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Ephemera

Friday Ephemera (768)

May 16, 2025 98 Comments

Scenic toilet. || Hot cube. || Camera-manning. || Less complicated methods may be available. || Somewhat lacking in elbow room. || Lippy fish. || News flash. || Easily done, I guess. || A tribute to the barf bag. || Unwelcome wobble. || Are you bringing the vulva energy to worldwide contentions? || Liveliness incoming. || “Where are my nunchucks?” || On waffle-stomping as an environmentalist’s solemn duty. || On “diversity” and migration, a short thread. || They call it “equity.” Previously. || On stereotypes. || Scenes from T.J. Maxx. || Spaghetti Junction, 1972. || “Pregnancy is not to be defined by biological phenomena… A transsexual theory of reproduction.” Horseshit ensues. || Employee of note. || In surgery. || Close. || “You need to come real fast.” || Oh, and finally, no, it turns out they can’t.

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Written by: David
Free-For-All Science

Not Entirely Cost Effective

May 15, 2025 51 Comments

In transmutation news:

Scientists at Europe’s Large Hadron Collider have successfully transformed lead into gold.

The team behind this discovery… used a unique way to create gold. Instead of crashing lead atoms head-on, they looked at what happens when the atoms just barely miss each other. Researchers explained that when this happens, powerful electromagnetic fields around the atoms can cause them to change into different elements.

The machine can create about 89,000 gold atoms every second,

I know, I know. We’ll be glittering beings, richer than God, with hats and shoes and mattresses all made of gold.

but each atom only exists for a tiny fraction of a second before breaking apart.

Ah. Bugger.

And I suppose there’s the small matter of the electricity bill, running costs, maintenance, staffing, and so forth. Roughly $1 billion a year.

You may resume your dreary, humdrum lives, with mattresses made of foam rubber, springs, and polyester.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

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Written by: David
Reheated

Reheated (105)

May 13, 2025 141 Comments

For newcomers, some items from the archives: 

Telepathy Not A Thing, Women Hardest Hit.

Empowered feminist exhausted by hiring servants, planning holidays, brushing daughter’s hair.

It’s been said, here at least, that when someone uses the term “emotional labour” unironically, the person doing the mouthing is most likely a bit of a nightmare. Say, the kind of woman who complains about the “emotional labour” of hiring a domestic cleaner. Or the kind who bitches about her husband and his shortcomings in the pages of a national magazine, where friends and colleagues of said husband, and perhaps his own children, can read on with amusement…

The psychological intricacies of Ms Hartley’s preferences regarding bathroom cleaning do not appear to have been expressed directly to Her Loving Other, who, we’re told, “willingly complies to any task I decide to assign to him.” Perhaps he, or one of his friends, will read Harper’s Bazaar, at which point the full scale of her discontent will become apparent. Why Ms Hartley chose not to convey this issue directly is not entirely clear. Though it seems she’s been quite busy publicly cataloguing her husband’s faults – which extend from telepathic inadequacy to a failure to return gift wrap to its usual storage location.

Apocalypse Averted With Collective Juddering.

We will save the planet with jive, quickstep and Viennese waltz.

The Guardian’s leader writer, Susanna Rustin, is very much troubled by thoughts of impending catastrophe and is keen for your routine shopping – for groceries and maybe a pair of shoes – to be replaced, “painlessly,” with forms of “artistic expression and creativity.” Like dance lessons. It would, of course, be “a reordering of society.”

Because “dancing and singing could be part of the solution to the climate emergency.”

Their Happiness Hurt My Feelings.

The intersectional perils of video conferencing. With mad people.

It turns out that the reckless visibility of a wedding photo may be crushing the self-esteem out of the touchily unwed. You see, the mere sight of a photo of someone’s happy day can “crowd out the experiences of people with minoritized social identities,” albeit in ways never quite explained. Other taboos include references to “simple activities like family dance parties,” which are apparently a thing, and “gardening with a spouse.”

Curiously, given the stated importance of “sensitivity” and being mindful of what things might mean, we aren’t invited to ponder the kind of person who would resent someone else’s wedding photo. And then complain about it. Or whether such neurotic affectations, these unhappy mental habits, are something to be actively encouraged. In the name of progress. At a university.

Passionate Attachments.

From Salon, wrenching tales of “water bottle separation anxiety.”

What follows is a catalogue of unobvious woe and amateur dramatics. “Activist Manuela Barón” – whose area of activism is left fashionably unspecified – explains how her ancient, battered water bottle had become a “part of” her, and how the loss of it, at airport security, resulted in a swell of emotional activity: “I cried as I went through the scanner and ran off to my gate; I didn’t realise it would be like saying goodbye to an old friend.”

At which point, it occurs to me I may be misusing the word explain.

For those craving more, this is a pretty good place to start.

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Written by: David
Anthropology Policing Pronouns Or Else

Their Inner Loveliness

May 12, 2025 40 Comments

Some elaboration on a couple of items from Friday’s Ephemera – in which Antifa’s Transgender Enforcement Wing bare their sweet little souls.

The following scenes were filmed by Katie Daviscourt at a University of Washington event on safeguarding women’s sports against mentally ill men:

“It would be so beautiful to see your bodies hanging from the tree”

Trantifa/Antifa members threatened an elderly couple leaving a @Riley_Gaines_ event at the @UW campus. Police had to escort them as the militants followed. Video by @KatieDaviscourt: pic.twitter.com/ZapSmwQo8y

— Andy Ngo (@MrAndyNgo) May 7, 2025

From the same:

“I hope you die behind the wheel you stupid transphobic bitch!”
“You look too much like a trans woman to be transphobic”
*Neck slitting gesture*

Antifa members at @UW threatened a woman walking with a cane after the @Riley_Gaines_ event on women’s sports. pic.twitter.com/MvBXrXkqRf

— Andy Ngo (@MrAndyNgo) May 7, 2025

For daring to film such things, Ms Daviscourt received similar treatment.

In the comments, Min asked, not unreasonably:

Why are the police allowing these freaks to keep on harassing people?

One might think that gangs of masked misfits following elderly and disabled people to their cars, then obstructing their attempts to leave, while generally menacing them and muttering vivid threats, might constitute a breach of the peace, to say the least. Causing fear and alarm is the obvious intention.

And remember, the targets in the videos above – the unimposing, the elderly, the disabled – are chosen deliberately and with glee. Because that’s who they are, these mighty warriors of the Cluster B Tendency. Malevolence is their aphrodisiac, their euphoria. It’s how they feel important. It’s how they process the buzzing noise inside their own heads.

And then there’s the whole throwing faeces thing.

Oh, and note the “I’m not touching anyone – don’t touch me!” line from the big Antifa goon, the one enthusiastically menacing an elderly woman who struggles to walk.

We’ve been here before, of course. And we’ve seen what it means.

Update, via the comments:

EmC quotes this,

Oh, and note the “I’m not touching anyone – don’t touch me!” line from the big Antifa goon, the one enthusiastically menacing an elderly woman who struggles to walk.

And adds,

He needs touching with a baseball bat.

The threat of catastrophic injury would, I suspect, be the only language such creatures are likely to heed. It’s certainly hard to imagine them being swayed by appeals to logic, reciprocation, or basic decency. I see no evidence of a better nature to which one might appeal. I mean, once you’ve chosen to spend your afternoon menacing the elderly and disabled precisely because they’re unlikely to give you the vigorous kicking you deserve, you’re pretty much beyond any negotiation or genteel outreach project.

And should any readers have assumed the choice of targets seen above must be some one-off aberration, by all means think again:

“Don’t fucking touch me!” shrieks the masked young woman, flanked by her masked comrades for intimidation purposes, and while jabbing her finger in the face of a random man and preventing his elderly, disabled mother from crossing the road…

It must be strange to inhabit a social circle in which gratuitously harassing the elderly and disabled, and putting them in fear for their safety, is regarded as a credential and proof of righteousness. To believe that such behaviour makes you look good and will earn you in-group status.

It’s a pretty good measure of just how perverse, and morally demented, the Antifa mindset is.

T’aint politics. It’s pathology.

Previously in the happy-clappy world of Antifa and their Guardian apologists.

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Written by: David
Ephemera

Friday Ephemera (767)

May 9, 2025 160 Comments

A compendium of near misses. || The thrill of automation. || Taken: The Musical. || Snugger than thou. || Augmented-reality surgery. || The machine uprising, day 10. || Bigger than yours. || How to scare children. || I have a question for the ladies. || Modern slutting woes. || You want one and you know it. || A lot can happen in two weeks. || The airport passenger you’ve always wanted. || A trip to the shops. || He has an all-pink apartment. || The progressive retail experience, parts 628 and 629. || “Don’t expect passing to get rid of your dysphoria.” Related. || You’re threatened by her creativity. || Rather overshadowing the task at hand. || A situation had arisen. || Trans wing of Antifa showing their inner loveliness. || The fangs are the icing on the nightmare cake. || An unorthodox fight scene.

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In which we marvel at the mental contortions of our self-imagined betters.