u/algorithmserf

I read Crash. It does not seem to be a one-off. I read The Drought (also called The Burning World) and cars also seem to be talismanic, funerary, even sexual, in that novel too: the sleek black hearse restored to perfection, at incredible effort in a post-apocalyptic hellscape, decked out in shining chromium (a Ballard word). The use of them as coffins in which to bury the dead, or sometimes, to find a meal - principally to feed a morbidly obese, scantily dressed, Venus-like figure. Etc.

I'll keep an eye out as I read some of his other books. I think it's interesting and kind of unique that he holds this fascination with them, even if Crash was a bit psycho.

And actually, more than allowed. Full-throatedly defended by people without any sense of shame or irony. I don't need to enumerate such vices, you know what they are (start with the most repulsive porn). There is not even a 5 cent fine for library books any more.

Even more absurd, the normal parts of life are so overbearing and censorious now. Many cases. I can't put a tree in part of my yard because the county says a creek would be disrupted (ok I could try to pay $$$ for a study to make my case). I can't build a shed without permits and inspections. I can't frankly talk politics and culture on a casual level with some of my friends without probably losing them. Dumb jokes can get you reddit banned. My car beeps at me about "safety", constantly, and there's no way to disable it without smashing things and voiding the warranty. Mass market paperbacks are gone.

You can still buy CDs, which is cool.

I recently finished this book. My first Austen, and one of the earliest novels I've read. I hadn't wanted to start Austen with this one, but it was the only one I could get my hands on at the bookstore, so I decided to give it a go.

Overall, I didn't enjoy it that much. I think the prose was well crafted, and every so often a sentence would paint an intricate picture of the character's inner life in a way that I just had to sit and appreciate it for a while. I also really enjoyed the depiction of upper class society in pre-Victorian Britain (Georgian era or whatever, not sure what the name would be).

I found the plot itself plodding and very reliant on gossip and misunderstandings. Some of the more interesting aspects, to me, I found glossed over (for example how are these estates being managed and producing these incomes?) For period novels I usually appreciate more insight into day to day life too - for example I think Tolstoy does this quite well (I realize he is writing almost 70 years later). To be blunt, I just wasn't as interested in ladies jockeying to land a good marriage as I was almost everything else briefly discussed or alluded to in the story.

Would I read more Austen, or other 19th century female authors like the Bronte sisters? Yes, for sure. I feel like I've dipped my toes into something new and I'd like to experience more.

EDIT: It is possible I am still recovering from Crash by J.G. Ballard

I've always liked the metal genre but I hadn't listened to Alice in Chains much. I think they have some great, dark, riffs and interesting lyrics that have a bleakness that matches the zeitgeist well without being corny imo. My two favorites of theirs right now are Them Bones and Rooster. The former is about the inevitability of death (not a really complex song) and the latter is about the songwriter's father in the Vietnam War.

It's coming down hard and straight. The roofed porch is keeping me dry. There is sun in the distance, suggesting that it is to be short-lived and short enjoyed.

It should be an extension of my mind itself. You can't force me to say anything against myself. It should be the same for my written private thoughts.

I packed my gear to spend a few days out in the mountains. I wanted to see the eclipse, and I wanted to see it from the mountaintop. I got into the vicinity a day early - it was a valley about 2 hours' walk away from the peak from which I wanted to view the phenomenon. While making camp and exploring the area, I realized my only entertainment for the trip - my Kindle - had been broken in my pack. My fault. Dumb packing.

My mind started racing and I panicked a little bit at the idea of not "having anything to do". I considered canceling the trip. That's crazy, of course, but it took me a little while to calm down.

When I backpack longer distances, I don't usually have anything to do. I walk all day and then make camp, eat dinner, and fall asleep. I don't listen to music or anything. Walking is enough. But for this trip I had planned to relax in the general area all day and evening.

After I calmed down... I wandered around. I climbed a couple nearby peaks. I found a little wetland and lay in the grass a while and then identified a couple dozen different types of plants (not identified like figured out the name, just noted their differences). I started seeing differences between plants I had never known before. That afternoon and evening I filled a whole little notebook with pages and pages of thoughts. I began by writing mundane day to day things and got further and further into the realm of the philosophical and obscure as the evening went on.

Then the next morning I climbed a peak and saw the eclipse. It was incredible. I was weeping when the sky blacked out.

I lost the notebook and have never found it, btw. I know it's in my house, but I can't for the life of me find it. I'm sure it will turn up some day.

I'm not explaining the emotional gravity of this experience too well, but it made a big impression on me.

Sony is ending, I guess, producing game discs, which means that buying a game in the future will just mean renting it. The same thing is true of all digital media, which can be revoked at any point. I loathe gamers and all they stand for, the pedantry, the lowbrow nature of it, the addiction to slop, the NEETness, the entitlement, but I have to admit that they're right, so I'll have to begrudgingly side with them in the opinion war against megacorps. A lot of games can't effectively be pirated either because you need the online service to play them.

Some I like: jacarandas (blooms), burr oak and beech (statuesque), gingko (weird), every colorful maple (color), American elm, and black walnut (for family reasons)

Charles the VI of France periodically suffered from a delusion that his body was made of glass and would shatter on contact. He had armor (iron rods) sewn into his clothes to protect himself. I guess this was a not uncommon delusion in the late middle ages, and there's even a report of some guy throwing himself into a furnace to be made into a jug.

This is the perfect neurosis to spread online, because it makes you extremely fragile (I am a victim) and also you have to stay home so nobody shatters you (I'm not a loser, it's for my health and welfare). Plus, it's the natural opposite to bonesmashing.

In fact it's surprising to me that thisn't already widely adopted. The only downside is it doesn't allow for lots of medical procedures to argue over.

He paced in a circle for an hour doing bad crowdwork in a lispy monotone and telling low energy anecdotes about blacks and mexicans. As a CT listener I'm an enjoyer of stereotype humor, but it's not inherently funny, it still needs build up, cadence, and misdirection. Tony was flat out just saying things like "Mexicans have lots of kids" or calling on a latino looking audience member and asking how many siblings he had.

There was exactly one funny part, towards the end when he homes in on two weirdos in the crowd and stars mocking them. That's it. And the setup - the actually funny part - was given to him by an audience member who said she's into "medium ugly guys with a beard".

It's hard to believe that Netflix released this AND that Tony felt this a show that he wanted his name on. Everyone involved here should be quarantined to the Roganverse.

I was in high school, a senior, disillusioned by everything, the prospect of 4 more years of education, staring down 50 years of the daily grind, bad with girls, yeah I was angsty, so what? I was reading Hesse and Demian was like a breath of fresh air, who cares, I like a bildungsroman ok? I didn't know much - anything - about vedic or buddhist philosophy but Siddhartha just spoke to me, the asceticism, the rejection of path after path, and god it was just so real to read that after getting a D in Calc and arguing with my parents about college and thinking about student loans and girls I'd never meet. I was honestly at that point in my life just ready to leave it all and take my Ford Escort and drive around Chris McCandless style and probably die. Then Siddhartha rejects the fucking Budda himself as not enlightened enough, wanders off, renounces asceticism, and like 3 pages later he's got pomade in his hair and is working for the biggest merchant in town to afford gifts for a prostitute so he can learn how to fuck. It sounds EXTREMELY retorted but I actually stumbled around in a daze for a few days after getting to that part in the book.

De rigeur, perk of childrearing, for white women. Irrelevant for Mexican women who typically have a slow 3 year old in tow, or are similarly encumbered. Rarely used by black women, unclear why. Asians can go either way but usually not as aggressive with it as whites. Lack of data on Arab women to form a credible hypothesis