christopher-seagull

[christopher-seagull]

How the OSIRIS-class NHP that appeared spontaneously in my frame thinks it comes across:

How it actually comes across:

[christopher-seagull]

Hey did you know there's a tell all book about the behind the scenes of Meta and the author is forbidden from promoting it?

The good news is however that it's already published and can't be stifled and whoever didn't sign the NDA can promote it as much as they want.

[christopher-seagull]

Make that at least six!

[christopher-seagull]

Some happy things from the first day of marriage equality in Thailand 💗❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

First three couples who registered their marriage in different districts:

some openly queer actresses and a director celebrating this historical day:

[christopher-seagull]

PSA: Do NOT try to make a drink with hot chai tea and vanilla protein powder, mixed in a cup with a fork. It will not, despite what you hope, create a dessert beverage that is thick and filling while also being low-carb. It will instead make something I have dubbed "The Scunge."

The Scunge is chunks or mats of protein, congealed together by the heat of the tea, floating loosely around in it. To the touch, The Scunge feels like soggy saltines - until you put a piece in your mouth, at which point you learn that beneath that moist surface is a gritty nightmare that sticks to the teeth, gums and throat for hours.

The Scunge is something that they'd give to penal labourers in a dystopian YA novel. It is a profoundly awful experience to drink it hot, and an even worse one to have it cold. The texture goes beyond bad, past the vast realms where 50's jellied salads and slimy lettuce loom nightmarish, and settles in "incompatible with the human eating experience".

It does actually smell fine, but that's merely a trick to get you to try it. Do not fall for "oh, it'll be fine once the protein dissolves" like I did. It will not dissolve, it will merely smear and stretch without ever losing its horrifying essential character.

It's bad, yo.

[christopher-seagull]

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a respondibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

[christopher-seagull]

I'm so frustrated by the lack of response to the mass psychogenic illness of law enforcement officials claiming to suffer contact fentanyl poisoning. There were a few studies done that quietly concluded that it's not real, none of the cases were credible, and the symptoms most closely resemble a panic attack or somatic episode.

No one is connecting this to systemic issues in police training and culture and no one is treating this as the canary in the coal mine it is.

Modern police training is functionally cult indoctrination, and intentionally cultivates paranoia. Police learn that everyone is out to get them, danger lurks around every corner, and their only job is to make it home alive after their shift.

They then enter the body of police culture, where questioning the bad behavior of fellow officers is at best strictly socially punished and at worst can get them killed, where they are constantly vigilant to say the right things and portray the right beliefs.

Suddenly, after generations of mainstream culture being generally supportive of police, in the midst of an anxiety-riddled pandemic, there is a highly-publicized backlash against law enforcement. Regular people are saying ACAB, calling cops fascists and murderers and wife-beaters. They're posting officers' service records on social media. Police, unwilling to believe they are evil, experience a cognitive dissonance backlash effect and cling to beliefs that contradict reality.

No one should be shocked - and no one should be hesitant to say - that there is a mental health crisis in law enforcement. They are paranoid, hyper-vigilant, and mired in cognitive dissonance. They have guns and virtually unchecked power to enact violence in their communities. Making up delusional stories about fentanyl is a pretty mild outcome compared to what we should be expecting from these circumstances.

Police aren't just bastards. They're a danger to themselves and others.

[christopher-seagull]

[christopher-seagull]

I saw the Lycan and had a vision.

[christopher-seagull]

The Terrible Secret of Space - not as famous, but it still lives rent-free in my brain 20 years after I last heard it

Programming I'm Totes gonna sub,it to a con one of these days:

The Millennial Meme Cringe Power Hour: a singalong.

xX_*~All the worst earworms from the 90s, 00s and today~*_Xx

[christopher-seagull]

Time.

[christopher-seagull]

It's good to see some consequences, but I don't believe it's enough - we still don't have a statement on why those works were excluded, and how this issue will be prevented from recurring in the future.

Guess who got disqualified from the Hugo Awards for unclear, most possibly political reasons!!

Award admin Dave McCarty's response to people asking why:

But this email is apparently just bouncing everything back so here's the full list of the admin team:

[christopher-seagull]

Rashida Tlaib has set up a petition to send to the White House to recognize and stop the ethnic cleansing and forced displacement happening in Gaza. If you’re a US citizen please sign. I have no illusions that this will change policy, but the public outcry against their actions must continue. We will not be distracted or discouraged from continuing to object to these humans rights violations.

[christopher-seagull]

I didn't know this, but I sure as hell felt this - I think this is why is not just my favorite show, but the one I consider the most important to me.

Interview with Yoshitoshi ABe & Yasuyuki Ueda

[christopher-seagull]

I've seen a few people mentioning the Clamavi de Profundus performance of this song, and I'll give you that it's damn good.

But this one old man from the early days of YouTube has my favorite version of it by a country mile. Hell, it's one of my favorite recordings of any song, period.

The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin’s Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes’ mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin’s folk Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge’s fire is ashen-cold No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

- Gimli’s song about the splendor of Khazad-Dum. Fellowship of the Ring, A Journey in the Dark.

[christopher-seagull]

[christopher-seagull]

Since July is Disability Pride Month

(as opposed to every other month when we're all demure about disability rights /gentle sarcasm)

I wanted to highlight one of my favorite artists: Liberal Jane.