We drove a broken glowstick, we built a bedsheet circus

rosefox, per the meme, gave me "three things that I may or may not know or care about."

1) Scarves.

I like them! I have three in seasonal rotation. The first is forest-green and dates back to my last few years of high school; the second was knitted for me nine years ago by rushthatspeaks and makes me feel like a Time Lord, being twenty different colors and taller than I am; they are winter scarves, they are part of my layering which can be shed if I warm up from walking, and the latter is heaviest-duty. The third is dark purple silk painted with peach-green-gold-pink fish (koi-like, sturgeon-ish) and comes from my grandmother; I think of it as the most formal. I wear it for myself in autumn, but I have also started wearing it to perform with A Besere Velt. I have never worn a headscarf except experimentally after seeing the film of Fiddler on the Roof (1971) for the first time in elementary school. Then I spent almost all of fifth grade with my hair braided daily and stuffed under a corduroy cap, which was probably more on brand.

2) Canteens (the kind that carry water, not the cafeteria kind).

Technically I own one, although I almost never remember to use it to carry water anywhere that isn't a long outdoor excursion. It's metal and sweats a lot and usually ends up wrapped in a plastic bag so as not to drip all over me, which on some level feels like missing the reusable-sustainable point. When I was small we had one in the house which came with a metal cup—I associate it with my mother and her family's childhood camping trips all over the national parks of the American Midwest—and I thought that was great.

3) Scooters (the skateboard-with-handle kind, not the motorcycle-lite kind).

I do not think I have ever interacted with one of these objects in my life. I had a skateboard as a child, but mostly I had a bike.

Anyone else want three things?

I will go—I shall go—to see what the end is going to be

So I didn't win a Lammy last week, but Anthony R. Cardno just reviewed Forget the Sleepless Shores for Strange Horizons and I am delighted:

Each time I skim the collection, I find myself pausing to read just a paragraph or two of "The Salt House," "The Creeping Influences," "The Boatman's Cure," "All Our Salt-Bottled Hearts," or "The Face of the Waters," and before I know it I've reread the entire story and gleaned something I'd missed on previous reads. Sometimes what draws me back in is a particular phrase or a bit of dialogue. Often, it's the natural imagery that permeates almost every story.

It's no surprise, based on the collection's title, that water imagery is front and center, but the author includes geologic imagery almost as often. In these tales, water represents change, impermanence, and movement towards or away from a character's goals or destination, while geologic forces often represent permanence, steadfastness, an immobility. Interestingly, the author never reverses the tropes, never uses, say, an earthquake as an agent of change or stagnant pools of water as an image of permanence. I find myself wondering if that's on purpose, but that’s something only Sonya Taaffe can tell us for sure.

That is favorable and analytical. It's true, I don't write about earthquakes. (I've never experienced one that I've noticed, even though we have them in Massachusetts. There are fault lines all over this state.) My oldest-written published story has geology as a force for change, but it isn't my usual construction. I love that someone wondered.

(The rest of the review also delights me.)

And you feel just like Cagney, she looks like Rita Hayworth at the counter of the Schwab's drugstore

In other news, rydra_wong is entirely correct that Lourdes Faberes as Pollution in Good Omens (2019) looks like someone I would and/or should write about: