Good evening, guys and ghouls, and welcome to the Witching Hour with me, Lou Siffer here on KDVL. That’s easy listening at 666 on your FM dial.
Tonight, we’ve got a special show lined up and ready for you. So, grab a chalice of warm, vintage blood or whatever you’re in the mood for, sit back in your most comfortable seat, and get ready to have your minds blown. You dig?
First up, we’re diving deep in the archives to play a classic. All about self-image, self-perception, and embracing our true selves, this one’s set in a clever sci-fi frame that’s the cat’s meow, y’all. So sit back and vibe with me as we enjoy a bangn’ little ditty by the artist known as l0lita
I'm Lou Siffer and this is the Witching Hour on KDVL, easy listening at 666 on your FM dial.
Next up, we've got a little bopper for you to groove with. Put your ears on and give a listen to, Banner Year
* * * * *
All right, welcome back. You dig that one, guys and ghouls?
It's almost time for ol' Lou Siffer to bug on out and make room for the morning crew, so I'm going to wrap up this session of the Witching Hour with a special dedication.
This one goes out to the dearly departed--my favorite kind, you dig?
Thanks for listening to tonight's Witching Hour, you little devils. Be sure to tune in tomorrow night because I've got somethin' especially fiendish for you to enjoy.
Until then, though, sit back and vibe with The Eulogy
Goodnight from me, Lou Siffer and the Witching Hour, here on KDVL. That's easy listening at 666 on your FM dial. See you tomorrow and until then, keep it evil and be devilish...
Friends. Mourners. Fellow competitors. Good morning.
We are gathered here today in the Disneyland Haunted Mansion because it’s what our dearly departed would have wanted. And we gather under the heaviest of circumstances—to remember xeena, who was taken from us far too soon.
She was not taken by the will of the gods, some cruel twist of fate, or by some horribly bizarre accident involving sports mascots, baby oil, squeaky horns, and various items found in the produce aisle, as she would have preferred.
No, she was eliminated.
Eliminated by cold, clinical, calculated murder. It was two in the back of the head, served up Sopranos-style. It was done with a polite smile, a kind word, and statements like, “it’s just part of the game,” which is how many make themselves feel better about this cold-blooded execution.
Please—hold your applause. This is a funeral. Have some tact, for fuck's sake.
Make no mistake, this was murder. A game-sanctioned execution. And when her cold, lifeless body hit the floor, it felt inevitable. Even xeena herself foretold her demise like she was Nostradamus. Unlike many who claim otherwise, she definitely did see it coming.
In the wake of the devastating news, there was no screaming. No chaos. No public rending of garments or gnashing of teeth. It was polite. Civilized. It was news met with practiced smiles of sympathy and many statements like, “Oh, that’s too bad,” "who would have done that?" or, "I’m shocked."
Spoiler Alert: Nobody was actually shocked.
Although nobody claims their fingerprints are on the murder weapon, if you listened closely, you could hear the communal sigh of relief that issued from the darkened, shadowy corners. Perhaps a few high-fives and fist bumps were even exchanged in secret. This is the way of things when others conspire to murder.
In Shakespeare’s time, this would have ended with poison. Honestly, it might have ended with poison here as well, if not for the whole, taking two in the back of the head thing. As she rose and consistently dominated the field, it seemed inevitable. Even to xeena. If only Caesar had that sort of foresight.
So, anyway, while it might have ended with poison, it actually ended with genteel phrases like, “Thank you so much for sharing.”
Well, bless your hearts.
After her passing, the competition continued, of course. Others stepped forward. New entries were posted. Applause happened. Spreadsheets were consulted with renewed authority. Others were eliminated and some replaced her at the top.
But let us be clear, we stand at the graveside of good judgment.
And for that, she was taken from us. Capped. Rubbed out. Whacked. Is currently sleeping with da fishes.
On a personal note, I am forever grateful to this most amazing person we are eulogizing here today. Like the true force of nature she is, she blew into my life like a tornado and has changed my world in more ways than I can count. She has added a big, bright light to my life. For that, and for her, I am ever so thankful.
See you in Valhalla.
Thank you. Please join us in the reception hall where Pepsi cola and Tiramisu will be served alongside quiet resentment, and likely, platters of new plots and conspiracies.
It wasn’t your fault. You’ve been cleared. Time to get back on the horse, Colby. I expect to see you Monday morning bright and early. Don’t be late.
I was cleared. It’s not my fault. Easier to say than to accept. Harder still when I see her wandering the market. The living manifestation of my failure. My guilt. She shuffles along like a ghost, barely aware of the world around her. She’s pale, her expression vacant. She just looks… lost. I mean, it’s understandable, given what happened.
The moment I spot her, my brain screams at me to leave. To get the hell out of there. But my body rebels and forces me to stand there. To remember what happened. And I do, in agonizing detail. I can feel the sun on my skin. Smell the salt of the ocean in the air. Hear the screaming.
I want to run but my body betrays me. It forces me to stand there and to truly see her.
For some, lifeguarding is a way of life. For me, it was a way to spend all day at the beach, make some money, and get laid in the process. It was hanging out with friends, partying at the bonfires at night, and just making as many memories as I could. It was my last summer before I went off to college, and I was determined to live it to the fullest.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
Unable to turn and flee, our eyes meet, and the breath is driven from my lungs. I try to force myself to move but I’m frozen in place. Like I’m stuck in concrete. She stares at me across the produce section like I’m the first solid thing she’s seen in days.
Maybe I am.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she shambles over to me.
“Y—you’re the one,” she says. “Y—you—you tried…”
Her voice trails off but her eyes implore me to speak. My tongue feels too large for my mouth, and I can’t meet her eyes. Unable to produce a sound, let alone a word, all I can do is I lower my head and nod.
“Wh—what happened?” she asked.
Officially? Officially, her husband and five-year-old son ignored the warnings and got caught in a strong riptide. Officially, because of their reckless and careless actions, I couldn’t get to them before they’d swallowed too much of the ocean. Their fault, not mine.
But she’s not asking me for the official report.
“Please tell me.”
I know what she wants. She wants me to tell her why I failed to save her son. I open my mouth, but no words come out. Instead, my gaze falls to my hand. To the faint traces of blue ink that still tattoo my skin. Daphne’s phone number.
I close my eyes and can still see the way the sun set her red hair ablaze. Smell the coconut lotion on her supple, golden skin. See the way her bikini barely contained her breasts and the way she leaned forward, giving me a better view with the whispered promise of more upon her full, cherry red lips.
I was so caught up thinking about the coming night’s conquest, I didn’t hear the shrieking in the water. Not at first. Not for a full minute. Maybe two. By the time I heard it and got to the kid, it was too late. He was gone. So was his father.
Two lives swept away by a riptide they never should have been trying to swim in. If they’d obeyed the warnings, they’d both still be there. If I hadn’t been so caught up with Daphne, trying to ensure I’d get laid later that night, maybe I would have reacted faster.
I push that thought aside. I was cleared. I did nothing wrong. Despite that though, this woman, a new widow who’d just lost her only child is standing in front of me wanting to know why I failed them when it was my job to save them.
“Please,” she said. “What happened?”
I absently rub at the blue ink that’s seared into my skin, burning like an accusation. Trying to wipe away the evidence. The woman wants to know everything I’ve swallowed down. Continue to swallow down. But admitting it would only compound her grief. Push her even further down into the dark hole she’s already in. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself.
I’m drowning in my silence.
“Please,” she repeats.
I allowed myself to be distracted. One minute. And as a result, lives have been shattered. Forever altered. I was cleared. It wasn’t my fault.
But… it was.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
It was the best summer of my life. Until it wasn’t.
“Troop 67 is a brotherhood. It’s sacred, dude. We don’t lie to each other.”
“I didn’t do it, man!”
Asher held his flashlight and leaned close, letting the tip of his nose hover mere inches from his suspect’s like the hardened detectives in his favorite shows. He shone the bright beam of light into Caleb’s wide, watery eyes. The boy shook his head, straining against the duct tape binding his wrists to the chair.
“If you didn’t do it, then what’s that mess on your face?”
“It’s powdered sugar,” he cried. “From donuts, okay? My mom packed them... for emergencies!”
Asher nodded to Isaiah who rifled through Caleb’s duffel. Plastic crinkled as he pulled out a half-eaten pack of donuts.
“See?” Caleb shrieked.
Asher muttered to himself as he cut the tape around Caleb’s wrists with his pocketknife. Free, Caleb nearly toppled over as he leapt to his feet. He righted himself then snatched his donuts from Isaiah, but not before he managed to pop one into his mouth.
“These are mine!” he protested.
“They’re stale anyway,” Isaiah complained around a mouthful of donut.
“Why are you even accusing me?”
Isaiah patted Caleb’s ample belly. “That’s why.”
Caleb’s chubby cheeks turned bright red. “That’s like racial profiling.”
“Fat isn’t a race, dummy,” Asher snapped.
“You guys are jerks.” Caleb flopped onto his bunk, bright red and sulking.
“Don’t cry,” Isaiah said.
“I’m not going to cry.”
“You kind of look like you’re going to cry.”
“Shut up.”
As his troopmates bickered, Asher paced, thinking hard, then turned to his cabinmates. They weren’t taking this problem seriously. And this was a very serious problem.
“Troop 67, listen up,” he intoned. “This is the third time our marshmallows have been stolen. If we don’t figure this out, Mr. Riley is going to cancel s’mores night.”
“Well, it wasn’t any of us,” Isaiah said, wiping the sugar from Caleb’s donut off his lips. “Bet it was those jerks over in cabin twelve.”
“Maybe they’d be nicer to you if you hadn’t put salt in their lemonade instead of sugar,” Caleb chimed in.
Isaiah shrugged. “Whatever. It was funny. Not my fault they can’t take a joke.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Whatever. Practical jokes are like a rite of passage at camp.”
“Not everybody feels that way,” Caleb retorted, the scorn of having been the butt of more than a few of Isaiah’s practical jokes clear in his voice.
“Come on, Troop 67, we need to focus here. We’ve got a major situation on our hands,” Asher called. “We can’t let s’mores night be canceled.”
“Your definition of a major situation is different than mine, man,” Isaiah said.
“Yeah, mine too,” Caleb agreed.
“Yeah, his definition of a major situation is running out of donuts.”
“Shut up!”
“Come on,” Asher snapped. “Focus.”
“I’m focused on my pillow,” Isaiah said.
“But we need to figure out who’s stealing our marshmallows. We need to save s’mores night!” Asher called, trying to rally his troopmates. “Who’s with me?”
“Not me. I’m tired,” Isaiah said. “I’m going to bed.”
Asher watched aghast as the rest of his troop murmured their agreement and shuffled to their bunks. He stood in disbelief and horror. He couldn’t believe they didn’t seem to care about the best night of their whole week at camp being canceled.
“Fine,” Asher growled. “I’ll solve this case myself!”
“Good luck with that,” Isaiah called.
Asher stomped out of the cabin, slamming the screen door behind him. The nearly full moon hung high overhead, bathing the world in a silvery light. Asher breathed in the earthy aroma of the forest, trying to calm down. He heard whispered conversations and soft laughter drifting through the night. He frowned and couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.
He tried to keep his spirits up. He had a mission. A new case. Maybe his troop didn’t care about s’mores night, but he did. And when he uncovered the thief, he’d be the hero of Troop 67. He might even get a special merit badge for his crafty mystery solving skills.
He would uncover the thief and save s’mores night. No matter the cost.
Leaves crunching beneath his feet, Asher walked around to the side of their cabin and stood before the table. The cooler they kept their dry goods in sat atop the table.
“The scene of the crime,” he said as he pulled out the old, battered notebook he’d been using for years labeled, Detektive Klews.
The ground squelched underfoot as he inspected the area. Opening his notebook, he jotted a few observations. “Lock intact. Cooler left open! Bucket overturned again. Ground muddy. Bucket Bandit’s motives unknown. This is no ordinary criminal. A mastermind. Not to be underestimated.”
Asher scanned the darkened cabins, hearing whispered conversations and quiet laughter. He remembered what Isaiah had said about practical jokes. Maybe another troop was playing one on them. Troop thirty-seven had a reputation for mischief. He thought about capturing one of them and interrogating them. But then an idea struck that was so clever, it would have made his favorite detectives proud.
“I’m going to catch you jerks in the act,” he said with a devious grin. “And I’ll be a hero!”
Moving quickly, Asher refilled the bucket and set it beside the table, then cracked the cooler lid. Everything was set just as it had been when that devious and nefarious thief had stolen their marshmallows.
Scene staged, he ducked behind a bush, making sure he had a clear line of sight. It wasn’t the most comfortable position—there was a stick poking somewhere sticks definitely shouldn’t be poking—but real detectives suffered for justice.
Asher pulled out his journal and made another entry. “Trap set. Must be careful—this criminal is vicious. Could be my final case.”“Stakes high. Morale low. Snacks dangerously depleted.”
A twig snapped in a nearby bush and his pulse raced as he imagined a bear, or Bigfoot, or a hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding maniac. But it was just a bird. It shrieked as it soared into the darkened sky. Asher sighed as he sat down, feeling silly. His favorite detectives were never scared like that.
More long minutes passed, and as his eyelids grew heavy again, the sound of rustling leaves jolted him awake. From the darkness, a masked figure emerged. Asher held his breath. The thief hesitated, then moved toward the cooler with speed and stealth. He stared in disbelief as the moonlight revealed his nemesis.
“No way,” he whispered.
It was a raccoon. A big one. It turned the bucket of water over, further muddying the ground, before clambering on top of it. With nimble hands, it flipped the cooler open and reached inside, pulling out a bag of marshmallows—their last bag! Without it, s’mores night would be ruined.
“I’ve got you now, Bucket Bandit.”
As Asher rose to put a stop to the theft in progress, more movement sounded in the bushes to his right. He turned to see three smaller raccoons emerging, chirping hungrily at their mother. The mama raccoon, bag of marshmallows in tow, hopped off the bucket and slipped in the mud she’d made. With a sharp squeak that might have suggested embarrassment, she rounded up her babies and disappeared into the bushes, gone as swiftly as they’d arrived.
A small smile on his lips, Asher opened the notebook as he listened to the raccoons retreating into the night with their ill–gotten gains. Suddenly, Troop 67’s s’mores night felt like a worthy sacrifice if it meant a family got to eat.
“Even bandits deserve dinner. Especially when they’ve got mouths to feed."
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he said, closing the notebook with a snap, another mystery solved. “Scout’s honor.”
Bonus 106: The Mysterious Voynich Manuscript - Interview with Claire Bowern
In the 1600s, an antique book is recorded in an alchemist’s library in Prague, containing intriguing but puzzling drawings, like plants with unnatural cuboid roots, as well as a strange writing system, with some familiar letters and some utterly unfamiliar. This book became known as the Voynich Manuscript, after a Polish book dealer who purchased it in 1912, and the meaning (or lack thereof) that lies on its 240 parchment pages is a puzzle that’s intrigued cryptographers, historians, linguists, and more for centuries.
In this episode, Gretchen gets enthusiastic about the mysterious Voynich Manuscript with Dr. Claire Bowern, who’s a professor at Yale University, researcher of language documentation and historical linguistics, and creator of a class about the enduring enigma that is the Voynich Manuscript. We talk about what we can actually know about the manuscript for certain: no, it wasn’t created by aliens; yes, it does carbon-date from the early 1400s; and no, it doesn’t look like other early attempts at codes, conlangs, or ciphers. We also talk about what gibberish actually looks like, what deciphering medieval manuscripts has in common with textspeak, why the analytical strategies that we used to figure out Egyptian hieroglyphs from the Rosetta Stone and Linear B from Minoan inscriptions haven’t succeeded with the Voynich Manuscript, and finally, how we could know whether we’ve actually succeeded in cracking it one day.
1 book from my shelves thematically paired with each day’s jam from the Bonne Maman jamvent calendar.
Day 1
Maple blueberry, a classic Canadian flavour combo (featuring the France French name “myrtille” instead of the Canadian French “bluet” for the fruit) paired with Linguaphile: A life of language love by Julie Sedivy, about the author’s childhood in Montreal and subsequent psycholinguistics research into language and the mind.
Day 2
Fig cardamom paired with Talking Hands, in which journalist Margalit Fox goes along with linguists documenting Al-Sayyid Bedouin Sign Language and writes up a history of sign language linguistic research (and eats a few figs and dates) along the way.
Day 3
I had to look up two words from the name of this jam, both of which turned out to be familiar foods viewed differently (Quetsches et Poires à la Badiane: prune plum and pear with anise), so I’ve paired it with Hellspark, Janet Kagen’s sf book of translation and cultural miscommunication, which several @lingthusiasm listeners told us to read and they were EXTREMELY RIGHT.
Day 4
Cerise and violette are both foods that double as colour terms, so today is Kory Stamper’s True Color, about the history of writing colour definitions in black and white dictionaries. This is my advance copy but it’s coming out next year and I highly recommend it!
Day 5
Apple cinnamon caramel, with Babel by RF Kuang: an initial rush of sweetness, a lingering aftertaste that’s far more complex. A book about the tension of translation as powerful magic
Day 6
Lavender and apricot are foods that underwent long and meandering journeys through the ancient world to get to us today, so I’m pairing them with The Odyssey (translation by Emily Wilson)
Day 7
Coffee caramel spread paired with The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin (whose geology-based swear word system I loved linguistically) for their extensive histories of systemic exploitation
Day 8
Lemon verbena white nectarine and peach with The Language Lover’s Puzzle book by Alex Bellos. This wordlist feels like the intro to a word problem, and this book contains language puzzles in profusion, plus solutions if you get stuck & context notes on the languages!
Day 9
Vanilla caramel, a classic flavour, with the oldest pop linguistics book I own, a copy of Language Made Plain by Anthony Burgess (yes, the Clockwork Orange guy also wrote an intro to linguistics: the penciled flyleaf reminds me I bought it used for 50¢, in high school)
Day 10
Blueberry, lychee, rose jam paired with To Shape A Dragon’s Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose. An Indigenous girl learns to work with a dragon in an alt history of American colonization (with really interesting linguistic elements) plus a jam featuring fruits from both places
Day 11
Pineapple, rum, and vanilla gives me old and golden vibes that I’m pairing with Bea Wolf: Zach Weinersmith’s retelling of Beowulf as a kids fable in full Anglo Saxon meter. It’s glorious.
Day 12
Raspberry redcurrant jelly with Babel: Around the world in twenty languages by Gaston Dorren. Redcurrant makes me think of Europe, so I’ve paired it with this Dutch writer’s window into the twenty most spoken languages of the world.
Day 13
Did you know that a word for honey but not for bees has been reconstructed for Proto-Indo-European, leading to theories that they traded for honey? Honey apricot with Proto: How one ancient language went global by Laura Spinney
Day 14
When I visited Australia a few years ago it was mango season, so I’ve paired this ginger mango jam with Gesture: A Slim Guide by Lauren Gawne, who’s my cohost on @lingthusiasm and the reason I was there!
Day 15
Orange guava lime jam with Language City by Ross Perlin. (I promise the real cover is more eye-catching than my advance copy!) Stories of the 700 languages actively spoken in New York City, by the same processes of human movement that let me eat guava today in snowy Montreal
Writing. I have a document that contains the outline and extensive transcribed quotations for the Descartes apologia! ... it's already over 5000 words long! And that's before I even get into the argument about Against New Dualism! I think. It is going to wind up needing to be split into two essays. One of which is the quotations about How People Summarise Descartes + What Descartes Actually Said, and the second of which will then be the polemic about how you don't get to rail against mind-body dualism if you then replicate it unfailingly with commitment to the absolute separation of central sensitisation and peripheral nociception. With the former as non-essential background reading for the latter...
Watching.Encanto, courtesy of The Child. I had retained approximately none of the plot from the Encanto-flavoured Baby Yoga we did together recently, happily, and also I Did A Cry. (I am also genuinely impressed that "fish is in terrible bowl" was an indication of where things were going...)
Listening. The Instructions For Getting To The Child, while cycling, via the bone-conduction headphones. V pleased.
Playing.The Little Orchard avec Child! Using some definite House Rules. Also being Someone With Long Arms for various self-directed play. I continue to be told Many Numberblocks Facts. :)
Eating. I put in an order with Cocoa Loco, maker of My Favourite Chocolate For A While Now, for the purposes of A Convenient Present; I also acquired, because Why Not, a single brownie portion and the cocoa nibs & hazelnut bar. I'm not sure I think the cocoa nibs particularly enhance the experience but I do like the Good Dark Chocolate With Hazelnuts of it all; I think I prefer My Default Brownie Recipe to their brownie BUT I also think that having a bag-safe well-wrappped calorie-dense food was extremely valuable in the context of some of this week's more questionable adventures, and I did enjoy it a great deal while I was, you know, inhaling it.
Exploring. BIG HECKIN BIKE RIDE. Many fewer birds along the canal than last time I did that route (on an unseasonably warm day in April); extremely excited to confirm that Walthamstow Wetlands is Within Scope for a trip At Some Point, though possibly not until it's warmer again.
And then today I learned of the existence of and attended an event at the London LGBTQ+ Community Centre, just across the bridge from Blackfriars, which they blurb as "The London LGBTQ+ Community Centre is a sober, intersectional community centre and café where all LGBTQ+ people are welcome, supported, can build connections and can flourish." They have comfy sofas and a permanent clothes swap and a wee library and a very large bookshelf full of boardgames, and a whole bunch of structured social groups as well as walk-ins. I am charmed, I am pleased with my purchases (including MORE BULLSHIT CERAMICS), and I... am contemplating maybe actually getting myself out to some more of their events, not just when I have a friend visiting from abroad who suggested Attending A Market.
the cosmolinguist (cosmolinguist) wrote2025-12-1409:10 pm
Almost nothing has happened today, but that gives me a chance to talk about everything else that happened yesterday, hopefully before I forget.
I woke up and actually managed to get the train and tram to lift club. The last couple times I'd tried to make it there on public transport hadn't worked out, so it was nice to be able to make it. Especially because it's the last one of the year! At the end I gave George a hug that he said was so good it changed his life. "I'm a very enthusiastic hugger!" he said. "People aren't usually able to meet my energy!" But I guess I did. I love George, even if he does put me on a pedestal a little bit sometimes.
I got a lift home, with had the usual good chats with my pal D. I went right to Teddy's house to walk him, because our usual evening-walk had been swapped to morning walk this once. So this was not only the day that his human, Graham, was having his knee operation, he was having it as we were walking! I let Teddy lead me around the neighborhood for as long as I could but I had a big list of things to do so had to drag him home eventually. I had a good catch-up with Sylvia -- her sister was there, who is so effusive about how much of a help my household has been, aww -- but did have to scurry home so I could have a shower and be on to the next thing.
The next thing was D and I going most of the way to Liverpool to help a relative of V's who's cleaning out his mum's house. We've done this a few times and it's nearly done now. He'd saved me some apple-shaped dishes that I'd coveted the first time but left there; when I was looking through photos of the year for something parent-suitable I saw the photo of these dishes that I'd sent V in order to squee about them, and I was really sad that I hadn't taken them after all. I didn't expect them to have been put to one side for me but since they were I figured it was a sign and eagerly brought them home. They were greeted when I got here by angelofthenorth who recognized them immediately and has a couple herself. It was nice to feel so validated in that decision!
D and I spent a long time at the recycling center, separating stuff out into the appropriate bins. I was stymied by what to do with all the food: all the half-finished bags and jars that a well-stocked home cook had -- the jars all labeled neatly and everything. It was sad to have to get rid of it all. In the process I cut my finger on a bit of broken glass and had to ask the staff for first aid: one employee shouted to another in the scousest accent I've ever heard: "Alex! This man needs to wash his hands! He's got an injury!" They also gave me a little wound-cleaning wet wipe and a band-aid so it was okay.
I got home and needed a nap because we were going out again that evening. To see Karkasaurus and Petrol Bastard, which was such fun even if there was so much dry ice I could taste it and it felt like I was in beginning-of-horror-movie levels of fog. And like I said D got his Loop earplug stuck in his ear, but V got it out today so that's worked out okay. We ran into a number of people that we know there, from different things -- sign of a good gig -- and might have been led astray for a completely extraneous pint afterwards, by this person and her girlfriend and their Welsh friend. Said person continues to be delightfully tactile around me in a way that usually doesn't get to happen absent some romantic or sexual interest, and it's utterly delightful.
And then we left them to their reckless ways and got an uber home just before midnight which is why I didn't have time to talk about all of this in yesterday's blog post!
I did well to be feeling as okay as I am today; I think the fact that I continue to get insomnia when I'm drunk, which at least means I can drink water while I'm awake, keeps the hangovers from being as bad as I've been led to expect in my forties!
it's not a big problem i'm just socially slow (bubblesbrnaid) wrote2025-12-1403:19 pm
Book tokens My mother gave me a book token for my birthday and I am enjoying the spending of it so much. This year I did not buy online, but went to local bookshop (Waterstones) and spent some happy time looking, and browsing, and reading before making a selection of some books I had never heard of before.
I have come home with The Wall by Marlen Haushofer and O Caledonia by Elspeth Baker. Both wonderful. Happy serendipity. And there's rather a lot of book-token left.
I was expecting advice about lifting heavy weights. I read Casey Johnston's blog She's a Beast Johnston is a weight lifter, and the standard column is about protein powder, or the importance of eating well, or bracing your core. Or some such.
But a couple of weeks ago, she surprised me with a column on How to read more and yes, it's about reading more and rediscovering the joys & delights of reading, and social media distractions vs bookbookbook. Recommended.
Lets take a fairy-tale and beat it to death I'm listening to *Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower* on audible. This is a delight. A witch has imprisoned the princess at the top of a tower, with a monster on each floor and - as a treat - a dragon with diamond scales on the ground floor. The princess waiting for a prince, and twenty-four princes have indeed come to rescue her and they have one by one been crunched up by the dragon. (Princess Floralinda had to put her fingers in her ears because the noises are quite horrid). So she just has to rescue herself. She has the world's most unsympathetic & sarcastic fairy as a reluctant accomplice - "That’s another creature you’ve killed simply by having no brains, which makes anyone with brains feel as if it isn’t worth the headache of having them.”
the cosmolinguist (cosmolinguist) wrote2025-12-1311:02 pm
After the (amazing!) support act Karkasaurus, we went back to the bar and the first thing D said was "I have got to improve my cardiovascular fitness." (I wasn't expecting this at all, so I burst out laughing.)
His ear plug came apart when he tried to take it out, and it's still stuck in his ear. I got to put a teaspoon of olive oil in his ear now that he's in bed, which might help it find its way out. Protecting your hearing is important, but what a nuisance this is!
masquerading as a man with a reason (ysobel) wrote2025-12-1209:06 pm
Chewy has a "Chewy Claus" thing around this time of year where you can help your pet(s) write a letter to Santa. How good they've been, whether they prefer treats or toys, and a free-answer "what would you ask for if you could have anything".
Last year I did it and at the end of December got a "sorry the sleigh missed you, here's a coupon code if you want to buy anything". And supposedly they donate food to pets in need for every letter submitted, so why not.
This year, I did it ... and today a box came addressed to Phoebe and Loki. (!!)
There was a dog toy that was a "lunch box" with a rope handle, and a green apple plushy and a juice-box plushy with Velcro to attach to the front of the lunchbox. Al three items contain squeakers. (So far, they are still intact, though the white parts of the juice box are rather, erm, dingy. That tends to happen with her toys, but it's impressive for 8 hours.)
There was a cat toy that was sushi themed (including a green wasabi packet) and has catnip in. Loki is mostly nocturnal these days but I put them in a cat bed that sits on my bed and when I came back in later, one was on the floor... so either he loves it or hates it, lol. Also a food purée treat thing similar to churu, though he's iffy about food.
There was an ornament, metal I think, with a sleigh and presents and "Chewy Claus 2025", which is now on my desk tree.
And there was a card with the cutest illustration of Chewy Claus helpers, and a handwritten note wishing them holiday cheer.
I'm a little astonished because I honestly hadn't expected to get anything, but it was a cute surprise!
Edit: Loki definitely likes. I may regret having them on the bed at the same time I am... lol
The slide is figure 13 (on page 10) from an Introduction to Image Processing (PDF) on the ESA Hubble website; I'm baffled at the idea that the colours were chosen "arbitrarily" given that the same PDF contains (starting on page 8) §1.4 Assigning colours to different filter exposures. It's not a super clear explanation -- I think the WonderDome explainer is distinctly more readable -- but the explanation does exist and is there.
Obviously I immediately had to stop and look all of this up.
(Rest of the talk was interesting! But that point in particular about modern illustration as I say made me go HOLD ON A SEC--)
One of the things I found yesterday, while getting distracted from transcription by regretting not having taken History and Philosophy of Science (or, more accurately, not having shown up to the lectures to just listen), was some tantalising notes on the existence of a four-lecture series entitled Visual Culture in Science and Medicine:
Science today is supremely visual – in its experiments, observations and communication, images have become integral to the scientific enterprise. These four lectures examine the role of images in anatomy, natural history and astronomy between the 15th and the 18th centuries. Rather than assessing images against a yardstick of increasing empiricism or an onward march towards accurate observation, these lectures draw attention to the myriad, ingenious ways in which images were deployed to create scientific objects, aid scientific arguments and simulate instrumental observations. Naturalistic styles of depictions are often mistaken for evidence of first-hand observation, but in this period, they were deployed as a visual rhetoric of persuasion rather than proof of an observed object. By examining the production and uses of imagery in this period, these lectures will offer ways to understand more generally what was entailed in scientific visualisation in early modern Europe.
I've managed to track down a one-hour video (that I've obviously not consumed yet, because audiovisual processing augh). Infuriatingly Kusukawa's book on the topic only covers the sixteenth century, not the full timespan of the lectures, and also it's fifty quid for the PDF. I have located a sample of the thing, consisting of the front matter and the first fifteen pages of the introduction (it cuts off IN MID SENTENCE).
Now daydreaming idly about comparative study of this + Tufte, which I also haven't got around to reading...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmolinguist) wrote2025-12-17 08:56 pm
![[syndicated profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/feed.png){kind=small}
atl_feed) wrote2025-12-15 06:30 pm
