So can we say we'll never say the classic stuff, just show it?
Database maintenance
Good morning, afternoon, and evening!
We're doing some database and other light server maintenance this weekend (upgrading the version of MySQL we use in particular, but also probably doing some CDN work.)
I expect all of this to be pretty invisible except for some small "couple of minute" blips as we switch between machines, but there's a chance you will notice something untoward. I'll keep an eye on comments as per usual.
Ta for now!
Pumpkin harvest stereogram
I've been looking through (and printing out) stereograms from the Library of Congress, Smithsonian, etc, to view on my stereoviewer. There are also some recently-published books of these which include a stereoviewer in the front cover.
Text from the back of the photo card; probably around 1930 (at the end of the popularity of stereograms)
"WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUN'K-IN, AND THE FODDER'S IN THE SHOCK" INDIANA. Lat. 40° N.; Long. 86° W.
Here is a genuine fall scene in the country You could almost walk across the cornfield by stepping from pumpkin to pumpkin. In the background are some fodder shocks, and beyond this lies the apple orchard. It is "gathering-in" time in the fall. In the bright days of autumn when the frost glitters in the early morning, farmers begin to gather in the crops.
James Whitcomb Riley, the Indiana poet, thought this the best time of the year. He tells about it in the poem that is the subject of this description. You have doubtless read others of his poems such as "When the Flag Goes By, "The Old Swimmin' Hole," "Out to Old Aunt Mary's." Riley was born in 1853 at Greenfield, Indiana. He had only a common school education. Then he went as an assistant to a patent medicine man. Later he began writing verse for the Indianapolis papers. He soon became popular as the "Hoosier Poet" , and is known all over the world where people like the poetry of common things. He died in 1916.
Whittier also wrote a poem on the pumpkin:
From his home in the north. On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, Where crook-necks are curling and yellow fruit shines, And the sun of September melts down on his vines.
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie?
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!"
The last lines refer to Hallowe'en when the shell of the pumpkin is used to make a head in which a candle is set.
137- (16755) Copyright by The Keystone View Company.
Cigarette, Alka-Seltzer, career to the back of the place
I have just discovered that Bill Nighy has a podcast. Apparently it launched on my birthday. It is the half-hour ill-advised by Bill Nighy. I am as we speak listening to the first episode which I selected at not very random considering there are only three so far:
Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening, depending on where you are on the planet. Welcome to ill-advised by Bill Nighy—and the clue is in the title, particularly on the first word. The risk of getting to my age is that you can not infrequently be mistaken for somebody who knows what's happening or how to carry on, and you only have to take a quick look around the world to see how that's going, and how my generation are managing the planet, for instance. I mean, you may have picked up a few things along the way which might be of use, like, I don't know, parking, or online shopping, or not taking cocaine, obviously. But other than that, in all the big important things, I remain profoundly in the dark. But I try and keep a straight face when people start acting weird.
After which he immediately begins to tell the listener about his recent eye operation. It does eventually pertain to the nature of the podcast, but frankly it was such an ideal segue for a programme that bills itself as "a podcast for people who don't get out much and can't handle it when they do . . . a refuge for the clumsy and the awkward . . . an invitation to squander time" that it won me over to treating it as an audio drama whose laconically anxious and slightly acid narrator has a very good fund of self-deprecating stories that wind their way around to some species of advice, defined by Nighy as "not actually making things worse." He sounds unsurprisingly the way his interviews read. The difficulty of extracting information does not improve just because I like the speaker, but apparently I will now make the occasional effort for actors, too.
Update: the parking is a lie. Nighy spends most of the introduction to the second episode explaining that he cannot and never could park successfully. "I'd drive miles to find somewhere where you didn't actually have to park, you could just leave the car." Well done, Reginald?
Call for Volunteers!
https://wiscon.net/volunteer/concom/
#WisConCommunity #WisCon #WisCon2026 #FeministSFF #Volunteer

The rose will grow on ice before we change our mind
1. Courtesy of
2. Courtesy of
3. Courtesy of
4. I discovered the inimitably named Blackbeard's Tea Party some years ago with the furious drumbeat of their "Ford o' Kabul River" and then almost immediately lost track of them again, but as they seem to have come out since with the whaling EP Leviathan! (2018) and the nightmare siren song of "Mother Carey," we're still good. Since they closed their first album with "Chicken on a Raft," I am delighted that their recorded repertoire now also includes "Roll and Go."
5. I meant last week to link the Divine Comedy's "Invisible Thread" (2025), especially since it was my father who found it after I had sent him another song from the same album.
Her memory for a blessing, Darleane Hoffman who studied transuranic elements and still got to die at ninety-eight. She was not unstable.
About My Interests Here
I can see the alchemy
Is it the lustre of immortality?
( Or a fear that forces us to displace our identities? )
In conclusion, I enjoyed the novella, I argued with it, I finished it and wrote a long string of e-mails to
Weird things in grocery stores
My brain, of course, takes in the packaging on the latter, and flashes back to a first-season episode of Space: 1999 called "Dragon's Domain". Scared the hell out of grade-school-me when I first saw it on CBC Regina TV. I cannot help suspecting that if the the modern marketing mavens at Kellogg's saw that episode of that series, the title critter would be cartoonified on the front of boxes of something called Space: 1999 - Dragon's Delight.
Update on the Weird Happenstance
https://bsky.app/profile/dewline.bsky.social/post/3m3qidgsrak25
Weird Happenstance of 21 October 2025
https://bsky.app/profile/dewline.bsky.social/post/3m3qezg6ud225
"Blocked by our security service"?
Did karma do you justice when you're down and out and lost?
( Did the shamrock on your shoulder bring good fortune and pay off? )
It was such good sea. I had not had so much of it daily in years. And it is not that I can get none of it in the still working seaport of Boston, and Cape Cod remains sandier than the mountain-folded ledges of Cape Elizabeth or the glacier-scraped boulders of Cape Ann, but it is still Atlantic and still cold to the touch and still live. I am home now and approved by Hestia for the second time in a month, an unusual sign of travel in my life these days. Dinner was with my parents and
World Series 2025
It's on, one more time.
AWS outage
Edit: all services are running as of 16:12 CDT, but there is definitely still a backlog of notifications to get through.
Edit 2: and at 18:20 CDT everything's been running normally for about the last hour.
Distant as a northern star
( Wood and whisky, time and tar. )
Judah Thacher d. 1775 had a rather bland angel at the top of his gravestone, but some unusual stars and curlicues down the sides and above all both fancy lettering and the best memento mori I saw in the entire burying ground:
Reader ſtand ſtil & Spend a Tear
Think on the duſt that Slumbers here
& When you think on yͤ State of me
Think on yͤ glaas that runs for yͤ
I just side-eye my camera taking it to heart.
You don't have to fly into the sun
( Take a little comfort from the little you've done. )
After which I ate dinner, read a little, and passed out for about an hour and a half. Family and friends have been sending me pictures of No Kings, the necessity of which I hate and the turnout of which I cheer. My mother told me about her favorite sign she did not carry: a photograph of the butterfly, the only orange monarch we need. I loved everything about the spare, specific exploration of marginalized languages and historical queerness in Carys Davies' Clear (2024) until the slingshot of the ending as if the author had lost a chapter somewhere over the side in the North Sea. Since the Cape is still autumnal New England, I am drinking mulled cider.
And deregulate the couple at the bottom end
( Penny on the water, tuppence on the sea. )
Being now officially unemployed after an internal ten and really fifteen years at the same job and having Robert Carlyle on my mind, I should probably just rewatch The Full Monty (1997). Tomorrow I plan on a salt marsh.
Can-Con Weekend 2025
Two problems with going there in person:
1) No masking-required policy in place on public transit. If I can't walk to a destination or get a lift from a trustworthy driver, I only use public transit.
2) The venue is in Kanata, at the other end of Ottawa from where I live in Orléans.
So.
If you're going, please be careful. 😷