Roko’s Basilisk is the dumbest and most male thing imaginable and if you read this Wiki please do not become concerned you will be punished by a future robot.
Misandry came into EXISTENCE because it predicted that some day men would get scared of an imaginary AI basilisk and need to talk about it.
— Nicole Cliffe (@Nicole_Cliffe) July 18, 2014
WORRY ABOUT BRAIN-EATING AMOEBAS INSTEAD.
This broke my heart a little bit because the idea of Bruno Kirby and Nora Ephron no longer being with us always does, but it’s still lovely:
My first day on set — and this may have been the first day of principal photography, I’m not sure — we shot what has come to be known as the “baby fish-mouth” scene. The characters are all playing Pictionary, or something close; Sally is drawing a possibly puckered mouth for the clue “baby talk.” We improvised our way into the scene and were shouting made-up answers when Bruno Kirby hurled his three magic words: Baby. Fish. Mouth. It was like the heavens opened up to receive us. As tremendous as Billy and Meg and Carrie are in the film — and they are the greatest of great, just perfect— when Bruno appears, onscreen movie-happiness amps up to the proverbial 11. He had an authority that carried him and everyone else to a greater level in their work. He is more than missed — as is Nora Ephron, the sharpest knife in our drawer.
RIP, James Garner. Here were all of Jim Rockford’s answering machine messages.
It is unnecessary to remind me not to feel bad for Robert Kennedy, Jr, but reminder accepted.
I loved these profiles of young people attempting to build the post-coal economy of Appalachia.
Deleted comment of the day by someone who believes Mallory is a devout Marxist:
Great Maria Bamford profile:
Bamford has a song that she sometimes performs onstage called “My Anxiety Song.” It has no melody. Instead, it sounds more like an incantation, a desperate verbal hum. “If I keep the ice-cube trays filled,” she chants, “no one will diiiiieeee.” She continues, in a monotone, “As long as I clench my fists at odd intervals, then the darkness within me won’t force me to do anything inappropriate or sexual” — here, she drops her voice a couple of notes — “at dinner partieeeees. . . . “
I read two books this weekend, which really could not have been more different, but I can recommend both of them.
1. Flight 232, about the United Airlines plane crash which 184 of 296 passengers survived, you can read an excerpt here. It’s really well done, and leaves you in absolute awe that the flight crew was able to save anyone at all; it still hasn’t been repeated in any simulations. For the most part, though, it’s a book about how people cope with extreme trauma, and how first response works, and how we remember things, and I honestly do think I will now pay a little more attention to where my nearest exit is when the flight attendant is doing their thing. The flight attendants were HEROES that day.
2. People Like Us, which is just a dishy society novel from 1988 by the late Dominick Dunne (here is a handy guide to who the characters are supposed to be.) Even though it’s just a fun, trashy read, I found it shockingly moving at times, as Gus Bailey (the stand-in for Dunne himself) is dealing with the death of his daughter at the hands of her stalker ex-boyfriend who got out of jail after 2.5 years, which, of course, was a real and horrible thing. To be honest, I sincerely wish that Dunne had waited until he was old and dying anyway and actually put a hit out on the murderer, who is alive and well and doing whatever, which he had considered doing shortly after said murderer got out of jail, but elected against (I have a really violent and vengeful heart, and there is literally no question of the murderer not having done it.) But, again, the undertones of grief and anger and loneliness it brings into an otherwise frothy little summer read surprised me, and I do recommend it.
