sovay: (Otachi: Pacific Rim)
I do not approve of springing forward so early. I suspect that after yesterday's exertions I would have felt like hell no matter what, but that lost hour I could have been sleeping is insult to injury. Also so far this afternoon has been dominated by a toilet that won't stop running (for reasons we can't fix ourselves; I checked; the property manager has been notified) and a cat throwing up in four different places in the apartment. I realize that I've fallen out of talking about anything news-related because I am so angry and so scared about so much of it. I had nightmares of having to delete a review post because comments turned into a flamewar. I don't even think that's ever happened to me. Then I went back to sleep and had nightmares about the end of the world, personal, global, my default dreams these days, which is why I don't write them down.

All of that said, I appreciate being married to the kind of person who reads me the following passage about scrimshaw because he knows I will approve:

Once the Bubble Wrap comes off, the prize fully exposed, initial shock is replaced by timidness. Pearl is quick with advice: Just pick it up any-old-where, for Christ's sake, Sailor. It's only a dildo. And last she heard, they don't bite.

But this is no ordinary dildo: it's a dream reified. Indeed, the dildo is a museum-quality piece of art; both the sculpture and the drawings on the sculpture achieve greatness. It's also quite intimidating, remarkably lifelike and large enough to challenge any thought of the well-hung. However, it might be difficult to find a museum willing to buy and exhibit an eleven-inch dildo bearing scenes of piscatorial warfare and sapphic love.

Usually, scrimshaw enters the market in rather pedestrian and predictable configurations. The shaved pieces are often turned into kitchen gadgets, like pie crimpers and serving forks, or made into ornaments, like buttons and handles for canes. Similarly, those adorned with drawings mostly depict static maritime scenes of a boat and/or a whale . . . The second panel on the inside curve is all about pleasure of a certain kind. The drawings offer up three pairs of mermaids in warm embrace. Each duo is kissing, their tails entwined, and everybody has one hand cupped around her partner's left bosom, while the other hand works a dildo at an erogenous zone. The mermaids' long hair, cascades of curls that billow like spinnakers in a stiff breeze, and the fish scales drawn below the waist are especially well done, each involving thousands of difficult curves and all precisely spaced. Under the loupe, no mistakes are evident, not one awl scratch out of place or fudged. Moreover, the loupe reveals tiny details, like the emblems of the Petticoat Society (two spouting sperm whales under crossed harpoons) on each dildo and intricately etched facial features on the crewmen at the rail of the mother ship.

—Rory Nugent, Down at the Docks (2009)
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