TNET 15: Fox and the Whale.

Fox And The Whale from robin joseph on Vimeo.

Fox And The Whale is an independently produced and self-financed Animated Short Film. The film was shortlisted for the 90th Oscars and is a nominee for the 2018 Canadian Screen Awards. If you are interested in supporting you can buy the Art of book & film package here
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Open Thread. Don’t be an asshole. Thanks. Previous Thread.

All American Boy For America.

Northern Tissue All American Boy Print Frances Hook 1960s.

Northern Tissue All American Boy Print Frances Hook 1960s.

Yet another self-styled “prophet”, one Kat Kerr (with pink hair) has stated that Jehovah took her up to heaven, and told her about the next five presidential elections.

“Even before Trump ran,” Kerr said, “God had been telling me that, ‘I’m going to make America greater than ever, it’s about to step into its destiny, but I can’t start this until I shift the government and there will be a president in the White House one day that will extend their hand to the believers.’”

“He caught me up to heaven, literally, months and months and months before,” Kerr continued, “and He said, ‘I’ve chosen Trump and people won’t like it and they won’t understand it but that doesn’t matter right now because I’m going to change America and I need him. He’s an all-American boy that is all for America, and he is smart, he can’t be bought, he can’t be moved, and he cannot be controlled.’ And He said, ‘He will know me and he will hear my voice.’”

Can’t be bought? The Tiny Tyrant? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Right, the dumbfuck asshole with 30 million filthy NRA bucks sticking out of his pocket, among many others, can’t be bought. As for smart, well, I think we all know well enough that the only person who thinks the Tiny Tyrant is smart is himself and his toady sycophants. Can’t be moved or controlled? Oh please. It’s so damn easy to manipulate his dumb arse, it’s ridiculous. Seems that Jehovah is just as stupid as his ‘all American boy’.

“You better step back, because this is God’s time,” Kerr warned those who oppose Trump, adding that God told her that not only will Trump win reelection in 2020, but that Vice President Mike Pence will then be elected to two terms as president, as will whomever Pence chooses as his vice president.

“The Father is saying this,” she said. “For 24 years, we will have God in that White House.”

There’s a dystopian vision if I ever saw one. I’m pretty sure this one won’t happen. I certainly hope it won’t happen. It’s hard to remember sometimes, but all us sensible types who aren’t afraid to think do outnumber the christian assholes and Trumpholes. That means always voting though, even if you don’t well feel like it, and remaining active in all social justice issues.

The whole thing and video is at RWW.

Speaking of easily bought, there’s Ajit Pai and the NRA, who decided to hail him a hero:

Federal Communications Commission Chairman Ajit Pai was scheduled to give a speech at the Conservative Political Action Convention (CPAC) today, but instead he was surprised on stage by top brass of the American Conservative Union and the National Rifle Association with an award for his “courage under fire” in repealing net neutrality rules. Carolyn Meadows, a board member of the ACU and the NRA who presented Pai with the award, said that she couldn’t bring the physical award, a handmade rifle, onto the stage—likely because the event banned firearms.

Meadows presented Pai with the NRA’s “Charlton Heston Courage Under Fire Award,” an honor that Meadows explained is only occasionally bestowed at CPAC to people like Vice President Mike Pence, far-right sheriff David Clarke and the late anti-feminist crusader Phyllis Schlafly.

Introducing Pai, the ACU’s Dan Schneider said that Pai had “saved the internet.”

Sigh. And so does the NRA worm its way into every pocket. You can read that whole mess here.

Cancer Decor: Contrast.

Yesterday’s Cancer Chronicle was mostly a &^%$$#fest over the cancer decor in oncology and there’s also the awful decor of the infusion center. Raucous Indignation was nice enough to do a photo walk through of all his oncology work spaces, giving me a chance to see what other oncologists do when it comes to decor. I have to say, for the most part, this is much better than what I get to stare at every two weeks.

The waiting room. Okay, the pictures are fine, if on the bland side. Oh, do I ever recognize those chair colours! No, bad. That awful beige makes the blue look horrible. Black would make the blue pop, and nothing wrong with basic black, goes with everything. In the case of cancer decor, beige is the death colour, not black. Or, a tonal shift could make all the difference. Shade the blue more aqua, and replace the beige with a pale yellow. Right there, you have warmth and light without being obnoxious. And the walls, no, bad walls!

The lav. The painting is lovely, but it would probably be better if it were in front of patients, rather than behind. Cancer patients often have to spend much too long of a time in a lav, so having something to stare at is good.

Beautiful paintings! The carpet? No! There’s that godawful beige and icky brown again. There’s nothing wrong with beautiful, life affirming colours on the floor. You could get a nice multi-colour blue to go with the paintings.

Nice. I don’t worry about exam rooms, there’s always stuff you poke around in.

Very nice! I’m crazy about the photos, those are so fabulous! That sort of thing should be everywhere. The walls – no! Even eggshell white would be an improvement, but I’d go with a pale yellow. The blue chairs are okay, not wild about them, but those um, beige-green ones? Ick, no. Your visitor chairs are nice enough, why not go with blue and black chairs? Again, the black would make the blue pop, and would tie in with the visitor chairs. The curtains are quite nice. And I know this isn’t you, but hospital standard – the floors. Oh, awful.

The triptych is fantastic, beautiful in every way. Those walls, though…

Not An Optical Illusion.

I’m working on First Reaction, and every time I use this one pencil, and it freaks me out a bit, because I keep seeing it crooked. It’s very easy to see pencils crooked though, you can make them all wavy on purpose. I finally paid attention and looked at the pencil, and it’s not me, damn thing is crooked. :D

© C. Ford.

Cancer Chronicles 13: Breakdown Days & Fuck That Noise.

I’ll start with FUCK. THAT. NOISE. ^ because it’s easier than the intimate stuff. This…thing is on the wall of the exit hall leading out of all the oncology exam rooms. I hate to say, but this is far from the worst. The whole place is soaked in crap like this, and worse, deep catholic sentiments (quotes from motherfucking “saint” Theresa* and the like), and the rest is all “brave! hope! courage! faith! positivepositivepositive!. It’s enough to make a person puke and not stop. So, “Be Brave” with a cutesy arrow. Obviously, no one thought that one over very much. Implicit bigotry is always there, and obviously the, er, person who did this didn’t think at all. I could never in my life call the person who did this utter piece of shite an artist. Ugly, tacky, racist. It should be burnt, along with all the rest of such crap.

What does such an admonition do for someone who is almost catatonic with fear? How in the fuckety fuck does such a thing help that person? It doesn’t. It’s yet another scalding burden to place on the shoulders of that person, that something is terribly wrong with them; that they should not feel fear, no. They should square those shoulders, jut that stiff upper lip, be brave. Fear and anxiety are perfectly fucking normal when you get to hear It’s CANCER. Each person is different, and even those who manage to take the news with equanimity do not need to see such shit. We do not need to be told we should be “brave! hope! courage! faith! positivepositivepositive!. We should not have to confront such crap at every turn. Sure, there are people who might love seeing fucking Theresa quotes, but you know what? You can get such shit at home and your place of worship, if that’s your thing. And once again, those of us who are godless are not even considered when all this littering of religious crap is being done. People of other religious beliefs are not considered either, no, it’s all christian crap. The people responsible for picking this absolute shit out need to be taken out behind the woodshed and given one hell of a good smack.

ETA: To all the offended Christians: this notion that christian sentiment is somehow universal shows a breathtaking arrogance and an appalling lack of thought when it comes to other people. My cancer is not about your god, and no, I don’t give one tiny shit what you think about it. Anything me is not about your god. Please, keep that nasty god to yourself. You can drape yourself in instruments of execution, rosaries, prayer books, all that, but try to get it through your heads that it’s personal, and it does not apply to all people.

There is so little thought when it comes to cancer decor, and yeah, that’s a fucking thing. There’s zero honesty in any of it, it’s just “open your mouth and swallow the bullshit, honey, and if you aren’t brave and hopeful and full of faith, well that’s on you. YOUR FAULT.” There is no recognition of all the actual emotions threatening to boil over. No anguished “why”. No fear. No anxiety. No head full of thoughts and questions about how you will manage anything. No anger. No FUCK. No spectre of death. The other side of cancer decor is all obsequious gratitude, generally in the form of survivor art. There’s one of those pieces hanging in the oncology waiting room. No, there’s nothing wrong with being thankful and happy you made it out the other side with your life, but this kind of crafty art is terribly grating, because it evokes people on their knees (in this case women, a group of breast cancer survivors) giving worship. Fuck that noise too. Medical are doing their jobs, it’s what they do, and I’m pretty sure they’re thankful for every patient who survives, but you don’t find them doing worshipful art pieces. There’s a terrible imbalance in Cancerland. People end up feeling like it was the bad old days, where doctors were gods, and you didn’t dare make a sound, but meekly went toward any treatment you were pointed at, and no matter what happened, you should be on your knees in gratitude. Cancer has a way of smacking you the fuck down, and until the anger shows up, you don’t feel terribly strong. Or fucking brave. For some people, the fear will dominate, which tends to keep them quiet, even when they shouldn’t be. You can recognise them, like sheep being led to slaughter, meekly plodding along. All the “brave! hope! courage! faith! positivepositivepositive! crap doesn’t do anything for them.

So here’s a thought. Take all the “brave! hope! courage! faith! positivepositivepositive! crap, pile it up, and burn it. Instead, get warm, colourful posters and photographs. Flowers, water, dance, play, beautiful things which provide slender threads to good memories, to future hopes, threads which keep a person linked to thoughts of life. Things which represent to ALL people. No false cheer. No fucking admonitions. No hint of anything being your patients’ fault. Warmth, colour, life. Let people make their own associations, the ones which are most important to them. Cancer decor, as it now stands, needs to die, stat. It’s probably helping to kill a certain percentage of patients. Trite bullshit doesn’t help anyone. Stupid clichés that you’ve heard a million times don’t help. If you’re setting up an office somewhere, be original and actually think about your patients, think about how much this twee garbage does not help. Think about what might make you feel better if you were in the cancer seat. From now on, I might have to make sure I don’t have a lighter on me when I have to go to oncology. The temptation to set all that shit on fire is near overwhelming.

Okay, on to breakdown days. They will happen. Might not happen often, might not happen more than once, but one of them has your name on it, and will hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Mine was a couple of weeks ago, when treatment had been pushed back for the third time. I found myself crying. In public. For me, that’s unthinkable and it was mortifying. I couldn’t stop, and I wanted to start screaming all of my fury, too. The whole mess didn’t last long, even though it felt that way. I was back to my normal cynical humour, but that breakdown left a deep and lasting mark. It’s one which won’t go away. It took too long for the penny to drop, but I finally realised that if anything pushes me off the mental cliff, it will be Go sit in the corner and waitwaitwaitwait. I don’t have any way of coping with that one. I just want this DONE. It’s the one thing you think about, being done. Over. Out. I found myself in the position of getting in the door, but I couldn’t even see down the fucking hall, let alone the exit door. I’m not one who sees any virtue whatsoever in patience. I can be remarkably patient when there’s a clear end goal in sight, and there’s a specific time limit. But vague, hand-waved waiting? No. What will get me through is having treatments on time, on schedule. And yes, I am all too aware that people are looking out for me, making sure I don’t get even sicker and have yet more to deal with. Yes, I am all too aware that chronic liver inflammation is a precursor to cancer. I also know that chemo increases the chance of another cancer down the road. I know all that shit. Doesn’t help. There’s already a small well of despair in my head, trying to prepare me for another four fucking weeks of waiting instead of the next cycle. One thing is sure, if that happens, I’ll be sure to be ensconced in the car if another breakdown day comes my way, so as to at least preserve a bit of dignity. A sense of dignity can be hard to come by in Cancerland. Whew, I did not want to share any of that, but honesty seriously counts in Cancerland, and it has to take priority. That’s all I have for this chronicle.

*All the people Theresa “ministered” to were put on filthy cots on dirt floors, and denied pain medication, although it was available. Terminal people in immense pain were told “suffering brings you closer to god.” Yet, when Theresa was ill, she was put on a jet, flown to the U.S., put in a private room with all the amenities, which would be way out of reach for most people, and you can bet she was given more than adequate pain meds. She deserves zero respect, she was an immoral hypocrite.

The Proud Party of Homer Simpson.

Ted Cruz pronounced that when it comes to protecting gun rights (and making sure rethuglican pockets are full of filthy NRA dollars), the republican party is proudly the party of Homer Simpson. This is an accidental honesty so full of irony, there won’t be a good irony meter left anywhere in Amerikka. Of all the characters you might wish to never identify with, it would be Homer. The perfect characterisation of a dumbfuck who manages to stumble by, somehow.

Conservative commentator Ben Domenech said that the current debate over gun rights was aptly summed up by an episode of “The Simpsons” in which Lisa asserted that the Second Amendment is “just a remnant from revolutionary days [and] has no meaning today,” while Homer insisted that the Constitution guarantees him a right to own a gun because otherwise “the king of England could just walk in here any time he wants and start shoving you around.”

There hasn’t been a king in England for quite a long time now, just in case that’s news to you fucking idiots, and I’m pretty sure the queen has no interest in shoving all you fucking idiots around. To continue taking this all too seriously, is whipping out a gun a reasonable response to a verbal ‘shoving around’? No, it isn’t. Guns are not a solution, they are the problem, writ large.

“I think the Democrats are the party of Lisa Simpson,” Cruz responded, “and Republicans are happily the party of Homer and Bart and Maggie and Marge.”

Uh huh. Did you actually watch the episode, Mr. Cruz? Because Marge and the kids moved out because Homer wouldn’t give up the gun. They were vehemently opposed. Leave it to a rethuglican to get an episode of The Simpsons wrong.

There’s video at RWW.

19th Century Board Games.

“Game of The Star-Spangled Banner, or Emigrants to the United States” (1830), published by Edward Wallis.

“Game of The Star-Spangled Banner, or Emigrants to the United States” (1830), published by Edward Wallis.

Look how nice Turtle Island was before all the invaders showed up.

“Science in Sport or the Pleasures of Astronomy, A New Instructive Pastime” (1804), published by Edward Wallis.

“Science in Sport or the Pleasures of Astronomy, A New Instructive Pastime” (1804), published by Edward Wallis.

“The Royal Pastime of Cupid, or Entertaining Game of the Snake” (1794), published by Robert Laurie and James Whittle (all photos by Antoine Bootz/©Pointed Leaf Press).

“The Royal Pastime of Cupid, or Entertaining Game of the Snake” (1794), published by Robert Laurie and James Whittle (all photos by Antoine Bootz/©Pointed Leaf Press).

Fascinating board games here, and you can see so many more, and read about them at Hyperallergic. I love the Elephant, but I have a thing about them.