I have spent nearly every waking moment of my day so far dealing with bureaucracy, but unlike the vast majority of my experiences dealing with bureaucracy, this one has been fast-moving and responsive and at one point a representative actually called me back concerned that I had not received an important piece of digital paperwork (which I had not, so she re-sent it and I filled it out and about two minutes later the original copy came through per rule of Roger Rabbit, only when it was funny). It may still come to nothing, but I can't say that they aren't taking us seriously. Have some links.
1. I had never heard of the 1971 Ibrox disaster before reading this account by a survivor. The idea that people could be funneled to their deaths like a fish-trap by nothing more than numbers and architecture and negligence—no stampede, no fire, no collapse—apparently disturbs me more than some other disasters.
2. Speaking of disasters, I had heard of Roopkund and its skeletons, but not of the more recent and even more mysterious remains sifted out from their pilgrim fellows by carbon dating and genetic analysis. The absence of any kind of local legend really makes me curious.
3. David Schraub on America as, actually, a center-left nation.
4. I took an internet quiz purporting to reveal how an audience would perceive me if I were a fictional character and![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch had to ask me if I was all right because of the noise I made when confronted with the image of red Converse sneakers kicking off a skateboard and the designation "edgy step on me":
it's You. you're the edgy character with combat boots that everyone wants to step on them ( depending on what your gender is. ) you probably have a very cool style, and you're also absolutely gorgeous in a way that average people just ... aren't. you might be a little bit of an asshole, but that's ok. you get a pass because you're extremely attractive. you radiate some sort of energy that i can't describe. i'm not sure you're a real person honestly.
5. Have some amazing photos of shipwrecks.
As a person who has never been interested in actors because I don't know them and does not crush on characters because they don't exist, I wish at the risk of TMI to register my absolute confusion at waking up from a piercingly sexual dream of Van Heflin in Act of Violence (1948). I adore that movie and his performance in it, but I wouldn't sleep with Frank Enley if, like Mary Astor's Pat, I got paid for it. I would almost hope it's a metaphor, except then I can't think for what. Dumpster fire doesn't even begin to cover that guy.
1. I had never heard of the 1971 Ibrox disaster before reading this account by a survivor. The idea that people could be funneled to their deaths like a fish-trap by nothing more than numbers and architecture and negligence—no stampede, no fire, no collapse—apparently disturbs me more than some other disasters.
2. Speaking of disasters, I had heard of Roopkund and its skeletons, but not of the more recent and even more mysterious remains sifted out from their pilgrim fellows by carbon dating and genetic analysis. The absence of any kind of local legend really makes me curious.
3. David Schraub on America as, actually, a center-left nation.
4. I took an internet quiz purporting to reveal how an audience would perceive me if I were a fictional character and
spatch had to ask me if I was all right because of the noise I made when confronted with the image of red Converse sneakers kicking off a skateboard and the designation "edgy step on me":it's You. you're the edgy character with combat boots that everyone wants to step on them ( depending on what your gender is. ) you probably have a very cool style, and you're also absolutely gorgeous in a way that average people just ... aren't. you might be a little bit of an asshole, but that's ok. you get a pass because you're extremely attractive. you radiate some sort of energy that i can't describe. i'm not sure you're a real person honestly.
5. Have some amazing photos of shipwrecks.
As a person who has never been interested in actors because I don't know them and does not crush on characters because they don't exist, I wish at the risk of TMI to register my absolute confusion at waking up from a piercingly sexual dream of Van Heflin in Act of Violence (1948). I adore that movie and his performance in it, but I wouldn't sleep with Frank Enley if, like Mary Astor's Pat, I got paid for it. I would almost hope it's a metaphor, except then I can't think for what. Dumpster fire doesn't even begin to cover that guy.
