Coins, earworms, puzzles

In 1978 I got a little pocket coin pricing book, the sort of thing they used to have in grocery store magazine and book racks, and 9 year old me was somewhat obsessed with coins either because of that or before that. I had some penny books with all the slots to pop them in by date and which mint they were made at (San Francisco, Denver, maybe Philly?).

I have a strange memory of walking to school with my friends who lived on the block (Shea and Crissy) telling them some coin facts that I am sure they did not care about, but tolerated, and then a really foul bully (Ronnie Parsons – sorry… I remember you….) riding by on his little bike and circling us while mocking my penny price updates in a fake British accent to indicate that I was stuck up. He was one of those people who would be like “Reading the dictionary, Henry?!!!” A real asshole! Hello you’re in 4th grade. Chill! But no. I think I remember it because it is one of those rare moments that it dawned on me that perhaps not everyone wanted to hear me tell them interesting facts.

I also used to sit on the floor of my grandparents’ closet (the one that had a door into their room and a door into the hallway) dumping out their milk bottle and (bear shaped??? some animal) glass bottle full of pennies and sorting them. So many indian head/wheat penny / buffalo nickels! Wish I had that now!

I started some new penny and quarter books at some point as an adult and in parallel my parents were doing ALL THE COINS including the state and national park quarters, probably as a holiday activity, keeping two sets so that there would be one for me and one for my sister.

I also have crazy envelopes full of different international coins and bills (carefully sorted and labelled, in a big envelope) Which actually comes in handy sometimes when someone is about to travel and I remember we may have that exact currency.

None of these are valuable as they are not “mint condition” or even particularly nice. They are all greasy and worn down. I don’t mind, it is just fun to look at them and feel dragonish.

ANYWAY the point is, my parents (who moved here last fall) handed over the coin books and I found my old 1978 book! Memories! And the 1970s era penny books (not very complete). AND a lot of coins and bills from more different countries from my dad’s business trips in the 80s and 90s and a lot of Venezuelan money from when they moved to Vz in the 90s for a while. I just sorted those into envelopes because I impulsively dumped them out on the table last night and I need the table today to work on!

Observations:
* The (king?) of Belgium looks very much like a frog
* Simon “the nose” Bolivar is so easy to pick out
* Brasil, France, Greece have the nicest art.
* Oh, and Argentina also has great art and design. Very clean and modernist looking. Also a cute bird (a rhea I guess)
* Mexican coins also totally rule
* WTF, the UK, why do you change the coins so often and why, when you changed them, did you make the sizes so weird? Why make the 5p and 10p coins the SAME SIZE AND WEIGHT. Why suddenly make a coin of one value the same weight and size as some older coin of a different value (I have forgotten which one that was, but what the hell!) Make up your minds.
* I found some old shillings and coins with king .. uh… the guy before Queen Elizabeth … george?) Neat!
* Spain, your coins suck, they feel really chintzy, do you not have actual metal? Also I felt very creepy even touching a coin with Franco on it.
* Speaking of creepy and sad, the million peso notes from 80s Argentina. Fuck la dictadura!

I promised an earworm in the title and I hope this does not curse me further but it has lasted for DAYS. A few nights ago in my sleep I acquired “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?” and it is truly cursed. Listen if you dare! And it keeps coming back into my head. Oh, my god. For some reason it is mixing itself with The Smiths, Still Ill. Someday I will have to actually create the mashuups that get stuck in my head. (Especially the Satyagraha / Sister ray one – 20 years, at least, of that. )

As I continue recovering from my arthritis flare up and have to lie down a lot with my feet elevated I have been trying out the 20 years ago NYT Sunday crosswords. I mentioned earlier the 30 years ones are nearly impossible for me to complete without looking things up. The 20 years ago are just a tiny bit too easy or annoying sometimes. But 1999 seems to be a sweet spot. They are a little bit difficult, but in a nice challenging way and I can reliably finish them.

Sat. was Milo’s birthday and we had a nice relaxing time at my parents’. The weather didn’t cooperate for the plan of having a pool party but that was ok actually because I had no energy and my ankles and low back are not good enough for me to really swim. Laura and Jack made a delicious lemon cake. We looked at our old model horses. I plan to take at least the small Andalusian family (Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus) but ended up realizing I still felt attached to several others. I do not need 10 model horses and yet –––

My dad also gave me his pelo ‘e guama that he got on his way to work at I think Hato Mata de Barbara in 1966 or so. I can check his memoir. It used to hang on the wall with his spurs and cuatro and I coveted it…. so soft and velvety (it is some sort of fur – beaver? shaved close rabbit?). He explained it was not the fanciest kind (Borselino, with the number of Xs indicating quality) but was from maybe switzerland (actually, austria) and was the 2nd nicest kind but it also turned out to be slightly too fancy for his actual position as incredibly junior cowhand and was more like what the ranch manager would wear. More about the hat later. It turns out he … donated the spurs to goodwill! omg? Why? omggggg. “Because they were not useful really because they are for wearing while barefoot.” OMG. Just like with my grandma’s frying pans (her cast iron pan, and HER GRANDMA’s cast iron pan). Oh well!!!! Anyway, I am gloating over the hat. It is fun to loot my parents’ junk drawers! When they aren’t throwing away the very things that I said I wanted!

I was able to stand up more yesterday though, which was great, and so I put up my grandma’s mirror, and a little bathroom shelf for my cup to take pills with, and a small towel bar by the sink for a hand towel. Some of these installs did not come out quite right so I also shoved some spackle into the unfortunate mistake-holes. The hand towel bar is slightly too large and also rattles but I may just fix it with a little superglue rather than try to re-do it. All very satisfying!

More mysteries, and some unrepentant bitching

I read another Mavis Hay detective novel though the Oxford one turned out to not be very good. The subway one wasn’t really good either. They both had tiny bright spots that made them amusing or unique, but I conclude fiction was not her forte. I can’t quite recommend them! Though I am very curious about her art & craft books, like the one surveying quilting techniques of Britain. (I am not a quilter but that sounds interesting!)

On to the next one on my e-reader, Skull Castle. I hadn’t noted the author at all but was immediately struck by the punchy and exciting style. It is super gothic/romantic, atmospheric, feels like “action” even though they are just like, on a train or in a house party, characters all memorable and interesting. The Duchess is especially great so far. Then I went to look at who wrote it – oh! duh. John Dickson Carr. A known fabulous writer but somehow I have only read a few of his more famous locked room mysteries on some journey through a long list of famous locked room mysteries.

As I mentioned yesterday I am feeling irritable from pain and high steroid doses. One thing that really chaps my hide is when I get officiously lectured about some shit that doesn’t require a giant lecture from someone fucking ignorant or simply being a dick for no reason. Or because they hate their job and hate me. They should keep the hate close and save their breath because I’m not having it.

Examples.

Bus drivers who pull up at the not correct spot and then give me a lecture (yelling, over the sound of the ramp and beeping, to the entire bus and street, to tell me how i am in the wrong place, when i’m not, i’m in the little BOX that is PAINTED THERE for wheelchair users to know where to wait)

Hospital valet parking loading zone guys with little hats on, blocking my way off the ramp into the loading zone while they tell me officiously that I need to WAIT and NOT GO INTO THE STREET MA’AM you need to WAIT you CANT GO INTO THE STREET.

(OMG I must be ESCAPING!!)

Me: Excuse me. My van pickup is right there. Pardon me. (BARRELS BY HIM)
Hat guy: MA’AM
Me: *** dirty look side eye *** (ignores him completely)
Hat guy (chasing me into the loading zone, which is 2 cars wide, my van being in the 2nd lane) MA’AM!!!!!!!
Me: (Misgendered) (gets into van as van driver, thankfully, smirks to himself)
Hat guy to Driver: YOU CANT BE HERE YOU CANT BE IN THE ROAD
Van driver: Just loading my passenger! (emitting cheerful fuck-off rays) (I love him) (Great conversation with amusing driver then happens on my ride home)

Office phone answerer at the rheumatologist where my doc faxed a referral a week and a half ago who keeps telling me to wait for a call back to make the appointment, but then when I find out they NEVER GOT THE FAX (a fax…. fuck me….. i hope my doc sent it FROM THE BEACH) and I call to get the info again to double check it (which we all had correct in the first place) they lecture me again, then I call back to make sure they got the damn FAX and receive yet another exasperated lecture from office lady with a shitty job who has to deal with people like me.
Me: “I sincerely apologize for the annoyance but I will have to keep calling back at least once a day until I can confirm you GOT THE FAX.”
Her: (angrily) that isn’t how it WORKS you ahve to wait for us to call YOU once we receive the fax.
Me: Yes but I was waiting for almost two weeks and i’m not doing that again!
Her: Well I dont know what to tell you. We didn’t receive it.
Me: Yes. I know. This time, I’ll make sure you do get it. In a timely way.
Her: ** more cloud of lecturing **
Me: None of it is your fault and I’m sorry but I’ll be calling back tomorrow….

Everyone can fuck off… also I realized that the super bad van driver yesterday acts like that because he is normally a paratransit driver, who can act demeaningly to his clients because they have no other options, and who is super annoyed that I have any sort of boundaries and don’t let him do things like TOUCH ME OR MY CHAIR (it is utterly insane to act like you are going to do anything by “pushing” on the back of a power chair on a gently sloping ramp, for example) I hate a power tripping person, i am sorry, i’ve had shitty jobs too but always figured out a way to cope and not take it out on people!

The flare-ups will continue until morale improves

That’s how it works if you are Pollyanna! I am trying to be a little more active but I still can’t really leave the house except for doc appointments and I am using my manual chair inside the house for everything, still. Today I cheated and got a wheelchair van from the doctors’ office to my favorite cafe (Poesía, at 18th and Castro) for a nice sandwich in the sun at a table outside, wrote in my notebook a little, and went to Cliff’s Variety before taking the 24 home. That was actually too much but I am now in bed with my feet up for the rest of the day. My pain levels are high and I am irritable as fuck (also from the steroids), have no energy or creativity or mental oomph, can’t sit up for very long, and need to keep my feet elevated and keep icing both ankles.

This all sucks but it is also something I know how to cope with. Mostly.

Goal: get better asap and don’t end up in the CAM boots.

Smaller goal: get back to where I can do little physical therapy exercises from bed.

The construction on our house continues. We got a nifty new front gate that makes the entrance to our place more easily wheelchair accessible (at least to the back yard) and the iron worker guys are also finishing up some last touches on the handrail and footplate that goes alongside my fabulous new wheelchair ramp to the back patio and yard. It all looks fantastic. I already have been reaping the benefits of the ramp since I stopped really being able to walk at all, I can still get down the half flight of steps out front, get into my powerchair which lives in its little hidey hole and charging den under the bay window, and roll to the back yard where i can lie on a blanket in the sun. And because of the downstairs bathroom also being wheelchair accessible I can stay there all afternoon. All of that is amazing and I feel so lucky we were able to do it.

I’ll be very happy when I don’t have to deal with contractors several times a day! It has been a whole extra part time job.

One of the interesting things about the experience has been just how much I have had to argue and sit on everyone to make the accessibility work. It was never going to be actually ADA compatible but I wanted to get as close as possible. And yet every time there was a decision to make, someone would make The Absolutely Opposite of Accessible decision. No, I will NOT accept just a little inch and a half bump at the threshhold! omfg! Things like that. I had to (and am still!) pay daily attention to everything to have it not end up with access ruined unnecessarily. I guess that makes me appreciate having ADA standards more.

Reading – I re-read the first two of the Freya Marske magical Victorian smut series so that I could be caught up for the new (to me) 3rd book. They are good!

Now reading Death on the Cherwell by Mavis Doriel Hay. It starts out a little bit girls’ school jolly chums feeling, but then gets a little more complex. So far I have most appreciated how annoyed the characters are at how the newspapers refer to them as “undergraduettes”. The terrible (but very fancily printed) poetry book scene was also funny.

You can read a bit more about Mavis Doriel Hay:
https://blogs.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/oxfordtrainees/tag/mavis-doriel-hay/
https://promotingcrime.blogspot.com/2021/08/the-golden-age-mavis-doriel-hay-1894.html

I was unable to find a photo of her to add to her Wikipedia entry, alas.

I noticed a while back in this British Library Crime Classics spree that people often say “All my eye and Betty Martin” which I assumed was some sort of cockney rhyming slang. Oblomovka took offense and claimed to have never heard it before – and it turns out to be really old and strange slang!!

All my eye and Betty Martin
“In Britain during the 1700s, the phrase was a common claim of dismissal (similar to ‘nonsense’, or ‘hogwash’), or a way to declare disbelief of an absurdity. It possibly originated as the punch line of a joke (though this is likely a folk etymology). Most variations of the joke involve a British sailor visiting Italy. He overhears a Latin prayer, “Ah! [Da] mihi, beate Martine” (which translates to “Ah! Grant to me, blessed Martin”, referring to St. Martin). The sailor mishears the prayer, and later uses the phrase as “All my eye and Betty Martin”. ”

Why it is popping up in countless 1910s-1940s british detective novels, I can’t say. Maybe it never went away, or maybe it became oddly popular around then, or maybe it was a fabulous in joke of The Detection Club, which I believe Mavis Hay was part of.

Another good thing I had to look up: “tamasha” which seems to be used to mean “hullabaloo”.

I am also passing time and enduring by doing old NYT crosswords and playing the game Roots of Pacha. Roots of Pacha is like neolithic Stardew Valley, without combat and with more “puzzles” in the mines. There is also a mini game where you play the flute to wild animals to tame them & then you can breed better quality domestic animals and try to collect all their colors. The storylines and social aspect of this game is good – I am dating every romanceable villager, am married, (Poly is OK in game!) and have an infant for the first time. I have read that the children in this game actually grow up, go to “school” which probably means they will take care of some animals or crops, and then choose a profession. It is very good, and very playable.

Nothing is quite as good as Stardew though!

I may play some more breath of the wild/Tears of the Kingdom if this flare up goes much longer. Punkgeek tries to suggest new games to me which ARE good clearly but which for one reason or another I just can’t roll with (like subnautica)

I have tried my hand at most of the 30 years old sunday crosswords and then skipped up to 20 years ago. Either way it is painfully like having to inhabit The Mind of Boomers. The best bit of it, other than actually solving an entire puzzle (MUCH harder than solving today’s Sunday puzzles!!) is getting obsolete computer terms – pre-web, for the 1994-1995 puzzles, and pre-smart-phone, for the 2005 puzzles. Compounded by the east coast flavor of cluelessness about either which is always hilarious.

Oblomovka and I watched a compilation of the “Have you ever sent a fax from the beach? YOU WILL” ads from or so.

@artiv3rse

#computer #technology #history #historyoftechnology #ai

♬ original sound – Artificial World

At at the time we sneered at these so hard (at least where I was sitting) for being goofy or, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain why they were cringy, but they were. For one, you are not going to want to send a fax from the beach and if you do want to, fuck off. For another somehow they were just “off”. They didn’t actually think hard enough on it, they weren’t informed enough either by the things imagined by actual computer using nerds or by science fiction things that had already been talked about for the last 50 years, etc. (which is odd because of course AT&T was full of knowledgeable nerds and researchers, though their marketing dept maybe was less so). Now, of course it is even funnier to think that not only do we do all these things but many of them are humorously obsolete as if they had predicted we would be sending morse code telegrams via Dick Tracy 2-way wrist radio from our commuter zeppelins.

I hope we really do get commuter zeppelins, still.

Other things:
* Missed going to CSUN, which I had a non refundable registration for 🙁
* helped a cousin with geneological research
* did a tiny bit of actual work last week and this week
* had a good long talk with dossie about her 2nd edition of Radical Ecstasy and am looking at her draft of a different book
* watching the end of Gilded Age with Oblomov
* Oblomov reading me bits of book 3 of Dance to the Music of Time, and bits of Hazlett “Plain Speaking” which is brilliant out loud
* talked with the waymo people about their wheelchair van service software problems
* missed several musical concerts I had tickets to and really wanted to see
* looking at my sister’s draft of some writing
* afternoon with yatima who brought me some groceries and did the dishes and was such good company
* spent a nice afternoon with my mom doing GOAT archiving work.

Last Binding and Witness for the Dead series

I had Katherine Addison Witness for the Dead book 3 on pre-order, so when it magically arrived on my Kindle I went back to re-read from book 1 and churned through all three books in a day. This was well worth it as the series (writing, plot, characters, world building, all of it) is subtle and beautiful. I was also in the right mood for a long suffering stoic protagonist and a moody atmosphere. Anyway, that third book was fantastic, and I love this entire series.

I also am in mid re-read for the Last Binding series by Freya Marske — charming queer Victorian magical romance novels, a bit smutty in a good way. Now about to finish my re-read of book 2 and jump into book 3. I recommend them, if you like that sort of thing! The writing is good, the magic system is interesting, and the characters delightful. I’m actually busy this afternoon (!!! yay!!) but still, will be done with book 3 probably before I fall asleep so I need to line up something else for the evening and to tide me over if I wake up in the night.

I’m still thinking about the not-yet-published book I read recently and seriously cannot WAIT for it to get published and for everyone to read it so I can talk about it. Oh, my god! Its initials are T.S.B. Sorry to be mysterious/not sorry!

More British Library crime classics

I’ve been plowing through more of the British Library Crime Classics series and finding some real gems in there. I think my favorite so far is Somebody at the Door (1942) by Raymond Postgate, which has a dreamy, sort of postmodern style, told from about 8 points of view – all the people in a commuter railway car. The stories and the structure feel like city life in a particular way – that I think about while riding the bus or train myself – just that all the people around me are going somewhere and for their own purposes and are the central characters in their own stories. I liked Postgate’s characters – they felt like people with their own lives.

Postgate turned out to be an interesting character himself! https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raymond_Postgate

Shortly afterwards I read The Division Bell Mystery (1932) by Ellen Wilkinson and enjoyed that too. After I finished I looked up the author and found she was an MP herself – thus the (fairly minor) self insert character who was a Labor Party MP – She was a Fabian – And also she wrote A Workers’ History of the Great Strike – cowritten with Raymond Postgate! The conservative young MP protagonist of Division Bell has amazing moments where he thinks “Oh…. maybe these labor party people have a point after all” Because of the Bread Marches, which I had to look up but of course Danny didn’t.

The epigraph to Somebody at the Door was really good,

How often I have smiled to see, in a story which pretended to show me the life of Paris or of London, five or six persons, always the same, meet by chance in the most varying places. “From their box the Mortevilles suddenly saw the Duponts sitting in the stalls”; next, “on entering the enclosure the first pretty woman Jacques Dupont met was Alice Morteville”; next, “from the surging crowd of demonstrators Pierre Morteville saw rising the energetic head of Jacques Dupont.” The author may work as hard as he chooses after that in describing to us the immense surging crowd, the brilliant attendance in the enclosure, and paint in the background as much as he can; the poor man does not realize that his Duponts and Mortevilles, as soon as they “meet” and because they meet with such deplorable ease, annihilate all immensity around themselves, prevent me believing that Paris or London are anything enormous, where one may be lost, and make these cities suddenly little places like Landerneau…

The reader will not see this vast work arrange itself, according to traditional artifice, around a miraculously chosen central figure. He cannot count on a rectilinear action, whose movement will carry you along without troubling your laziness, nor even on a too-simple harmony between multiple actions, which in its turn becomes a convention. He will guess that very often the thread of the story will seem to break, and the interest be suspended or scattered — that at the moment when he begins to be familiar with a character, to enter into his cares and his little world, and to watch the future through the same window as he does, he will be suddenly requested to transport himself far away from there, and take up quite different disputes.

(Extracts from the Preface to Men of Good Will
by Jules Romains, restating the principles of Unanimism.)

The book didn’t disappoint.

I’m still in this autoimmune flare up and not very mobile, not working a lot of hours and not leaving the house — so let me know your book recs! I have some time to pass! I am in week 3 or is it more… of not walking at all and barely able to stand up. It is very frustrating when just recently I was walking so well and even thinking about bravely foraying out to the nearby cafe (a block and a half away) with only a cane or a walker. I was traveling confidently by myself, driving my car, walking with total freedom inside the house and going up and down stairs with barely any limp, feeling full of energy. Now I am slammed flat on my back. Actually it is too painful to even be on my back much of the time and i flop from side to side like a gasping fish. Low back, ankles, are just unspeakable and I am still on fairly high steroid dose which isn’t great either. It will pass, but It makes me so sad right when I was doing so well and getting so strong, to slide back into a giant flare up.

furious and sad

Every day is so unsettling, we just have to hunker down, take care of each other, survive.

But how to actively fight?

I can only do what I know how to do.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

p.s. Transphobes and homophobes, sexists and bigots and racists/nationalists can all fuck off right into the sun.

It’s a good time for some loud punk rock my friends.

Lorac and competent women

I started reading E.C.R. Lorac‘s detective novels recently as some of them are in the British Library Crime Classics series.

Death of an Author impressed me with its twisty reasoning — so many different what-might-have-happened theories! There were also hilarious debates on the mind of the female author, and whether one could tell the sex/gender of the author by reading the book, in which men argue with each other and sometimes change their minds. The main woman character in Death of an Author is notable for being super competent in many ways!

As I then went back to read as many Lorac novels as I could easily find I kept coming across amazing women who were more interesting than the detective main character.

Death on the Oxford Road has Miss Madeleine Hanton, who is not only perceptive and smart, as smart as the detective or smarter, but she also has a power wheelchair in around 1931.

“Her brother and niece disposed of, Miss Madeleine got herself settled into her electrically propelled motor-chair. It was a neat vehicle and assured her of “independent mobility” when she wanted to be on the move. This afternoon she decided to inspect the garden, particularly the shrubbery near the chauffeur’s cottage; if the Scotland Yard man were to arrive, Miss Madeleine intended to have a word with him.”

Miss Hanton was also a hospital Commandant in the war (World War I) and lets everyone know it:
““Rubbish, Waring!” snapped Miss Hanton. “How old are you? Twenty-three? Well, when you were seven years old, I was Commandant of a hospital in France. I’ve been bombed, and I’ve been torpedoed. I’ve bandaged men who were half blown to bits. If you think your corpse on the road is going to upset me, you’re making the mistake of your life. I only wish I’d been there,—I’m much more observant than most people, and corpses were commonplaces to me at one time.”

I thought back over many popular British detective novels of the time where there just weren’t ever women like this. There weren’t suffragists, or ambulance drivers, or nurses, or if there were they were undermined or mocked. Can you even think of a competent woman in an Agatha Christie novel who isn’t Miss Marple, who isn’t just like, the grossest and strangest stereotype?

Then I hit Post after Post-Mortem and while it had many intelligent women characters it seemed to leave it open to question whether too much intellectual activity and authoring might not be wrong for women, though it is the men (as usual) debating and questioning it. The subtext (to me) was that the intelligent, successful middle aged (?) woman writer was actually messed with and fucked over constantly by the men around her who supposedly admired and supported her. They could only cope with intelligent women if they were quite young, and thought that then the right thing would be for them to have babies, to keep them so busy they would not have time to be neurotic.

Ugh!!! Gross! I feel sure Lorac meant to be snarky about it.

In These Names Make Clues I’m still at the beginning but am charmed by Miss Susan Coombe (we are still in the 30s), who was a suffragist who had spent time in prison but post prison and post getting the vote, worked within the government (or with the government) to reform women’s prisons. She is instantly assessed by our detective as the smartest person around & a formidable intellect!

They are good books, not like earth shattering but a comfort read for me right now during this stressful time. There are often things to look up that send me down Wikipedia journeys – reading about what a Minty chair is, or last night, about the King and Country debate at the Oxford Union, from a casual line of dialogue in These Names Make Clues.

I’m glad I found Lorac’s work !

Seattle trip

I had a lovely mini trip to Seattle – taking the Coast Starlight there and back all the way in an accessible sleeping car. It is a 22 hour trip and despite being in a nice room with a bed and bringing my own blanket and pillow I just didn’t sleep well. But it’s still nicer than a plane trip imho! Having privacy and getting to lie down and not having do cope with TSA nonsense or my huge worry of my powerchair getting broken or lost by the airline – it is worth some lost sleep. The hypnotic beauty of going through the landscape makes up for a lot too.

I stayed in Pioneer Square & loved being in that little neighborhood as it was central to some fun night life, had good cafes and bookstores, and great transit. I would like to go back and root around the many used bookstores by Pike market next time!

Saw Els, Timmi, Eileen, and met Jen from U of W. Somehow did not take enough photos with people!

It was a good decision to bring my heavier everyday whill Ci powerchair rather than the folding Fi chair. The pavement was rough, I did a lot of traversing it & buses were fine for getting around.

I wrote less than I thought I would on the trip!

But I relaxed a lot more!

Sketchfest & Stamptown

I went out last night to see Stamptown with Danny b/c he has become a huge fan of Zach Zucker. Aside from a few moments when he made me watch tiktok videos of Zucker and thinking “Oh yeah the guy with the sound effects, pretty funny” I was not super familiar with him. But wow the show blew me away! The videos don’t convey the physicality of what was going on!! I love art of any kind that is very dense and complicated where you can’t even see, notice, or absorb it all at once. That is what I usually go for in my poetry and it’s what I like most in books. Stamptown was LIKE THAT. Super dense, fast, layered, complicated. A whole scene of people riffing off each others’ styles.

Because of Danny having some history in comedy and performance I have had a sort of side course in at least British comedy from the sorts that monty python was reacting to and then the people reacting against or just differentiating from python style stuff and then Danny’s friends (Stewart Lee and that generation in general). So I was also extrapolating the “scene” I guess of whatever the Stamptown crew was doing and noticing how they were performing not just for the audience but for each other (which is always great b/c it means whatever is happening is complicated or sophisticated on some level – they are working to impress other comedians!) and trying to think of them in a bigger context of even more comedians who weren’t there and who I don’t know about who may be creating or riding some sort of stylistic wave.

I also loved that it was “clown” style comedy or physical comedy I guess. There was something about all the performers doing things that were purely joyous or sharing joy in absurdity or whatever it was they were doing – Rather than some comedy which is more about showing off you are supposedly clever, or, about being cruel, I think. Before the show, Danny talked a bit about clowns and I had no idea what he meant and felt somewhat repulsed or suspicious – like, to me, “clowns” were just like a somewhat annoying cliche, or a creepy horror thing. But during the show I realized some of what he meant and thought more about rodeo clowns (who are doing something functional to distract a bull’s attention from the thrown rider, but who are also amazing and exuberant in that way of sharing a kind of joyousness in the absurd — by the way I love rodeos a lot) The performers aren’t necessarily doing something complicated at first, but the complexity can build up quite a lot!

And it was also so fabulously queer <3 <3 <3 So from last night the show opened or "before" the show Zach Zucker (or his persona?) was dancing on stage and a tall skinny guy in purple velour stretch pants and a hippie headband was rollerskating around the theater aisles wearing a tshirt that said "DYLAN ®“. His roller skating got more and more chaotic and flamboyant – including throwing himself to the ground & shoulder-rolling onto the stage – A giant hoop came down from the ceiling and it became an aerial act – Two dudes in full (face-covering) body stockings (one with a DYLAN® shirt) came out to prance around – An umbrella full of confetti- Absolute fucking chaos – More & more absurd somehow – One of the body stocking guys “accidentally” shooting himself in the dick with a confetti gun – It’s very hard to describe how this unfolded but as the rest of the show went on all these characters would reappear — often the body stocking duo would be “shot” and fall over by one of Jack Tucker’s sound effects and the stage crew would have to drag them off – Dylan® would come on to mourn them or take photos or just roller skate around.

There was also sometimes an excitingly dangerous edge to Dylan® and his crew as they were so fast and furious & skating, running, or doing flips in the aisle or from/onto the stage, that it was like being in the middle of a martial arts battle.

aerialist on a hoop, in roller skates, high in the air

I liked his “earnest” punchlines about how he could finally be himself and free.

Am I going to list everything from the show! OMG?! I don’t think I can. Jack Tucker flailing the mic around and the mic stand (same dangerous excitement as above) and pulling an apple out of nowhere (to the tune of New York New York and whacking it with the mic like a baseball so that the stage was spattered with smashed bits of apple. Enter the metalhead guitarist in spangles – I can’t remember who ripped his outfit off but underneath he had on hot pants and a little harness – The Lumberjack viking looking guy who would come out to particular theme music (whenever someone would ask for a cleaning crew to clean the stage) Pull a hammer out of his shorts, hold up a beer can, whack it with the hammer and chug it (though most of the time it just ran down his beard onto the floor) I could analyze each of their acts! But my point is the chaos and the mess on stage kept increasing!

At some point about 10 minutes into this I got out my phone and bought myself two tickets to the Saturday Zach Zucker show even though Danny was going to miss it I realized I had to see it. He looked over at me in horror – was I hating the show so much I was scrolling on my phone? NO…. i loved it so much I bought tickets for more.

I also note that I enjoyed Jack Tucker’s outfit and the feeling I had from it that he might pull ANYTHING from his pockets or out of his pants like the Doctor in Doctor Who or a looney tunes character – and that he didn’t actually use all the things that WERE in there –

The performers were sort of training us “the audience” to react in certain ways with clicker training (literally) and musical cues (LITTLE CABLE CARRRRRRRRS…… playing each time something even hinted at mentioning San Francisco or the Bay Area) and sound effects –

I loved the aerialists Clown & Drummer – her teetering and slipping on her lucite heels – him in silver body suit & perpetual look of abject terror, wheeled out on a hand truck) – they were very funny in a complicated way!!, Camden Garcia, the Two Adults in a Trenchcoat who I think were Demi Adejuyigbe and another guy (guys?) (BriTANick?), stage manager Erin, and really everyone but I think I am now a die hard fan of Ike Ufomadu. Holy shit! He slayed me!!! He came out walking very slowly – a little exchange of significant head nods and points back and forth with Jack Tucker – but then they KEPT DOING IT – very “slowly I turned, step by step” feel to it – crossing the stage to the mic at a snail’s pace with a transcendent grin – a little bewildered – then another fucking instance of the “point”. The repetition was amazing – it went way too far and then kept going – Absolutely perfect. And they were clearly riffing or improvising. I mean who knows what they practice or have done in past shows but I thought they were egging each other on, daring each other to keep it going and making each other laugh.

Then at the mic Ike was just slowly – excruciatingly slow – exhibiting every possible mannerism that people do at a mic – adjusting it – fiddling – moving his glasses – touching his face – I dunno how to describe this. I had FLASHBACKS to every poetry / literary open mic ever and also to various professors and their mannerisms. He was doing sort of a ballet of amazing facial expressions too at a snail’s pace which made it FUNNIER. How to describe how a progression of things would happen with his face – that had me howling! It was like waacking or actually I think turfing, if you see people doing the turfing style of hip hop often they are doing some kind of ordinary like moving to get up from a chair but they do it in a slightly stylized, graceful, slow way with repetition built in.

Anyway, Ike Ufomadu was doing this with the micro expressions of his face and with all his gestures of being a person who was MAYBE ABOUT TO SAY SOMETHING INTO THE MIC and do some comedy. Before he even got there, he encountered the “Caution – wet floor” yellow sandwich board sign on the floor and had to point at the CAUTION bit of it slowly underlining it and looking around significantly at us all – then the WET FLOOR bit of the sign – building the whole thing up and gazing around the fucked up, beer-covered stage, or beer mixed with layers of confetti and smushed apple – Then FINALLY getting to the little symbol in the center of the sign of a guy slipping and falling on the CAUTION WET FLOOR and waggling his eyebrows with deep meaning – showing it slowly around to everyone in the audience!

Oh, my god, I will never see one of those Caution wet floor signs again in my life without laughing!

comedian leaning on a wet floor caution sign on stage with a sardonic expression

It was during this shtick that one of the cameramen who was right behind me actually screamed with laughter and lost his entire cool. He doubled over – he actually fell to his knees – I had to take a photo of him on the floor as he ended up nearly in fetal position.

a man on his knees laughing uncontrollably

I think entire planetary systems were born and died in the interval before Ike actually said something and all the while behind him just at the edge of backstage Jack Tucker was losing his shit laughing. (Then what he ended up doing was a full blown performance of the horrible cable cars song – ahahaha – which I REALLY didn’t think was planned. Like he must have had a whole act ready but he just did this instead ! )

You know when sometimes you are looking at someone and they are looking at you and it seems so odd that reality is real and you are looking at each other, that you burst out laughing?

What I got from this was how much what he (and Zach Zucker and many of the others) were working with the, uh sort of the meta commentary on what happens in a “performance” or any situation where there is someone “performing” and an “audience” and I have to put all that in quotes because the very idea of that is of course absurd! (Like “author” or any such concept where we don’t have to accept a hierarchical power relationship at all and yet people do!) So, getting to that level of existential commentary where you realize that the nature of what you are doing and of all human interaction and everything we are doing and basically, reality, is absurd!!!! It was also done so lovingly that it wasn’t like, oh everything is absurd and that sucks and let’s all be nihilists, it was celebratory. Anyway, that’s what was going on in my brain like a sort of explosion during this performance!

Then Danny and I went around the corner utterly dazed and high with our own ideas and got a sandwich at the gyro place, during our debriefing and analysis of which bits were planned and which were more improvised, And how much we love the feeling of artists who are able to work together in such a collective way to do something – we went, HEY …. What if we just go right back around the corner and see it again at the 2nd show tonight? It would be perfect and would fit our mood from the show of free wheeling existence and flow (Dylan®: “Everything is possible!”) We nabbed the two last tickets (FATE) which were conveniently the wheelchair accessible & companion ones on the other side from where we were in the first show.

close up of danny, greying hair and beard, chin in hand, looking happy and radiant

Going back into the theater felt like our own contribution to the themes of absurdity and repetition as the theater staff had to go through their hullabaloo all over again with the wheelchair lift, radioing each other that a wheelchair was incoming, trying to escort me to the seat, giving me funny mini lectures about how to be in a lift (I KNOW HOW BY NOW JFC) and trying to helpfully anticipate what I was going to do (wrongly) — and then doing it all in reverse for the 4th time for us to finally leave. I mean it is not like we can just show up unnoticed!!! So I may as well be amused by the entire thing. (navigating weird access situations is its own comedy scene that we are connoisseurs of)

The second show was different! Ike Ufomadu did a different thing this time with the book he was carrying – More on the kindly doddering but somewhat maddening professorial side (skipping the caution sign schtick) That was also amazing and made me have an entire asthma attack from laughing so hard –

I thought the 2nd crowd was a bit drunker and perhaps, well, dumber than for the first show – A different vibe – Somehow we got to a place where the entire crew had a moment of “sharing their truth” earnestly in the spotlight to sad music – then getting sloppily kissed and carried off by the beer lumberjack — till the first guy who did this (the lumberjack beer chugger) got up again and wistfully told us “when I spoke the first time I thought it was gonna be MY THING” – that one destroyed Danny utterly.

Oh, I forgot the comedy reviewer, and his crimes against comedy and against reviews! A crime I am now compounding! But, anyway, he was great.

I have not talked ENOUGH about Zach Zucker / Jack Tucker himself and what he was doing but I admired it and was super intrigued and enjoyed that seeing him do the same(ish) show a second time rewarded. I will be back tonight to see him do a whole different (??) show!

His hand sniffs were such a great running gag. (GAGGGGG) I said before that the show was exuberant rather than trying-to-be-clever, or cruel, but actually – I will see more tonight and think about it- maybe he is a bit (actually) clever, and a bit cruel, but it is not a bad kind of cruel. (Not “punching down cruel” – but more wry and insightful? I am not sure how to describe it. in any case not cliched or stupid, so, good. ) Must discuss with Danny later when I have more data.

We took a waymo robot car home which is more expensive than either the bus or my free waymo wheelchair vans, but it felt like a luxurious and futuristic thing to do that suited our mood – I think they drive safely and it is kind of relaxing – though of course I also normally enjoy late night bus rides and the glory of all humanity upon display, I am just barely coming out of a big pain/mobility flare up so getting home from our late night quickly was important!

Danny is now off on his trip to FOSDEM and Davos! Time for my disco nap so I can physically endure the long evening ahead!!!!

Historical fiction and Norwegian petroglyphs

Pattern recognition is extremely fun and we love to do it.

When I was a kid I loved archeology and dramatic histories of science (think “The Microbe Hunters”) and also anything about unexplained phenomena and scientific hoaxes, like UFOs or people spontaneously combusting or the original Mechanical Turk. And now I am spontaneously combusting myself as I have just read the most ridiculous fable! Google “news” shoveled a fantastic “science” story about pre-historic Norwegian petroglyph artists into my eyeballs (at the very top of my idle scroll-impulse) and I had to read it and then had to look deeper. Actually some months ago I spent another idle evening reading about Norwegian petroglyphs – from Wikipedia to researchgate to marking the locations of various petroglyphs on a map (Hurrah the internet!!). And it gets worse. I also as a kid read my dad’s hardback “A History of The Vikings” (Gwyn Jones) and learned to read and write in runes (so useful for Lord of the Rings.) Later I read a kind of incredible amount of Norse sagas in translation. So you see the Algorithm understands me fairly well. It sees (some of) my patterns, and sometimes, I realize, or hypothesize, what it is doing and why, in return.

Pattern recognition often goes way too far though and I can’t help mocking this instance of it!!! Please join me to anti-admire this glorious piece of nonsense from a geology professor who should know better. Yes, everyone thought continental drift was nonsense, and we could also look at impact geology & Chicxulub for another example of a mockable theory turned plausible – but that is not a good argument for any other implausible thing to be true!

So this guy Allan Krill starts with the claim that a rock tool could not have pecked out the clean and regular petroglyph lines without its point breaking. Right from this point I want to argue with him. How does he know? Has he tried every kind of rock a prehistoric Norwegian might have had in hand? What kind of rock(s) are they carving/pecking onto? And what is harder than that? I don’t even have to look at a geological map to think about quartz, quartzite and other crystalline stuff! Antlers are too soft to carve rock (he says) but aren’t antlers part of rock tool knapping? And has Allan Krill practiced his petroglyph rock-pecking arts for years like our prehistoric artists might have? I mean, what? Even this initial leap is too much for me.

Then another giant leap – that these are Iron Age petroglyphs because only iron could have done this carving. And then a speculation – “Wrought iron boat nails would be the perfect tool.” Like, fine, come up with a wild theory and then do lots of experiments but why a boat nail? If you have iron and it’s the iron age forge a special tool. Why a boat nail? Why not a special iron rock-pecker! Have your imaginary Iron Age characters invent a whole set of artist’s chisels, like Ayla in the Valley of the Horses inventing approximately 30,000 years’ worth of human endeavor in one Pleasures-filled winter!!! Let’s gooooo!

Then he sets the scene – Viking longships which naturally (?!) would welcome a strong oarsman who was also a boat-nail petroglyph artist, because when the boat needed repairs, our artist could go do his thing. Again, what?

Then the best bit. He categorizes all the pecked-out-style petroglyphs along Norway and further north along Finland and Russia into four styles, and then attributes those styles not to particular eras, fashions, or cultures, but to four people. He names them like dolls and makes up their histories! I kind of love this but I also hate it! It would probably make a good historical novel. Why not have one book for each artist and then have them all meet in the 5th book, like Elric meeting all the other sword guys in a swirling gothy Chaos nexus!

They are called Steinn Stikkmann, Bårdr Båtmann, Ingi Innrisser, and Oddr Omrisser. In case you want to put them in your Iron Age Norwegian novel series, or historical role-playing game! I may need to write the fanfic actually and put it onto Archive of Our Own. Stay tuned. But in the meantime you are invited by Dr. Krill to contribute your own theories at https://groups.io/g/vikingrockart – have at it.

Could all these glyphs have been carved by four people? Maybe! I guess we can’t discount it!

They also could have been carved by one very busy time traveler or alien!

But probably there are archeologists who could (and maybe do) refute a lot of things about Krill’s theories.

I looked up Krill and he did not disappoint – he actually writes a fair amount about pseudoscience. Here he goes into some interesting detail about the Aquatic Ape theory! Which is worth reading and considering – we know that science doesn’t always follow a logical path – some theories are quite wild, and we can get to the right answers from a wrong hunch or a ridiculous lead that goes somewhere unexpected. I remember diving into *snerk* the Aquatic ape theory a bit after reading some books like Peter Dickinson’s Bone from a Dry Sea and then Stephanie A. Smith’s haunting and beautiful novel Other Nature.

I also came across this gold mine of Krillish internet forum posts – more about the Aquatic Apes and Proto-Bioko – the stuff about early human evolution, etc. Uh oh, an article about Chimpanzee skin color! Hmmm. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Someone has to come up with wild ideas, and Krill is pretty good at it – lots of confidence and grandiosity – A love of studying huge paradigm shifts – But seems to me like an example of someone good in one area (geology, history of continental drift theories) trying and failing to achieve, or claim, or assume, that expertise to another area (archeology, primate evolution, paleoanthropology) and failing. Not just failing but complexly continuing to fail as he digs his hole deeper and will not listen to other experts in these fields – complaining they will not listen to him, and self-publishing his PDFs earnestly.

(Oh no – there are now SEVEN artists – named Stickman, Sydvester, Texter, Hjortmann, Whaler, Inliner, and Outliner! I cannot cram them all into one fic, can I?)

I have a certain sympathy for Krill’s position, as I am a non-expert, a total amateur, a generalist, and a self-publisher/blogger of course. Look at all the things I reference – half-remembered fiction and amateur histories read in childhood – Years lurking in the stacks reading random things at my college Geology Library job – A few textbooks and a nose for nonsense – Who am I to say? I have developed my own judgement and discernment as best I could.

Note that paleoanthropology is a bit inherently ridiculous and prone to – all of this. What, you found 2 ankle bones and a tooth, or worse, someone’s crew of 100 years ago found it, and from that you extrapolate early Iguanodon’s horn levels of absurdity – I’m not here for it.

Extra note that the “Great Man” fallacy is a red flag for me. Some people really like there to be a lone hero, a primary genius, rather than acknowledge the reality of how culture shifts and changes and propagates – an inability to see a narrative as a collective story.

I can’t help but see Krill’s voyages into other fields (and ancient seas) as a cautionary tale. Sad and even a bit dangerous. (Even though I enjoy reading it all.)

Maybe I can name the fanfic “We Want to Believe”.

poster or meme of a flying saucer ufo with the words I WANT TO BELIEVE underneath

I, Lizhilda Karenssprog, carved these runes.