July 14, 2018June 20, 2020 ~ Brin ~ 3 Comments

Goals: amass fuckyou money

Forever reblog the mother goddess

(status: I acknowledge that this is psychological damage from an extended period of financial hardship during formative years, but I nonetheless mostly endorse it)

Hmm. I seem to be having a bunch of thoughts and feelings about this.

There seems to be a…maybe “divide” is too strong a word, I don’t know. But…like, I called it “fuck-you money vs fuck-me money” in a post a while back. Even when the actions are the same, there’s this psychological difference in how people can approach it.

When I see FIRE people, they always frame it in terms of *freedom*. (It’s right there in the acronym: Financially *Independent*, Retiring Early.) But to me, it strikes me as being a thing about *safety*. “Enough money that you can run your household solely off the interest from your investments” can protect you from a lot of different problems, and *that’s* why the idea appeals to me.

A few weeks ago I saw some distant acquaintance-of-an-acquaintance on Tumblr (I don’t recall who) advising a young person with a high-paying job and relatively low expenses (Silicon Valley programmer, I think, or something like that) to go on some trips and enjoy themself, because they weren’t going to have this much disposable income again until their forties if not later. And it felt like a very weird framing to me, because…the way I see it, if future-me doesn’t have money to spare, then neither do I. I don’t have spare money unless I can afford to feed myself, and I can’t truly afford to feed myself unless I can afford to feed *all* of my selves.

16-year-old me got to eat because 7-year-old me’s dad put away some ““extra””, and eventually that ““extra”” was all he had left. Where is 33-year-old me getting *her* food from?

Because if the source isn’t me, then I don’t trust it to come through for her. I want to do all I can to make sure that, no matter who is or is not willing to employ her or for how much, 33-year-old me (and 44-year-old me, and 55-year-old me…) is fed and housed and so forth.

—

(This was going to be a tag ramble, but then I thought it should probably stay with the post if somebody reblogs it to respond or something. I’m just going to leave it in tag format.)

#this post probably partly inspired by my first anniversary of non-freelance employment #which is coming up soon #I think I will celebrate by scheduling the dental checkup I have been putting off for ~3 years because I didn’t feel I could afford it #(yes government healthcare does not cover dental) #(OHIP has some very weird-looking exceptions) #(this is probably the result of some kind of complicated political negotiation that I’m not sure I want to know the details of) #anyway a dental checkup seems like a good compromise between celebratory and practical #(and [practical celebrations are easier to enjoy]/[I find myself drawn to practical gifts these days anyway including gifts I buy for myself]) #((that safety thing manifests here especially)) #((the things I dream of buying these days are always things that protect you from something)) #((checkups that protect you from tooth damage and electric cars that protect you from rising oil prices and solar-powered phone chargers that protect you from power outages)) #((this I am much less sure I endorse)) #((I mean I think it is good to want practical things but it would also probably be good if I felt safe enough to want a few non-practical things too)) #(((sometimes on especially bad brain days I can’t even bring myself to play Flight Rising))) #(((that is currently the most common cause of my FR hiatuses))) #(((it used to be the most common cause was that I felt like playing some other game instead)))

maryellencarter:

This is really interesting and I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’m still not sure I actually have the brain to word everything I’m thinking/feeling about it, but here’s one bit, at least:

“the way I see it, if future-me doesn’t have money to spare, then neither do I. I don’t have spare money unless I can afford to feed myself, and I can’t truly afford to feed myself unless I can afford to feed *all* of my selves.”

I think… there are two things I’m thinking here. One is, I don’t think I believe, subconsciously, that it’s *possible* to have enough money to feed all of my future selves. This is almost certainly trauma-based – having enough money to eat has been a recurring theme in my life from the time I was very young, always coupled with inability to actually earn any money myself to buy any food. I’ve almost always been, and was *meant* to always be, dependent on somebody else to provide for me, and that has done Things to my wiring, which I don’t think I’m articulate enough to parse out right now.

(I think, at least partly… I’m not sure this even comes out in words, but I think there’s a thing I need to think at when I have words, which is that I – I don’t think I see working as me *earning money*. I think I see it as me doing what is incomprehensibly required by the eldritch deities that control whether I get to live. Like there’s a… you see posts about “you have rights as a worker, the company needs you, you have some control here”, etc etc, and I… can’t parse that? It fritzes me out. I can’t process the idea of me having any power in that equation. I’m supposed to only take what I get and be thankful they allow me to serve them. I think I see it as even more dysfunctional and abusive than how most workers in late-stage capitalism see it, and that makes it harder for me to deal with long-term. But that probably needs to be a post when I have slept recently.)

Where was I? Right. Tied into the same traumas is the – well, the brainwashing, that I eat Too Much. That no matter how little I eat, I have to eat less, because I am the Fat. (I’ve said this before, but my skeleton alone is probably hefty enough to play high school football. I’m never gonna be acceptably skinny, even if I literally starve to death.) So the… concept of feeding all my future selves, ties into that irrational belief – the idea that not only is it impossible to amass that much money under late-stage capitalism because the elder gods will not give it to me, but it’s impossible for there to *exist* enough money to feed all my future selves, because I’m like one of those entities in the one Norse myth. You know, the one where the cat was Jormungandr. Words aren’t wording and I can’t identify *which* entity; I feel like the logical one would be fire, the one that eats everything faster than anyone, but I keep thinking of the cup tied to the sea. But, I mean – am I making any sense? This irrational belief that no matter how much money I ever have, I will eat it all. (And that there will be other disasters, that I’ll always have to fix my car or buy new shoes or whatever, but fundamentally: that my needs are too much, that I’m too greedy, that no matter how much money there is, I will use it all up, because I am Bad and demanding and selfish and I take and take and take and never give. But also specifically that if I could eat, and I wasn’t forced to pinch pennies or count calories or be *controlled* somehow by people or circumstances, that I would literally never stop eating and I would eat and eat and eat all the food and all the money and use up all the resources and devour the world. Maybe *I’m* Jormungandr. ;P)

Uh. That… that turned into a thing. I really hope Tumblr doesn’t eat this. It hasn’t eaten any reblog posts I tried to make on my laptop *yet*, but I’m gonna copy it first anyway.

Anyway. All of that was approximately the first of the two things that I was trying to say here. The other one is, of course, that I also don’t actually believe in my future self existing. Any of my future selves. Again, it’s a trauma thing (obviously), but it doesn’t make it any less… convincing. It’s hard to feel like saving up to support my future self has any validity when I’m quite certain – not at all rationally, but still quite certain – that I’m gonna either keel over or kill myself sometime in the next few years. Or that somebody else will kill me. Something along those lines. “Sense of foreshortened future”, that one post called it. I died too young and now my brain can’t stop thinking I’m going to keep dying.

*sigh* I don’t even know if any of that made any sense. Basically I think it’s just a lot of irrational beliefs that I know are irrational but I can’t seem to uninstall them. But maybe writing them down will… help, at some point? Possibly?

>>One is, I don’t think I believe, subconsciously, that it’s *possible* to have enough money to feed all of my future selves.<<

Sometimes I try running some calculations regarding how much money my household would need in order to live off the interest, and depending on what assumptions I feed into the model I tend to get results in the 1 – 2 million USD range.

And on the one hand that’s a lot of money, but at the same time it’s not nearly as much money as I might have guessed off the top of my head. *And* that’s assuming the goal is to not–in an average year–have to touch the money originally invested at all, rather than merely having funds that aren’t due to run out until after dying of old age. (Brain: “The point is to *not* die; why would I make Plan A’s that rely on me dying at some point?”)

(Not to mention the various in-between consolation-prize states, in which one can cover a significant chunk of one’s expenses with interest and only needs to find a *little* work to cover the rest, which is not entirely safe but still quite an improvement.)

You might not find that sort of thing helpful yourself, but personally I find it reassuring to have a sense of the end goal. Even if I have a hard time believing I’ll ever actually have that kind of money, I like having an idea of what Enough money would look like, to help me know where I stand.

—

I was mostly using food as a metonym for necessities, but yeah, it does sound like you’ve got some food-specific brain issues.

(I have fairly low food needs myself, but that’s really just luck. Luck that I have a low metabolism, luck that when a nasty stomach bug in 2012 gave my gut flora a hard whack I found that afterwards my appetite now matched said metabolism rather than being slightly higher, luck that I live in a place where drinking water is extremely easy to source so that needing an extra 2 – 3 litres of water a day doesn’t cause more problems than needing less food prevents. (I don’t expect those things are *directly* related, but all bodies have their own quirks, and some circumstances are more amenable to some quirks than others.))

—

>>I don’t think I see working as me *earning money*. I think I see it as me doing what is incomprehensibly required by the eldritch deities that control whether I get to live.<<

I wonder if something like that isn’t more common than one might think, though maybe not to the same severity and…I think it’s particularly expected of *higher*-tier workers? Like, cubicle farmers and stuff. There is *some* room in the cultural consciousness for people scraping by on minimum wage to be displeased by having their hours cut, but people with a generally comfortable-in-the-medium-term paycheck are expected to have that mental disconnect between work and money, expected to desire to work as little as possible even when their pay is directly tied to how much they work. One is supposed to respond to the prospect of an additional day off with “Sweet, vacation!”, not “Damn, I wanted some more metaphorical acorns to squirrel away for later.”

(and even with low-tier stuff, I *still* sometimes get people expecting me to be pleased if one of my shifts gets removed from the schedule. even my own mother does this sometimes, and she *really* should know better.)

(And yeah, this is another financial aspect where I have the opposite psychological issues to you: I’m *acutely* aware of the connection between work and money. I still have a hard time believing that anyone is willing to pay me $14/hour just to do *this*, and I feel like I have to constantly justify my wage.

On the bright side, I think that *has* gotten me a niche in the employee schedule: slow times and times when he’s not *entirely* sure he needs an extra person on but the risk of being understaffed if he doesn’t is too great. My *top* speed is not very good, but my *average* speed can be quite competitive, because I keep looking for things to do long after everyone else has given up and started looking at stuff on their smartphones (or chatting to each other, or showing each other stuff on their smartphones). And if he puts me on and then finds out too late he didn’t need me after all, he gets a consolation prize of cleaner walls.)

—

>>“Sense of foreshortened future”, that one post called it. I died too young and now my brain can’t stop thinking I’m going to keep dying.<<

Reminds me of a conversation we had a while back regarding nausea, where the same basic impulse manifests in *your* brain as “I want to die” and in *my* brain as “I want to be temporarily unconscious; please wake me when this is over”.

Tags:

#…and now I’m late for bed #oops #reply via reblog #adventures in human capitalism #disordered eating #abuse cw #suicide cw #death tw #long post #(the following category tags were added retroactively:) #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #101 Uses for Infrastructureless Computers

July 7, 2018June 11, 2020 ~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

moral-autism:

moral-autism:

moral-autism:

moral-autism:

Laptop is in the shop almost certainly overnight at least. I can’t find the power cable for my old 2010 one. I probably can’t set up my Raspberry Pi, I know I don’t have the right adapter for it because I broke it. I might be able to use someone’s old AlphaSmart?

Laptop still in shop. I should get info tomorrow at least, emails say I’ll be called after 48 hours. I forgot to ask about the AlphaSmart.

Honestly I think the amount of stuff I’ve done and the fact that I have had chunks of happiness over the past several days and not injured myself at all is really suggestive of a lot of mental health improvement. Maybe it’s experiences, maybe it’s having more produce and sardines, but something’s working.

This is still really difficult for me, though.

Update: Apple called this morning to say that I have a hard drive problem (that affects booting from USBs and persists when the drive is wiped, yet doesn’t present any issues when copying files off the drive? seems unlikely) or a motherboard problem. Apple wanted to charge $475 to fix it, which I declined.

I was able to install Xubuntu on it from USB, and it is “working”, in that it still can’t talk to the battery at all and that it seems to freeze sometimes. I’ll probably try to transfer files later today. I am still overall dissatisfied with this state of affairs, though.

I am happy that I have a computer right now, but this does create a bit of a dilemma. I’m not sure I can justify replacing this computer just because I want to play some video games without Linux support and be able to see how charged my battery is. I guess this might get worse in the future, which might also justify replacing it. I sure don’t know how to replace a motherboard myself, and it sounds like a huge pain.

Laptop status update:

It gets completely nonresponsive and requires a forced shutdown sometimes more than once daily

Still doesn’t show the battery level (acpi won’t work)

Sleep/wake issues, does not travel well (overheats in bag)

Cannot shut down properly

I also still haven’t put my files on this thing. “Mount a 200GB disk image, on an HFS-formatted drive, of an Ext4 partition with logical volume management, and then figure out how to decrypt an encrypted user folder, with the password but without being able to log into it” is something which sounds like it should be technically feasible but also kind of sounds like a nightmare, and I have a feeling that my current computer setup is really not my long-term setup. I can get files from SpiderOak but that will take a while and they won’t be as recent.

What’s going on with the disk image was that booting up my computer in Target Disk Mode and getting the data off of it, using a connected Mac, was such that I couldn’t mount or even really properly interpret a partition with logical volume management, so I just frickin’ copied the whole thing. Yadda yadda I should make more frequent cloud backups or actually figure out how to do regular nice usable backups to a drive or both. At least I have the files. Probably.

I will apparently have some support in repairing or replacing this machine, which biases me towards doing so. Also, I’ll want to use it for taking lecture notes and other time-sensitive outside-the-home uses, so freezing and being a pain to store while asleep are problematic. If I repair it, I’m pretty sure it needs a logic board replacement which I would really rather not do myself. (I don’t have the right screwdrivers, a good workspace, etc.) If I replace it, I should probably replace it with a Windows machine, because the only times I’ve used OSX recently have been gaming and taking the easy route in dealing with printers/scanners.

I don’t know much about shopping for non-Macs or using whatever the latest version of Windows is. Every time I interact with recent proprietary operating systems I do get the vague feeling that they are tending in a direction my computer is not, such that my experience with Windows XP and 2016-and-previous versions of OSX won’t necessarily generalize.

If anyone has advice on any of the above, let me know.

For replacement laptops, eBay is great, especially for people located in the United States. The laptop I am typing this on, which I recently bought from one of the refurbished-laptop stores that sell through eBay, was USD$300 *after* international shipping and import taxes. For an American, it would have been around USD$250.

My usual strategy for laptop buying is “get the best PC USD$300 can buy”. I generally find laptops at that price point strike a good balance between “cheap” and “will keep pace with my needs for the approximately three years it takes for a used laptop to die of old age anyway” ; if you need more from a laptop than I do, you may need a higher budget.

You might not need me to tell you this, but make sure you know what kind of specs you need in a computer (RAM quantity, storage space, number of CPUs, dedicated vs basic graphics, etc), and add a little to leave room to grow. When searching, keep an eye out for laptops that have been discounted because they have problems in areas you don’t care about or are willing to live with: my previous laptop was unusually cheap because it was incapable of standby and took several minutes to come out of hibernation, which was pretty easy to adapt to for someone with my usage pattern.

Since I only just got a Windows 10 machine yesterday, I can’t say much about it. I *can* say that I’m pretty much just keeping that partition around for gaming, and intend to continue using Ubuntu for my primary OS.

—

Rather than a dedicated backup drive, I just keep a full copy of my files on my smartphone [link], where they are readily accessible and can in fact–in most cases–be accessed directly from the drive itself. I gather that a lot of people have too much data to pull that method off easily, but even if you can’t do it *yet*, maybe keep it in mind for if/when the progression of smartphones’ increasing storage space catches up to your needs.

Tags:

#reply via reblog #home of the brave #Brin owns *two* 2010’s computers now #(that is a category tag; I actually own four right now) #(it’ll drop to three probably-tonight when I give Dad my old laptop to replace his broken one) #(and I haven’t yet had a chance to sell off my old smartphone but I still plan to) #(morning edit: I think it probably qualifies for this tag too:) #adventures in human capitalism

Quote ~ July 7, 2018February 3, 2020 ~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

copperbadge:

Samuel L. Jackson seriously wants to be in the new Star Wars movies. He doesn’t care how it happens, he doesn’t care how many arms he has or how dead he is, or if he has to somehow do this as Nick Fury instead of Mace Windu.

Is there anyone among us who doesn’t think Star Wars could use a little Nick Fury? (Source)

…it’s a universe with a well-established history of just cloning the shit out of people at the slightest excuse. Samuel L. Jackson could theoretically play every role in the next movie without it being that implausible, by Star Wars standards.

(via stuckinabucket)

Holy shit I would pay twice the going rate for a movie ticket to see a film performed entirely by Samuel L. Jackson. I don’t even care what film. Star Wars, Pride & Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes, The Godfather…Any. Movie.

(via copperbadge)

“From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and fucking conceit made me realize that you were the last motherfucker in the world I could ever be fucking prevailed upon to marry.”

(via hippity-hoppity-brigade)

It is a truth fucking universally acknowledged that a single motherfucker in possession of a giant motherfucking fortune must be in want of a goddamn wife.

(via knottahooker)

“The fucking recollection of what I said—of my fucking conduct, my fucking manners, my motherfucking expressions during it, is now, and has been many fucking months, goddamned painful to me. Your reproof, I shall never fucking forget: ‘had you behaved like less of a motherfucker.’ Those were your goddamned words. You know not, you can scarcely fucking conceive, how they have tortured me.”

(via stuckinabucket)

“Really, Watson, you fucking excel yourself,” said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. “I am bound to say that in all the fucking accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have fucking habitually underrated your own motherfucking abilities. It may be that you are not yourself fucking luminous, but you are a motherfucking conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a fucking remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your fucking debt.”

(via knottahooker)

Motherfucker, mama always said life was like a box of fucking chocolates. You never fucking know what you’re gonna get.

(via asgardian-feminist)

To fuck up a motherfucker or to not fuck up a motherfucker, that is the question.

(via getdowngetfunky)

Guys this is the kind of thinking that got Snakes On A Plane made

(via xtremecaffeine)

But soft! What fucking light through yon motherfucking window breaks! It is the fucking east, and that motherfucker Juliette is the fucking sun

(via knottahooker)

“Harry, you’re a mothafuckin wizard.”
“Say what?”
“Bitch, did I stutter?”

(via ididthatonce)

“A little motherfucking sea-bathing would set me up for fucking ever.”

(via baileyeverywhere)

“About three goddamn things I was absolfuckinglutely postive. First, Edward was a motherfucking vampire. Second, there was a part of his sparkly blood drinking ass — and shit if I know how strong that part of the cold bastard might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was fucking unconditionally, irrefuckinvocably, in motherfucking love with the pale ass blood drinking motherfucker. “

(via duelist925)

We want the finest motherfuckin’ cakes known to humanity. We want them fuckers here and we want them fuckers now!

(via wellharkather)

“One day, and that fuckin’ day may never come, I may call upon your bitch ass to do me a motherfuckin’ favor. But for now, consider this a fuckin’ piece of generosity on the day of my daughter’s fuckin’ wedding.”

(via endlesskng)

“You cannot fucking stain a motherfucking black coat.”

(via maddy44)

“And none for Gretchen motherfucking Weiners, bye.”

(via jujuberry136)

“My good fucking opinion, once lost, is lost forever, motherfucker.”

(via misamdry)

We must be as swift as the fucking cold river, with all the force of the badass typhoon, screw shit up like the goddamn fire, mysterious as the mutherfucking dark side of the motherfucking moon.

(via nethenclawpuff)

“I’M FLYING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

(via loracarol)

The wand chooses the god damn wizard motherfucker!

(via queenofthedicks)

Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Motherfucker was something he couldn’t get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn’t have explained anything; I don’t think any word can explain a man’s life. No, I guess Motherfucker is just a… piece in a jigsaw puzzle… a missing piece.”

(via saunteringvaguelydownwards)

“With great motherfucking power comes great motherfucking responsibility.”

(via stuckinabucket)

“I will take the motherfucking ring to fucking Mordor.” [pause] “Though I do not know the motherfucking way.”

(via lord-kitschener)

“I’m the mother fucking Doctor, bitch! I’m worse than everybody’s fucking aunt!”

(via putthecheeseinthemac)

“Pay no fucking attention to that motherfucker behind the curtain.”

(via breelandwalker)

One ring to rule those bitchasses, one ring to goddamn find them, one ring to bring all those motherfuckers and in darkness bind them.

(via thebatsknees)

“I’m gonna fucking steal the Declaration of Motherfucking Independence.”

(via eternal8song)

“Your ass shouldn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, motherfucker.”

“Lemme tell you a riddle. Your ass is waitin for a train, a train that will take your ass far away. You know where you hope this motherfuckin train will take you, but you don’t motherfuckin know for goddamn sure. But it doesn’t motherfuckin matter. How the fuck can it not matter to you where the fuck this train takes your ass?”

(via hellyeahangels)

“Fuckers assume that time is a fucking strict progression of motherfucking cause to motherfucking effect. But actually from a goddamned non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint it’s more like a big motherfucking ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey…goddamned stuff.”

(via dramageekforthewin)

Toto, I’ve got a goddamn feeling we ain’t in motherfucking Kansas no more.

(via total-screaming-genius)

One morning I shot a motherfucking elephant in my fucking pajamas. How the fuck it got there, I don’t motherfucking know.

(via underscorethony)

This is motherfucking Sparta bitch!

(via abumponthehead)

Seven motherfucking minutes ago… we, your forefather motherfuckers, were brought forth upon a most motherfucking excellent adventure conceived by our new friends, Bill… and Ted. These two great motherfucking gentlemen are dedicated to a proposition which was true in my motherfucking time, just as it’s true today. Be motherfucking excellent to each other. And… MOTHERFUCKING PARTY ON, DUDES!

(via pileofmonkeys)

“As you goddamm wish.”

(via aka14kgold)

“I AM MOTHERFUCKING SPARTACUS.”

(via lostinhistory)

“No, *I* am motherfucking Spartacus.”

(via quigonejinn)

“One motherfuckin’ day more before the godamn storm. Will we ever, ever, for the love of a motherfucker in the storm, meet the fuck again?”

(via johnnysnotmyname)

That motherfucker is like fucking fire and ice and shit. He’s like the motherfucking night and the storm and the heart of the goddamn sun. He’s ancient as shit and fucking forever. He fucking burns at the center of goddamn time and he can see the turn of the fucking universe. And that motherfucker is awesome as shit.

(via only-slightly-insane)

Guys Star wars happens “A long long time ago, In a galaxy Far Far away” Fury hasn’t been born yet in them.

(via jimbly)

Only if you assume that George Lucas was making a documentary. Otherwise for all we know the actual intended audience of the piece was Jack Harkness sitting around on Boeshane in the year 5122.

Also this seems to indicate a despicable lack of faith in the time travel abilities of Nick Fury.

Or that you think our current Nick Fury is not himself potentially a clone of the Furies that existed a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

(via copperbadge)

…and now I am picturing Samuel L. Jackson as all three Greek Furies.

“We’re here for vengeance, motherfuckers!”

(via persian-slipper)

Either way, you’ll be receiving a visit from Director Fury shortly. I strongly suggest you have an explanation prepared.

(via copperbadge)

Tags:

#long post #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(most of them don’t do much for my sense of humour) #(but I laughed at ”how the fuck can it not matter to you where the fuck this train takes your ass?”) #Samuel L Jackson

June 25, 2018February 1, 2020 ~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

unpretty:

it’s really wild to see how batman has evolved over time as a consequence of writers wanting to change everything while also changing nothing because any comic that lives that long is a shambling stitched-together corpse

early batman is a swashbuckler and he’s having a good-ass time beating up these bad guys, because he existed in the context of organized crime being a big fucking problem. they were coming out of the 1930s. that’s the era of al capone, you know? john dillinger only died five years ago and he was a fucking celebrity. and batman shows up to be like YOU KNOW WHAT’S COOLER THAN SHOOTING PEOPLE AND BRIBING GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS? BEING BATMAN.

early batman could not have been more clearly edutainment, pulpy enough to make kids feel like they were reading That Good Shit but always with a really obvious message (the message was DON’T DO A CRIME). he fights a lot of giants because having to protect yourself from people twice your size is very #relatable to children.

when he adopts robin it’s very clearly to give kids a character to relate to more strongly than they can bruce wayne–FIGHTING CRIMES ISN’T JUST FOR RICH MEN, IT’S ALSO FOR COOL KIDS LIKE YOU. see how cool robin is, kicking the shit out of these dudes? don’t you wanna be cool, like robin? he’s from the circus, that thing you wanted to run away to because that’s a viable life choice in this era!

bruce wayne was rich but his whole cover was that rich people are fucking useless. a man who inherited money? a fucking useless, lazy shit, no question. this was just accepted by everyone, that obviously an heir would never be suspected of doing anything that might take effort. the difference in attitude on a fundamental level toward the idle rich is staggering.

his wealth is also MONUMENTALLY downplayed, in the same way you see in old movies. they deliberately did not film the philadelphia story in an actual mansion because they didn’t think anyone would believe that the rich got to live like that. so bruce wayne ends up looking like he lives in a tract home in a suburb. “is this how rich people live? yeah, sure, probably. who cares, let’s fight crimes.”

they only introduce a backstory after the comic has been going for a while, because at first it’s like? why would he need a reason to fight crime? it’s fun? but i guess they figured they had to create SOME reason for bruce wayne to not be completely useless, as all rich men are. why is bruce wayne the only rich man capable of doing cool shit? because his parents died, that’s why. check out robin kicking this dude in the head. fucking sweet, right?

there’s a whole storyline where batman fights a whole fucking town because it’s corrupt and the cops are corrupt and THE WHOLE DAMN SYSTEM IS CORRUPT so he’s gonna FIGHT THE WHOLE DAMN SYSTEM IF HE HAS TO, FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR COCAINE.

then the comics code happens and fucks everything. batman can’t fight, like, systemic corruption and dudes with tommy guns anymore. all the crimes get CARTOONY AS SHIT. the joker isn’t just a murderous jewel thief with a weird face, he’s a fucking clown. he’s a weird clown man committing clown crimes. puns everywhere. suddenly batman is fighting Supervillains, and they’re all insane. but they aren’t, really? they are a cartoon’s idea of insanity, like a wolf in a straitjacket getting hit on the head with a mallet. when a character is insane what that actually means is they’re wacky, they do weird shit, they have no meaningful motivation and do crimes for no reason because the alternative is having them commit real crimes for good reasons and that’s not good for the kiddos. the fact that batman changed so much after the code is fucking WILD because, remember, it was ALWAYS for the kids. it was BLATANTLY for the kids. the code still managed to fuck it just through the culture shift it created.

then later there’s this shift, again, away from the code and away from kids entirely. late seventies, i think? fuck if i know, i don’t know shit about damn. suddenly they want to be more GRITTY and REAL and DARK. they want REAL CRIME. batman is PUNCHING RAPISTS IN ALLEYS. but this isn’t the era of dillinger anymore. as a society, collectively, we understand more about crime and the societal forces that drive people to crime and so on. there are a lot of alley rapists in this era of comics tbh and this is probably why. rapists always deserve to get punched regardless of class struggle. also at this point we understand more about violence, and people who are violent, who commit acts of violence and solve problems with violence and enjoy being violent. a rich guy having a blast kicking a guy in the head for robbing a bank is no longer great optics.

so batman stops having fun. this is now his dark mission, his grim assignment. he doesn’t like this job, but someone’s gotta do it. he will not smile as he punches a rapist in the head. this is serious business. i don’t necessarily have a problem with this decision, because i think it’s a legitimate course of action to say “in a modern context, these behaviors become unacceptable, and so we will change his behaviors so that he can continue to be a heroic figure”. that’s valid as a motherfucker and i wish more people would remember that the whole point of making batman a grump was so that he could continue to be a good guy, as opposed to the alternative of gleeful violence.

(getting rid of most of the violence is also good–he’s a detective–but these are comics we’re talking about here so lol)

and then there’s the villains. you’d think this would be the point where they say “hey, maybe let’s go back to the way some of our villains were before the code”. you’d think that if they hated the goofy villains so much they’d just move on. but it’s comics so nothing ever goes in the trash for good. and that’s when you have writers who look at a cartoon wolf in a straitjacket and they say “that’s not what insanity looks like! we should make him a sociopath.”

i mean you could have just said “let’s stop calling him crazy and try to find a better motivation for these crimes, like being an asshole” but instead now batman has all these villains with sociopathy and OCD and DID and schizophrenia, because that makes it REAL, because now instead of being cartoon crazy people committing cartoon crimes they are real crazy people committing real crimes!! OH BOY

and at some point someone looks at this and goes “you know i feel like this might be ableist as shit” and writers could have said “yeah in retrospect the only evil clown i’m aware of was legally deemed sane and didn’t actually commit thematically appropriate crimes, so maybe mental health isn’t the issue here” but instead they said “yes, batman is kind of an asshole to be punching these sick people, but he’s a necessary asshole because without him there would be Crazy Crimes and we all just have to come to terms with that i guess”

now we’re at this place where we’re trying to reconcile about eighty years of nonsensical horseshit and all of these decisions that were made because of shifting cultural attitudes or to sell comics or because one writer in particular assumed everyone would love his cool OC as much as he did, and there are writers going “you know, bruce wayne probably has pretty severe ptsd” and there are writers going “what if batman was the REAL villain all along” and there are writers going “lol rich man wears bat costume to punch the mentally ill and poors, did u ever think about that” and there are writers going “hey have you heard of this ayn rand chick because boy howdy i just did and now i’ve got ideas”

but the reality is that heroism and goodness are not static concepts that look the same to all people even within the same era and trying to reconcile every different version of what the popular conception of heroism has looked like for almost a century is dumb as hell and batman should have entered the public domain in 2014

Tags:

#Batman #history #interesting #long post

May 29, 2018June 20, 2020 ~ Brin ~ 3 Comments

justice-turtle:

justice-turtle:

Yeah, I’ve just now run the numbers and in order to support myself on minimum wage without any roommates or government assistance, I would need to work full time and also quit karate. (At $99 a month, karate is quite a lot of money.)

Part of that is that y’all are splitting both rent and working hours among a whole family. Part of it may or may not be your part of Canada having a different minimum wage compared to cost of living, I haven’t looked up that part. (Arizona’s minimum wage is $10.50 USD an hour, which is A Lot compared to the federal minimum wage of $7.25 USD, but for comparison a one-bedroom apartment is about $500 a month plus utilities.)

Part of it is definitely that feeling Poor – bargain-hunting, cooking scratch meals, fiddling with threadbare or only-semi-working possessions, inability to afford a few shinies – stresses me out more than the extra spoon expenditure warrants, and (it’s my impression) way more than it does you. That’s a psychological flip that happened during / due to the Remodel of Doom; there’ll probably be a separate post on that at some point. Tumblr tends to eat mobile photo posts with a lot of text, so I’m gonna go ahead and post this before it gets too long.

Oh – yeah, Uber/Lyft is off the table for a few reasons. My car is extremely elderly (1996 model year), I don’t live in a large enough metropolitan area that anybody local actually uses those services, and I really strongly dislike having anyone else in my car – it’s the only space where I actually feel safe and in control, and having other people in it shorts that out. :P So, yeah.

Yeah, I can think of some reasons why I’m in a much better position to live cheaply than most people:

Four adults, zero children. Both halves of that are pretty huge, I expect.

Because we used to be a lot richer than we are now, we were able to end up in a situation where we rent from a mortgage company† instead of a landlord, which costs about half as much as the going rate for a local house of this size (~$800/month instead of ~$1,600).

While there *were* children in the household when we moved in, they were homeschooled and expected to (and did) remain so, so school district was not really a factor in the housing decision. (Apparently competition over good school districts drives up the price of housing a lot? So I’m told, anyway.) (I honestly don’t even know what our school district’s reputation is.)

I walk to work and my parents carpool with each other, so there are only two cars’ worth of commute expenses for four people.

No student loans. We paid for Brother’s culinary school out of pocket, and we’re currently paying for my university out of pocket (a mix of my wages and the mutual fund my relatives gave me as a baby for my education). I don’t really think of student loans as an option: if I ever reach a point where I can’t scrape together $820 for a university course††, I’ll stop going until and unless I can afford it again.

2 – 4 times a year, we drive to New York, exploit their lower cost of living (and the fact that we still have enough savings between us to do things like “spend $800 in one day to avoid spending $1,400 over four months”) to stock up on cheap groceries, drive back, and store the cold items in our three freezers.

Electricity is pretty cheap here even *before* the welfare program that gives us the first $57/month of electricity free.

The medication assistance program caps our prescription expenses at 4% of our income, IIRC. Not going to be nearly as useful now that we’re making more, though. (Note: currently, only my parents have chronic prescriptions.)

(However, we don’t have food stamps, because those aren’t really a thing here.)

The foods I genuinely enjoy and want to eat frequently mostly happen to be cheap, plus I have a low metabolism (and an appetite to match). (This might be cancelled out by Mom being diabetic, so having to eat a fairly expensive diet for health reasons.)

I continue to not have a cell plan, and everyone else is on light-use $100/year plans. (Dad’s going to have to upgrade soon to a $40/month plan, though, because he’s now using his phone a lot for work.)

Apparently we use very little water? I wouldn’t have thought so, but we got a pamphlet from the county government a while back talking about how to use less water, and when we compared their figures to ours we found that we use *half* as much water as the average *three*-person household. I’m not sure what’s going on there.

Plus, you know, free healthcare in most aspects. The usual counter is “oh, you’re still paying health insurance, it’s just integrated into your taxes”, but we paid, like, negative three thousand dollars in taxes last year, so.

Probably other stuff I don’t even realise.

—

The minimum wage here is currently CAD$14/hour (theoretically USD$10.75, if you completely ignore cost of living and just do a straight exchange-rate), but I don’t know if that actually means much in practice, or if the prices just change to compensate, or what. (Mind you, the prices in *New York* grocery stores probably wouldn’t change to compensate for a high Ontario wage, would they…)

—

(While some of these are dwindling-savings!poor vs paycheck-to-paycheck!poor, there are still things that would save money in the long run that we don’t have enough savings to pull off. Personally, I dream of one day being able to afford a plug-in hybrid car. They cost like $20k (*maybe* $13k if you can find a used one), but *damn* are they cheap to run (especially in an area with cheap electricity and expensive gasoline†††, as we are).)

—

>>feeling Poor […] stresses me out more than the extra spoon expenditure warrants, and (it’s my impression) way more than it does you.<<

Yeah, seems like it.

Relatedly: I hear sometimes about this placebo-effect-type thing where people enjoy food more if it’s (or they believe it to be) expensive? I think I have the opposite of that: I enjoy food more if it’s cheap. Peanut butter is already pretty tasty in isolation, but its tastiness is enhanced by the comfortable knowledge that this was a *fantastic* use of fifteen cents. Whereas I have trouble fully enjoying restaurant food, because there’s a part of me wondering if it’s really possible for any food to be worth this much when there are all these good cheap foods out there.

—

The other-people-in-your-car thing wouldn’t prevent freelance food-delivery, which is why I was thinking Uber Eats. The elderly-car thing probably would, though, as would the small-population thing. (There are definitely advantages to living in a county of 600k.)

—

I’ll go look at your number-crunching and see if I can find anything.

—

†Interest-only payments on a *very* large amount of house debt. I think it’s pretty fair to characterise this as “renting from a mortgage company” for most purposes, though it also comes with better tenants’ rights.

††That might be a factor in itself. I’ve definitely known people who were paying a lot more than that per course.

†††Although not quite as expensive as I thought; I think I wasn’t fully factoring in the exchange rate, and the thing where a gallon is a bit *less* than four litres (so multiplying a per-litre price by four gives you an overestimate of the per-gallon price). WolframAlpha says the figure at the local gas station translates to USD$3.75/gallon.

Tags:

#reply via reblog #adventures in human capitalism #long post #disordered eating?

May 14, 2018July 27, 2019 ~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

Sort-of-tagged by @justice-turtle. Name ten songs you’re obsessed with:

(I’m going to mutate the “obsessed with” in a different direction than JT did, and do songs that have been important or special to me.)

(In rough chronological order of when they became important/special.)

(Disclaimer: I have not listened to the Youtube links to make sure they work properly.)

1. “Blue (Da Ba Dee)”, Eiffel 65. For something like seven years, I would occasionally get stuck in my head a snatch of tune I called the Ghost. I didn’t know if it was a song I’d heard once as a small child, or something my brain had come up with on its own. I had no idea where to even begin trying to look it up: the memory(?) did not come with any lyrics.

Then, at a bowling alley when I was fifteen, I heard it. At first, I feared it might slip away from me again, as there was too much background noise to make out the words. Fortunately, Mom recognised it, and gave me the name and artist. I was so happy to have finally identified it, I didn’t even care that I came in last in the game.

2. [redacted]. Since I heard this song, my life has never known peace. (Well, okay, it’s known a hell of a lot *less* peace than it would have otherwise.) I probably never would have handled this song very well, but it definitely made things worse that I first heard it while especially vulnerable. To this day, after all this time, it still triggers the fuck out of me. I heard *two seconds* of it in December (before noping the hell out of the store), and it took days for the pain to fade, for it to stop intruding into my thoughts.

I still get twitchy around radios sometimes, if I’m already in a bad way or if it’s a station that’s been known to play it. I still occasionally have nightmares about being forced to hear it. Sometimes even stations that exclusively play new songs worry me a little: having witnessed the depths of how awful a song can be, a proof of concept, there’s a little part of me that wonders how long until someone makes another just as bad.

(I take comfort in the possibility that this song was grandfathered in from a more psychologically fragile version of me, and that–knock on wood–it might not *be* possible to make another just as bad.)

((You know how radio stations these days have websites that tell you what their playlists for the past week have been? I want them to have pages where they tell you what they’re *going* to play. People who like being surprised can avoid looking at those pages, and people with song-related triggers can know when not to go grocery shopping (and can shop with confidence when they *do* go).))

3. “Follow You, Follow Me”, Genesis. There’d been previous Phil Collins songs I’d heard and liked, but this was the song that sparked my special interest in Phil Collins’ music. I heard it on the radio on my way to a Girl Scout event in the autumn of 2006; my Google-fu was terrible when I was 12/13, so it took me three months of wondering about it and over an hour of active searching for me to figure out which song it was.

Have you ever listened to a song you have a special interest in? It’s indescribable. It’s *such* a high.

I rationed it out carefully, knowing my general tendency to have weaker feelings about a song the more times I’ve heard it. (I didn’t account for the fact that my special interests generally only last a year or two, though, so I may have been a bit *too* careful.)

I don’t listen to this song much anymore, because it’s unnerving to hear how far it’s fallen now that the special interest has faded. Like, it’s *nice*, but it’s not *ecstatic* the way it was when I was 13.

4. “Come With Me”, Phil Collins. The only explicit lullaby* I’ve ever actually liked. I think because there was so little pressure in the circumstances around me listening to it: nobody ever forced me to listen to it, nobody hyped it up.

*personally I think “Hold on My Heart” is more soothing, but it’s not really *aiming* for that the way “Come With Me” is

5. “Rolling in the Deep”, Adele. I like 10’s pop a lot better than 00’s pop (I think because when I was a child, kids I disliked tended to be into 00’s pop, and even when I wasn’t in contact with them I viewed 00’s pop through a negative lens because of that), and to me this was the point of changeover between the two. It was refreshing to have a current Top 40 song that I actively *liked*.

6. “Never Let Me Go”, Florence and the Machine. While it’s never been ecstatic the way “Follow You, Follow Me” was, it’s been nice to finally have a favourite song again. And it was my introduction to Florence and the Machine, a very good band in general (though I have *still* not gotten around to finishing my first listen-through of their 2015 album and deciding which of the songs I like; I have not been good at adding new songs to my collection lately). Thank you, random viral Tumblr user who recced it.

7. “Bombay Sapphires”, Stevie Nicks/“Think About It”, Stevie Nicks/“Docklands”, Stevie Nicks. That might qualify as cheating, but all of these fall into the same category: songs whose lyrics didn’t used to make sense until suddenly clicking one day in my late teens/early twenties. You can pretty much trace my developing ability to parse poetic language by how many Stevie Nicks songs I understand. (Some of them I can still see how I would have gotten confused, but last week I was listening to “Bombay Sapphires” and wondering how I ever managed to not understand this song. (although on further reflection, I think the first-person/third-person switches might have been a big part of it))

8. “Sorry”, Assemblage 23. This song probably isn’t ~supposed~ to be about social justice, but it’s definitely about social justice.

Hearing this song for the first time was the tipping point that led to me cutting a lot of contact with old friends and old reading-material-sources. It dawned on me, listening to it, that it’s a *really* bad sign when you start identifying with songs about unhealthy relationships.

(Sample of the lyrics:

“I’m sorry I can’t always drown

In rivers of despair

A man forever broken by

A need for your repair

I’m sorry if the things I said

Were somehow misconstrued

I’m sorry, yes I’m sorry

So sorry

But not as sorry as you”)

9. “Sad Angel”, Fleetwood Mac. It was nice to turn the tables and have *me* introduce *Mom* to Fleetwood Mac. Giving a loved one [music from their favourite band] that they had no idea existed is priceless.

10. “Almost Home”, Sultan and Shepard. The newest addition to my music collection. Under normal circumstances it would have just been okay (maybe still good enough to keep around), but I first heard it all the way through during the first time I was in a different country from my parents*, so I was particularly prone to Feelings about reuniting loved ones. I remember listening to it on the radio at work the day they were due to come back, singing along and trying not to cry.

*Or rather, they were in a different country from me. I stayed put, they went away. (not by choice: there were family matters in America that needed taking care of in person)

Tags:

#oh look an original post #music #our roads may be golden or broken or lost #my childhood #long post #meme

Dead Fandoms, Part 3

April 26, 2018June 8, 2020 ~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

another-normal-anomaly:

vintagegeekculture:

Read Part One of Dead Fandoms here.

Read Part Two of Dead Fandoms here.

Before we continue, I want to add the usual caveat that I actually don’t want to be right about these fandoms being dead. I like enthusiasm and energy and it’s a shame to see it vanish.

Mists of Avalon

Remember that period of time of about 15 years, where absolutely everybody read this book and was obsessed with it? It could not have been bigger, and the fandom was Anne Rice huge, overlapping for several years with USENET and the early World Wide Web…but it’s since petered out.

Mists of Avalon’s popularity may be due to the most excellent case of hitting a demographic sweet spot ever. The book was a feminist retelling of the Arthurian Mythos where Morgan Le Fay is the main character, a pagan from matriarchal goddess religions who is fighting against encroaching Christianity and patriarchal forms of society coming in with it. Also, it made Lancelot bisexual and his conflict is how torn he is about his attraction to both Arthur and Guinevere.

Remember, this novel came out in 1983 – talk about being ahead of your time! If it came out today, the reaction from a certain corner would be something like “it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that tumblr is at it again.”

Man, demographically speaking, that’s called “nailing it.” It used to be one of the favorite books of the kind of person who’s bookshelf is dominated by fantasy novels about outspoken, fiery-tongued redheaded women, who dream of someday moving to Scotland, who love Enya music and Kate Bush, who sell homemade needlepoint stuff on etsy, who consider their religious beliefs neo-pagan or wicca, and who have like 15 cats, three of which are named Isis, Hypatia, and Morrigan.

This type of person is still with us, so why did this novel fade in popularity? There’s actually a single hideous reason: after her death around 2001, facts came out that Marion Zimmer Bradley abused her daughters sexually. Even when she was alive, she was known for defending and enabling a known child abuser, her husband, Walter Breen. To say people see your work differently after something like this is an understatement – especially if your identity is built around being a progressive and feminist author.

Robotech

I try to break up my sections on dead fandoms into three parts: first, I explain the property, then explain why it found a devoted audience, and finally, I explain why that fan devotion and community went away. Well, in the case of Robotech, I can do all three with a single sentence: it was the first boy pilot/giant robot Japanimation series that shot for an older, teenage audience to be widely released in the West. Robotech found an audience when it was the only true anime to be widely available, and lost it when became just another import anime show. In the days of Crunchyroll, it’s really hard to explain what made Robotech so special, because it means describing a different world.

Try to imagine what it was like in 1986 for Japanime fans: there were barely any video imports, and if you wanted a series, you usually had to trade tapes at your local basement club (they were so precious they couldn’t even be sold, only traded). If you were lucky, you were given a script to translate what you were watching. Robotech though, was on every day, usually after school. You want an action figure? Well, you could buy a Robotech Valkyrie or a Minmei figure at your local corner FAO Schwartz.

However, the very strategy that led to it getting syndicated is the very reason it was later vilified by the purists who emerged when anime became a widespread cultural force: strictly speaking, there actually is no show called “Robotech.” Since Japanese shows tend to be short run, say, 50-60 episodes, it fell well under the 80-100 episode mark needed for syndication in the US. The producer of Harmony Gold, Carl Macek, had a solution: he’d cut three unrelated but similar looking series together into one, called “Robotech.” The shows looked very similar, had similar love triangles, used similar tropes, and even had little references to each other, so the fit was natural. It led to Robotech becoming a weekday afternoon staple with a strong fandom who called themselves “Protoculture Addicts.” There were conventions entirely devoted to Robotech. The supposed shower scene where Minmei was bare-breasted was the barely whispered stuff of pervert legend in pre-internet days. And the tie in novels, written with the entirely western/Harmony Gold conception of the series and which continued the story, were actually surprisingly readable.

The final nail in the coffin of Robotech fandom was the rise of Sailor Moon, Toonami, Dragonball, and yes, Pokemon (like MC Hammer’s role in popularizing hip hop, Pokemon is often written out of its role in creating an audience for the next wave of cartoon imports out of insecurity). Anime popularity in the West can be defined as not a continuing unbroken chain like scifi book fandom is, but as an unrelated series of waves, like multiple ancient ruins buried on top of each other (Robotech was the vanguard of the third wave, as Anime historians reckon); Robotech’s wave was subsumed by the next, which had different priorities and different “core texts.” Pikachu did what the Zentraedi and Invid couldn’t do: they destroyed the SDF-1.

Legion of Super-Heroes

Legion of Superheroes was comic set in the distant future that combined superheroes with space opera, with a visual aesthetic that can best be described as “Star Trek: the Motion Picture, if it was set in a disco.”

I’ve heard wrestling described as “a soap opera for men.” If that’s the case, then Legion of Super-Heroes was a soap opera for nerds. The book is about attractive 20-somethings who seem to hook up all the time. As a result, it had a large female fanbase, which, I cannot stress enough, is incredibly unusual for this era in comics history. And if you have female fans, you get a lot of shipping and slashfic, and lots of speculation over which of the boy characters in the series is gay. The fanon answer is Element Lad, because he wore magenta-pink and never had a girlfriend. (Can’t argue with bulletproof logic like that.) In other words, it was a 1970s-80s fandom that felt much more “modern” than the more right-brained, bloodless, often anal scifi fandoms that existed around the same time, where letters pages were just nitpicking science errors by model train and elevator enthusiasts.

Legion Headquarters seemed to be a rabbit fuck den built around a supercomputer and Danger Room. Cosmic Boy dressed like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. There’s one member, Duo Damsel, who can turn into two people, a power that, in the words of Legion writer Jim Shooter, was “useful for weird sex…and not much else.”

LSH was popular because the fans were insanely horny.

This is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the thirstiest fandom of all time.

You might think I’m overselling this, but I really think that’s an under-analyzed part of how some kinds of fiction build a devoted fanbase.

For example, a big reason for the success of Mass Effect is that everyone has a favorite girl or boy, and you have the option to romance them. Likewise, everyone who was a fan of Legion remembers having a crush. Sardonic Ultra Boy for some reason was a favorite among gay male nerds (aka the Robert Conrad Effect). Tall, blonde, amazonian telepath Saturn Girl, maybe the first female team leader in comics history, is for the guys with backbone who prefer Veronica over Betty. Shrinking Violet was a cute Audrey Hepburn type. And don’t forget Shadow Lass, who was a blue skinned alien babe with pointed ears and is heavily implied to have an accent (she was Aayla Secura before Aayla Secura was Aayla Secura). Light Lass was commonly believed to be “coded lesbian” because of a short haircut and her relationships with men didn’t work out. The point is, it’s one thing to read about the adventures of a superteam, and it implies a totally different level of mental and emotional involvement to read the adventures of your imaginary girlfriend/boyfriend.

Now, I should point out that of all the fandoms I’ve examined here, LSH was maybe the smallest. Legion was never a top seller, but it was a favorite of the most devoted of fans who kept it alive all through the seventies and eighties with an energy and intensity disproportionate to their actual numbers. My gosh, were LSH fans devoted! Interlac and Legion Outpost were two Legion fanzines that are some of the most famous fanzines in comics history.

If nerd culture fandoms were drugs, Star Wars would be alcohol, Doctor Who would be weed, but Legion of Super-Heroes would be injecting heroin directly into your eyeballs. Maybe it is because the Legionnaires were nerdy, too: they played Dungeons and Dragons in their off time (an escape, no doubt, from their humdrum, mundane lives as galaxy-rescuing superheroes). There were sometimes call outs to Monty Python. Basically, the whole thing had a feel like the dorkily earnest skits or filk-singing at a con. Legion felt like it’s own fan series, guest starring Patton Oswalt and Felicia Day.

It helped that the boundary between fandom and professional was incredibly porous. For instance, pro-artist Dave Cockrum did covers for Legion fanzines. Former Legion APA members Todd and Mary Biernbaum got a chance to actually write Legion, where, with the gusto of former slashfic writers given the keys to canon, their major contribution was a subplot that explicitly made Element Lad gay. Mike Grell, a professional artist who got paid to work on the series, did vaguely porno-ish fan art. Again, it’s hard to tell where the pros started and the fandom ended; the inmates were running the asylum.

Mostly, Legion earned this devotion because it could reward it in a way no other comic could. Because Legion was not a wide market comic but was bought by a core audience, after a point, there were no self-contained one-and-done Legion stories. In fact, there weren’t even really arcs as we know it, which is why Legion always has problems getting reprinted in trade form. Legion was plotted like a daytime soap opera: there were always five different stories going on in every issue, and a comic involved cutting between them. Sure, like daytime soap operas, there’s never a beginning, just endless middles, so it was totally impossible for a newbie to jump on board…but soap operas know what they are doing: long term storytelling rewards a long term reader.

This brings me to today, where Legion is no longer being published by DC. There is no discussion about a movie or TV revival. This is amazing. Comics are a world where the tiniest nerd groups get pandered to: Micronauts, Weirdworld, Seeker 3000, and Rom have had revival series, for pete’s sake. It’s incredible there’s no discussion of a film or TV treatment, either; friggin Cyborg from New Teen Titans is getting a solo movie.

Why did Legion stop being such a big deal? Where did the fandom that supported it dissolve to? One word: X-Men. Legion was incredibly ahead of its time. In the 60s and 70s, there were barely any “fan” comics, since superhero comics were like animation is today: mostly aimed at kids, with a minority of discerning adult/teen fans, and it was success among kids, not fans, that led to something being a top seller (hence, “fan favorites” in the 1970s, as surprising as it is to us today, often did not get a lot of work, like Don MacGregor or Barry Smith). But as newsstands started to push comics out, the fan audience started to get bigger and more important…everyone else started to catch up to the things that made Legion unique: most comics started to have attractive people who paired up into couples and/or love triangles, and featured extremely byzantine long term storytelling. If Legion of Super-Heroes is going to be remembered for anything, it’s for being the smaller scale “John the Baptist” to the phenomenon of X-Men, the ultimate “fan” comic.

The other thing that killed Legion, apart from Marvel’s Merry Mutants, that is, was the r-word: reboots. A reboot only works for some properties, but not others. You reboot something when you want to find something for a mass audience to respond to, like with Zorro, Batman, or Godzilla.

Legion, though, was not a comic for everybody, it was a fanboy/girl comic beloved by a niche who read it for continuing stories and minutiae (and to jack off, and in some cases, jill off). Rebooting a comic like that is a bad idea. You do not reboot something where the main way you engage with the property, the greatest strength, is the accumulated lore and history. Rebooting a property like that means losing the reason people like it, and unless it’s something with a wide audience, you only lose fans and won’t get anything in return for it. So for something like Legion (small fandom obsessed with long form plots and details, but unlike Trek, no name recognition) a reboot is the ultimate Achilles heel that shatters everything, a self-destruct button they kept hitting over and over and over until there was nothing at all left.

E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels

The Lensman series is like Gil Evans’s jazz: it’s your
grandparents’ favorite thing that you’ve never heard of.

I mean, have you ever wondered exactly what scifi fandom talked about before the rise of the major core texts and cultural objects (Star Trek, Asimov, etc)? Well, it was this. Lensmen was the subject of fanfiction mailed in manilla envelopes during the 30s, 40s, and 50s (some of which are still around). If you’re from Boston, you might recognize that the two biggest and oldest scifi cons there going back to the 1940s, Boskone (Boscon, get it?) and Arisia, are references to the Lensman series. This series not only created space opera as we know it, but contributed two of the biggest visuals in scifi, the interstellar police drawn from different alien species, and space marines in power armor.

My favorite sign of how big this series was and how fans responded to it, was a great wedding held at Worldcon that duplicated Kimball Kinnison and Clarissa’s wedding on Klovia. This is adorable:

The basic story is pure good vs. evil: galactic civilization faces a crime and piracy wave of unprecedented proportions from technologically advanced pirates (the memory of Prohibition, where criminals had superior firearms and faster cars than the cops, was strong by the mid-1930s). A young officer, Kimball Kinnison (who speaks in a Stan Lee esque style of dialogue known as “mid-century American wiseass”), graduates the academy and is granted a Lens, an object from an ancient mystery civilization, who’s true purpose is unknown.

Lensman Kinnison discovers that the “crime wave” is actually a hostile invasion and assault by a totally alien culture that is based on hierarchy, intolerant of failure, and at the highest level, is ruled by horrifying nightmare things that breathe freezing poison gases. Along the way, he picks up allies, like van Buskirk, a variant human space marine from a heavy gravity planet who can do a standing jump of 20 feet in full space armor, Worsel, a telepathic dragon warrior scientist with the technical improvisation skills of MacGyver (who reads like the most sadistically minmaxed munchkinized RPG character of all time), and Nandreck, a psychologist from a Pluto-like planet of selfish cowards.

The scale of the conflict starts small, just skirmishes with pirates, but explodes to near apocalyptic dimensions. This series has space battles with millions of starships emerging from hyperspacial tubes to attack the ultragood Arisians, homeworld of the first intelligent race in the cosmos. By the end of the fourth book, there are mind battles where the reflected and parried mental beams leave hundreds of innocent bystanders dead. In the meantime we get evil Black Lensmen, the Hell Hole in Space, and superweapons like the Negasphere and the Sunbeam, where an entire solar system was turned into a vacuum tube.

It’s not hard to understand why Lensmen faded in importance. While the alien Lensmen had lively psychologies, Lensman Kimball Kinnison was not an interesting person, and that’s a problem when scifi starts to become more about characterization. The Lensman books, with their love of police and their sexism (it is an explicit plot point that the Lens is incompatible with female minds – in canon there are no female Lensmen) led to it being judged harshly by the New Wave writers of the 1960s, who viewed it all as borderline fascist military-scifi establishment hokum, and the reputation of the series never recovered from the spirit of that decade.

Prisoner of Zenda

Prisoner of Zenda is a novel about a roguish con-man who visits a postage-stamp, charmingly picturesque Central European kingdom with storybook castles, where he finds he looks just like the local king and is forced to pose as him in palace intrigues. It’s a swashbuckling story about mistaken identity, swordfighting, and intrigue, one part swashbuckler and one part dark political thriller.

The popularity of this book predates organized fandom as we know it, so I wonder if “fandom” is even the right word to use. All the same, it inspired fanatical dedication from readers. There was such a popular hunger for it that an entire library could be filled with nothing but rip-offs of Prisoner of Zenda. If you have a favorite writer who was active between 1900-1950, I guarantee he probably wrote at least one Prisoner of Zenda rip-off (which is nearly always the least-read book in his oeuvre). The only novel in the 20^thCentury that inspired more imitators was Sherlock Holmes. Robert Heinlein and Edmond “Planet Smasher” Hamilton wrote scifi updates of Prisoner of Zenda. Doctor Who lifted the plot wholesale for the Tom Baker era episode, “Androids of Tara,” Futurama did this exact plot too, and even Marvel Comics has its own copy of Ruritania, Doctor Doom’s Kingdom of Latveria. Even as late as the 1980s, every kids’ cartoon did a “Prisoner of Zenda” episode, one of the stock plots alongside “everyone gets hit by a shrink ray” and the Christmas Carol episode.

Prisoner of Zenda imitators were so numerous, that they even have their own Library of Congress sub-heading, of “Ruritanian Romance.”

One major reason that Prisoner of Zenda fandom died off is that, between World War I and World War II, there was a brutal lack of sympathy for anything that seemed slightly German, and it seems the incredibly Central European Prisoner of Zenda was a casualty of this. Far and away, the largest immigrant group in the United States through the entire 19^th Century were Germans, who were more numerous than Irish or Italians. There were entire cities in the Midwest that were two-thirds German-born or German-descent, who met in Biergartens and German community centers that now no longer exist.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote a lot about how the German-American world he grew up in vanished because of the prejudice of the World Wars, and that disappearance was so extensive that it was retroactive, like someone did a DC comic-style continuity reboot where it all never happened: Germans, despite being the largest immigrant group in US history, are left out of the immigrant story. The “Little Bohemias” and “Little Berlins” that were once everywhere no longer exist. There is no holiday dedicated to people of German ancestry in the US, the way the Irish have St. Patrick’s Day or Italians have Columbus Day (there is Von Steuben’s Day, dedicated to a general who fought with George Washington, but it’s a strictly Midwest thing most people outside the region have never heard of, like Sweetest Day). If you’re reading this and you’re an academic, and you’re not sure what to do your dissertation on, try writing about the German-American immigrant world of the 19^th and 20^thCenturies, because it’s a criminally under-researched topic.

A. Merritt

Pop quiz: who was the most popular and influential fantasy author during the 1930s and 40s?

If you answered Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, you’re wrong – it was actually Abraham Merritt. He was the most popular writer of his age of the kind of fiction he did, and he’s since been mostly forgotten. Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has said that A. Merritt was his favorite fantasy and horror novelist.

Why did A. Merritt and his fandom go away, when at one point, he was THE fantasy author? Well, obviously one big answer was the 1960s counterculture, which brought different writers like Tolkien and Lovecraft to the forefront (by modern standards Lovecraft isn’t a fantasy author, but he was produced by the same early century genre-fluid effluvium that produced Merritt and the rest). The other answer is that A. Merritt was so totally a product of the weird occult speculation of his age that it’s hard to even imagine him clicking with audiences in other eras. His work is based on fringe weirdness that appealed to early 20th Century spiritualism and made sense at the time: reincarnation, racial memory, an obsession with lost race stories and the stone age, and weirdness like the 1920s belief that the Polar Arctic is the ancestral home of the Caucasian race. In other words, it’s impossible to explain Merritt without a ton of sentences that start with “well, people in the 1920s thought that…” That’s not a good sign when it comes to his universality.

That’s it for now. Do you have any suggestions on a dead fandom, or do you keep one of these “dead” fandoms alive in your heart?

I’m still in the Lensman fandom! It’s trash, but it’s *my* trash.

Tags:

#interesting #long post #history #the more you know #(I’d vaguely heard of Mists of Avalon and I’d heard the name of Lensman but that was about it) #I recommend the other posts in the series too #there is probably some warning tag I should put on this but I am not sure what

Image ~ April 6, 2018January 18, 2020 ~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

justice-turtle:

ok so i’m pretty sure i know at least one or possibly two people in toronto

so one of the players from my d&d group has a question for y’all

she says “me and my gaggle of rich white friends are planning a road trip to canada, toronto is only like 8 hours from chi town so like not terrible, i was wondering what’s like fun stuff to do besides niagara falls and excessive drinking”

so uh, yeah. any suggestions? :-)

The CN Tower is neat if you’re okay with heights. (The elevator hurts your ears a bit, though. Try to swallow a lot or otherwise relieve the pressure.) There’s a transparent panel in one part of the floor. I’m not sure if my Girl Guide leader ever gave me the picture she took of me lying on that panel, with the ground far below as the backdrop, but that exists somewhere and you might like to do the same.

Casa Loma could be good, but I’m not sure what it’s like when they’re not hosting a big Girl Guide event.

There’s a biggish† amusement park in Vaughan (just outside Toronto) called Canada’s Wonderland. I’ve been there, like, once, over a decade ago, but I think it was decent?

—

I’m guessing from the Niagara Falls mention that it’s more of a “general Southwestern Ontario” thing than a “just Toronto” thing, so further out stuff:

Hmm. I mean, I went on a lot of field trips in my teens, but I feel like a lot of them are…like, they’re nice, but not in a *distinctive* way. (Also, some of them were *only* for school and school-like groups: the Woodlawn Memorial Park cemetery in Guelph would be pretty dull without their (great) school tour.) There are plenty of other museums in other places that are just as nice. Still, a general “always check out the local museums when touristing” policy will serve you pretty well here as it will elsewhere.

Some exceptions and possible exceptions to the general “check out museums”:

Last I heard the Ontario Science Centre (in Toronto) was kind of overpriced if you don’t already have a reciprocal membership with another museum††, but I think they’ve added more stuff since then and might be worthwhile now? And you might be rich enough not to care in any case.

The Canadian Medical Hall of Fame (in London) is basically just their website given physical form (a bunch of plaques and some screens with videos). If you’re interested in their stuff, just read the website (…if your computer can handle it): don’t bother showing up in person.

You note that most-to-all of the people in your group are white, so probably don’t go to any archaeology museums (the one I’m thinking of is the Museum of Ontario Archaeology in London) unless you’re the right kind of woke masochists (or are on the opposite end of the caring spectrum and aren’t bothered by Let’s Talk About These People Your People Oppressed at all; you do you, none of my business how many fucks you actually give about people as long you treat them okay). It’s too awkward otherwise to qualify as “fun stuff”.

(I kind of want to check out an archaeology museum in Europe someday. I bet they’re less awkward.)

—

I can’t give a whole lot in the way of restaurant recommendations, because my ability to take pleasure from food is somewhat limited. (Like, I *can* enjoy food, but I don’t really enjoy fancy food much *more* than plain food, and it never gets to the waxing-rhapsodic kinds of levels I’ve seen other people reach.)

—

The fact that you phrase it as “a road trip to Canada” implies you aren’t already in Canada, so maybe some more national-level stuff would be useful.

If you haven’t had Tim Tams before and are curious about them, they sell those at Zehrs (a grocery store chain of moderate fanciness/pricey-ness). Imported from Australia and everything.

If you haven’t had Mars bars before and are curious about them, they sell those pretty much anywhere with an impulse-buy rack. I don’t think they’re imported from Britain, but it probably doesn’t matter. They’re basically the same as Milky Ways in America, though. (to be confusing, Milky Way in Britain refers to what both America and Canada call “3 Musketeers”)

The best flavours of Tim Hortons bagel are Tomato Asiago (not as pizza-like as you would expect, but a different kind of good) and Garlic Parmesan, with Chive getting an honourable mention. Get them toasted and buttered for best results. They’re not available all the time in all branches, though, and tbh I don’t actually know if they carry them at all anymore; it’s been a while since I ate there. The fruit slushies are good too, and the muffins are decent. I don’t tend to buy anything else there (I don’t drink coffee).

(In general–and this might seem obvious to you already, I don’t know, but just in case–keep an eye out for interesting-looking food you wouldn’t be able to get in your normal location. I’ve lived here long enough that it’s kind of hard to dig through my memory for which things struck me as strange at first, though I could probably go “oh yeah, that was one of them” if somebody presented me with one.)

—

(JT, let me know how this goes if you can; I’m curious.)

—
†I went googling to confirm the name and Wikipedia calls it “the country’s largest”, so maybe I’m just spoiled by having seen Disney World.

††If you travel a lot and like museums at all (and haven’t already done this), maybe look into whether any of your local museums are part of a reciprocal-membership agreement and get a membership there. Back when I was an upper-middle-class South Jerseyan, my family had a membership at the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences, and it served us well throughout the East Coast. (Would probably have served us well out West, too, if we’d ever gone there.)

Tags:

#reply via reblog #our home and cherished land #the more you know #our roads may be golden or broken or lost #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #long post #food

Guest Post: Diabolus Hypnotica by Samantha Parks

April 3, 2018January 18, 2020 ~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

hypnoticharlequin:

So, something a little different today! I’ve been friends with a wonderful author called Samantha Parks for a few years now and those of you who enjoyed porn in the early days of the internet will likely be familiar with her.

For those who aren’t, Samantha was one of the best and most prolific erotica writers of the mid-90s and her work was shared on all sorts of BBSes and forums.

She hasn’t published anything for a while, but when she asked me about posting something on my blog to see if people were still interested in her work, well I couldn’t say no!

So I really hope you enjoy (and support) Samantha’s return, and without further ado, I’ll hand over to her!

Greetings. I’m Samantha Parks and years ago, I wrote a piece of erotica, so different and so daring, the government shut it down. It was deemed unfit for mortal minds to read through their mortal eyes. However, after digging through the vaults (my basement) I’ve been able to recover and piece it together. So here, for the first time, is my opus Diabolus Hypnotica. To celebrate this momentous occasion I am also going to present author’s notes to help you understand the fractured narrative you are about to enjoy.

-Diabolus Hypnotica-

Chapter 1- The start of things to come

It was a cold night on the streets of the city. Emily rubbed her fleshy hands together in a failing attempt to warm her fingers. Soon she would be home to the warm and dark embrace of the darkness.

As she arrived she nodded her head towards Francesco, the doorman of her building. She asked about mail. He had heard of mail, but there was none for Emily. This was normal. Emily didn’t get many letters.

She climbed into the elevator and let it elevate her to the floor where her apartment sat, the same as it always did. She walked in through the front door of her apartment because all of the other doors in her lease were interior doors and thus impossible to enter through. She went to her computer. She loved her computer, working in IT meant she had to have a computer and this one was a beast.

It was a beautiful, off-beige, SliconFusion B86. It had a quad speed CD drive, a colossal 8 MB of memory and a sound card. It was beautiful. If it had been a person she would have made love to it. However, it was a computer, and sexbots would not be common for at least ten years.

At this point, I had a sponsorship deal with SilconFusion computers. They paid me $20 every time I mentioned their name in a story. They were planning on releasing a sexbot and had a good prototype. However, it gained sentience and drowned itself in a bowl of soup. This put the project back several years.

Actually, I should check if that deal is still going, as they owe me at least $40 for this.

Emily turned her computer on and went to make a cup of tea. She scanned the boxes in the cupboard and picked a tea that would perfectly suit her mood. Something dark, something moody, even musty.

She got the box and put it on the table with a thud. She boiled the kettle and felt the heat in the room rise. She poured the water on the tea. She carried the tea to the couch and drank it. She turned around and saw her computer finishing its boot process. The green cursor flashing on the deep black background.

She tapped the keyed and started up her connection. Its whirring was comforting, relaxing even. Its aural landscape transported her to a world of electronic sheep counting each other as a way to get to sleep. It was a peaceful place. Emily was happy when a warning popped up telling her that the connection had failed. It meant she got to visit that place again.

After the second attempt, the internet connection connected to the data tubes. Emily went to the place she always went. A chat-room. It was like sending each other letters, except you didn’t need to write or wait for it to be delivered, or to know the person you were sending it to. It also didn’t use envelopes. This was good, Emily hated envelopes.

While this may seem odd now, people really loved hearing about the magic of the internet back then. It was authors like me who made the internet so popular by hooking people with our stories.

Emily had a favorite room. It was like a room in her house, except it was full of people she didn’t know and had not let in. It also did not exist physically, much like the built-in closet the landlord kept insisting was there despite Emily not being able to see it.

Her heart lit up as she saw one of the names in the user list. Arachnida. Emily loved seeing Arachnida, they had been talking for a few weeks and Emily had loved every moment of it.

Emily sent Arachnida a hello. A common start that meant so much to her. Soon Arachnida replied and within moments the two were in a high-speed conversation. The conversation got so fast Emily had to get her second keyboard out to be able to keep up. Like most people who worked with computers, Emily could type with every single one of her limbs and this was a talent Arachnida found delightfully endearing.

“So what are you up to tonight?” Asked Emily via her typed words.

“Studying for my certification exam,” Arachnida replied with her typed words that looked the same as Emily’s just with a different name at the start of the line.

“Another exam? Why do magicians require so many tests?”

“For the last time, I am not a magician. I am a hypnotist. It is a recognized field, like Demonology or the draining of humors,” replied Arachnida, the speed of her reply conveying her irritation.

I actually had a degree in Demonology, before the killjoy government shut it down as apparently you have to be a “registered institution” to give out degrees and not just be an eldritch entity that lives under a bridge. The joke is on them, I still have it on my resume.

“True, magic would pay better,” replied Emily, sticking her tongue out despite Arachnida not being able to see it.

“You didn’t seem to complain,” replied Arachnida. Her message was followed by either hand cramp or an attempt at rendering a face using the simplistic ASCI character set.

“I didn’t seem to complain? I have never been involved in your weirdness,” replied Emily, slightly indignant at the idea of Arachnida presuming her likes and dislikes without her vocalizing them.

“Well I do have to practice!” replied Arachnida. Emily crossed her arms and pouted. Something that didn’t phase Arachnida due to her inability to see it, due to only conversing with Emily via a textual medium.

“You could have done no such thing on me!” Insisted Emily, typing harder to convey her point. Emily was one with the darkness, she had used an ouija board and had tried to summon Bloody Mary by covering a mirror in tomato juice and licking it off. Such magic would not affect her or her mind.

Her mind was like a steel colander at the bottom of a river. Unsinkable.

“I have proof that says otherwise,” replied Arachnida, her evil laughter not well conveyed through a computer, but Emily could hear it in her head.

“And what proof would that be?” Asked Emily, crossing her arms and starting to type with her feet as a show of defiance.

“A certain polaroid, depicting a certain someone running around in her bra and panties,” cackled Arachnida. Emily ran into her kitchen and grabbed her tinfoil and started to wrap it around her head. While she was okay with Arachnida laughing in her head she couldn’t risk other people getting in as well.

By the time she had sealed her head and returned to the computer, Arachnida had typed a few more messages to her.

“If you’re looking for it, you won’t find it,” she had said. Emily sighed, of course, she wouldn’t find it. How does one find a picture that does not exist?

Emily started to hammer on her keyboards, the tin foil on her head rustling gently as she did. “There is no such photo! Your magic doesn’t work on me!” She insisted.

“If you want to see it, then come to the park at midnight,” came Arachnida’s response before a creaking sound signaled that she had left the chatroom.

Emily sat and stared at the blinking cursor. What had Arachnidia planned for her? What was her end goal in all of this? And could this photograph be real?

Emily shook her head. Obviously, it wasn’t real. Emily often swallowed St. John’s wart and thus was immune to manipulations of her aura. She knew this to be true.

But if she knew it, why did she want to go so badly? And if she knew she wanted to go, did she actually know it wasn’t true? And if she didn’t know that, what did she know. All she knew was that she didn’t know. Which meant she didn’t know that she knew the question she asked herself. Which was as good as not asking at all.

Emily shook her head and grabbed her long coat. The park was a sprawling mass of grass and worms only a few minutes walk from her building. However, it would be cold on a night like this due to the low temperature.

At the one side of this floral nightmare was an old decaying mansion house, complete with crypt. Emily knew Arachnidia would be there, she was always one to appreciate an atmosphere. Emily was going to go and disprove that photo.

Chapter 2- Ghost Of A Chance

Emily waved to Alexandro, the doorman, as he held the door open for her.

“Late night walk?” He asked, with interest.

“I’ve got to make something right,” replied Emily, blowing into her hands in an attempt to warm up her flesh.

“Ah, well if you are chasing up a blood debt I suggest you be careful, cold out.” Nodded Alexandro. He always gave Emily the best advice about such matters.

As she started to wander towards the park Emily pondered her situation for a while, how exactly was she going to deal with this obviously crazed girl. Could she talk Arachnidia out of her delirium? Maybe she could seduce her out?

The park was large, and a sense of foreboding hung in the trees like overcooked pasta. The wind howled and a heavy mist crept along the cold grass. Emily put her head down and walked to the decaying house, its rotted beams and falling tiles testament to how long it had lived in the park. No one knew who had built it, or why someone had constructed such a thing.

But the place was overrun with spirits, denizens of the night who rattled their chains and moaned their ghoulish howls at any mortal who tried to step foot on the property. The council had many times tried to evict them to make way for a mall, but the spirts had prevented this every time. Their legal representation being both costly and effective.

This is actually a reference to the TV pilot I wrote called “Legal Ghost House” I had some interest from several television executives until, in an act of pure spite, they had me arrested for trespassing on their property!

Emily moved closer, pushing some branches out of her way as she headed towards the crypt, her feet sinking into the mud a little with each step.

“I knew you’d come,” came a voice from behind the crypt.

“Arachnida,” sighed Emily, a cloud of breath forming in front of her.

As the woman came into the dim light of the moon Emily was able to see her for the first time. She burst into laughter. Arachnidia looked like a dork! She was middling in height and her hair was a mess. Her figure was made almost comical by a coat that seemed to be some horrific crossbreed between a gothic trenchcoat and an anorak.

For those curious, the “Anoroat” was something I was lined up to promote, but then I realized that being warm was not goth at all. To be goth one must endure the cold of the weather like the cold of your soul. If you lose a few fingers to frostbite, then that is the price you pay for fashion.

“Don’t you laugh at me,” growled Arachnidia, glaring butter knives into Emily as she walked past the cold stones of the crypt.

“What are you going to do?” Replied Emily, growing more and more confident about her situation. “Take another photo?”

“I already have the one I need,” grinned Arachnidia, lifting a polaroid from one of the many pockets that adorned her stupid coat.

“I don’t believe you,” responded Emily, only to squeak as Arachnidia threw the polaroid towards her with surprising force, like [Sportsperson] throwing a [Sportsperson thing].

As the square hit the floor Emily scrambled in the mud to pick it up. As she turned the image over she gasped. The picture was a real as the ghost that whispered to her in the night.

It showed her running around in her tinfoil bra and panties, her arms stretched out into a giant T and a dumb look stuck on her face.

“What did you make me do?!” Screamed Emily, her scream so loud that it could shake the birds from the trees. However, unluckily for Emily, she lived in a city and thus the only birds were pigeons, all of whom were too fat to get into a tree.

“You thought you were an airplane, it was pretty cute,” smiled Arachnida, adjusting her glasses as she did.

“I won’t let you get away with this!” Shouted Emily, throwing the picture into the mud before quickly grabbing it again, not wanting to risk a fine for littering. The park rangers often hid in the bushes and could smell a discarded wrapper from fifty feet.

“And what do you think you can do to stop me!” Laughed Arachnida.

“I’ll think of something! I’ll sue!” Shouted Emily in response.

“Under what grounds?” responded Arachnida smugly

“I’ll punch you!” Sighed Emily, realizing she couldn’t afford a lawyer.

“I doubt that will help,” replied Arachnida. “I have something of a secret,” she purred.

“Apart from being a pervert?!” Hollered Emily, marching forward.

“Oh on top of being a pervert,” giggled Arachnida, licking her lips as she did. Suddenly a beam of moonlight refracted through one of the mansion’s old windows and bathed Arachnidia in the pale light of the night.

Arachnidia started to twitch and groan as her terrible coat was ripped through by eight spindly black legs, her body shifting and changing and taking on a more arachnid-like form.

Emily stood in disbelief, unable to work out what was going on with this girl. Why was she such a drama queen? Why was she happy to shred such a disgusting jacket instead of returning it to the store?

“Bask in my glory!” Shouted Arachnidia, looking down on Emily, her voice now much deeper. “For I am Werehnid!”

“Aracwolf,” coughed Emily, shaking her head gently.

“What?” Asked Arachnidia, her voice returning to normal.

“Werewolf is old English for Man-Wolf, thus Werehnid would be Man-Spider.” Explained Emily.

“Right, I get your point, it is a common misconception, but like, look at me,” smiled Arachnidia, moving her hands to show off her eight-legged body. “Does any of this look like a wolf to you?”

“Umm, no?”

“Right, so Aracwolf is wrong, I’m not part wolf, I’m part man, so Werehnid is more correct.” Said Arachnidia firmly, making Emily cower a little, fear flowing through her veins like a cheap blood substitute.

“Right, but, I mean spirit of the rule,” mumbled Emily, looking at her shoes.

This part is based on my attempt to pitch “Were Were Where?” to a movie studio. It was an educational film about someone trying to locate a Werewolf in one of America’s lesser known desert towns without the aid of a map.

However, they rejected it outright, due to them not being happy about being pestered while in the shower.

“Anyway, my full name adds to it,” grinned Arachnidia, moving closer to Emily, who looked up with terror in her eyes.

“What do you mean, your full name?” She asked, tripping over her words slightly.

“I am Werehnidacula!” Shouted Arachnidia before laughing, thunder forking down from the sky as she did.

“So what? You’re a woman spider from Europe?” Shrugged Emily, not fully understanding what Arachnidia was going on about.

“No,” sighed Arachnidia, lowering her head down to Emily’s level. “I’m a woman, spider, vampire hybrid.” She explained before shaking her head, “why am I bothering explaining this to you?”

“Monologuing is fun!” Smiled Emily, only to jump as Arachnidia pushed her face right into Emily’s.

“So is hypnosis,” giggled Arachnidia as her eyes changed from a soft blue to a spiraling vortex of pink and black. “And I think you enjoy it,” she cooed. Emily stumbled, her whole world starting to spin as reality almost melted into those two spirals. Some primal part of her mind screamed that she should run, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the spiraling pattern.

She felt her whole body go limp, it was like she was sleepwalking like she was trapped in a dream she couldn’t wake up from, a lot like taking a day trip to Wales.

Her body slumped forward, her nose pressed flat against Arachnidia’s as she started to drool, her eyes growing wider and more glazed as she continued to stare into the spiraling eyes, the world falling away around her leaving nothing but numb nothingness.

“You will obey me,” purred Arachnidia, her voice like sweet honey flowing in Emily’s brain, drowning her thoughts and leaving behind a sticky residue.

“I will obey you,” slurred Emily, swaying gently in the breeze, her eyes crossing as they continued to focus on the spirals, unable to do anything but submit to them.

“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” added Arachnidia, sounding more confident as she did.

“I will do whatever Arachnidia says,” nodded Emily drowsily, not even bothering to question, the spirals wiping out any and all resistance.

Suddenly Arachnidia grabbed Emily firmly around the waist and pushed her against the wall of the crypt, tearing her clothing away in one quick swipe of her legs. She admired Emily’s nude body before reaching in with her fangs, biting Emily firmly on the neck as her legs circled around Emily’s crotch.

{Note from Harley: The next 20 pages have been cut for reasons of length and general decency}

Chapter 5- The Further Development Of The Situation Described Previously

Emily pulled herself up out of the pool of blood, her head throbbing and her eyes blurred. She was sore all over, her body riddled with puncture wounds.

The light applause tickled Emily’s ears as she blinked. She turned and found several police officers applauding, some of whom were holding up score cards grading the sex a perfect ten across the board.

As Emily started to walk she felt her feet fall from under her as she slipped in a puddle of stray custard. As she thudded to the floor the police officers giggled, some of them blushing a little as Arachnidia took a little bow.

“Thank you, thank you!” She smiled. “What a wonderful evening! You’ve been a wonderful audience! I’m here all week, tip your waitress!” She said before laughing, nudging a man who was tied up in a web as she did.

Emily started to crawl along the floor, trying to pull herself out of the crypt, she needed to escape this spider girl or risk becoming forever part of her harem.

But in front of Emily, there was only blood and stone followed by blood and stone, followed by yet more blood and yet more stone. Also more custard. Sickly yellow custard. And more blood.

Suddenly a line of webbing tied around Emily’s legs. Emily tried to struggle but she was slowly dragged backed towards Arachnida. Emily tried to break the web but found it was stickier than old wet cement.

“And where did you think you were going?” Asked Arachnida, looking down at Emily with a smirk on her face.

“Home?” Stuttered Emily.

“But I am your home,” smiled Arachnidia, her eyes starting to spiral again, causing Emily’s eyes to change in response, her whole world starting to spin like a disc jockey on ketamine.

The world fell away again, there was only the spiral, and at that moment Emily wanted nothing more than the spiral.

Chapter 6- A World Torn Asunder

Emily sat in front of her SilconeFusion computer, typing away with her feet, a dumb and dopey smile on her face, the rattle of the keys echoing around the polished room.

On her desk, a phone rang. Emily reached forward and lifted the corporate beige receiver. “Arachnidia psychic hypnosis service and detective agency, how may I help you?” She drowsily cooed.

Arachnidia looked out from her office and giggled to herself, her body back to its more human form. She put her feet up on her desk and leaned back in her chair, this was going to be great.

“Psychic Hospital Hypnosis Detective Service” or PHHDS was another of my pilots. However, due to a miscommunication, it was only pitched to networks in Peru.

It went through a few changes and became a soap opera about a Doctor who solves medical emergencies with medicine. The only thing about my script that remained was the shorter name, which became the name of the main character.

However, due to the negotiations falling through I never saw a penny. It also held the record for the only Peruvian soap opera to be canceled while it was on the air. In fact, it was canned during the first episode.

I don’t like to talk about it….

Suddenly Arachnidia heard a thud from down below. She squinted her eyes and looked around, making sure no one was looking before she pushed her chair back and lifted a hatch under her desk.

There was a set of stairs going down into the darkness, much like a spelunker who had forgotten how torches worked. As her feet echoed on the steps Arachnidia heard a familiar tapping sound growing closer and closer.

Suddenly she came out into a large room, crammed full with wooden desks and spider webs. At each desk was a wonderful, sexy, SilconFusion computer, and in front of it was a dazed girl, staring forward at her screen. Each of them typing in a chatroom. Each of them using the name Arachnidia.

“My web is coming together nicely,” cackled Arachnidia. “But what was that noise?” She said to no one before shrugging. It couldn’t be anything important, likely just rats with tunneling equipment.

Little did she know that something was rising up from the depths and in time it would come back to haunt her. And bring with it a whole new adventure.

I hope you enjoyed my opus, my masterwork, Diabolus Hypnotica! I think the story teaches an important life lesson that we all need to learn at some point.

Always trust doormen. They are at one with the universe and thus can sense its vibrations.

Also, never trust anyone on the internet. They might turn out to be a spider. Why else do you think they called it “The Web”?

I actually continued the story of Diabolus Hypnotica in a small series of fifty-seven books that I, unfortunately, lost when a rogue pyrokinetic maniac attacked the special safe my agent kept all my manuscripts in.

Maybe one day I will piece them all back together and share them with you all!

Until next time, sleep tight. If you can sleep that is!

Tags:

#April Fools #(sorry I’m late) #(I wavered for a while on whether to reblog this?) #(I’m not sure I’ve ever actually reblogged porn) #(*links* to porn occasionally but not porn itself) #(but then I’m not reblogging this *as* porn) #(and in the end:) #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I especially liked ”glaring butter knives” and ”like a steel colander at the bottom of a river: unsinkable”) #(though the part that made me laugh most was) #(”like a day trip to Wales”) #long post #nsfw text #sexuality and lack thereof #rape tw #storytime

March 24, 2018June 14, 2020 ~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

writing-prompt-s:

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

wakeupontheprongssideofthebed:

You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”

misscrazyfangirl321:

This one wins.

janothar:

It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up. She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out. First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.

Clark’s introducing her around. “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

You blink, and take a step back in fear. You’ve never seen an 11 before.

aniseandspearmint:

The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.

petitstar:

At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.

He was an 8.

actuallyalivingsaint:

The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.

There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.

rainnecassidy:

IT GOT BETTER

dottydayedream:

Despite this, you go about your life. You don’t talk to Clark – Superman? – and kept out of his way. His girlfriend Lois Lane – she was a five when you first met, but now she’s a nine just like you – tries to get you to interview Bruce Wayne, but you refuse. You meet other people in Clark’s group of friends with high numbers. The daughter of the police commissioner from Gotham. The forensic scientist from Central City. More and more people to avoid and worry about.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

Clark’s voice goes quiet. “Well. About the Justice League.”

dottydayedream:

You stiffen in your seat. Your adrenaline kicks in, and your eyes dart around the room. You can hang up, pack, grab a plane ticket to wherever and disappear. Your passport hasn’t expired, and you’ve been talking to Perry White about a vacation anyways. You could say it’s a family emergency and never come back.

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

You shove the phone into your pocket, grab your keys, and head out the door. You’re so full of restless energy you walk the whole way there. Once you arrive, you catch your reflection in the mirror and notice that you’re starting to suit that ten above your head.

capregalia:

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!

dottydayedream:

The hostess takes you to a hidden corner of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty, as though it’s only just opened. Sitting at a long table, chatting politely, was the Justice League.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

“Well, I found the tests. And they were superhuman.”

mentallydobious:

Oh shit this is the best one!

Tags:

#oh look an update #fanfic #Superman #long post

Brinens and Things

long posts

Dead Fandoms, Part 3

Mists of Avalon

Robotech

Legion of Super-Heroes

E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels

Prisoner of Zenda

A. Merritt

Guest Post: Diabolus Hypnotica by Samantha Parks

-Diabolus Hypnotica-

Chapter 1- The start of things to come

Chapter 2- Ghost Of A Chance

Chapter 5- The Further Development Of The Situation Described Previously

Chapter 6- A World Torn Asunder