For newcomers and the nostalgic, more items from the archives:

Don’t Oppress My People With Your Public Libraries.

Woke librarian denounces “so-called ‘knowledge’” of pale people. 

Ms Leung airs her distaste for “white men ideas” – as if they had been uniform across continents and throughout history – while reminiscing about attending a “white AF conference” two years earlier. I was unsure what the “AF” might refer to and searched for some literary or scholarly explanation. It then occurred to me that a “white AF conference” is, to borrow the woke vernacular, a white as fuck conference. Which is how not-at-all-racist academic librarians convey their thoughts, apparently.

It’s Petty When It Happens To Someone Else.

Atlantic columnist Lauren Smiley excuses chronic thievery via rhetorical limbo-dancing.

Ms Fairley – who invokes racism as a cause of her local notoriety, and whose extensive cache of stolen belongings included other people’s credit cards – is described to us at length and in the softest possible light. We learn of her dysfunctional upbringing, her struggles with a mouldy apartment, and her various drug habits, including “trekking daily to a methadone clinic” – a heroic feat, apparently. Ms Fairley’s failure to attend numerous court dates – for petty theft, mail theft, receiving stolen property, possession of heroin, and child endangerment – is, we learn, due to her having “a lot going on” in her life. In at least one instance, it turns out that what was going on was stealing from a resident she’d previously targeted and who, while being robbed again, was waiting to see Ms Fairley appear in court.

Your Standards Are Holding You Back.

Brooklynite lefties launch socialist-only dating platform. Things do not go well.

Ms Isser’s indignation at the thought of socialist women being romantically shunned, even by fellow socialists, was aired in December in a Twitter howling session, during which extensive use was made of exclamation marks. After much exasperated rumbling, Ms Isser concluded that the fault must lie solely with men, and that “straight men are shallow and sexist even when they’re socialists.” Thereby proving that, contrary to legend, ladies of the left are in no way high-maintenance or difficult to please.

There’s more, should you crave it, in the greatest hits. Also, open thread.

Yes, an open thread. In which to share links and bicker.

I’ll set the ball rolling with some augmented reality and an offer of possible interest.

Oh, and your weekly reminder that members of Antifa are just like normal people and in no way unhinged or likely to be afflicted with quite serious personality disorders. 

As I’ve said before, Antifa is not so much a political movement as a metastasising personality disorder, a Cluster B contagion. Which is to say, I think the root motive is psychological – a desire to do harm to other people, to cow, obstruct, frighten and assault, while feeling important and, via mob coercion, powerful. The politics, such as it is, is largely a pretext, a focus, a convenient excuse. Which would explain why its glaring idiocies, routine inaccuracies and inversions of reality do nothing to impede participants, and why the victims of Antifa aggression include disabled old ladies trying to use a pedestrian crossing. And who find themselves being gleefully harassed, physically intimidated and screamed at as “Nazi scum.”

A less deranged person might register the optics of such behaviour, the nakedly opportunist sociopathy. Menacing little old ladies, because you can – and hey, why not? - is a strange expression of “social justice” or “anti-fascism” or “resistance” or whatever. But the creatures typically drawn to Antifa, which include an extraordinary concentration of resentful misfits and the mentally unwell, are enjoying themselves far too much to care. The screeching, thuggery and harassment isn’t principled or political so much as compulsive and recreational. They do it because they enjoy it, because they want to, and because it makes them feel powerful.

Dr Lecter’s twilight years. || The underwater hotel suite you’ve always wanted. (h/t, Dicentra) || Witchcraft. (h/t, Tim) || Cinema takes its toll. (h/t, Ben) || Motion-sensor flower lamps. || Frankenstein Meets the Spacemonster, 1965. || Joys of parenthood, part 604. || Parasite fighters. (h/t, sk60) || Contemporary tape use. || What coronavirus does. || 100 minutes of nest-building. || Icy door of note. || Pudding of note. || Tempting fate. || Important question, answered. || How to remove a wisdom tooth. || The thrill of grooming. || The worm dance. || Do you see bush? || The chairs of Blake’s 7, an illustrated guide. || Related, the assorted seating of Doctor Who. || And finally, today’s word is suboptimal.

It’s with an almost nascent nostalgia that I recall the coining of the Gen Z “sexual recession”: a patronising concern that our youngest generation would be rendered psychosexually stunted, unable or unwilling to fornicate due to over-exposure to smartphones, social media and porn.

Yes, it’s the Guardian, where almost nascent nostalgia is a thing that exists.

Ciara Gaffney, a resident of Los Angeles and a “brand strategist,” is very excited – all but rendered incoherent – by a “cybersexual revolution” that, during the pandemic, is apparently occurring.

Flinging the Gregorian calendar into irrelevance, humanity will be bisected into pre-Covid-19 and post-Covid-19, and although many will ruminate on how we have changed, one thing is indisputable: the rose-coloured epoch before the coronavirus bitterly shamed the sending of nudes.

There’s more of that, a lot, in fact. You’d better used to it.

They were perceived as gauche, even pathetic. In the lockdown era, however, thirst traps and nudes are not only making a glorious, unrepentant comeback, but are now a form of emboldened agency in Gen Z’s blossoming sexual liberation.

For affirmation, Ms Gaffney links to Buzzfeed, where we’re told of an unattached lady named Alicia who sent nude photos to a female friend because she “wanted some validation.” Said friend was expected to “say nice things” and, as Alicia puts it, “hype me up.” Neurotic neediness, it turns out, is the new empowerment. What’s more, the coronavirus lockdown is “galvanising” this new “sexual revolution,” in which seemingly unhappy people share photos of their genitals, often far and wide, in the hope of being validated. It’s all terribly exciting, and radical, and brings our narrator to a state of agitation:

An open thread, you cry, in which to share links and bicker. Okay, then. I’m obliging that way.

I’ll set the ball rolling with an unenticing offer; ten hours of Dune; a notable absence of handrails; via Darleen, some lively scenes; and via Damian, a cunning use of peanut butter.

Oh, and as some of you may be shopping from home a little more than usual, please bear in mind that any Amazon UK shopping done via this link or the search widget top right, or for Amazon US via this link, results in a small fee for your host at no extra cost to you.

It helps to keep this place here.

For those in need of further diversion, the Reheated series is there to be poked at. Good and hard.