[syndicated profile] daily_otter_feed

Posted by Daily Otter

I only joke, U’na couldn’t be more adorable, see-food or no! Alaska SeaLife Center writes:

Un’a the sea otter pup admitted in May this summer, is officially out of quarantine (has been for a while, actually). What does that mean?

When animals arrive through our wildlife response program, they can carry parasites or diseases from the Gulf of Alaska that could spread to our resident animals. To protect everyone in our care, staff who work with response patients must shower and change before entering the main building.

Being cleared from quarantine is a big milestone for Un’a. Her tests are all clear, her weight is solid, and our veterinary team is confident she can safely join the resident side of the facility. She will still have regular veterinary check-ups and is closely monitored for any changes, but now she can focus on being an otter rather than the lifesaving rehabilitation she first needed.

wednesday books

Jan. 7th, 2026 07:48 pm
landofnowhere: (Default)
[personal profile] landofnowhere
The Lamp and The Bell, Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1921. Readaloud. This is a blank verse play that Millay wrote for a Vassar College reunion -- she enrolled at age 21 after having launched her career as a poet, and caused lots of trouble by not being a proper young lady. (A previous version of this post claimed she wrote it as a student, but actually it was 4 years after graduation.) I'd been wanting to read this play aloud for a while, and enjoyed doing it! It inevitably invites comparisons to both Shakespeare and the best of Millay's poetry, and comes up short, but it's still very good at being what it is, which is a fairy-tale-ish melodrama revolving around the romantic friendship between two stepsisters.

Audrey Lane Stirs the Pot and Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake, Alexis Hall. I really liked Hall's Regency romances narrated by Puck and The Affair of the Mysterious Letter, but hadn't gotten into Hall's contemporary romance -- but then I was recommended Audrey Lane, which is the third in Hall's series set on a thinly disguised version of The Great British Baking Show. This one is an f/f romance between a contestant and the showrunner (nothing happens until after after it stops being a conflict of interest). There's some nice reality show meta, in that our POV character's day job is as a journalist, so she sees the show from a more media-savvy lens even before she starts dating the showrunner. I liked it enough to go back and read Rosaline Palmer, which plays the reality TV show storyline more straight. I haven't read the second book in the series, which I've been warned is all about the protagonist's anxiety, but might eventually read it anyway.

Alien Clay, Adrian Tchaikovsky. I bought this one along with Cage of Souls when I was in Edinburgh almost 2 years ago, and read Cage of Souls on the airplane because it was the paperback, and then set this aside because I didn't want to read two Adrian Tchaikovsky books in a row. (Also it wasn't out yet in the US so I didn't have as many people to discuss it with.) Finally coming back to it now, but not far enough into it yet to say much.
sovay: (Lord Peter Wimsey)
[personal profile] sovay
Doubtful as it may be under present conditions to find encouragement in anything of military origin unless it's the USS Princeton in 1844, about twenty-seven seconds into the two minutes' patriotism of Warship Week Appeal (1942) I cracked up.

Two hundred feet exactly of no-credits 35 mm, the object in question is a trailer produced for the Ministry of Information, essentially the same concept as the film tags of WWI: a micro-dose of propaganda appended to a newsreel as part of a larger campaign, in this case a sort of public information skit in which it is supposed that Noël Coward on the Denham sets of In Which We Serve (1942) is approached by Leslie Howard, slouching characteristically on with his hands in his pockets and his scarf twisted carelessly label-out, anxious to discuss a problem of National Savings. "How do you think we can make an appeal so it won't quite seem like an appeal?" With limited screen time to realize their meta conceit, the two actor-directors get briskly down to explaining the mechanics of the scheme to the British public with the shot-reverse-shot patter of a double act on the halls, but the trailer has already dropped its most memorable moment ahead of all its instructions and slogans, even the brief time it rhymes. Diffident as one end of his spectrum of nerd heroes, Howard apologizes for the interruption, excuses it with its relevance to naval business, and trails off with the usual form of words, "I'm sure you won't mind—" to which Coward responds smoothly, "I'm delighted to see you. And I know perfectly well—as we rehearsed it so carefully—that you've come to interview me about Warships Week." He doesn't even bother to hold for a laugh as Leslie snorts around his unlit cigarette. It doesn't all feel like a bit. The interjection may or may not have been scripted, but Coward's delivery is lethally demure and his scene partner's reaction looks genuine; for one, it's much less well-timed or dignified than the smile he uses to support a later, slightly obligatory joke about the income tax, which makes it that much more endearing. It's funny to me for a slant, secondhand reason, too, that has nothing to do with the long friendship between the two men or further proof of Noël's deadpan for the ages: a dancer with whom my mother once worked had been part of the company of Howard's 1936 Hamlet and like all the other small parts, whenever her back was to the audience and the Hollywood star was stuck facing the footlights, she tried to corpse him. One night she finally succeeded. Consequently and disproportionately, watching him need the length of a cigarette-lighting to get his face back, I thought of her story which I hadn't in years and may have laughed harder than Leslie Howard deserved. If it's any consolation to him, the way his eyes close right up like a cat's is beautiful, middle-aged and underslept. It promotes the illusion that a real person might say a phrase like "in these grim days when we've got our backs to the wall" outside of an address to the nation.

Not much consolation to the MOI, Warship Week Appeal accomplishes its goal in that while it doesn't mention for posterity that a community would adopt the ship it funded, the general idea of the dearth of "ships—more ships and still more ships" and the communal need to pay down for them as efficiently as possible comes through emphatically. It's so much more straightforward, in fact, than I associate with either of its differently masked actors, I'd love to know who wrote it, but the only other information immediately available is that the "Ronnie" whom Coward is conferring with when Howard courteously butts in is Ronald Neame. Given the production dates of their respective pictures, it's not difficult to pretend that Howard just popped over from the next sound stage where he was still shooting The First of the Few (1942), although he is clearly in star rather than director mode because even if he's in working clothes, he is conspicuously minus his glasses. What can I tell you? I got it from the Imperial War Museum and for two minutes and thirteen seconds it cheered me up. Lots of things to look at these days could do much, much worse. This interview brought to you by my appealing backers at Patreon.
sovay: (Sovay: David Owen)
[personal profile] sovay
After a full week without water in the kitchen, the plumber cameth on half an hour's notice from the property manager and was horrified to hear about it, but he was swift and competent and we have a new and working faucet, which was all the problem turned out to be. Hestia made herself invisible in the bedroom throughout the proceedings. I washed a fork without first boiling water and it felt like a big deal.

I just finished reading David Hare's A Map of the World (1983), whose device of examining an interpersonal-political knot through the successive filters of the roman à clef, the screen version, and the memories of the participants reminded me obviously of similar exercises in metafiction and retrospect by Tom Stoppard and Michael Frayn, double-cast for an effect at the end approaching timeslip such as works almost strictly on stage. I did not expect to find some fragments preserved in an episode of The South Bank Show, but there were some of the scenes with Roshan Seth, John Matshikiza, Bill Nighy, Diana Quick. I wish I thought it meant there were a complete broadcast I could watch, but I'm not even finding it got the BBC Radio 3 treatment. More immediately, it reminded me of how many of the stories I read early were about stories, their propagation and mutation, their conventions, their shifting distances from the facts. "And, in time, only the bards knew the truth of it."

The problem with the denaturing of language is that when I say to [personal profile] spatch that the political situation is insane, I don't mean it's a little far-fetched, I mean it is driven by wants and processes that are not rational and it is exhausting to be trapped inside someone else's illness.
sovay: (Rotwang)
[personal profile] sovay
This administration has run so hard from the start on leaded fantasies, the presence of a fossil fuel in its latest scream for the headlines seems macabrely apropos. Oil is indeed a lucratively unrenewable resource, but aren't those equally heady fumes of the Banana Wars and Neptune Spear? In my own throwback to the twentieth century, I haven't been able to get Phil Ochs out of my head. It was in another of his songs that I first heard of United Fruit. I live in endless echoes, but I am tired of these threadbare loops of empire that were already sticky shed and vinegar when another fluffer of American exceptional stupidity hung out his banner of a mission very much not accomplished. Is it the Crusades this time or Manifest Destiny? War Plan Red hasn't panned out so far, but we can always rebrand the Monroe Doctrine. Colombia! Cuba! Greenland! Daddy's shadow and Deus vult. "Every generation of Centauri mourns for the golden days when their power was like unto the gods! It's counterproductive! I mean, why make history if you fail to learn by it?" I was thirteen when I heard that line and I understood the question. Who knew I was going to spend the rest of my life finding out just how many people were never even interested in trying?

The Tale of the (Kale)PuddingMaster

Jan. 4th, 2026 02:31 pm
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
[personal profile] sorcyress
LB asked a few days ago, because I never did elaborate about Kale Pudding in here during the actual summer. So here is a story from Pinewoods this past July!

***

The Kale Pudding was a Pinewoods adventure, and I'm surprised about the part where I didn't give details any time this year, except of course I didn't, I have been _so shit_ at updating Dreamwidth. Oh well.

The shortlong version: At Pinewoods dance camp Scottish Sessions, we have a big auction to raise money for camp. Because we raise fucktons of $$ (like, basically always five figures, this year was a record in the ~27,000 range), the crew of Pinewoods are often willing to donate various goods and services that they don't really offer to other sessions which split their $s between camp and the parent orgs (or don't donate to camp at all). One of these services, for several years, has been "the head cook will let you choose what the dessert for the last night of camp is".

We've had creme brulee. We've had sticky toffee pudding. We've had cheesecake. It's chances for the kitchen crew to flex on the fact that food at Pinewoods is _way_ outside the league of "camp food" anywhere else. And in...let's say 2021 or so? In about 2021, when the bidding started, I made a bid just to get things going and loudly announced that I was bidding on "kale pudding" for dessert. No one knew what that would, but they recognized it for the thread it sounded like, and outbid me.

Continue the running joke for several years. Cue 2024, at which point Geoffrey, who had frequently outbid me in the past, comes up to me and says "I've got $300 for you this year, I think it would be funny if you won". And so did someone else. Oh-ho-ho, with shadowbackers, I have an actual chance! Bidding gets to just over a thousand dollars before Terry says "okay, raise your hand if you'll throw in $50 for NOT kale pudding". (he then wasted it on Pot de Creme, which is a delicious chocolate treat that I just do not like and also that the kitchen like, regularly makes at camp? So it's not like you couldn't get it at Pinewoods in general? DO SOMETHING INTERESTING WITH YOUR DESSERT CHOICE, THE CREME BRULEE YEAR THE KITCHEN CREW GOT TO BORROW BLOWTORCHES THAT WAS AWESOME!)

So now I've got a challenge, a target, and a goal. And a whole bunch of people also into The Joke. At LCFD weekend, right at the start of the summer, I warn Amanda the head cook. I'm serious. I'm going to campaign. "And part of my campaign is predicated on 'I trust Amanda to make something _good_' so, uh, good luck babe". ESCape rolls around, the session immediately before Scottish, and some friends do actual campaigning for Make The Scots Eat Kale Pudding fund1. I don't just have shadow-backers anymore, I have straight up donation-matchers. Like, more than one of them.

So at Scottish Sessions, I go ahead and start collecting a list of people I think it would be funny to get money from. A big ol' list of collaborators, and also making it clear that anyone could bid shadow-wise, and not have anybody but me know that they were in. I will be the fall guy for this BUT ALSO if anyone can make Kale Pudding taste good it's Amanda. Believe in them, you know? Auction night rolls around. Me and Geoffrey make a plan --he'll be the face guy for the ESCape part of the fund, and bid against me to make the $$ go up if necessary. We're gonna spook people, then he's gonna hit me with the "well, ESCape wants to be on the winning team" and throw in his funds so we can crush the competition.

...except no one else wants to bid on the dessert. The joke has just about hit its limits, and I have successfully either convinced everyone that Amanda is really good at their job and it'll taste good, or have intimidated them into thinking they're not going to bother. So Geoffrey and I have a (brief) screaming match of "I bid 1000...for kale pudding" "oh yeah? Well I bid 1500....for kale pudding!!!" until we reach $2500 and agree to go in together and then we gave Pinewoods camp a $5000 donation2 in exchange for making the Scots eat kale pudding for their last night dessert.

Which Amanda made as "pot de brassica", a sort of violently neon green creamy pud, served with lemon curd, tasted sharp and interesting and yes like kale and delicious. Most people enjoyed it, or at least found it "good enough". Very few people didn't like it, but honestly, I don't like pot de creme which everyone else finds The Shit, so it's all normal.

And I assured a great many people that last year was the last year of the joke anyways, so it's going to be very very funny if the new kitchen head [Amanda has retired after their triumph] offers this same auction item and I bid any amount. What, I just want some lemon meringue pie!

AND THAT IS THE TALE OF THE KALE PUDDING!

~Sor

1: "Why should you care what some people a week from now eat for dessert? First off, you shouldn't. Second off, because it would be funny. And third off, because the money goes to a good cause..."

2: It is important to note that Geoffrey works in SF with computers, and we had a _lot_ of shadowbackers and donors. I did not pay anywhere near this amount myself.

What is a "roo-teen"

Jan. 4th, 2026 12:38 pm
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
[personal profile] sorcyress
I can tell I've been too long away from home and my proper routine, because this morning I was dithering a little bit going "wait, what should I do during breakfast, I can't knit and eat at the same time so that's obviously not it".

Like babe. You know this one.

You pour a bowl of cereal, you pour on some milk, you eat your cereal and milk and read the comics. This has been your routine since like nineteen fucking ninety six. Forty percent of your partners weren't born when you started this.

Also it means I'm actually going to read the dreamwidth friends page in who knows how fucking long (two weeks, give or take) so it'll be nice to know what y'all have been up to. On the one hand, we should bring back the phrase "pants bankrupt", on the other hand, maybe a good new years resolution would be to just...not be pants bankrupt very often this year?

(like, it'll happen around Pinewoods of course, but let's try not to let it happen at other points because Dreamwidth really is The Good Place and I would like to keep it running well.)

~Sor
MOOP!

Yeahhh, They'll Smell Me Now

Jan. 4th, 2026 11:00 am
[syndicated profile] daily_otter_feed

Posted by Daily Otter

Via MTSOfan, who writes, “Otters are very much like mink. They have a lot of energy, and they communicate through scent. Here, Luani rubs his head on a rock in his habitat.”

sovay: (Otachi: Pacific Rim)
[personal profile] sovay
Before the news was overtaken by this latest and gratuitous moving fast and breaking of the world, I discovered that on Boxing Day there had been a three-alarm fire on the working waterfront of Portland's Custom House Wharf. I used to spend a lot of time there with my grandmother. She would buy her fish nowhere but from the Harbor Fish Market, which in the '80's and '90's had the great dried skin of a sturgeon on its wall along with its charts of catches and soundings and a wet-planked floor through which the harbor itself could occasionally be seen lapping in a wrack-green brindle of light. It smelled at once like open water and the clean insides of fish. It was spared the blaze; other addresses were not. Between the icing temperatures and the flashpaper of the buildings, the firefighting efforts sound even more heroic since no one seems to have died, but the damage beyond the total losses of gear and business remains significant. The Maine Coast Fishermen's Association has been taking donations for their support and partnered with a local restaurant toward the same end plus T-shirts. It is a small shoring-up of the world and it matters. "When I say charity, I don't mean, 'I've got a sixpence I don't want. You can have it.' I mean, 'I've got a sixpence I do want. You can still have it.'"

(no subject)

Jan. 3rd, 2026 12:21 am
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
[personal profile] sorcyress
Today was a day of very many games! And playing them with various people. And that's basically it. [profile] _____@

I got to see Veronicaaaaa and play games with her, which is the Best Ever. And I saw Cameron and MaccyTu and Jonny!!!!! and Tuesday and Mom and played games with all them as well! Busy day!

We played:

Pit: I did very well in general, but I always do.

Hot Streak: Several rounds, I tended to do poorly, but had a very good time because it's very stupid fun!

Agricola: I came in first! It was a hardfought, and I never quite got my engines working the way I wanted, but I did manage to frantically make a whole bunch of fences in the last possible moment.

Kingsburg: Came in solidly fourth, c'est la vie, but I did not get killed by the demons, so that's a good start!

Space Base: Came in _painfully_ last place, like, fourteen points below second last, and I ended the game with 4 (the game ends when someone crosses 40). But I had a nice time!

I think that's everything we played? I also did some rounds of knitting, and much chatting and bomping my head into my friends and occasionally eating things. Tomorrow, Tuesday and I ride a train for many many hours. I am planning to listen to music and do some knitting and maybe actually touch my day job? Grading and the like? Aaaaah!

I will have to pack up tomorrow morning, I expect. Hm. Maybe I need to actually start to get my sleep schedule back into wack, so that I can go to work on Monday. Sigh!

That's me. I hope your life is also nice and full of friends and stuff.

~Sor
MOOP!
sovay: (Lord Peter Wimsey: passion)
[personal profile] sovay
The afternoon's mail brought my contributor's copy of Not One of Us #85, containing my poem "The Avalon Procedure." It is the Arthurian one, in debt to and argument with Bryher. It belongs to the outsider issue which kicks off the 'zine's fortieth year of alienation, characteristically incarnated by the short fiction and poetry of Steve Toase, Devan Barlow, Lauren Hruska, and Gwynne Garfinkle among others. The threshold shadow of the cover art by John and Flo Stanton is an excellent advertisement, or harbinger. Pick up a copy or contribute to the strangeness yourself. I remain so glad it sneaked into our reality.

"These clocks are like Time herself. Magnificent edifices, but secretly fragile. In need of constant attention . . . Forgive me. My pet subject, Time." I didn't realize until I opened the jewel case that Sigil (2023) was dedicated to the memory of Murray Melvin: it was his last recording for Big Finish, released posthumously. It starts like a classic M. R. James with a series of weird and hauntological misfortunes attending a three-thousand-year-old bronze bird ever since its ill-omened excavation in the Victorian era and then it twists much more cosmic, with a pure sting of Sapphire & Steel. I can't tell if it was designed as a farewell, but it makes a tantalizing final communiqué from Bilis Manger, a gorgeous, wickedly silken and knowing performance from Melvin whose voice caresses a stone circle because it's "an ancient timepiece" and can put a harvest-withering contempt into a statement like "I've never owned a scatter cushion in my life." There's a sort of promotional interview at the end of the CD, but it poignantly does not include Melvin. The last we hear of him is in definitive character, so much time echoing backward and forward in his voice that was then eighty-nine human years old and still made you think there could be younger barrows, meadows, stars. "What could murder a murder of crows?"

I had no idea about this historical reenactment at Prospect Hill, but I am happy to read of its turnout in the new snow. I have not gotten the sestercentennial onto my mental calendar. I am still not convinced of this decade at all.

(no subject)

Jan. 2nd, 2026 02:22 pm
choco_frosh: (Default)
[personal profile] choco_frosh
CoViD Levels:
Huh. We actually have up-to-date information. (As of Monday.) And CoViD levels (at least for the North System) are still at ... (drumroll, please)...about 300 Bobcat-Robots.

(Levels for the Boston SOUTH system are up, to around 600 Bobcat-Robots. Which is still way below last year's levels.)

(no subject)

Jan. 2nd, 2026 02:02 am
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
[personal profile] sorcyress
I have eaten a lot of junk food today, which is good, and played some board games, which is good, and done some mindless phone games, which is less good, and napped for like 2-3 hours, which is...fine, honestly, and spent quality time with good people, which is marvelous.

I also obtained a small green dinosaur plushie at the grocery store. She basically leapt into my bag and informed me that her name is Canope (rhymes with "Penelope"). She also has informed me I need to knit her a hat, which would be easier if she wasn't a triceratops. I have attempted to bargain her to scarf, she countered with "booties" which will also be difficult as her legs are extremely cute and stubby. We'll see what happens. Anyways, her goofy ability to get in the way while I'm trying to do other things (she rode home from the store in my lap, which was fine until I had to park and then she was annoyed I moved her so she wasn't in the way) has earned her the surname Catlike.

I do not always instantly personify my stuffed animals so thoroughly, but it is fun to meet them and see what's going on.

Whenever I fall asleep without an alarm on, I sleep until eleven, which feels too late, but also the body wants what the body wants. I've never _really_ been in a space where I could fully free-run, which is an absolute shame, because it would be interesting to see what happens. Maybe someday I will have to take a week's vacation entirely and fully by myself so I can so something like that.

Earlier today I made a bunch of pancakes, which was quite satisfying. I was helping Cameron and Tuesday! It is fun to have an extended family I can cook with. Friends who will game with me and have a nice time and All That.

And I dunno, that's where I'm at. Tomorrow I hang with Veronica, and probably more games and junk food, and then Saturday, Tues and I get on a train and return to Massachusetts. (Sunday night there is BIDA, and I should figure out if Maia is staying over at my place or not, and how that will all work out, considering then it's time to return to my job, and oh yeah, we better get some lessons prepped at some point. Seems like a task for a future Kat.

I hope your 2026 is starting off well!

~Sor
MOOP!
sovay: (Sovay: David Owen)
[personal profile] sovay
Rabbit, rabbit! After my family had banged the new year in with pots and wooden spoons and I had blown the conch, my niece asked if our neighbors were still talking to us. I could say truthfully if not causally that some of them had moved away.

It snowed all morning, a postcard mantling of soft-spiraled white over shriveled leaves and evergreen spikes while the occasional crow called out of sight. I would be fine with a little ice age if we could get one without the jet stream falling to pieces or some other climatic monkey's paw.

My movie-watching abilities have been on the fritz for some weeks, but I was so surprised by the internet existence of the 1965 RADA Romeo and Juliet that I watched it on the spot. If it was the autumn term, Clive Francis was nineteen years old and his blond prettiness looked it and his voice is instantly recognizable for its dry and slightly harsh, easily sardonic timbre that he would learn to make even more of. It's better than some of his line readings; it should have made him a natural Mercutio on the John McEnery model, but his inarguable good looks evidently fixed him for Romeo. He must have worked overtime against them in order to accumulate his next decade's catalogue of trash fires: it's a little unfairly funny how much more familiarly he flashes out with humor or distress than when falling archetypally in Elizabethan Liebestod. I would love to know more about his student roles, how fast anyone identified his gifts for cynicism or weakness that played so well against a sensitive face and diamond-cut diction to produce some spellbinding fuck-ups. (I can find the information for Gareth Thomas, who was the same production's Benvolio.) It's such an odd record even to have in the first place, 16 mm, intermittently cinematic and abridged. Were there others made and this just the one that escaped containment? If not, what made this particular production of a play which must have been in constant rotation at a drama school worth memorializing? It is exactly the sort of thing I would have expected to need a time machine for and some very tolerant friends.

We are eating Chinese food with my brother for New Year's Day. I am in happy receipt of a late-arriving birthday CD of Torchwood: Sigil (2023) and a twelve-days-of-Christmas present of my very own paperback of Kate Dunn's Exit Through the Fireplace (1998).

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