And yeah, I've barely gotten any writing done. I've been trying. Gods know that I've been trying, but obviously, when I feel like shit, not a lot gets done. I'm trying to get caught up for the month, but that's looking sort of iffy.
So yeah, I'm tired. I'm bleeding again. I'm roasting. I'm cramping. I'm nauseated. I'm enjoying exactly none of this.
If I put all my symptoms into WebMD, it's convinced I'm in perimenopause. I... think I could live with this. Yeah, it's incredibly early. Yeah, I already asked Mum, and both she and Grandmother had hysterectomies in their 30s, so they don't feel like they're good examples of when women in our family have menopause. Granted, I'm now old enough to have a hysterectomy if I wanted to; Georgia state law says I have to be over 35 or have 3 kids... and have my husband's permission. But still... That's a topic for another day, after the doctor's appointment and whatever results I get from it.
And yeah, I think I'm going to try to make some words happen today. I'm not greatly hopeful, but I'm going to try. Later, all.
Despite their name, sheep are not sheepish and often act on their own closely held ideas about where to go.
Authorities are Treating August's Solar Eclipse, a First in 99 Years, Like it's the End of the World
National Construction Rentals, which rents portable toilets across the U.S., hasn’t seen a spike in demand, but “there most likely will be last-minute requests as the date approaches,” says the company’s sales and marketing director, Scott Barley. “We advise customers not to spend too much time in our portable toilets on the actual date of August 21, or they may miss this very brief but memorable event.”
In the prior post, I pondered about angles. In particular, about the ~13 degrees per day that the moon orbits around the earth, and whether that angle would still look like 13 degrees to me, when measured from the surface of the earth.
The angle would *not* be exactly the same. However, because of how far away the moon is compared to the size of the earth, the difference in angle is very small. That difference can be calculated using trigonometry.
Here's a new diagram. All figures mentioned below are approximations or averages.
The angle measured from the center of the earth is 13 degrees.
"X" is the corresponding angle measured from the surface, which will be calculated.
"D" is the distance from the center of the earth to the moon: 384400 km
"R" is the radius of the earth : 6371 km
I've drawn 2 right triangles such that both have the same "opposite" side, with length "O".
The length of the adjacent side for the X-angled triangle is "A".
The length of the hypotenuse for the X-angled triangle is "B".
The length of the adjacent side for the 13-degree-angled triangle is A + R.
The length of the hypotenuse for the 13-degree angled triangle is D.
sin 13 degrees = O / D
O = D * sin 13 = 384400km * 0.2249511 = 86471 km
cos 13 degrees = (A + R) / D
A = (cos 13) * D - R = (0.9743701 * 384400) - 6371 = 368176.85
tan X = O / A
X = arctan(O / A) = arctan (86471 / 368176.85) = 13.217
So, the corresponding angle from the surface of the earth is ~13.2 degrees.
Warning: This poem contains some intense topics. Highlight to read the warnings. It features prison inmates, group therapy, a show soup with some goat features including syndactyly and prey instincts, references to adaptive equipment, vulgar and intrusive talk, spitball leading to a prey reaction, refusal to apologize, speciesist language, discussion of disabilities, adoption issues, learning to compensate for a lost hand, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
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I’d been searching for this stupid thing forever, only to never find it, and today I discovered why: I PUT IT ON MY FUCKING 1998 LAPTOP. No wonder I couldn’t fucking find it, Jesus! What the hell was I thinking? And I named the doc something ridiculous and weird too, so there was no way I could’ve told my comp to search for it.
You have no idea how happy I am to have found this stupid thing, for records if nothing else.
[I can't believe I'm saying "Canon in the 'It is not easy to explain, she said'" Overwatch AU, but, well, this is the fourth story in this set, so, I guess it's an actual second AU now. AO3 link.]
[It is helpful to know that Widowmaker (in canon, and here) has a tattoo on her arm which incorporates the French word for "nightmare."]
It is not easy to imagine, thought the Widowmaker, propped up a little on pillows but between her two lovers, Lena, Tracer, sprawled along her right side, hands and arms jumbled about everywhere, like always, and Emily, Kestrel, on her left, arranged so neatly, even in sleep, even halfway through the night, even after turning over a few times, always tucked back in like the little hawk, her namesake in battle. Not even when it is real and in front of me.
She took one of her long, slow, deep breaths, and felt her heart beating, even more slowly than usual, so calm, so quiet, so at rest.
Were Gérard and Amélie like this? she wondered. It seemed impossible. Not just because that was only two, and this was three, and therefore obviously so much better, and not just because they were human, baseline human, with childhoods, and growing up, and stumbling about blindly until they figured how to make a life - though that last part, she finally understood, at least, a little - but because this, this perfection, it, too, seemed so impossible, so to conceive of it happening twice? Ludicrous. Foolish girl, she smiled to herself, it could not have been so... this.
It had taken some time to come up with a bed that the three of them could share. Widowmaker's low body temperature meant she needed similarly lower temperatures for real comfort, particularly in sleep, and both her lovers were so very warm. It'd been Angela's idea, a mattress made of medical thermal control columns, temperature regulated, sensing who lay where, and adjusting, automatically.
The doctor had got a paper out of it - modified to discuss burn victims and others with particularly sensitive skin - and had done fairly well from the patent rights. But Widowmaker didn't care about that. Widowmaker cared that she could sleep with her lovers whenever she wanted to, and whenever they wanted her to, and it would just work.
She breathed in the scent of her brown-haired love, the teleporter, nuzzling down a little into that silly, tossed hair. Unimaginably wonderful. She shifted just a little, carefully, and did the same of her red-haired love, the flying officer, and the scent was so very different and yet so much the same. So wonderful.
And softly, so softly, her breath caught, and water pooled in her eyes, and she sniffed, not wanting to, but she still did, and she tried to stop herself, to stop the tears, but that just made her laugh, just a little, and trying to stop that, too, made more of all it it happen.
Emily awoke, blinking, but lay still except to look up towards the sniffling. "Sweet? What... are you crying?"
"No," whispered Widowmaker. "Yes."
"Oh, love, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Go back to sleep." She laughed a little more, shaking again, and from Lena came a little "mmf?" and she blinked those big brown eyes that Widowmaker could see so clearly even in the low light.
"You too. Go back to sleep."
"Wuzzit?" said Lena, awake enough now to attempt words, but still, at least half asleep.
"But what's wrong?"
"Nothing," sniffed Widowmaker. "Nothing. Nothing." She leaned over and kissed the half-asleep Lena on top of her head. "Everything is wonderful," and then did the same for Emily.
"Why're you crying?" asked Lena.
"I am... so happy," said the blue assassin, half-sobbing, smiling, confused, but not caring. "I..."
She stopped, and her eyes opened wide.
"I found it," she whispered.
"What?" asked Emily, reaching up to run her fingers through Widowmaker's hair.
"Yeah, love - what?" asked Lena, reaching up to do the same from the other side. Her hand met Emily's, and she smiled, as their fingers intertwined.
"Perfection." She brought her two lovers tightly against her, laughing, crying, all at the same time, the emotions, they are too much she thought, gasping, but that is also perfect. "This perfection."
Lena blinked. "You mean... like before? At the beginning, when you were made? But... here, now? ... with us?"
Widowmaker nodded, not being able to put it into better words. "Everything is so beautiful."
"Oh my god."
Emily chuckled. "You're beautiful too, you know that, right?"
"Love, no, she means it. Losing this is why she left Talon."
"Yes," whispered the spider.
Oh. Emily hadn't been there when the assassin had told the story, but she remembered it, and how it affected Lena. "And now you've got it back?" she asked.
"Yes," nodded the Widowmaker. "It is... different. But better." She sniffled. "Everything is so beautiful."
"Is any part of this bad?" asked Emily, a little worried, a little unsure, a little amazed. The assassin's body always carried tension, tension she could feel in her muscles, feel almost in her skin. And she did not feel it. It was... gone.
"No," breathed the Widowmaker. "Oh no, oh, oh no. It is wonderful. I am so happy."
"You sure?" asked Lena.
"Completely sure?" asked Emily.
"Good," said Lena, as the three snuggled back in together, and the three of them slowly drifted back to sleep.
What would my makers think of me now? wondered the spider, as she slid back towards her dreams, laughing, to herself, just a little. And then when she did sleep, she slept smiling, finding her dreams new, and happy, and not unlike her life now, found, new, and happy.
She would need to change her tattoo. No more nightmares. None. At least, not, for now.
The one major thing I was sad about re: our trip to Quebec–other than the saga of Dara’s lost luggage, and I’ll get to that–was that I got to spend only a few hours in Montreal. And that was only because the travel plans meant I had a bit of buffer time between when I arrived at the hotel, and when I needed to rendezvous with the shuttle going to Camp Violon Trad.
Because, fortunately, there was in fact going to be a shuttle. The camp’s staffer in charge of communicating with campers, when she sent out a notice in June telling us what to expect, mentioned that they’d be running a shuttle from downtown Montreal up to where Camp Violon Trad actually happens. I was quite happy about this news, because this meant I didn’t have to try to rent a car and navigate my way northward through a French-speaking province.
(Note that the street signs at this point probably wouldn’t have given me a problem. I’m good enough with reading French at this point that I can figure out roughly where I am, if I need to. The tricky parts would just be not being familiar with any specific traffic laws in Quebec. Or if I had to pull over for directions, or got pulled over by a cop or something–because then I’d have to try to communicate and my conversational French is not up to speed yet. But that was also part of why I wanted to go to Camp Violon Trad. More on this to come, too.)
What amused the hell out of me about the camp shuttle was this: the designated pickup point was right by the Berri-UQAM Metro station. Which, as it turns out, was about the only part of Montreal I knew anything about, because when Dara and I had spent our weekend there in 2012, that very corner was right by the hotel we stayed at, the Lord Berri.
This meant that I also knew that there was an Archambault there, and I knew there were a lot of shops and restaurants and things within immediate walking distance. So, that gave me at least a bit of buffer time, long enough for running errands and having a brunch, between “leaving the hotel” and “rendezvousing with the shuttle”.
Getting out of the hotel
Getting out of the hotel was a bit of a challenge. I knew that in theory there was a bus I could take from the airport to the aforementioned Metro station, and I remembered that on the way in the night before, I’d walked past a kiosk that looked like it had information for the bus in question. But I got a little lost walking around with my luggage through the airport–which, now that it was a much saner morning hour, was a lot busier than when I’d arrived the night before.
Turned out I’d come down onto the wrong floor. I had to backtrack a bit, but ultimately, found that kiosk. And determined that I had to buy a pass that’d cost me ten bucks (Canadian). This struck me as expensive. But on the other hand, it was still significantly cheaper than paying for a taxi.
The bus in question, the 747 (not to be confused with the jet, lol), had a stop not far from the ticket kiosk. So I got out there and soon enough was on my way.
It was awfully bright that morning, so I had my sunglasses on. This impacted my ability to look at things en route, but I did notice that Montreal was undergoing a lot of construction. Rather like Seattle, in that respect.
Once I was off the bus
The bus route was very straightforward: get on the bus at the airport, and get off the bus at its very last stop. So there was no risk of confusion or anything in that regard.
There was a bit of confusion as I was turned around regarding what street I was on once I was off the bus, but that was easily corrected. I found the Archambault (and the Lord Berri right beside it) as landmarks quickly enough. And that let me orient myself on the plan I had for the morning: go to a pharmacy a couple blocks north of the Archambault, then go to the Archambault, then go find something to eat, and finally, rendezvous with the shuttle.
On the way to the pharmacy (and back again, for that matter) I got panhandled in French. Or at least, one active panhandle and one attempt to see if I spoke French, but which I suspected was a panhandle. I was rather amused by that, just because being panhandled in a different language was at least a bit of a switch.
I was also deeply amused by this, which was not something I expected to see in Montreal.
Apparently, at least one Elvis impersonator is a big deal there. Ha!
The Archambault was the major errand I wanted to run (the pharmacy was just for necessities). And what I wanted was Tolkien things in French! I nabbed a French translation of The Silmarillion: this one, to be specific. And I bought the Blu-ray set of The Lord of the Rings movies again, but this time because this set actually had French dubs of all three movies. The US releases we’ve already bought–both the DVDs and the Blu-rays–do not have French dubs, which baffles the hell out of me. Portuguese, yes. French, no. To this day I do not for the life of me understand that particular marketing decision!
I amused the clerk at the counter telling him I wanted to practice my French by doing the reading, and by watching the French dubs of the movies. He tried to warn me that The Silmarillion is not exactly an easy book to follow. I assured him that I had read it repeatedly in English, so yes, I was very, very aware. ;D
I’m pretty sure I provided at least a bit of amusement of my own to passersby on the street, just because I was dragging my suitcase around behind me, with my backpack on top of it so I wouldn’t have the weight of it on my back. And of course, I also had my fiddle, which was what I was carrying on my back instead, since it was lighter than the backpack. This led to multiple conversations with people about how I was in the middle of a lot of travel and was on my way north for the next leg of my journey.
Finally I did make it to Juliette et Chocolat, which had been recommended to me on Facebook as a good source of brunch. And which, in fact, I was pretty sure I’d remembered going to in 2012. The brunch was in fact excellent. So was the dessert, a thing called “petit pot fleur de sel”, which was all chocolate-mousse-y and salted-caramel-y and gracious that thing was tasty.
Eventually I wandered around as much as I felt I was up for wandering around. Half of me really wanted to go to the Café des chats, one of Montreal’s cat cafes, but it was just a bit too far of a walk when I was hauling luggage around with me. So I finally just parked for a bit at the corner, sat in the shade, and hung out playing Gummy Drop on my iPad; while I was doing that, I had another random conversation with a gent amused by my stack of luggage.
That didn’t kill enough time, so I got up and wandered off again to go into a nearby coffeeshop for a cold beverage and a visit to a ladies’ room. And that accomplished, I came back again and finally found some folks waiting in a little cluster with violin cases and other luggage.
I’d found the Camp Violon Trad crowd!
Waiting for the shuttle
I discovered to my surprise that I was not actually the only person from the extended Seattle-area session crowd. One of the other ladies waiting for the shuttle was another Seattle person. So that was awesome to discover. 😀 Turned out we had a bit of a wait on our hands, once we greeted one another and exchanged names and such. None of us were particularly sure which corner the shuttle would be showing up on, or even what kind of vehicle we were looking for.
It was a good thing for me that there was public municipal wifi available, though, because that let me check my mail–and find an update sent out by the camp coordinator, Ghislaine, warning us that there had been a bit of a mixup as to vehicle rentals, and that there would be two drivers coming, but one was running late. Which ultimately meant that there’d be two cars for about six passengers, so we had to divide up who would ride with which driver.
The driver I rode with was a fellow named Luc. Who, as it turned out, is André Brunet’s cousin! He was very nice, and told me and the other two ladies riding with him that he taught English. The route he chose to take northward was a bit random, since he wanted to avoid the tunnel that runs underneath the St. Lawrence river, which is often very crowded. None of us minded, as it was a pleasant drive. I amused myself practicing reading signs we went past, as well as keeping up with the bilingual conversation going on in the car.
Once we made it to St-Côme, I was able to observe that it is a) tiny, and b) kind of adorable. The same applied to Plein Air Lanaudia, the site of Camp Violon Trad. There was a lovely lake there, a bunch of trees, and assorted chalets that we were all staying in.
But more on this in Part 3 of the trip report!
Mirrored from angelahighland.com.
...because every time I try to rewatch the movie, it's usually so late at night that I fall asleep somewhere in the vicinity of the Raptor Motorcycle Gang and wake back up in time for the closing credits. Which, whoops, defeats the purpose of trying to rewatch a movie.
I'm also trying to find my copy of Ocean's Eleven, because I want to give it a rewatch soon too. In part, this is because I'm giving thought to finally giving the fanfic "Chisolm's Seven" a try again. And in part, it's because I love watching Brad Pitt and George Clooney's characters banter and play off each other. It's sort of cute and sweet and just so on point... and I wish I could emulate it in my writing. I try, sometimes, but I think I fall short.
Also, I forgot to say, but as of last Thursday, I've written more than 365,000 words this year. How much of it will ever be seen is something I don't know. I'm enjoying the things I'm writing, but I freely admit that the stuff I'm writing breaks up the fandom OTPs... and I don't even care.
We did the fancy dinner out that we've been wanting to do for months, and it was every bit as good as we were hoping. We got most of the grocery shopping done. And yeah, that's about all I've got to report. I've napped so much today that, while I'm exhausted, I'm not sleepy, so I'm not in bed. I'm tempted to go make a video of katsuko though, since she's snoring away. (Yes, snoring.)
Either way, though, it's time to end this entry. Later, all.
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Often I simply update the old post, adding an "Update" section to it. That way if anyone finds the post from a websearch, they'll have all the details right there.
Sometimes I create a new post, and put my update there. That way, anyone on my list who read my original post will get the update on their reading page. I don't usually bother to update the old post to link to the new one... so unfortunately, anyone who finds the original post via a search won't get the whole story.
If the post was either very recent (such that maybe no one else read it yet), or a long time ago, I'm more likely to simply update the original post. If it was in-between but had no comments, I'm also likely to take this approach, as I suppose that none of my readers are very interested in the topic and wouldn't be interested in the update anyway.
If the post had comments/discussion, I may choose either option, but if I update the old post, I am more likely to at least mention and link to the update in a new post.
I've been making a lot of updates to recent posts lately.
What approach do the rest of you take?