Friday Ephemera (812)
The cabinets, in fairness, were fully transformed. || Engine trouble. || Timesaver. || Moves in sync with your, er, pedalling motion. || More than is strictly necessary. || The machine uprising, day 13. || Drivers, look away now. || Not reading the room. || Merry England. || Mouth and trousers. || How all women walk down corridors. || And then he deployed the wiper fluid. || Where to be at a concert. (h/t, Things) || Super Snack Busy. || Ballpoint. || Parklife. || Triplets, Sellotape, and scientific parenting. || I’m impressed by the size. || Prosthesis. || Pleasing the customer. || For when you want to play Pong, but really, really slowly. || Men Who Churn Out Romantic Novels, 1970. || Newcomerliness. || The super-deadly soap stairs. || A game about flinging. || First day. || And finally, some nimble fingering.
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The corporate de-motivation experience. Please tell me this is satire.
A gimmick for cyclists who spend $3000 on special cycling clothing?
I don’t recall any of the names, but long ago I heard about a number of sf writers who, under various pseudonyms, also churned out romances, porn, mysteries, and generic pulp.
At home.
Pry the hands loose or leave them as an object lesson?
Seems . . . risky.
I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.
Sorting mechanism.
I see your Levi Schechtmann and raise you Luca Sestak.
‘Tis enough, ’twill serve.
Job insecurity.
Unhinged baby names.
There’s really no limiting principle to modern grievances, is there?
Thinking you’re a good person, eh?
How to rack up 99,000 rupees worth of traffic crime.
“Drivers, look away now.“
Man’s gotta have a hobby.
Laughed, not sorry.
Morning, all.
I have questions.
It’s not so much the finger-rinsing as the burned egg on the frying pan.
That makes it harder!
Heh. It certainly doesn’t help.
“Rustic” 🤣
Someone I know went through a year-long phase of what she referred to as upcycling. Which involved trawling eBay and car boot sales for hideous old pieces of furniture – ugly side tables and random cupboards – and somehow making them even more hideous. In ways not unlike the above.
She was, unfortunately, quite proud of her handiwork and during our occasional visits, she would invite appraisals. Which made for some comically awkward social situations. I mean, there are only so many ways you can be tactfully noncommittal, or abruptly change the subject.
“What are you recording me for?” asks the newcomer, unfamiliar with our ways.
He’s making it more diverse.
Somewhat related.
“… there is no mama, lmao”
https://x.com/i/status/2044648247793512547
“No way, José!”
“Your universe has no meaning to them. They will not try to understand. They will be tired, they will be cold, they will make a fire with your beautiful oak door.”
Filtered.
And then she pulled out her EBT card . . .
I don’t understand what’s happening on her forehead.
NGL, for $50 it’s worth a try – great idea.
The way to explain our ways to him is via a vicious beatdown.
Were I a newcomer in a foreign land, I’m pretty sure it would not occur to me to indulge in acts of vandalism and petty spite. And were I sufficiently worthless and unpleasant to do so, I think I’d expect prompt consequences and a withdrawal of any welcome. Up to and including being pushed with some vigour into the nearest ocean.
But I’ve been told immigrants built all our dry stone walls.
[ Slides tin of unloved Quality Street leftovers to Connor. ]
Influencer, for likes.
You are all far too merciful.
Is why the six months and 20 days for that clown in Korea was not enough.
Related to that, I’ll see your Luca Sleestak and bump you a Pinetop Perkins.
They’re long gone, but the whine lingers on.
From his manner of speech he doesn’t sound like a newcomer.
I wonder how she manages to get around town, especially in places like New Jersey.
As someone who used to do a lot of cycling, though in just regular clothes like a normal person, I’m curious if that is more comfortable. Riding on a regular bicycle seat for a couple hours is a literal PITA.
I had a summer/Christmas break warehouse job in my college years where they were absolutely adamant that you took your twice daily 10 minute break, your full 1/2 hour lunch break, and especially your full hour dinner break. They were very strict about this because they were paranoid (or not) that unions would get a toe hold. Breaks generally consisted of going to the break/lunch room and listening to a bunch old sales ladies discuss painfully boring old lady stuff. Doing actual work was far more enjoyable. I would try to lie and say I had had my break or come back from dinner early and try to work before clocking in hoping no one would notice. Which was risky because you could get busy and forget to clock back in.
Is today’s word ‘symbolism’?
It’s often the small things.
Meh, this is more functional.
As so often, what’s bewildering isn’t just the behaviour itself or the bizarre justification – it’s the look of incomprehension that anyone might object.
As if objecting to the disdain of one’s home were the odd thing taking place.
See also the other examples upthread – the cathedral, the bus stop. Minds so inadequate, so incompatible, that they cannot conceive of why anyone might regard their behaviour as ungrateful, as undeserving. As unfit.
Hence the Raspail quote, I suppose. And which I’m seeing more and more.