dr-dendritic-trees

[dr-dendritic-trees]

I'm going to put a number on @derinthescarletpescatarian's wonderful explanation.

I'm a weaver/spinner. I just recently wove someone a scarf, I processed and spun about half the yarn I used, the other half was commercial yarn from a local dyer (so very high quality). This took me 30 hours and cost about $40 in materials. FOR A SCARF. I asked for $80 for it which I was perfectly happy with as a hobbiest but which works out to ~$1.33 CAD per hour.

It is functionally impossible for handproduced textiles to be both ethically produced and accessible.

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

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"Immature people crave and demand moral certainty: This is bad, this is good. Kids and adolescents struggle to find a sure moral foothold in this bewildering world; they long to feel they’re on the winning side, or at least a member of the team. To them, heroic fantasy may offer a vision of moral clarity. Unfortunately, the pretended Battle Between (unquestioned) Good and (unexamined) Evil obscures instead of clarifying, serving as a mere excuse for violence — as brainless, useless, and base as aggressive war in the real world."

Ursula K Le Guin at it again, being right as always

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The conversations about accountability & apologies that we've been having in social justice circles these last few years have basically trained everybody to fawn.

We've been telling people that if they are accused of any wrongdoing or of hurting anybody's feelings, it is their obligation to apologize immediately, and never to hedge, disagree, or to explain their rationale what they've done.

In their apology, we expect them to articulate every single thing that they have done that was damaging in the strongest language possible and to declare outright that they have harmed someone, often multiple groups of people, even if they are not sure of the impact (or could not even possibly be sure).

If a person's apology is anything but immediate and entirely self-excoriating, we accuse the person of downplaying the damage they have done, failing to be accountable, and manipulating others.

In this way, we've made it impossible for a person to ever take their own side lest that be taken itself as a form of wrongdoing. We have trained our fellow social-justice-minded people to believe that if they do anything but worsen the case against themselves, they are being irresponsible.

I say we, in all of this, because I have partaken in all of this rhetoric, made these kinds of criticism, given accused people this type of advice.

And I have followed it myself, often to a damaging effect.

I have taken responsibility for problems in which I truly did not believe I played a part, I've overstated the damage that I've done so as not to risk understating it, I've ascribed malice to my intentions when I knew it wasn't there, I've agreed with people's most negative, bad-faith narratives about conflicts involving me that they were not even present for, offered up information about myself that was not a third party's business in the name of transparency, apologized for things I haven't done -- and in doing all of this, I have denied my loved ones the opportunity to really hear me about what I was going through and my motivations when I was in conflict with them, things that any true friend or close associate would obviously want to hear about if they cared about me.

This aim of giving the perfect apology and taking perfect accountability has been nothing but an isolating force in my life, because it has barred me from openly entering into necessary conflict with people when our needs were incompatible or they had hurt me just as much as I'd hurt them. The fear of being a manipulative, unaccountable DARVO-er has led me to roll onto my back and expose my belly, falling over myself with panicked apologies and the most unflattering information possible cast in the least explicable light, almost outright begging for others to become angrier at me and believing that it was only way I could ever possibly be accepted back.

We've drilled into people that the way to be good and responsible is to allow people to view us as negatively as possible, to even arm others with information that will confirm that point of view, and to never insert our own perspective or needs on the matter at all.

And yeah, there are a lot of shitty people out there who dodge accountability easily because their power ensconces them from any consequences. but the primary problem with that was never that they wrote a shitty notesapp apology that used the unforgivable phrase "I am sorry if you felt XYZ." The real problem was that there was no community that held enough influence to hold them to account, and for their victims there weren't ever adequate supports or protections.

instead of addressing any of that in a remotely systematic way, we have taken to picking apart every accused person's every word and deed for evidence of inner moral failure and created a culture in which we think we can determine a person's safety by how artfully they put words together when they are under threat. and what do you know, plenty of bad faith actors and conflict avoidant cowards and people who just dont understand what they are even being accused of can do that just fine.

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The Lady and the Unicorn  is the modern title given to a series of six tapestries created woven in Flanders from wool and silk, from designs drawn in Paris around 1500. The set, on display in the Musée de Cluny in Paris, considered one of the greatest works of art of the Middle Ages in Europe.

"According to my only wish."

"The lady with the unicorn. Hearing"

"The lady with the unicorn. Touch"

"The lady with the unicorn. Smell." 

"The lady with the unicorn. Vision"

"The lady with the unicorn. Taste"

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"The problem is people don't read classics anymore"

No I think the problem is people don't read WIDELY. The ONLY ya and/or fantasy romance crowd is just as insufferable as the ONLY classics crowd or the ONLY litfic crowd or the ONLY nonfiction crowd and vice versa.

You gotta get some variety in there my guys

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Idea for a hamlet production:

The opening night, the program says The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark and it's performed accurately, word for word. The play, however, closes exactly after Horatio tells Fortinbras that he will tell what has happened. The lights hone in on him, cradling a dead Hamlet and wearing bloody clothes, before the play ends there.

The second night, the program says The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Told By Horatio. The play begins with a small spotlight over Horatio in the same bloody clothes, cradling a dead Hamlet. He says, "Let me tell you how this all began." Everything much everything is the same as opening night except for a few wording changes.

But after that, it goes off the rails.

The subsequent programs say The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Remembered by Horatio (One/Two/Three/etcetera). Each night more changes are made. Early on Polonius shows up with an absolutely ridiculous mustache. Claudius' hair colour changes at some point midway through. Towards the end Ophelia just starts naming random flowers. Laertes, when he's angry/sad/feeling a lot, just straight up starts lapsing into French.

Each night the spotlight on Horatio in the opening grows a little bigger until the audience starts seeing background nobles, then soldiers, and then a figure wearing a crown sitting on a throne who isn't facing the audience. Each night the Ghost looks less like King Hamlet and starts looking more like Horatio's Hamlet. Each night, whenever Horatio is on-scene, Hamlet stops speaking in Shakespearean and starts speaking plainly, because Horatio always understood what he meant.

On the closing night, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as Remembered by Horatio (Finale), it's all gone wrong. People are speaking lines they're suppose to say later or earlier in the play, or they're speaking someone else's lines. The opening scene is fully lit, and the audience can finally see that Horatio is talking to Fortinbras. The Ghost is now fully Hamlet. Horatio spends the entire play wearing the bloody clothes he's worn when Hamlet's died. Every time Hamlet isn't looking at him Horatio is looking at him, heartbroken, grieving, sad. Hamlet is the only one who's still saying accurate lines, except for when Horatio is on-scene and he's speaking modern English.

At the end, the play continues after Hamlet has died. Fortinbras commands that Hamlet be given a grand funeral, and Hamlet's body is taken away, with everyone following it out like a funeral procession. Horatio is left as the last one on the stage, staring at his bloody hands.

It is very, very obvious, the closing night, that Horatio has gone mad.

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A recent cartoon for New Scientist

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Thetis and her son, he takes after his mum.

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i think it's a sign of how (thankfully) far removed we are from that kind of violence that achilles' dragging of hector's corpse is so often framed mostly as an act of extreme disrespect, or only some brutal show of triumph. personally i think that's underselling both achilles' intention and what the trojans must be thinking as they watch it happen.

hector's corpse is divinely protected so it can't be damaged by the greeks after death; all that effectively happens in the iliad is that his body gets dirty. but under normal circumstances (and i'm not gonna impose realism on mythology, but the iliad is famously detailed when it comes to bodily trauma), the physical reality of dragging a corpse along stony ground for miles would be severe disfigurement and dismemberment. first the skin would wear off, then soft tissues, then extremities would start to detach. i think the iliad's original audience would be aware of that as an intended outcome.

achilles (who doesn't yet know that hector's body has been granted divine stasis) doesn't just want to parade his enemy's corpse, he wants to tear it apart ("i only wish that this fury inside my heart would drive me to carve you to pieces and eat your flesh raw..."), he wants it to not resemble a human anymore. he wants hector's blood and flesh to circle the city of troy. he wants to make it impossible for hector's family to gather the pieces of him to cremate and that way hector's spirit won't find passage into the underworld. that's what the gods are preventing from happening, they're not just keeping the corpse pretty for priam to pick up later.

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Lone females retreated to isolated nesting boxes on penthouse levels. Other males, a group Calhoun termed “the beautiful ones,” never sought sex and never fought—they just ate, slept, and groomed, wrapped in narcissistic introspection. Elsewhere, cannibalism, and violence became endemic. Mouse society had collapsed.

(Fact Source/more info) 

For more facts, follow Ultrafacts

[dr-dendritic-trees]

As a Canadian who spent a few years in the states, US healthcare is not just unnecessarily expensive, its unnecessarily confusing and I think that contributes:

In Canada, my big healthcare needs are covered by the provincial government. So when I need care I go to the front desk, I show them my provincial health card and all the money is handled between the provider and the government, I never pay anything. If something is not covered by my healthcare they tell me clearly and up front.

Like most Canadians I carry some supplemental health insurance to fill the gaps because our coverage is unfortunately not as good as most European systems. This insurance also tells me exactly what it covers, often down to the dollar amount. I've never been surprised by the amount I have to pay and there's no complexity either they pay X% of the cost or they pay up to $Y and I cover the rest. I've also never had insurance limit which doctors they'll pay for (although this does happen it just hasn't happened to me). I have also never encountered a deductible in Canadian health insurance (I do know what that is though, because my tenant's insurance has one).

Conversely, going to the US here was my experience even though I only got very boring minor or preventative care while I was there. I never needed ongoing chronic care, I was never seriously ill, and nothing I needed was rare or unsual... oh, and I worked at a major teaching hospital.

The list of things they wouldn't cover was long and totally random, like, based on super specific types of surgery for the same condition, it was wild and also meant I wouldn't have been able to read the documents without my biomedical degree, I have no idea how less educated people cope at all.

They wouldn't tell me directly if a vaccine would or wouldn't be covered even when I asked directly on the phone ahead of time I got "probably".

In addition to the money I paid every month to have insurance some coverage didn't kick in until I had paid a certain deductible... but not all of it... just some things on the long list.

There was like 3 other kinds of weird extra payments I was expected to make, not just a deductible, there was a copayment fee for some things and a coinsurance fee for other things (I still don't know what the difference is) and I think there were others I didn't encounter.

Rather than give me a straight dollar or percentage value I waited literal months to be sent a bill and they literally refused to tell me how much it would be in advance (I was told "somewhere between $0 and $1500 dollars).

Sometimes they covered certain nurse practitioners in the same office! But you didn't know which nurse you got in advance and could not ask, so how much you paid would be a surprise!!!

And every American I asked about this said this was actually a normal and pretty positive experience?!?!?!!? While I was there feeling like I was trying to bargain with some sort of eldritch entity that was also drunk.

If I thought I'd have to deal with this level of nonsensical randomness from my provincial government I would be terrified to. I have a lot more empathy for Americans' concern about it now.

Blogging this tweet because this explains SO MUCH about the mindset of pretty much all the folks I’ve known who’re against single-payer, it’s not even funny…

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I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[dr-dendritic-trees]

We will never know their names.

The first victim could not have been recorded, for there was no written language to record it. They were someone’s daughter, or son, and someone’s friend, and they were loved by those around them. And they were in pain, covered in rashes, confused, scared, not knowing why this was happening to them or what they could do about it - victim of a mad, inhuman god. There was nothing to be done - humanity was not strong enough, not aware enough, not knowledgeable enough, to fight back against a monster that could not be seen.

It was in Ancient Egypt, where it attacked slave and pharaoh alike. In Rome, it effortlessly decimated armies. It killed in Syria. It killed in Moscow.  In India, five million dead. It killed a thousand Europeans every day in the 18th century. It killed more than fifty million Native Americans. From the Peloponnesian War to the Civil War, it slew more soldiers and civilians than any weapon, any soldier, any army (Not that this stopped the most foolish and empty souls from attempting to harness the demon as a weapon against their enemies).

Cultures grew and faltered, and it remained. Empires rose and fell, and it thrived. Ideologies waxed and waned, but it did not care. Kill. Maim. Spread. An ancient, mad god, hidden from view, that could not be fought, could not be confronted, could not even be comprehended. Not the only one of its kind, but the most devastating.

For a long time, there was no hope - only the bitter, hollow endurance of survivors.

In China, in the 10th century, humanity began to fight back.

It was observed that survivors of the mad god’s curse would never be touched again: they had taken a portion of that power into themselves, and were so protected from it. Not only that, but this power could be shared by consuming a remnant of the wounds. There was a price, for you could not take the god’s power without first defeating it - but a smaller battle, on humanity’s terms. By the 16th century, the technique spread, to India, across Asia, the Ottoman Empire and, in the 18th century, Europe. In 1796, a more powerful technique was discovered by Edward Jenner.

An idea began to take hold: Perhaps the ancient god could be killed.

A whisper became a voice; a voice became a call; a call became a battle cry, sweeping across villages, cities, nations. Humanity began to cooperate, spreading the protective power across the globe, dispatching masters of the craft to protect whole populations. People who had once been sworn enemies joined in common cause for this one battle. Governments mandated that all citizens protect themselves, for giving the ancient enemy a single life would put millions in danger.

And, inch by inch, humanity drove its enemy back. Fewer friends wept; Fewer neighbors were crippled; Fewer parents had to bury their children.

At the dawn of the 20th century, for the first time, humanity banished the enemy from entire regions of the world. Humanity faltered many times in its efforts, but there individuals who never gave up, who fought for the dream of a world where no child or loved one would ever fear the demon ever again. Viktor Zhdanov, who called for humanity to unite in a final push against the demon; The great tactician Karel Raška, who conceived of a strategy to annihilate the enemy; Donald Henderson, who led the efforts of those final days.

The enemy grew weaker. Millions became thousands, thousands became dozens. And then, when the enemy did strike, scores of humans came forth to defy it, protecting all those whom it might endanger.

The enemy’s last attack in the wild was on Ali Maow Maalin, in 1977. For months afterwards, dedicated humans swept the surrounding area, seeking out any last, desperate hiding place where the enemy might yet remain.

They found none.

35 years ago, on December 9th, 1979, humanity declared victory.

This one evil, the horror from beyond memory, the monster that took 500 million people from this world - was destroyed.

You are a member of the species that did that. Never forget what we are capable of, when we band together and declare battle on what is broken in the world.

Happy Smallpox Eradication Day.

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Maintaining the biodiversity of sheep is not just important for knitters and spinners, but for the health of the environment. Essentially, a sheep functions like a carbon sequestration system. Atmospheric carbon makes up 50 percent of wool's weight, and, unlike synthetic fabrics, wool is naturally biodegradable. When disposed of, wool acts like a fertilizer, slowly releasing valuable nutrients and carbon back into the soil. Wool fixed carbon in the topsoil rather than releasing it into the atmosphere. This process can help regenerate pastures, which sheep will graze. And sheep can help answer the problem of how to avoid far-flung fiber supply chains. Because sheep do well in such an extraordinary range of terrains, wool is a natural choice for people interested in rebuilding local systems of cloth manufacture. Certain breeds are more suited to certain atmospheric and geologic conditions than others, so preserving diversity also means preserving the geographic range in which sheep can flourish.

Sofi Thanhauser, Worn: A People’s History of Clothing

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