Good old feeling of dread already rising. I have a talent for weaving nightmares. In broad daylight too.

Yeah, I love the lines on that car, I love that it is the OG Wankel-engined Mazda, but I'm not fucking boosting that because you can't be arsed to write a single goddamn image description.

#subtoot

@MelissaBearTrix

Happy new year! We have another eleven hours still left on this one. Time enough to fuck things up a bit more, hehe.

Buen día, miserables.

En el último día del año, he decidido por razones de convivencia no participar de la Mastoporra. Sabrán entender: el clima político viene pesado y está fácil inventarse problemas con nuestros enemigos. Más cercanos que los amigos.

Lo cual no quita que siga pensando en la muerte. No necesariamente cercana, mucho menos inevitable (¿cuál es el precio de la agonía?), pero siempre presente.

Me ahorraré impugnar nuestras costumbres funerarias: sé que secretamente ustedes también las aborrecen.

Propondré en cambio que cuando me muera se emborrachen en mi nombre. (O se droguen con lo que sea que les libere las inhibiciones. No soy tu mamá para decirte qué tenés que fumar o inhalar o inyectarte, nena.) Júntense quienes consideren haberme querido, pongan música y recuérdenme, recreenme en anécdotas, risas y por qué no llantos. Critíquenme. Digan lo pelotuda o lo cobarde o lo venal que fui alguna vez. Si me encuentran alguna cualidad elogiable, lamenten que ya no estoy para prodigarla al mundo.

No sé si he sido clara. ("No, sos Ángela." Antes de que alguno de ustedes sufra ese arranque de ingenio.)

Y no, esto no es una despedida ni una señal de alarma ni un pedido de ayuda. Es melancolía de señora mayor nomás. Así que nada de mensajes para ver cómo estoy: dedíquense a terminar bien el año y como bien dice mi amiga acá, a no joderle la vida a quienes hoy trabajan hasta tarde.

@GustavinoBevilacqua

You're absolutely excused about that. Christ, what an asshole.

A bad worker blames their tools.

#subtoot

@GustavinoBevilacqua

The more complex your civilization gets, the more elaborate the scams. You should see the (theoretical) heights @cstross reached in Neptune's Brood.

Extremely pissed off at Web pages that pull 20M off my metered connection for no visible benefit wrt pages which weigh at most 200k on disk.

(Not a Web developer but I could play one on TV.)

Thought "mining lunar regolith for helium-3" was the most shameless scam in the space business?

Look at these graduate students trying to make a big thing of crewed exploration (a few astronauts per mission plus their vehicles, tools and supplies? if that happens, which may well be "never"?) of Mars (144 million km²) polluting that vast desert, and over that premise designing a waste management system without prior knowledge of materials science.

At current launch costs per unit mass (which are not likely to go down dramatically) not only Mars is safe from us but the Moon too. Delta vee goes up like a motherfucker beyond LEO; SpaceX filling our sky with junk is extremely dangerous for us but won't leave archeological evidence on any planetary surface except ours. Sorry if you dreamed of aliens reconstructing our habits from geo picks and bags of shit. That's why we have SF.

Irregular reminder: when an Argentinian beyond a certain age says total normalidad they're being heavily ironic. It was the infamous kicker or volanta above the headline Las Fuerzas Armadas ejercen el gobierno in the Clarín newspaper, the day after the coup of 1976.

Rant time. Silence me if you like. I'd silence myself if I could. Hell, I usually do, but that's neither here or there.

Calling these things shoes is an insult to every shoemaker who ever lived. To me they're "things you put on your feet so you don't get kicked out of places".

And my despise at such things (back in the day it was alpargatas, espadrilles, for me: long story, not really suitable for wet weather) is rooted in the fact that I have walked barefoot. In the streets. Here in La Plata and in Buenos Aires. Bit harder in these months of fucking relentless Sun and hot pavement, sometimes maybe hundreds of meters of it: once I had to improvise some protection out of cardboard. Didn't much care for the dog shit plus broken glass, but if most people emigrated or died at least one of these problems would go away.

Yeah, somewhat violent mood. Happens usually in summer. We don't know how to live, we're killing ourselves by living stupidly. Can't even read the fucking sky. When the daystar is up you shouldn't go out. We haven't been really trained on it, but there's something called siesta in the provinces up north. Survival strategy when it's above 40°C in the shade. But down here in Buenos Aires that's just being lazy, right? We won't survive global warming and I won't shed a single tear for this so-called great city. We had our chance and we wasted it.

A very dear friend gifted me crocs for Christmas. Only thing I ever wear on my feet for reasons, and she knew the ones I was using were at the end of their lifecycle. They were punctured and didn't provide proper electrical isolation in case I stepped on a single drop of water, for one thing.

Problem was, the new ones were black, absolutely not my color (for this kind of thing: a black dress I could wear; black backpack is out of the question), so I had to deface them with spray paint first and then use whatever was at hand: nail polish in my case. As you can see, I'm no artist and I don't care. Purpose is crude personalization. Think of PPE in the middle of nowhere: people judge you for being an asshole, not because you drew a goddamn peace symbol in your helmet.

Opted against wearing them for the photo. Hope you don't have a foot fetish I'm inadvertently frustrating, but it wouldn't play well with one of my minor dysphorias.

I do not want to do this.

But I'll be asking for money soon.

(Who you trying to deceive, Ángela? You did this for months. In fucking Spanish. Castellano Rioplatense as you charmingly put it but it's more like your goddamn idiolect who no one but yourself can understand. Is fucking English your limit? You colonized to this extent?)

January in Argentina can be brutal for us.

And it looks like I can be brutal to myself so, your choice.

#trans #MutualAid

Feeling a bit of (anticipated) trans joy for someone coming out of her egg in the near future and I don't even know her.

Yeah, maybe it's a mental illness but, know what? We enjoy it. So put a goddamn sock in it.

Drunk so much water I had to buy two liters of ethanol to compensate.

(That's "Everclear" to you uncultured gringos.)

Today some of us will be enjoying solitude. Thanks for not being ignorant, condescending and arrogant about our lives. Have fun just like we'll be doing in our own special way.

Perfectly fine with the seven-day week. Reminds normies now and then about the four traditional divisions of the lunar cycle.

#subtoot

@MelissaBearTrix

Girl, that's like something out of an horror movie. Get off that bus now!

If you--like me until a few minutes ago--can't find any updates about the power failure and subsequet desynchronization of the atomic clocks at Boulder, this is where NIST make their announcements:

Internet-time-service - Google Groups

(groups.google.com)

Hope that helps.

(It took me hours reaching the state of mind needed for a goddamn multi-step search but I did it. Less salty now. Concentration still janky.)

TIL the word trucho (late Lunfardo, ca. 1970, meaning "fake") made its way to Spain and it's in somewhat common usage there. Unsurprised but amused.