Howdy, it's me

@batmanisagatewaydrug @utracjuszka

Candela Obscura is the strawman put forward in this post, but it’s a game that actually exists:

"Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering what's going on, and how I got into this situation in the first place."

[The stop unfreezes for a few seconds as this terrified target takes a few more desperate running steps, pausing again just as someone is about to grab his ankle]

"Well, the truth is, I still actually don't know what this was about. But I do know how I got here: I can never resist an angry mob. Now watch me get this fucker."

One of her family told us that she had given birth yesterday evening, but that Child Protection services had taken her baby away with no warning, claiming that she wasnt prepared to look after him. What had happened, is that she'd literally only just given birth -- hadn't even passed the afterbirth yet, is holding her blood-coated, crying, newborn baby to her chest -- and a nurse asked what her feeding plan was. She was tired from the birth and distracted by the brand new baby in her arms and thrown off by the timing of the question, but still, she managed to answer, and said she planned to breastfeed him whenever he was hungry.

Well apparently that wasn't enough of a plan for the hospital staff, who reported her and claimed that she was unprepared to look after the child, and claimed that had no social supports, and that the baby was at risk if left with her. All because a brand new mother, 30 seconds after giving birth, didn't have a PowerPoint presentation ready to go that cited the timing cycle she would feed her kid on, and instead simply said that she would feed him when he was hungry.

Child Protection services showed up, took her kid, and she was told to show up to court the next day to contest custody if she wanted her baby back.

So a woman who had given birth less than 24 hours prior was forced to rally her family and show up to court to prove that she a) had a feeding plan for the child, and b) had enough social supports to justify reclaiming her baby.

It was one of the most appalling things I'd ever seen. I don't even know if she won her case. They didn't know at the time we saw them, and after that brief interaction on the stairs, i never saw them again. I sincerely hope she got her newborn baby back.

That was about 5 years ago. And the exact same kind of thing is still happening today.

News broke today from a South Australian whistle-blower of the appalling treatment new mothers frequently receive, including hospital staff taking the baby away from the mother "for medical tests," only for the mother to then be told, with absolutely no prior warning, that the baby was not going to be returned to her.

Here's the article, and here are some excerpts:

Archeologists can't tell for sure whether someone was assigned male or female when alive from bone structure, but they can tell whether someone was an archer. Longbow archer, anyway. The way their arms and shoulders were strongly muscled in a very asymmetrical way is pretty much unmistakable, and they were muscled enough that it's visible in their bones. If someone's seen what archers look like, they can tell whether a stranger they've never seen before can shoot a bow or not.

Yeah, you could definitely play a scenario where violence is the morally correct answer for laughs, but you don't have to.

If you wanted to play it straight, one might imagine a game about fighting a fascist state where all of the bosses are The One Good Nazi types with very sympathetic, human reasons for collaborating with the regime – there's the Sad Dad who's only committing mass murder because they're holding his kid hostage, the idealist who genuinely believes they can reform the system from the inside, the moral coward who rationalises their atrocities as harm reduction because if they quit, whoever replaced them would be even worse, etc. – and all of the talky nonviolent options for dealing with them involve compromising the player character's principles.

The final boss is naturally a totally unsympathetic Hitler 2.0 type, but before you can fight him he hits you with the old Mustapha Mond monologue, and if you've let even one of his buddies off the hook, he turns the tables on the conversation-fu trope and persuades the player character to stand down.

The largest dam removal in U.S. history. So successful that the salmon that haven’t run freely in the river for literally over a century came back the next year. Not steady progress over a decade as expected, the very next salmon run they came home. No one alive saw salmon in that river outside the hatcheries kept by native’s tribes and the Department of Fish And Wildlife scientists desperately trying to save them. One of the activists who helped bring the suit spoke of their dying grandmother making them promise to bring the fish home, and they didn’t know how that was possible, but they spent decades doing it.

The legal basis for successfully suing the power company who owned the dams was Indigenous treaty rights to eat the fish. Eating the fish was the one thing in a century that succeeded in being a clear and legally binding right that superseded the desires of white capital and industry. I have been going to the public interest environmental law conference off and on for 20 years where a lot of organizing for Undam The Klamath happened. I’ve heard updates about every legal tact they tried as they happened, and they tried everything.

There are healthy, thriving salmon, trout, and lamprey in a rewilding and recovering Klamath River right now as a direct result of Indigenous people eating them. Of their legally binding right to eat them. They sure as fuck care more about those fish than any white vegan ever could. They are salmon people that the Creator sent Salmon to feed, while charging the People with protecting and stewarding them. It’s not possible to learn about salmon and trout in the Pacific Northwest without learning this, and it’s unambiguously racist to dismiss this symbiotic relationship.

The white vegans are trying to get all hunting and fishing banned in Oregon, and that’s quite possibly the single most catastrophic thing that could be done to the animals here because we killed off all the major predators of creatures like deer and without anything hunting them their numbers will explode, eat all the vegetation, destroy the ecosystem, and then die along with everything else in that failing ecosystem. Controlled hunting of deer is vitally necessary for the deer to survive. This is something Native people know, but patronizing racist savior-complex white people refuse to listen to.

I have a whole collection of Oregon’s Public Broadcasting’s documentaries about Klamath River or the larger story of fish and people in the region. If you watch nothing else, watch Klamath Dams Are Coming Out, First Salmon Ceremony, After The Dams, and First Decent (Native made). It could not be clearer that the salmon are being protected and nourished by the people who eat them, and that stewardship is a massive part of their creation myths. But it contradicts political vegan dogma so they don’t listen.

Anyway apparently Mr. Eclipse made 5000 years' worth of solar eclipse graphics, which you can find the simpler versions of here

There’s no stated reason. They just pretend to not be alive. We usually can suspend our suspension of disbelief here because when it’s something like a video game or an emoji because any odd occurrences is perceived as a glitch or something similar but the actual reason why they aren’t too hung up on this kinda shitty lot in life isn’t said

They get something out of their current relationship with humans (like in toy story)

They have some specific reason to hide that they’re alive, like they die if they’re seen (like in the christmas toy)

They perceive themselves as sentient, talking creatures, but humans can’t understand them. They just see a squeaking mouse or an inanimate hot dog or whatever. 

and the last one is what most animal movies do, and it’s like, not devoid of weird implications but you can see where it mostly works.

but barnyard is the outlier here: it goes with tier one: the animals can talk and walk on two legs but just pretend that they can’t for unstated reasons. 

in the history of the barnyard world non human animals, at some point, decided to just pretend to be unable to speak. a “cow” or a “coyote” or a “hen” do not exist as we know it in the barnyard universe. the baa of the sheep is false; the ewe doesn’t understand it either. they only made up that noise to hide the fact that they speak human languages. a dog barking and running on all fours is a facade. animals naturally walk on their hind legs and made up whole postures just to appear non sentient.

and for what? what do they gain from this? they have no rights and no voice by their own choice. at one point a donkey claims the farmer is a good person because he’s vegan and a pig mentions bacon - this is not a fantasy universe devoid of death and misery and meat. do animals, in hushed whispers, remind their children not to sob in their real voice as they’re taken away? do the dogs not beg for kindness when they’re tied up and hit? do cows and chickens not cry for their life in the slaughterhouses? does a rat not scream a human scream when the trap misses their neck and only breaks their spine? Why? what is the point? They loose so much and have everything to gain.

anyways does everyone remember this really awful cat. it only appears in one scene but i can just sense the porn of it that would pop up if i googled it’s name

With Otis briefly being indoctrinated into a Buddhist cult of cows who revere a “Sun Cow”, which is revealed to be a cow with qualifications to become Kobe beef. As part of their traditions, the designated “Sun Cow” is heavily pampered, before being slaughtered and served for a Japanese restaurant. This is treated as a great honor amongst them.

This nearly happens to Otis before he is rescued, though the cow cult lets him go without much fuss. Presumably they continue sacrificing their own to become high quality Japanese meals afterwards, but respect Otis’ decision not to go through with it.

Very interestingly, farm animals are not only aware humans eat them, but also seem to support it to varying degrees, or otherwise are surprisingly neutral. Even as Otis resists the idea of being eaten, he’s not exactly lifting a hoof to stop the practice in general. It’s just that ingrained into their society as a fact of life, in spite of the morbidity of it. Otis and his friends are seemingly the only ones who don’t want to be eaten, and are treated as being ‘immature’ for not wanting to go through with this sort of cultural obligation to be consumed, which relates overall to the themes of the movie, Otis not willing to accept the responsibilities his father and other animals in the Barnyard expect from him.

My mom loves to use ellipses and fragmented sentences, my dad likes to ramble and not actually say anything of substance.

For context, she’s getting released from round two of chemo. To that end they have given her a port to easily give medication and take her blood. That’s just gonna stay in for a while. Those are the things I know.

So she lets me know she’s home. This text reads, “I’m home, sweet”

Then she texts a photo of a pile of figs and adds “like figs”. “Bumper crop” (my mom has never understood the meaning of a bumper crop and I’m not gonna go there)

At this point I’m not sure if she’s offering figs or being home is… sweet like figs? Maybe both.

Then she says, “I have been assimated”

The photo that follows is her chest, presumably showing off her new port.

But my wife and I can’t stop laughing. What the fuck is assimated? We don’t know.

My wife thinks she’s telling us that it means she’s pooping.

“Assassinated? Assimilated? Like into the borg?” I ventured.

“That would be a wild joke from someone who’s never watched Star Trek.”

the very first site I open: "unlike flax linen which has a PROUD EUROPEAN HERITAGE, ramie linen is made from a CHINESE NETTLE PLANT. ramie linen is currently less widespread than flax linen but that's due to the more involved processing required of ramie fibers - china is working on new enzymatic processing methods, that if successful, may ENDANGER OUR PRECIOUS HEIRLOOM FIBERS by flooding the market with CHEAP IMITATIONS--"

I think I've resigned myself to the idea that all clothes are going to need repair eventually, and therefore my standards for anything I'm going to take the time to make into a garment are "can be washed in a machine on at least warm" and "not made of plastic." but like. it would still be nice to know some things so I can decide whether it's a good idea to make a given fabric into something that's going to have a bunch of stress points.

ANYWAY I can't tell how much of this is legit and how much of this is just "trust me bro," but ramie linen (in sharp contrast to the language decrying it as a Cheaper Worse flax linen) is its own beast with quite a few nice qualities. yes, it is made from a nettle plant - no, that particular nettle does not sting. sources are all over the place about how strong it is (especially because "strength" when it comes to fibers refers to a bunch of different factors) but it's tough enough, including when wet, that it's used to make ropes and fishing nets. it's been used for a Very Long Time in asia, with many examples of ramie linen clothing surviving today. it spins into a more consistent yarn than linen (which often spins into yarns with varying thicknesses, aka slubs) so it can be made into some very fine and smooth fabrics - this can be a plus or a minus since slubbiness can be great for more rustic-ish looks. it also has a slight sheen - again, plus or minus depending on what you're going for. claims are that it initially feels rougher than flax linen but softens up nicely after a few washes. claims are also that it's "naturally anti-microbial" (how? by what measure? in what way?), highly breathable, and that it both wicks moisture and dries quickly which makes it great in hot and humid climates - which okay, I'd buy that considering its long history of use in hot and humid countries, but I really would like something more specific than "better than cotton/flax linen/etc." like so many clothes are made of plastic these days. the bar for these things is in hell.

its an interesting conversation in a sense, in that both sides are pretty revisionist. soviet space program apologia would have you believe that the Soviets were doing awesome at everything and just walked away for some reason. The Soviets in reality were seriously struggling to develop heavy and superheavy lift capabilities and the space program was riven by rivalry and backbiting. N1 and Energia, as programs, both failed bigly and in N1s case spectacularly. The Soviets really failed in having a vision on What To Do In Space beyond earth orbit. That's not to say they didn't have remarkable achievements - their Venus probes were a mark of tenacity and determination - but they often ended up going "So... now what?"

Which is an interesting reversal of circumstance! the Soviets got ahead at the beginning precisely because they, unlike the Americans, saw the usefulness of a space program and had a strong vision for what needed to be done. And they marched forwards implacably. Many are also unaware that the Soviets made real long term success and had scientific achievements which NASA never matched. The Soyuz was simply unbeatable as a cheap, safe and reliable medium lift vehicle, and a man rated one at that. It wasn't surpassed until Falcon 9 just a decade ago, and the US relied on it to get to the ISS because shuttle kept eating people and cost a fortune. Soviet metallurgy and materials science in rocket engines was also more advanced than NASAs (who thought the Soviets were lying until NASA got to pick the carcass after the collapse).

Still, it failed dramatically in the later years. they had no idea what to do and were competing over lift vehicles, not in the manner of sports teams but in the manner of mob families. these failures went beyond late soviet decay and grew out of the structure of the Soviet space program, which was built out of competing and independent facilities/projects, scientist gulags where you could be imprisoned while winning the hero of the soviet union awat for being a head scientist of rocket programs, and big egos who learned that they could send state goons after rival scientists who came down on the other side of the hydrolox vs metholox debate (yes, really, that example was real)

The NASA apologists meanwhile act as if the moon landing was the only thing that mattered and are simply completely ignorant of soviet accomplishments. the "first woman in space" is the most obvious case here, but most are also completely ignorant of the Soviet Mars and Venus programs - the venutian program in particular revolutionised our understanding of the planet. The yanks, as always, are focused on thumping their chests and jerking themselves off, they even miss the real victories of the American space program, which occured long after da moon. First, Mars: the Soviets failed, despite reaching mars first, to actually succeed in doing anything on Mars, while NASA's Mars missions, which began contemporaneously with the soviet program, needs no introduction. Secondly, space stations. Mir, for all it's accomplishments, ended up being neglected and finally abandoned with astronauts inside - actually stranded and in danger, who had to be rescued by the US and their space program. in fact the entire Russian space program would be rescued by forcibly joining it at the hip to the American space program by the frankenstation we call the ISS. This was done intentionally by the US to 1 - make decoupling physically impossible and thus politically infeasible 2 throw the Russian space program a lifeline so their many rocket engineers and facilities wouldn't start building for whomever bid highest (nuclear nonproliferation was the 90s watchword) 3 create a necessary point of cooperation to ensure a diplomatic and peaceful door was always open between Russia and the US. This worked specularly, to be clear. most are unaware of how well too.

An example which I said I wouldn't bring up is also the moon program. not the landing, which was a lovely show pony and acomplishment, but the program entire. NASA didn't go to the moon, they built a long program to go to the moon over and over and over again. The Soviets could have gone to the moon - but I doubt they could have built this kind of enduring program. It was always their weakness in deep space missions.

NASA and the USSRs space program were different because their method of organisation and leadership were different. The US opted for a centralised program with decentralised facilities to force political cooperation and gaurentee funding. The Soviets opted for a bottom up program of competing facilities and teams who had to petition the central organs for funding and approval explicitly against the others. While this lead to initial gains and diversity, in the end it lead to money being spent all over on programs which were dropped and on fierce and underhanded competition for scraps, where necessary failures resulted in abortions (N1).

As a fellow animorphs enthusiast, do you have any thoughts? Do you think it would have changed much?

Not really. I don't think Tobias cares much about the sex of his hawk body, and I don't think the other kids would talk about him as a girl if he was in a girl hawk, if that's what you mean -- they morph across sexes all the time and never have much to say about it except for that one time really early on that Marco complained about being a "girl wolf". Being a hawk is a radically different experience than being a human already, and I don't think that female hawkitude is any closer physiologically or socially to female humanity than male hawkitude is. I think the main difference, if Tobias had a female hawk body, would be slightly different teasing from Marco.

Harrow is the broke homeschooled kid from an isolationist cult that was let out on mission and/or bargained her way into attending a university so she could bring knowledge and funding back to the community. All her clothes are second-, third- or fourth-hand and have been patched and mended to hell and back and are not visually distinctive enough to identifiably belong to any subculture. The only exception to this lack of visual distinctiveness are her Church Robes, which are Church Robes. The only new clothing she owns is, like, underwear, maybe.

She is covered from neck to wrist and ankle because if anyone saw she had a human body under there she would gouge their eyes out. Most of her clothes are home-dyed black because she did it in the bathtub, and they must be black to show she is in permanent mourning. Also because then it's less likely people will notice she wears the same shirt and skirt for three days straight.

She does still have piercings (she is the only one on the Ninth mentioned to have piercings, I do not believe those are sacramental and are fully a Harrow Thing) because she can argue it's holy mortification of the flesh. Otherwise, thinking about what she is wearing is a distraction from more important things, which are a) being Righteous and b) proving she is the smartest person in the room.

What they did have was a single spare bed in the small, comfortable, quiet, wildly expensive facility for girls with eating disorders.

They asked each of the young women currently living there if it was acceptable that I might occupy a bed in one of the rooms for a while, just the long weekend while I was waiting for a doctor's evaluation. I hadn't been violent, I had gone with the cops without putting up any fight at all, and I was still and I was small and all those things were sufficient for me to be deemed safe. So up they sent me, to somewhere high in Western Psych, above the smells and sounds of the denser-packed wards, above where the care workers were harried and frustrated, to a gentle space with seven or eight young women in it.

I was five foot three, and I weighed about 115 pounds. I was underweight for my frame, as a fair amount of that weight was martial arts muscle; I would probably have been ten pounds heavier if I were healthy, with the amount of activity I got.

I was at least two inches shorter than pretty much every other young woman there, six or seven inches shorter than one of them, and I had at least thirty pounds on several of them. The tallest was not allowed to walk, she had to sit in a wheelchair and be pushed around, because her condition was so advanced that the motion would undo what good her hard work had done.

And over the course of the four or five days I was there, multiple of them came up to me alone to quietly tell me that I had the *perfect* body, and they wished they could be as skinny as I was. That I needed to live, because I was beautiful, and if they were as beautiful as I was, they wouldn't need to be here.

Their eyes were on me all the time, in the hours that I wasn't sleeping. I spent a lot of time sleeping, and we took our meals separately (I not needing to be monitored while I ate, and not having my food weighed), but we spent a fair amount of time sitting around in the little shared living room space, talking about movies and magazines and books we'd loved, talking about our families. I didn't talk about my family; they didn't pry.

They were all so fucking nice.

And I could have broken any one of them over my narrow knee. They each thought they were bigger than I was.

Their brains lied to them, every time they looked at a mirror. Every time they looked down at their own thighs. What they saw was not what I could see. They had bright, beautiful eyes in dark hollows, and I could count their vertebrae, could see their ribs winging when they breathed, could see the motion of every tendon on the backs of their hands.

They weren't celebrities. They weren't being paid to have particular bodies, nor were they deep in the toxic sea of having strangers take photos of them to sell to gossip rags if they stepped out of doors in old jeans. They had families and loved ones who were doing everything that they could to protect them, to uplift them and help them be healthy. They were just everyday people--a nurse, a couple of students, a couple of recent college grads, a young woman who had decided it was time to really get help because she wanted to be a mother--and still they'd been so injured by the neverending fucking deluge of body-image bullshit that they were dying of it.