the difference is amazing

On this page there are at least two versions of Toy Town Parade, one corrected and one original, and ain’t technology grand. Anyhoo pOp you should like this tune.

brO and I went for a walk in Hilda Park today, and we got to watch crows feed their babies and one of those crows send an adult bald eagle packing. The eagle twitched its tail in irritation as a crow pecked at it… and it all took place at low altitude so a) we got a great view but b) sadly very brief.

Trees are already growing in the playground, coming up through the mulch. They would have been ground into nothingness by the kids playing, but now they’re coming up in dozens.

I believe – I will know for sure in a couple of days, but I believe one of the bambara beans sprouted.

little machines

HSV-1-EM.png

Herpes virus

HPV16, which causes cancer

"coronavirus"

Coronavirus

Electronmicrograph of "Foot-and-mouth disease virus"

Electron photomicrograph of Foot and Mouth (aphthovirus)

Mimivirus svg.svg

Mimivirus

electron micrograph depicting morphologic variants of "Orf virus"

Parapoxvirus

Negatively stained transmission electron micrograph of "Molluscum contagiosum virus" virions

Molluscum contagiosum virus

Cowpea mosaic virus

Virions-Electron micrograph of CaMV virions.png

Cauliflower mosaic virus

An electron micrograph showing a portion of a bacterium covered with viruses

Viral bacteriophages attaching to a bacterial cell wall

An electron micrograph of the virus that caused Spanish influenza

Recreated 1918 flu virus

Ebola

Marburg

SARS virion.gif

SARS

MERS-CoV electron micrograph3.jpg

MERS

Electron micrograph of Hepacivirus C purified from cell culture. Scale bar& = 50 nanometres

Hepatitis C

Electron microscopic image of two Epstein-Barr virus virions (viral particles) showing round capsids (protein-encased genetic material) loosely surrounded by the membrane envelope

Epstein Barr virus

Rotavirus.jpg

Rotavirus

 

 

 

two movies, two fan pics and a song

Come As You Are – three disabled guys go on a road trip to a brothel in Montreal with Gabourey Sidibe as the driver. Jeff and I laughed our asses off. It tries to speak to the difficult truths about autonomy and pleasure and love without talking down to disabled people and for the most part succeeds. There are a number of interesting twists on the trope of the magical Black woman, most of which land deftly, but you can tell white people, non disabled. wrote it. Also Jeff called one of the main plot points about thirty seconds into the road trip so full marks for observation. Cried at the end so hard the top of my head nearly caved in, full marks to me for being a drip.

First Love – Funny, horrifying, over-the-top, stylish and touching all at once, this ensemble bloodbath with a happy ending is utterly worth seeing just for how fast it moves and the clockwork intricacy of the plotting and fight scenes, and for how it casually integrates the cultural differences of the principals into the action. (Chinese gangs vs Japanese cops vs. Yakuza vs. extremely confused but survival-oriented lower-class civilians.) One of the characters is floridly psychotic and hallucinating due to drug toxicity for a good chunk of the movie which just adds to the ‘not knowing what the fuck is going to happen next’ thrill ride of it all.

I’ve added a tag to the song “I’m going to have to ask the smart people to leave”.

Image

AU Castiel with suit and tats

Image

AU Dean Winchester with piercings and tats. Art available on Etsy at https://www.etsy.com/shop/JackieDeeArt

I am not a fan of age regressed fan pics for these two actors (Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles) so these pics make me very happy.

Walking distance – a consultation with the spirits

Back in my 20’s I read a book or a manifesto or something about how you should walk every inch of the city within a five km radius of your house.  Yesterday I learned to recognize that as wise, yet again, having forgotten it.

Slept over at Mike’s after a wonderful supper of the salmon of wisdom, the preserves of friendship and the taters of sustenance.  A deep, roborative sleep.  Then astonishment, as the whole city was fogged in and we were above it all in the Eyrie, watching it burn off. Then a brekkie of coffee, hash browns, bacon and eggs. We went a-walking in Byrne Creek Ravine park.

The day signs were most impressive; the Trickster appeared, facing the sun. Then three black dogs.  The first two were on leashes; the third was free walking with her owner. Then a Korean family, joking in English and Korean. Then a troupe of dancers rehearsing Chinese opera on the tennis courts.

THEN a dry big-leaf maple leaf, in the shape of a death’s head, lodged against the ivy twining up a snag.

Then the old man.  He came down, down down the steep incline to the water, and as soon as he saw us he BACKED UP THE TRAIL, never taking his eyes off us.  When I saw him later I tried to acknowledge him, but he would not meet my eyes, although twice I caught him staring at me. Most unnerving.

Each leaf swayed and sang; there was a deeper stillness in the plashing of the water; I could feel my brain trying to calculate things, all the tiny incremental movements, as if they could be calculated.  My vision cleared.  It was a wonderful feeling.

As we paused, walking back, looking down at the ravine from the railing on the other side from Edmonds station, a young First Nations family walked by.  The mother was saying to the toddler while the father pushed an infant in a stroller, “You can’t go climb down to the stream! You’ll scratch your bum on the blackberries!”

Safe back at the Eyrie I asked the spirits if they could help me find my family crest. I’m not knowing what to do about the answer.

At first it was all random stuff, a doodle in white letters against my closed eyes; it looked like Kufic script, and then script in no human language.  I was sad, because I could not interpret the dancing, ever shifting letters.

They gave me the bones of a salmon, the curl of a fern, the head of a vulture, a toad, and strange, gap-toothed cogs, fitting into all these things.  Ground and figure were constantly shifting, but it all felt fitting, and as I’m receiving these teachings, I’m thinking, yes, this is right, this is as it should be.  The salmon and the fern are how the land and the sea connect, the head of the vulture is the acknowledgement of the cycle of birth and death, the toad is welcoming the stranger and the orphan, the cog is the knowledge that all things fit, the gaps the incompleteness that comes with being human.  Then the last part.

It was the outline of a subdivision.  I think I know what it means – that I’m a colonial born and bred and living on the land on sufferance, but damn it is NOT what I wanted to hear, and so it is probably the most valuable part of the teaching.

All these things were interwoven.  As I looked at one thing, it turned into something else.  Everything kept shifting; animal faces into letters, into stylized hands and fingers, curving railroad tracks with swaying ties. All rendered in brilliant white, as if the world’s most skilled tagger was drawing it on my sensorium at the speed of light.

At this point, on behalf of Cousin Gerald, I would like to interject, “Wot, no MOOSE?”

I remonstrated with the spirits, who laughed very heartily at my tears (I was weeping pretty much continuously at this point).  A great woman’s voice said, “It’s nothing for you to parade around! You have no family crest! You couldn’t draw it even if you could understand it!” Then, after a pause, as if reconsidering, the same voice said, more quietly, “It will be there when you close your eyes,” and I’m back to myself and Mike’s handing me Kleenex.

It never ceases to amaze me, what’s in my head.  None of this was real, but I assure you, it happened.

Today I’m going to go keep a promise, but this time I get to drive.  Paul and I are going to Nanoose Bay for a restorative justice conference, or at least the part of it he is presenting at.  I had meant to bail, but all things considered I have a few things to tidy up before I get back to writing.  The characters are once again speaking, though. Theo came and sat with me while I was in the forest.

“I was not a philosophical person, and now I am.  At first I was angry, because I did not need to think about what it all means.  I was happy to move around in the space my people occupy, which is life and death and reproduction, and possibly looking at beautiful things. Then I was angry, because all my previous understanding was not wrong, just too small. I had thought myself as big as I needed to be.  But since I got philosophy I can only think of myself in relation to others, and that makes me angriest of all, for I don’t like most Sixers and hate most humans, and now I am stuck with them all, and I really don’t have the temperament for a philosopher.”

Poor Theo.  There’s nothing worse for a hard-core narcissist than waking up one morning and finding out you’re too small.

Meltingly grateful to Mike for his most restorative and sacred hospitality.

I’d also like to thank mOm for her bracing phone calls of late.

Tom U. is back working with Mike again, isn’t that wonderful? One half of the lunch bunch is back together.

Grinding

Final count is just under a thousand words for yesterday.  I got myself set up for today’s big scene.

I’ll just leave this here for mOm.  Permanent reference – glow in the dark fingering weight yarn.  Tom Smith of filking fame posted it to facebook and crafters were immediately hauling out their alien fairisle patterns.  I think it would make great babywear, but what do I know, I don’t craft except once in a very long while and never with particular succes.

Keith was supposed to come by yesterday and never did.  I publicly express disappointment.

Hot as balls, weatherwise.  I’m quoting my cousin.

Bingewatch of S1 West Wing continues.

Round up

Now that is a very nice use of the gif format.

I haven’t seen Alexander yet.  Katie called yesterday and she’ll call me when she’s ready to receive visitors at home.

This infographic on prayer made me alternately very uncomfortable and amused.  As an atheist, I can’t separate prayer from ‘wishing so hard that you’re practically grunting so that an imaginary being of its infinite kindness rearranges causality and the laws of physics for your personal benefit’.  As a church lady, I have to say I understand the benefit of GROUP prayer, which is a form of prosocial entrainment.  Personal prayer, the petitioning kind unencumbered by meditation or humility, is just plain gross.

Somebody on Reddit said that Gilbert Gottfried and Fran Drescher “should have children. The marines could use them to clear public areas.”

Stop motion parkour fight. I laughed out loud watching this.

The pet relationship is very important to humans and now of course we have the science to prove it.

Dealing with bullies changes with the technology. Professors deal with bad reviews.

Am I jealous because the last time I was catcalled I was 36?  No, it’s one of the best damned things about getting older.

Gosh, if only dealing with conspiracy nuts was this easy. Cause it really isn’t.