А вот и постер НекрономиКона-2024 подоспел — совершенно роскошный, практически ар нуво:

Текущее-рабочее (телетайп)

Забукировали билеты в Бостон и обратно, а еще мне пришел традиционный некрономиконовский опросник по участию в круглых столах (пдф с примерными темами для дискуссий тоже был прикреплен к письму). Решила, что в этом году с меня хватит Армитаджа, и в секциях принимать участие не буду: каждый раз очень сильно нервничаю и не всегда уверена в фидбеке аудитории (зря, наверное, потому что публика обычно очень дружелюбная и понимающая).

The previous week was somewhat overwhelming for a variety of reasons; the weather added to the entire ordeal. That’s why, when we noticed the odd golden orb in the sky, we didn’t hesitate to go for a lengthy walk, choosing Chesterton as one of the destinations (one of L.’s first Cambridge locations was there: it’s amusing to think that he went to the Lab and Clare from the opposite side of Cambridge 40 years ago).

The city does feel strange these days: it’s still not sunny enough for proper spring yet it’s warm(-ish), and, despite the muted colours, everything is blooming and looking lovely.

So there—Orchard Close (one of the most picturesque central streets), Midsummer Common with young calves chewing dandelions, that weird Michelin star restaurant by the river (still haven’t been in and am not sure if I want to), the bridge, and then Chesterton’s oldest St. Andrew’s church that I love dearly for its silence, magnificent Victorian stained glass, gargoyles and decrepit gravestones in the abandoned cemetery. That was a nice walk.

*Reading the Atlantic article about the issues that the young people who grew up with social media experiencing* 

This is truly horrifying but blatantly obvious: that’s what happened when oversharing has become not only a personal problem, but also an issue for your loved ones, especially children. Coincidentally, I recently started noticing that human exhaustion from socials—at least, among adults: people are less sharing their “what’s on your mind” content, and rightfully so, as being instantly misunderstood, misinterpreted and ostracised became the very idea of online interactions. Hence Reddit and all the AITA shenanigans.

As many of you may already know, we here, in England, haven’t had that odd yellow orb in the sky for many months, hence everything looks much gloomier than usual, despite the (supposedly) awakening season. But what never ceases to amaze me is our garden: it’s bleak, and grey, and overall melancholic yet more and more flowers are emerging from the remnants of rainy March, and even without sunlight they look magical.

(The views from the windows)

“Scoop” (Netflix)

Ok, I watched the Netflix “Scoop.”

In short: it was bad. My first, and immediate, question before even starting was, “What is the point to make something sensational and bombastic about such a recent event?”, but after the first opening remarks I sort of figured it out: of course, it was that unstoppable desire to praise the “impartial BBC” just like some people chant on social media about “our precious NHS*” etc.

So, basically, the entire movie turned into a lengthy self-assuring and self-righteous stance about interviewing a revolting individual and all the fuss that had surrounded the notorious interview with the aforementioned individual. It was full of a glee-filled cackle from the attention-seeking wassocks—some, lithe and dulcet, with whippets in their workplace (ah, that unimaginable for hoi polloi luxury of swanning around a studio with the superior motto “because I can”), the others in expensive pumps with a leopard print (“because I’ve been paid good money to look that cheap” etc.), and all that for the mere “Tu l’as voulu, Georges Dandin!”

Как-то неожиданно срезонировало (ну и традиционное сюда же — «как все злые люди, я сентиментален»):

Jamesian conference: soon!

So, three weeks from now, yours truly will be having a bit of fun in Suffolk, delivering a talk about all things M.R. James and uncanny.

Let’s hope I do it right.

Forgive me for sharing from the Guardian (yikes), but the article is indeed stating the obvious: pet care has got completely out of hand and is in a disastrous state. As a pet owner, you feel trapped: you’ve been manipulated to the point that you can’t even discuss cheaper options for treating your animal, as it sounds crass and somehow disrespectful (?!) to the vet.

In one case, the vet charged for “a phone conversation, even though I couldn’t hear what he was saying. ©

I never forget the moment when we were connected by phone with one of the junior vets after Pickle had been diagnosed with sarcoma, and how this guy was constantly avoiding our direct questions—simply stalling for time: afterwards we were charged for a “consultation” (it wasn’t that) a ginormous amount of money, well over £150. He waffled, and waffled, and we learned nothing.

Me: still follow the case of a “false prophet,” Chad Daybell (LDS, Doomsday, preppers, all that stuff)

An email I got: “Oh hello, Brigham Young University is extending the deadline for abstracts for [...] conference. Please, consider submitting an abstract so you can join us for an intellectually stimulating conference in the beautiful mountains of Utah!”

Me: “Thank you! I’d rather not”