This is an intense, touching piece on the way people's minds have been shaped by the pandemic, and the way that shape is in turn determined by their—our—failure en masse to handle the reality of the pandemic. It's another way of looking at the same issues I was driving at in COVID Denialism and Disability Justice, and I similarly found it helpful to bring myself some calm (if not closure) to the pain of seeing people act so heartlessly.
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it's actually really nice to take the time I'd normally spend purposelessly[1] browsing social media and spend it reading a blog post instead. I read pretty slowly so it always takes some dedicated time to get through anything longer than a few paragraphs, and it feels good to actually dedicate that time intentionally
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I actually think that taking a few minutes to totally context-switch your brain to something low-key and fun before context-switching back to more serious work is really valuable, at least for the way I work. It's like giving my brain a quick rinse. ↩︎
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doing my level best to replace my "click over to Cohost" instinct with "click over to my RSS reader" instead of "click over to Mastodon"
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The film sets up a dichotomy between the inorganic—the ship and its reactor filled with ornamentation we are to assume is all for the realization of profit, contrasted with its intensely human (and feline) crew. The gorgeously-rendered hull of the ship acts as a prison and its corridors restrict the possibilities of its inhabitants. And yet, among the first thing we hear from this crew is the seeds of organization, of raging against their imprisonment.
But as soon as the film establishes this dichotomy, it begins to play with it. The titular alien's nest is an organic mockery of the ship, and once the xenomorph is aboard the Nostromo it begins to cut (literally) through the metal and plastic bonds, the hyperorganic coming to dominate the machine. Eventually, the crew itself begins taking action against the machine in self-defense but from it and from their pursuer.
Ripley as a character becomes elaborated along with this dichotomy. Although she's quiet at first, not one of the crew who draws attention in the first few scenes, the more we see from her the clearer her values become. She holds life in the highest esteem, even that of Jones the cat. In doing so, she stands in opposition to the "purity" of force represented by both the Nostromo and the xenomorph. In her, we see that purity is intrinsically a false goal—the true value is always in the impurities that make us people.
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I'm really happy to see a bunch of the less-technical people I followed on Cohost setting up blogs with Bear or Ghost or WordPress. It's been fun for me to set this site up as a playground for what could be possible as far as bringing the aspects of social media I value to the web, but truly one of the biggest virtues of social media sites is making it so so easy to get set up and start posting. At the same time, it's also one of its biggest downfalls, because it's the same thing that makes it so easy to get sucked into the quicksand of corporate lock-in.
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I actually do log what I watch there kind of sporadically. It's all right! I wish it had a better app and were a bit more like Letterboxd in general, but it's certainly better than Trakt, its most direct competitor.
Part of the reason I don't use it is the lack of the app, but part of it is also that it's a lot of effort to log every single episode of anything I watch, but if I only log season-by-season I'll often forget to log at all when it comes to the finale.
The final nail in the coffin of using it the same way I do other review apps is that I just don't have that much to say about a single season of a television show. (I find I have similar issues when I try to write reviews for manga volumes.) There's often not that much different from the season before or the season after, and I'll usually express everything I have to say about the show in the first review or two and then run out of steam.
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Seattle Cohost Wake
As soon as it was announced that Cohost was shutting down, I knew I at least needed some way to grieve it in community. I'm not a particularly observant Jew, but I do take to heart the idea that grief is a community experience. Cohost was never an experience of any individual in isolation, so its loss shouldn't be experienced in isolation either.
I talked to my wife and Xandra who had also made some rumblings about some sort of meet-up, we decided on a place and time, and I sent out an open invitation[1]. We knew Seattle was a pretty big Cohost city, but based on the Philly and Boston turnouts we expected maybe thirty to forty people.
The last dedicated count we got was fifty-eight, but people kept showing up after that so I believe in the end we had more than sixty attendees. Lydia even came up from the Bay Area, shocking everyone there who knew her! I was completely blown away by this incredible outpouring of love for Cohost.
It was an intensely emotional mix of mourning and joy. We had a moment of silence for the loss of Cohost, we came together in a cheer of "Eggbug Forever!", but most of all people just hung out and chatted. We even had our very own rainbow:
Rose and I also came up with an idea for a little local mailing list for COVID-safe events. To help spread the word, we made a zine. I only printed fifty copies, which I thought would be plenty, so for anyone who showed up after all the zines were gone or who couldn't make it at all, I've reproduced it below:
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one of my dear pleasures is seeing a person whom I'm not particularly attracted to, but whom I can just tell would make friends with different tastes absolutely gnaw on the furniture with lust
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oops I lied
Actually it's just the theme Taylor Titmouse was using that has the right metadata. There's no way to get it for any arbitrary tumblr post. I'll have to write that custom scraper after all 😩
At least this post motivated me to come up with some sort of a story for reposts!