Friday Ephemera
In the land of the ludicrous. || Yes, darling, it’s an emerald. || Dolls for the different. || Lion-deterring technology. || Tommy and Tuppence: By the Pricking of My Thumbs. || Imperfection detected, solution devised. || I did not know these existed. || “Nail-scratching genuine-tapestry weave.” || Woke engineering class. || Guardian not happy. || His skateboard is longer than yours. || Houseguests ahoy. || Harrods for everything. (h/t, Things) || A real-time map of lightning strikes. || Explanatory graphics of note. || Beach fashion of note. || Volleyball from above. || The snore of the hummingbird. || October 30, 1961. || “Soon the Earth will be smashed to atoms!” || And finally, a very short quiz.
“In the land of the ludicrous”
If only we could identify the nitwit behind the camera, we could point out that she’s speaking English (not “Black owned”), benefiting from electricity (not “Black owned”), using a smartphone (not “Black owned”), in airconditioning (not “Black owned”)….and an endless list of “culturally appropriated” benefits invented by Caucasian people that she needs to stop using immediately.
Lion-deterring technology.
The eyes have it.
Explanatory graphics of note.
The all time, hands down, definitive demonstration of the uselessness of PissPoint as a method of presenting information.
Beach fashion of note.
Yes, hipsters, by definition, are entirely lost and always catching up, Sacha Baron Cohen beat ’em to it years ago . . .
“Harrods for everything.”
Oh, yes. (Something I would have mentioned a couple of weeks ago if I ever remembered this stuff from one day to the next. But then it wouldn’t be Ephemera otherwise, would it?)
“Beach fashion of note.”
They’re just a couple of sleeves away from coming full-circle in almost exactly a century.
Oh, yes.
That was a lot of money to ask for a sedan you could no longer properly fuck in.
Harrods for everything.
“Market?” asked Richard.
“The Floating Market. But you don’t want to know about that. No more questions.”
. . .
“He’s from the Upside,” said the guide. (Iliaster? thought Richard.) “Was asking about the Lady Door. And the Floating Market. Brought him to you, Lord Rat-speaker. Figured you’d know what to do with him.”
. . . .
“It’s the Floating Market, silly. I told you already. It moves. Different places. Last one I went to was held in that big clock tower. Big . . . someone. And the next was—”
. . . .
“There?” he said, appalled.
The woman nodded. “There.” The building was large, and it was covered with many thousands of burning lights. Conspicuous coats of arms on the wall facing them proudly proclaimed that it sold all sorts of things by appointment to various members of the British Royal Family. Richard, who had spent many a footsore weekend hour trailing behind Jessica through every prominent shop in London, recognized it immediately, even without the huge sign, proclaiming it to be, “Harrods?”
The woman nodded. “Only for tonight,” she said. “The next market could be
anywhere.”
“But I mean,” said Richard. “Harrods.”
. . .
Richard stood there, alone in the throng, drinking it in. It was pure madness—of that there was no doubt at all. It was loud, and brash, and insane, and it was, in many ways, quite wonderful. People argued, haggled, shouted, sang. They hawked and touted their wares, and loudly declaimed the superiority of their merchandise. Music was playing—a dozen different kinds of music, being played a dozen different ways on a score of different instruments, most of them improvised, improved, improbable. Richard could smell food. All kinds of food—the smells of curries and spices seemed to predominate, with, beneath them, the smells of grilling meats and mushrooms. Stalls had been set up all throughout the shop, next to, or even on, counters that, during the day, had sold perfume, or watches, or amber, or silk scarves. Everybody was buying. Everybody was selling. Richard listened to the market cries as he began to wander through the crowds.
“Lovely fresh dreams. First-class nightmares. We got ’em. Get yer lovely nightmares here.”
“Weapons! Arm yourself! Defend your cellar, cave, or hole! You want to hit ’em? We got ’em. Come on darling, come on over here . . . ”
“Rubbish!” screamed a fat, elderly woman, in Richard’s ear, as he passed her malodorous stall. “Junk!” she continued. “Garbage! Trash! Offal! Debris! Come and get it! Nothing whole or undamaged! Crap, tripe, and useless piles of shit. You know you want it.”
A man in armor beat a small drum and chanted, “Lost Property. Roll up, roll up, and see for yourself. Lost property. None of your found things here. Everything guaranteed properly lost.”
Richard wandered through the huge rooms of the store, like a man in a trance. He was unable to even guess how many people there were at the night market. A thousand? Two thousand? Five thousand?
—Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere
I find reading Gaiman’s prose fiction a bit like reading a screenplay for a Jim Henson movie.
Guardian not happy.
“One of the spoof headlines that was shared on social media in July appears to have been taken as genuine by some.”
Only one?
Morning, all.
Only one?
And so, a newspaper famed far and wide for its incompetence with statistics and figures generally, and which unironically employs Owen Jones, Laurie Penny and Carole Cadwalladr, and whose own writers have assumed that screengrabs of actual Guardian content must in fact be parodies, fears that it’s reputation is being undermined.
We live in strange times.
One more time. They’re just like normal people.
Not deranged in any way.
Dolls for the different.
A story to make my coming day that much better.
Not deranged in any way.
That made me angry.
That made me angry.
It’s a ball of insatiable malice, and beyond help. Or as Instapundit put it, “The whole point of leftist politics is to give people an excuse to feel good about being mean.” Which may explain why the left attracts so many Ladies of Cluster B™.
A story to make my coming day that much better.
That made me angry.
Today’s word is juxtaposition.
I recall the TV adaptation of Neverwhere as being most enjoyable complete with a young Peter Capaldi camping it up as the evil Angel Islington.
Not deranged in any way.
I’m truly beyond caring. If there were snipers on rooftops who picked these vermin off I’d applaud at this stage – but I’m a reactionary that way.
What I want to know is, what were the other side (Trump White House\GOP) thinking? The streets of the capitol are still pretty much run by scum so let’s hold an election event and not ensure the attendees have security to get safely home.
Obviously the first thought is that if you need security to ensure you’re not accosted leaving an election event in the capitol of the country perhaps the country is already lost? Best not to go down that rabbit hole.
And finally, a very short quiz.
I thought the hands must’ve been photoshopped.
Woke engineering class.
Seems to me, we need to challenge that professor as to why there are not more white people or, especially, women in those courses. I’d fear for the future when engineers cannot see reasons for the realities that have been there right before their (supposedly) woke eyes their entire lives. I would. But as it’s already built in to my ambient angst anyway…
That made me angry.
Mission accomplished.
Mission accomplished.
You see, they’re showing us how much they care. With their pathological selfishness and lack of empathy.
Explanatory graphics of note
I’m trying to figure out if that is 180 degrees from engineering drawings or some smaller number.
Two items. Possibly related.
Via Julia.
It’s a ball of insatiable malice, and beyond help.
I’d like to think that if I were in that man’s shoes, my only reaction would be, “Lady, you’ve gotta scream and jump up and down like a retarded bunny rabbit, I’m gonna have to ask you to wear a tighter shirt.”
Beach fashion of note.
Hard pass.
Dolls for the different.
Very cool project and a heartwarming story, but the euphemisms are a little out of control: “…a unique kind of doll making: look-alikes for those with visible physical differences.”
Maybe I’m gifted, but I’m able to see ‘visible physical differences’ between almost everybody.* Heck, I briefly dated a twin and I could reliably tell her from her sister when they thought it would be fun to mess with me.
How much time did the writer and editor spend discussing the phrasing? Probably boiled down to “a picture’s worth a thousand words,” in the end. Still, I continue to find it puzzling that my Moral Superiors can loudly proclaim that Diversity Is Strength, and Different Is Good, and Nonconformity Makes You Special, and in the next breath can condemn any language that might describe ways that a person breaks with the norm.
(Can we still say ‘norm’?)
* Except perhaps the women churned out of Beverly Hills plastic surgeon’s offices.
I’m not exactly sure why but I really like This.
Not deranged in any way.
And not one irony gene among them.
I’m not exactly sure why but I really like this.
I’d probably appreciate the ‘bardcore’ cover versions more if I were familiar with the tracks they’re covering, which, by and large, I’m not.
And not one irony gene among them.
But, apparently, we mustn’t “tone police,” as that would be racist, and sexist, and an affront to the transgendered. Instead, we must allow hysterical morons and people high on malice to be as shrill and threatening as they wish for as long they wish, until, exhausted, we submit. Because – magic words – “social justice.” Again, it’s curious just how often these elaborate rationalisations sound like they were devised primarily to excuse Cluster B behaviour.
Seen here, a young gentleman making a valid point.
short quiz
“This tweet is from a suspended account.” So there’s that.
“This tweet is from a suspended account.”
Bugger. I’d forgotten how much the Twitter scolds enjoy their work.
But, apparently, we mustn’t “tone police,”
One of the funniest conversations I can remember came when a feminist friend-of-a-friend had too much to drink at a dinner party and started foaming at the mouth over whatever the cause du jour was at that time. I was the designated driver, so I hadn’t had nearly enough to drink to make fighting fun, and so I just rebutted her rants as calmly as I could, trying to channel my inner Dr. Peterson.
I realized very quickly that my sense of calm was driving this woman absolutely out of her mind, so I stuck with it. Each calm rebuttal just sent her further ’round the bend. It culminated with her screaming “WHY AREN’T YOU ANGRY? HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM?!” To which I asked, “Are you really policing my tone?”
At that point, the light bulb came on and she told me off properly. Still, for a party with the wife’s friends where I had to stay sober, it was a hell of a good time.
my sense of calm was driving this woman absolutely out of her mind,
I’d imagine that many of us have encountered people who inhibit even polite criticism of their arguments or behaviour by reacting with disproportionate agitation, even rage, thereby making any attempt at correction way too much effort and most likely futile. And it’s often done knowingly. The self-serving waffle about “tone policing” seems designed to excuse such behaviour.
Remember when Elijah Cummings and others walked through a crowd of Tea Party Patriots and then had to invent a story that racial slurs were hurled at them because no camera or phone caught any such language? Compare that to the treatment of guests leaving the White House last night.
“And not one irony gene among them.”
It’s not that; they’re just bloody idiots.
Anyway, fun with geometry (or “YouTube crossover of note”).
Adam:
“Others” specifically means the sainted John Lewis. He of the multiple funerals and lying in state (As opposed to lying in congress. For about 40 years).
Have we had a ‘you’re a bad person’ test yet today.
Maybe this will sort us out.
Maybe this will sort us out.
It is the only way they’ll learn. Though repeated treatments may be necessary.
Compare and contrast.
Bats filmed the wrong way up: https://twitter.com/MeanAnimals/status/1298335589348122626
Have we had a ‘you’re a bad person’ test yet today.
Maybe this will sort us out.
I’m still laughing. What a shot.
Have we had a ‘you’re a bad person’ test yet today.
I was thinking this needed Bob Menery commentating, but this guy did an excellent job.
Instead, we must allow hysterical morons and people high on malice to be as shrill and threatening as they wish for as long they wish, until, exhausted, we submit.
We, the privileged, must never interrupt, question, or counter any statements made by they, the oppressed. This is the only that is right and just.
It is a marvelous con, if one is devoid of conscientious consciousness.
*way
Oh, bother.
It is a marvellous con,
A great deal of woke posturing – sorry, theorising – does sound like an attempt to excuse and encourage antisocial behaviour. A license for spite, bullying and outright thuggery, all cloaked in self-flattery and pretentious victimhood.
You can imagine the kinds of people to whom that might appeal.
And by might, I mean does.
Compare and contrast.
Somebody should inform Kim Jones that Monopoly boards don’t have a memory, and that a lot of brown people who showed up 25 years ago with forty bucks and a dream have built successful businesses and comfortable lives. And that Rosewood and Tulsa are a hundred years and a thousand miles distant, and are parables about the 2nd Amendment far more than about George Floyd. And that in the here and now, the police are responsible for a vanishingly small number of the premature deaths in her community.
I’m tempted to create a version of Monopoly that includes four “Easy Money” spaces on the board. The spaces are split — top half is for players holding a card marked “Dad,” and cause you to lose a turn because you’ve been grounded. Bottom half is for players without the Dad card, who collect an extra $100 the first three times, and then go to jail on the fourth. Too obvious?
According to Wikipedia “In 2004, Kendi received dual Bachelor of Science* degrees in African American Studies and magazine production from Florida A&M University”.
His choice of degree was wise; everyone else’s choice is part of “societie’s (sic) systemic problems in engineering”.
*BS, for real.
Bats filmed the wrong way up: “>https://twitter.com/MeanAnimals/status/1298335589348122626
With fond reminisces.