page Summary

oursin - Wednesday somehow agitated the feelings of a small dog in the park
mallorys_camera - Smackdown!!!! Larry McMurtry v Joan Didion!!!!!
conuly - Oooh! Prodigy has a Mirror Universe episode!
oursin - (no subject)
conuly - Why do things always go from bad to worse? Why can't they go from bad to somewhat less bad?
conuly - (no subject)
conuly - Prodigy
mallorys_camera - Working On the Perfect Prompt
oursin - This is one of my longstanding grouches and you are all probably used to it
oursin - (no subject)
flemmings - (no subject)
conuly - Birdsong of Shaker Way by Ann-Margaret Lim
oursin - Last week was very mixed
conuly - Trying to rapidly finish Prodigy, on Season 2
mallorys_camera - Scenes From the Life
conuly - Well, I read the news
flemmings - (no subject)
oursin - Culinary
mallorys_camera - Myths & Mythmakers
oursin - (no subject)

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Page generated Jun. 16th, 2025 01:31 am

The Death of Imagination

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Wednesday somehow agitated the feelings of a small dog in the park

Smackdown!!!! Larry McMurtry v Joan Didion!!!!!

Oooh! Prodigy has a Mirror Universe episode!

(no subject)

Why do things always go from bad to worse? Why can't they go from bad to somewhat less bad?

(no subject)

Prodigy

Working On the Perfect Prompt

This is one of my longstanding grouches and you are all probably used to it

(no subject)

(no subject)

Birdsong of Shaker Way by Ann-Margaret Lim

Last week was very mixed

Trying to rapidly finish Prodigy, on Season 2

Scenes From the Life

Well, I read the news

(no subject)

Culinary

Myths & Mythmakers

(no subject)

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January 2025

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