Dear Annie: I have always felt like the odd one out in my family. I love them deeply, but I cannot ignore the quiet, persistent feeling that I do not quite belong. My two younger brothers, "Tom" and "Michael," are close with each other and with our parents, especially our mom. They talk every day, go on trips together and always seem to be in sync.
I, on the other hand, have always felt different. I was more sensitive, more artistic and more emotional growing up. While they were into sports and fixing things with Dad, I was reading, journaling or off by myself. I was teased for being "too dramatic" or "too much," and I learned early on to keep my feelings to myself.
Now that we are adults, not much has changed. Family group chats often go on without me. I find out about birthdays or get-togethers after the fact. When I try to bring it up gently, I get told I'm imagining things or taking things too personally. My mom says she loves me just as much, but I still feel like I'm standing on the outside looking in.
I want to be part of the family, not just in name but in heart. I want to feel seen, heard and valued -- not like the extra piece that doesn't quite fit. Is there anything I can do to shift this dynamic, or is it time to accept that things may never change? -- Outside in My Family
When I am Emperor anyone selling bowls, plates, etc will have to certify whether you can microwave food in them without them getting hotter than the food.
I have been resisting buying a number of great hoodies from the assorted Historic Dockyard museum shops, on the grounds that I already have More Than Sufficient Hoodies, related to either ice hockey or musical theatre. R said obviously I need to wait for an ice hockey musical and get that hoodie.
Suggestions welcome for the topic / plot of such a musical.
1. DEAR ABBY: My son and daughter-in-law had their first child three months ago. This was the first grandchild on both sides. Her mother stayed with her for two weeks after the cesarean birth. I have no issues with that.
My issue is, my son told me I needed to leave when they and the baby came home from the hospital. Mind you, I live 6 1/2 hours away. I fought him to get at least three days when they got home. Then he said I needed to leave, but he never told his father-in-law to leave. Also, on the days I did stay, they asked me to get a motel while her parents stayed with them. I only got to go over during the day.
When I told my son my feelings were hurt, he said I was being a drama queen. I did respect everything they asked. I just want to know if I was wrong for sharing my feelings or should I have remained quiet. It has caused friction between us now. -- SECOND-CLASS IN TENNESSEE
2. DEAR ABBY: My 19-year-old son, who is on the spectrum but high-functioning, has left home. He's legally an adult but wouldn't allow me to teach him normal survival skills, such as balancing a checkbook, paying with a debit card, etc. He knows very little about the world; he learns from his online friends.
It has been four months, and he has now changed his phone number and won't call, email or text. He moved across the country to live with an online friend. I'm very concerned about him. What should I do? I don't email him often, but when I do, I just tell him I love him, and I never say anything negative. -- LOST IN CALIFORNIA
I just learned my son has been doing something truly vile.
The warmer weather has been back in our area for a little over a month now. Many of our friends and relatives have swimming pools (we do, too). Last weekend, we were at my sister’s place and had been in the pool for a good three hours when it came time to leave. Before we went home, I asked my 7-year-old son, “Noah” if he needed to use the restroom, and he said, “No.”
On the drive back home, I joked that Noah must have a bladder of steel since he’d had no fewer than three iced teas while he was in the pool! Noah replied that no, he just urinated when he was in the pool, so he didn’t have to get out and use the bathroom. I was horrified and asked if this was something he had done before. He said, “All the time.”
I laid down the law with him. I made clear that this was never to happen again. I explained how harmful and disrespectful it was to everyone in the water around him and that it throws the pool chemicals out of balance. Noah agreed not to do it again, but I’m not sure I completely trust him. I got the sense he didn’t seem to think he did anything wrong. What can I do to make sure he keeps his word?
Went on an Adventure to post a lost item back to someone (hopefully in time for the next thing they want it for...), and was rewarded with DUCKLINGS.
Not too warm to achieve fallback dinner of I Don't Know, Bake A Potato, with the result that we finished the lurking salad leaves and also stuck some of the cook-from-frozen pasteis de nata into the oven once potatoes were done.
Ridiculous organic greengrocer had an option on sending us rainbow chard this week, which means I might actually manage to cook one whole new recipe this month (!), which was otherwise... not looking likely. (I have been comprehensively failing to sow any, but there we go.)
Went fossicking in sofa to try to at least rationalise my horrid piles. Found one (1) of the two (2) fancy watch chargers I own, and not the one I was expecting to turn up (because I thought I'd probably mislaid it in a field), which hopefully means that given a leeeetle bit more fossicking I might even find the second.
Really enjoying playing with pens for the purposes of making notes on the pain reading. (Today has been Mindfulness for Health, with detours to read up more on the gate control and [neuromatrix] theories of pain; I was surprised that Model First Proposed In The 1960s is still apparently more-or-less the best we've got for "how the fuck does psychology and emotional affect and other sensory input actually affect how pain is experienced?")
Uni buddy R and I made it to Portsmouth last night, despite the best efforts of signal failures to scare us off. (Half the trains were showing as cancelled around 3pm; by the time we actually got to Cambridge station at 5pm things were looking better; by the time our train got to Finsbury Park it looked like service was nearly restored and we continued to change at Three Bridges as originally planned.)
I was working up until about 4pm, with a couple of colleagues very amused that a) I didn't start packing until a gap between meetings at 2pm, and b) my "girls weekend" consists of naval museums and ice skating.
We had an easy walk to our hotel in the midsummer twilight, and settled in to our respective rooms. I'm doing admin until R texts me she's ready for breakfast. And then: the Mary Rose! (who else has formative childhood memories of watching it being raised?)
If you have had long-term pain, of any kind, for any reason, a component of your pain is neuroplastic. Neurons that fire together wire together: you've had lots of practice at being in pain. This comes down, fundamentally, to how we learn.
Which means that while neuroplastic pain management approaches may very well not solve all of your problems, they'll treat a component of them, and that's worth having -- in exactly the same way that we don't want to e.g. give up painkillers that "take the edge off" but don't solve the whole problem.
(None of this is actually novel except insofar as most education about chronic pain blithely asserts that "most" healing has completed within 3-6 months, so pain persisting beyond that timescale Is Neuroplastic unless you've got cancer we suppose. So in the context of My Project, the framing of "this is an approximately unavoidable complication of your underlying condition that requires active management in its own right" strikes me as important.)
5. If you could travel back in time and tell yourself something now that would have helped you get through school, what would you say?
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It is warm. We have the bedroom window open at night. Dusk is currently around when we are heading to bed.
... I realised I could prop the bat detector up in the open window while we went about our Bed Things and it worked. (Alas A missed most of the activity on account of being in the bathroom, but Proof Of Concept still valuable.)
Other achievements of the day include "1.7 kg of redcurrants picked, processed, and in the freezer" and "finished All Systems Red: the reread" and also "almost finished The Way Out reread".
(I am so so pleased about the redcurrants; turns out that mulching and pruning heavily and watering... works?! Who knew.)
Recommendation: the first episode of the "Ill Concieved" podcast, which promises to be a podcast about natalism. Their first episode is Promise Keepers.
Note: I had a complex reaction to this content. The dominant one is actually a sort of relief in finding someone in 2025 of vaguely my demographic digging into this. I recognise Promise Keepers. I don't think I know anyone who went to a Promise Keepers rally (I'm not even sure if there WERE such rallies in Aus), but I definitely heard people talk about the Important Movement which Ill Concieved delightfully describe as "700,000 Dicks Out For Jesus".
However. I was a left-ish, liturgy-friendly Protestant growing up around charismatic and Pentecostal-leaning evangelicals. I dealt with this by Reading Up, particularly once I got academic library access and could search the keywords which my confirmation mentor had mentioned. Marion Maddox's "God Under Howard" is in my top five formative books, I reckon. I also read a fair bit of Karen Armstrong, which I realise is not the BEST one could read, but several points which were jarring to me in that episode come under the heading of "wait, Karen Armstrong can and does explain this, I'm open to other explanations but you're just saying it's Odd?".
Consequently, I ended up posting a mini-essay in skeets. I reproduce it here with corrected punctuation.
Additional note: it’s a little weird to me, someone who dealt with growing up around charismatic evangelicals by researching as much on the history of both Pentecostalism and evangelical movements as I could get my teenage hands on, to hear @ junlper.beer repeatedly surprised about the multi-racial makeup of Promise Keepers. “Revival” style evangelical movements in the US have historic roots in African-American evangelical movements, and Pentecostalism in the US traces back to a Black revivalist preacher in early 20th c LA.
Pentecostalism didn’t get integrated into “mainline” evangelism until the 80s or so - many regarded them as indecorous, which no doubt had a lot to do with race. But folding Pentecostal practices and beliefs in with other charismatic evangelicals allowed the charismatic sectors of some of the major denominations to really strengthen their dominance over the evangelical cultural landscape.
Summary two: some Protestants will do literally anything to avoid endorsing sacramentalism, including... whatever the fuck happened with Pentecostalism.
---
*Obligatory citation to Marion Maddox's "God Under Howard".
Dear Carolyn: Self-admitted crabby old broad here. My newish next-door neighbors are 24/7 noise. While the apartment is a studio, I can hear at least two adults and two children — one infant, one toddler.
The kids are up at all hours — either screaming in delight and running around or wailing in misery. The adults yell all the time. Movies, TV and music all play at incredible volume, and now a dog was added to the mix. It howls and cries whenever they leave it alone.
I don’t want to be That Person, but I’m tired of asking them, at 1 a.m., to turn down the TV, music, etc. Do I report them to the condo board? They are tenants. I’m hesitant, as I worry this studio may be the only space they can afford, but also frustrated by the noise.
Dear Care and Feeding, My husband and I have a 7-year-old daughter, “Jade,” who my mother-in-law, “Pam,” is in the habit of buying clothes for without consulting us. These are always girly-girl things—mostly dresses, lots of pink—and Jade is absolutely not a girly-girl. She refuses to wear them, and we end up donating them.
The trouble is that Pam takes offense that she never sees Jade wearing “what I worked so hard to pick out” and has even gone so far as to guilt her: “Don’t you like what Nanna gave you?” I have tried explaining to my MIL that while we appreciate her generosity, Jade simply isn’t into those types of things, but she refuses to accept it and thinks that our daughter will come to like them “once she matures.” My husband says we should just carry on as we have and let her waste her money if she wants. Pam has four boys, so he thinks that’s where this is coming from (Jade is her only granddaughter so far). Is that the right approach?
Single signon is a pretty vital part of modern enterprise security. You have users who need access to a bewildering array of services, and you want to be able to avoid the fallout of one of those services being compromised and your users having to change their passwords everywhere (because they're clearly going to be using the same password everywhere), or you want to be able to enforce some reasonable MFA policy without needing to configure it in 300 different places, or you want to be able to disable all user access in one place when someone leaves the company, or, well, all of the above. There's any number of providers for this, ranging from it being integrated with a more general app service platform (eg, Microsoft or Google) or a third party vendor (Okta, Ping, any number of bizarre companies). And, in general, they'll offer a straightforward mechanism to either issue OIDC tokens or manage SAML login flows, requiring users present whatever set of authentication mechanisms you've configured.
This is largely optimised for web authentication, which doesn't seem like a huge deal - if I'm logging into Workday then being bounced to another site for auth seems entirely reasonable. The problem is when you're trying to gate access to a non-web app, at which point consistency in login flow is usually achieved by spawning a browser and somehow managing submitting the result back to the remote server. And this makes some degree of sense - browsers are where webauthn token support tends to live, and it also ensures the user always has the same experience.
But it works poorly for CLI-based setups. There's basically two options - you can use the device code authorisation flow, where you perform authentication on what is nominally a separate machine to the one requesting it (but in this case is actually the same) and as a result end up with a straightforward mechanism to have your users socially engineered into giving Johnny Badman a valid auth token despite webauthn nominally being unphisable (as described years ago), or you reduce that risk somewhat by spawning a local server and POSTing the token back to it - which works locally but doesn't work well if you're dealing with trying to auth on a remote device. The user experience for both scenarios sucks, and it reduces a bunch of the worthwhile security properties that modern MFA supposedly gives us.
There's a third approach, which is in some ways the obviously good approach and in other ways is obviously a screaming nightmare. All the browser is doing is sending a bunch of requests to a remote service and handling the response locally. Why don't we just do the same? Okta, for instance, has an API for auth. We just need to submit the username and password to that and see what answer comes back. This is great until you enable any kind of MFA, at which point the additional authz step is something that's only supported via the browser. And basically everyone else is the same.
Of course, when we say "That's only supported via the browser", the browser is still just running some code of some form and we can figure out what it's doing and do the same. Which is how you end up scraping constants out of Javascript embedded in the API response in order to submit that data back in the appropriate way. This is all possible but it's incredibly annoying and fragile - the contract with the identity provider is that a browser is pointed at a URL, not that any of the internal implementation remains consistent.
I've done this. I've implemented code to scrape an identity provider's auth responses to extract the webauthn challenges and feed those to a local security token without using a browser. I've also written support for forwarding those challenges over the SSH agent protocol to make this work with remote systems that aren't running a GUI. This week I'm working on doing the same again, because every identity provider does all of this differently.
There's no fundamental reason all of this needs to be custom. It could be a straightforward "POST username and password, receive list of UUIDs describing MFA mechanisms, define how those MFA mechanisms work". That even gives space for custom auth factors (I'm looking at you, Okta Fastpass). But instead I'm left scraping JSON blobs out of Javascript and hoping nobody renames a field, even though I only care about extremely standard MFA mechanisms that shouldn't differ across different identity providers.
Someone, please, write a spec for this. Please don't make it be me.
As I write this, I’ve just come back from a nice little bike ride around my neighbourhood. I got sweaty, went fast, climbed a few little hills, descended a few little hills, waited my turn at traffic lights and 4-way stops (you’re welcome), and nearly got hit by two different drivers who were each doing something illegal.
Ah, exercise in North America. So glamorous, so safe, so encouraged.
Anyway, cycling is the second sport I have picked up since I accidentally discovered that I enjoy INTENSITY and GOING FAST. It is the second sport I have picked up since I accidentally discovered that I don’t care if I’m the only fat person at the group ride, I’M HERE TO RIDE. It is the second sport I have picked up since I accidentally discovered that exercise, when you remove all the crusty old baggage about it being a Moral Obligation and a Means to Weight Loss (it usually isn’t, and focusing on that ruins the fun), is something I not only need in some abstract sense, but something I crave in a very visceral, very obvious way.
It makes me feel better physically, it both excites me and calms me down, it cheers me up, it puts a bright spot of play into my day, and it emotionally regulates me in a way that not even therapy could. It’s also just pure joy, pure pleasure, pure fun. I think that gets lost when we live in a culture that alienates us from movement and from our own bodies.
As a kid, I never thought of myself as “athletic” because I did not participate in any formal sports, but looking back, there were signs. I loved tumbling in the yard, playing on the playground, throwing a ball around, bouncing on a trampoline, riding a bike or skateboard, and all kinds of games. I did not enjoy things I found boring: lap swimming, ballet, baseball, football, running a mile or whatever we were assigned to do in gym class, but I still found ways to run around and exhaust myself by having fun, at least until my mid-teens.
Climbing around rocks at the old swimming hole.
By then, so many pressures around body image had developed that made me too self-conscious to use my body for any physical activity, especially in public, and I became not only hopelessly neurotic about my weight and appearance, but also dolefully depressed. No wonder.
As a young adult, I only engaged in exercise for the purpose of trying to lose weight, and frankly, it sucked. There were moments of joy, which surprised me, and moments of discovering some hidden strength or natural ability, which also surprised me, but all of these were overshadowed by The Agenda to burn calories and lose weight. Which meant that, even for activities that I enjoyed, like karate or riding a bike, I applied myself to them with a rigidity and drivenness that precluded all flexibility, all self-compassion, and all joy. And when the diet fell apart, as it inevitably would, so did my relationship with exercise.
I spent the next decade or so only engaging in incidental movement, essentially giving myself permission to not do any intentional exercise. (I once mentioned that on here, and a few commenters were SO MAD about that.) I was lucky to live in a city with decent public transit, and I don’t drive, which meant that I got a fair bit of walking in, which kept me strong and mobile even when I had no desire to do it. This was uncomfortable at times, but because it had nothing to do with trying to lose weight, it was psychologically neutral. I didn’t exactly enjoy it, but I didn’t always hate it either. The most I could muster was a mild resentment.
About seven years in, I started not just taking transit and walking partway to work, but walking all the way to work, a mile each way. For the first time, I noticed that I enjoyed the physical sensations of getting my heart revved up, feeling a bit warm and even sweaty, and the exhilaration of breathing hard. I was only able to start enjoying these sensations once I’d practiced, repeatedly, taking away the reflexive judgment I’d learned to attach to them, like believing that breathing hard meant I was “unfit” and something was wrong with me, or that showing any kind of exertion in public must be a mortifying event because I was fat and everyone would notice. Some people did notice, and did comment that I was sweating, and I was able to calmly explain that I’d been walking briskly. On purpose. For exercise. This was very effective at both silencing them and making them look a bit silly, which I admit, I enjoyed.
Instead of feeling bad, I reminded myself (over and over) that of course your heart rate goes up when you exercise, and that’s what it’s supposed to do, and of course you feel warmer as you move faster, and of course you sweat to cool yourself down, and of course you breathe harder to get oxygen into your bloodstream and to your cells, because that’s what exercise is supposed to do. No matter how much or little exertion it takes to get these sensations, getting to them is basically the point. You can also choose to go slow and not push it, and just enjoy fresh air and stretching your legs, of course, but on days when you want to push a little harder or faster to challenge yourself, your body showing signs of exertion is exactly what should happen. Feeling challenged is literally the only way to increase your fitness. It does not mean something is “wrong” with you.
A few years after that, I started working from home and no longer had to walk much at all. I went through a phase of grief and sat down a lot, and I lost some mobility (and also gained some weight.) The urge to panic was strong, but I held fast to my values, and asked myself what I was truly worried about. Was it really the weight gain, or something else?
In thinking it over, it was mostly fear about the loss of strength and mobility, since I knew my life would get harder. I thought about it some more, and realized the best way for me* to improve my mobility was to…use it. To practice walking. To practice walking in sand, or up hills, or even up my arch-nemesis, stairs. Maybe I’d lose the weight I’d gained and maybe I wouldn’t, but either way, I would be more mobile and less afraid. So I bought some comfy walking clothes, and for the first time since childhood, I attempted to go for walks purely for recreation. I had to remind myself over and over not to monitor my heart rate, not to shoot for any “fat burning zone,” and not to count the minutes or create elaborate fitness routines in my head, but to focus instead on my internal sensations, on doing whatever felt good that day, on the trees, the sky, the dogs, the fresh air and the scenery around me. I did that enough that I started to get faster and feel better, even before my weight did anything. Eventually, over the next five years, it gradually settled back into my old (fat) baseline, without me forcing it to do anything at all.
*this is not true for everyone; see: CFS/ME, certain chronic pain or autoimmune conditions that you can’t exercise your way out of, and which require medical treatment first
I continued walking, for fun, for mental health (because at some point, my therapist pointed out how great it feels to walk when angry, to get all those stompy feelings out, which was an amazing revelation to me), and to enjoy the scenery, and even to enjoy the warm, sweaty exertion of it. I had a solid walking habit between 2011-2018, and I took a walk around lunchtime basically every day.
I always offered myself the chance to go, without forcing myself to go, usually by putting on my shoes and coat and stepping outside for some reason, to take out the recycling or just to check the weather. Then I got to decide whether I felt like going for a walk that day or not. I had full permission to turn around and come back inside if I wasn’t feeling it, but usually I was feeling it.
I started to anticipate my lunch break like a wiggly dog looks forward to the park. Each day, I had permission to walk briefly, for maybe five minutes around the block, to walk slow or fast, or not at all, or to walk farther, for a bigger neighbourhood loop that took 45-60 minutes, if I wanted to. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I walked for five minutes. Each time, I felt good afterward. If I took a rest day and went back inside, I felt good about that, too. I practiced making the right choice for that day. I was flexible.
Dear Eric: My sister-in-law made quilts for two of her nieces. They unwrapped them to oohs, aahs and applause on Christmas Eve at my house. My daughter did not receive a gift. I sent a polite email to sister-in-law explaining that my daughter was disappointed. I received a snail mail reply that included a gift certificate and a note. Sister-in-law wrote that I was a bully and stated that she would never set foot in my house again. She hasn’t for several years. What should I do?
— Stitchy Situation
Situation: Your sister-in-law’s reaction was a bit extreme, all things considered (or at least all things detailed in your letter). This suggests to me that maybe there’s something else under it for her, whether it’s other issues she has with your relationship or a sensitivity around the particular gift. Or maybe her feelings were hurt by your email, even though it was polite.
The best way to sort it all out is by asking. It’s been years and she hasn’t come back, so I’m curious what your relationship is like outside of visits. Has this escalated to grudge territory? Does she speak to you at all? If she doesn’t, you may have to make a bigger gesture in order to reset things. Telling her, “I don’t like what happened between us” and “I’m sorry for my part” could help lay a foundation for reconciliation.
Try, if you can, not to let the conversation get too caught up in what happened years ago, though. The gift card, the email, et cetera. All the details can become places where you both get stuck relitigating and rehashing. Instead, focus on the objective of the conversation — you want to re-establish contact. It will also help to have a concrete goal, as well as an emotional one. Perhaps something like extending an invitation for her to come for lunch.
If she’s not receptive to a phone call or face-to-face conversation, an email or letter will work, but a spoken conversation is vastly more effective.
... is a placeholder because I am doing so badly at routines in general and bedtime routines in particular, still, augh.
Reading.Adventures in Stationery, James Ward. Not entirely sold on the way anecdotes were strung together, and definitely dubious about the broader social history, but a pleasantly undemanding diversion in a week where I really needed that and for bonus points it finally explained The Thing About Blackwing Pencils to me.
Watching. One more episode of Farscape (S02E02 Vitas Mortis), while bleaching A.
Cooking. Mostly Pasta With Things. (Things have included "kohlrabi and misc other greens from the allotment" and "psuedo puttanesca".)
Eating. STRAWBERRIES. Have also nibbled, from the allotment: peas! broad beans! aforementioned kohlrabi! cherries! the first raspberries! redcurrants! jostaberries!
Exploring. ... bits of a field? OH and I bimbled down to the post office and, en route, checked how the local quince tree is doing. (FRUITING.)
Creating. Painted A colours!
Growing. Iiii just about made it to the allotment to water things on, like, Tuesday, but I have otherwise been... struggling.
... the ginger at home continues to go zoom, though! And I really really need to pot it on, eesh.
You may have noticed it's been hot in England. So a lot of this week has just been the extra routines to cope with that (airing out the house at night / early morning, extra hydration, more naps).
It was a three-day week at work for me, with Monday my travel day back from Prague, and Wednesday a multi-errand day. Tuesday was a hectic day at work, but a rare evening with very few plans, so I actually rested. Wednesday had EHCP review for one child; a lunchtime skating lesson for me; a school bowling trip, hospital appointment and shopping all with the other child; and then Kodiaks practice in the evening.
This week and next are 4-day weeks at work for me; I am having a long weekend away in Portsmouth with one of my oldest friends from university. Probably my only trip away this year that isn't directly about ice hockey. (But there is a rink in Gosport and both of us skate.) We plan to visit the Mary Rose, and I at least want to visit both the Submarine Museum and the Explosion Museum. I have been intrigued by the latter since I saw a road sign for it on the way to Gosport rink last month, but haven't yet found anything else about it apart from name and location. No spoilers!
I went "HOLD ON I HAVEN'T POSTED--" at 00:01 last night, when I had already been in bed but failing to sleep for about twenty minutes, and so I will tell you that part of the reason that I did not manage to actually post, actually yesterday, is that my reward for having finally e-mailed the headache clinic and said "so yeah I took my loading doses in mid-April, sorry I didn't manage to e-mail at the time, executive dysfunction has been eating my entire brain"...
... was of course a response like "well ideally your follow-up appointment would have been last week but, okay, fine, how about Monday? :|"
"... oh and by the way you know those questionnaires we want you to submit a minimum of a week in advance? yeah if you could get those done too--"
-- which: ENTIRE brain.
(I managed to confirm the Monday appointment. I did not manage to get the headache diary and questionnaires done.)
Swam 2mi downstream from Grantchester to the rollers. That's half a mile further than I did to the canoe club at the Slow Swim.
I was out of practice, muscles were v tired but it was v nice to do. I could have gone farther with another little sit down.
I'd been interested to see if I could do that last stretch into town. It's not really good swimming, more punts and more concrete edges, but it was easy to do. I hadn't realised it was only half a mile.
I have previously swum down from Hauxton Mill to Byron's Pool, and Byron's pool to Grantchester. I guess that adds up to 4.5mi of Granta and Cam, compared to ~20mi length of the Cam (excluding the Great Ouse below the Little Ouse and the Granta above Hauxton Mill)
(I forgot to mention that for about twenty minutes of the day I flew to Prague, I couldn't find my passport, because it was not in the box where it normally lives at home. That was not a fun twenty minutes, and much love to both Tony and Charles for joining me in the search. We found it eventually, it had fallen down the side of the shelf on which the passport box lives, in a way that meant you could only see it from one specific angle. Thankfully, I eventually stood at that angle and spotted it.)
The ice hockey camp continued to be excellent and very hard work, and I feel like I learned a great deal (and now I need to remember to keep using everything I learned and not fall back into bad habits). The coaching was very supportive and kind while pretty much pushing me to my physical limits. I very much hope to return on future camps.
The Saturday evening we went into central Slaný where there was a kind of beer festival happening, lots of different beer stands around the town square, a live rock band on stage, and a bunch of fairground rides. Sunday lunchtime, after the camp was finished, the original three of us got an Uber into Prague in the gloriously hot and humid afternoon. The other two had been to Prague before so I went off on my own to do some tourist things (boat tour! historical tram! walking across the Charles Bridge!) and messaged them when I was ready to meet up again. Turned out we were about five minutes walk apart at that point.
I took a load of photos but actually this random selfie for my family is one I'm really happy with:
We had dinner in Prague, during which time the hot weather broke into torrential downpour, and did a bit more walking around once that tailed off into intermittent showers, but eventually got back to Slaný for the evening. We got packed up and out of our rooms as requested in the morning but were able to leave our kit in storage while we had a leisurely walk and hipsterish brunch in Slaný before it was time to head to the airport.
Getting home was tediously delayed by train cancellations but I still got home in time to put the first washload on and repack my kitbag for Warbirds practice Monday evening.
The reason British people talk about the weather all the damn time is that two weeks ago I got hailed on, yesterday was hot enough that I sweated through my clothes, and today there's haar stopping me seeing more than 100m.
While on a commercial expedition, an unexpected accident causes Mai, an engineer, and Juna, an HR person, to crash-land on a pitch-black planet called Shroud. They can't get out of their escape pod because the air is corrosive and unbreathable, and they can't call for help. Their only hope is to use the pod's walker system to trek all the way across the planet... which turns out to be absolutely teeming with extremely weird life, none of which can see, all of which communicates via electromagnetic signals, most of which constructs exoskeletons for itself with organic materials, and some of which is extremely large.
As readers, we learn very early on that at least some of the life on Shroud is intelligent. But Juna and Mai don't know that, the intelligent Shroud beings don't know that humans are intelligent, and human and Shroud life is so different that it makes perfect sense that they can't tell. As Juna and Mai make their probably-doomed expedition across Shroud, they're accompanied by curious Shroud beings, frequently attacked by other Shroud creatures, face some of the most daunting terrain imaginable, and slowly begin to learn the truth about Shroud. But even if they succeed in rescuing themselves, the predatory capitalist company that sent them on their expedition on the first place is determined to strip Shroud for materials, and doesn't care if its indigenous life is intelligent or not.
This is possibly the best first contact novel I've ever read. It's the flip side of Alien Clay, which was 70% depressing capitalist dystopia and 30% cool aliens. Shroud is 10% depressing capitalist dystopia and 90% cool aliens - or rather, 90% cool aliens and humans interacting with cool aliens. It's a marvelous alien travelogue, it has so many jaw-dropping moments, and it's very thematically unified and neatly plotted. The climax is absolutely killer.
The characterization is sketchy but sufficient. The ending is a little abrupt, but you can easily extrapolate what happens from there, and it's VERY satisfying. As far as I know this is a standalone, but I would certainly enjoy a sequel if Tchaikovsky decided to write one.
My absolute favorite moment, which was something you can only do in science fiction, is a great big spoiler. ( Read more... )
DEAR ABBY: I am a mother of six and a grandma to four. We are a close family and enjoy each other's company. My mom is nearly 80. For reasons I could never understand, she didn't enjoy my children when they were growing up and didn't connect deeply with them. She once commented to me that she was bored with women her age because they were "obsessed" with their grandchildren and she wanted deeper conversations.
Mom moved away and would mostly visit just for holidays and birthdays. When the children tried to share things that were going on in their lives, she wasn't interested, and we eventually stopped inviting her to sports events and recitals because she seemed annoyed to be there.
Now that her grands have almost reached adulthood, my mother wants to connect with them. She texts them often and sometimes invites them to visit. They respond politely, and a couple have gone to visit her, but none seem interested in a deeper relationship. This bothers her, and she has been asking me to pressure them to visit her and include her in their lives more. But to them, she is a distant relative. They don't feel close to her.
What is my responsibility now? I wish they had a closer relationship with my mom, but I feel awkward telling busy young adults they must plan trips to visit someone who didn't try to establish relationships with them when they were young. Any advice? -- TORN DAUGHTER IN WASHINGTON
DEAR ABBY: In the four years my husband and I have been married, his distaste for the LGBTQ community has grown into a passion. He calls it immoral and unnatural. I've never tried to change his opinion, but because I don't enthusiastically agree with him, he is convinced I'm going to hell. He uses nearly every conversation as an opportunity to share his feelings on this issue. Any response I volunteer goes unheard.
Shortly after our wedding, my father revealed he is gay. Thankfully, my husband can be kind to him while disapproving of his sexuality. I'm not sure Dad knows the extent of my husband's negative feelings. (They live in different states, so they rarely see each other.)
My problem is, my father recently became engaged to his partner, and I'm not sure how to tell my husband. I'm not asking him to agree with my dad's life, but I don't want him to steal my joy over this event or make me feel guilty for going to their wedding. I will certainly be going alone. Advice, Abby? -- ALLY IN MICHIGAN
DEAR ABBY: I was sexually abused as a child. Because of this, as an adult woman, I have issues around being touched. I have had therapy, and I am doing much better, but I'm still uncomfortable with physical contact. I simply request that people ask me before they touch me, and I usually agree.
The issue is my mother-in-law. She refuses to ask before touching me and often pulls me into unwanted hugs or comes up behind me. I have explained to her about my history, so she knows why I want her to ask me first, but she brushes it off and says she isn't going to hurt me. One time she said, "What? Do you think I'm going to attack you?" No, I don't think she is going to attack me. This issue is about me, not her, but she doesn't understand that.
My husband throws up his hands and refuses to get involved, as he hates being put in the middle. How can I make her understand that I need her to ask before putting her hands on me? -- PROTECTIVE IN ILLINOIS
23 years ago I was in a bad place. I'd quit my first attempt at a PhD for various reasons that were, with hindsight, bad, and I was suddenly entirely aimless. I lucked into picking up a sysadmin role back at TCM where I'd spent a summer a year before, but that's not really what I wanted in my life. And then Hanna mentioned that her PhD supervisor was looking for someone familiar with Linux to work on making Dasher, one of the group's research projects, more usable on Linux. I jumped.
The timing was fortuitous. Sun were pumping money and developer effort into accessibility support, and the Inference Group had just received a grant from the Gatsy Foundation that involved working with the ACE Centre to provide additional accessibility support. And I was suddenly hacking on code that was largely ignored by most developers, supporting use cases that were irrelevant to most developers. Being in a relatively green field space sounds refreshing, until you realise that you're catering to actual humans who are potentially going to rely on your software to be able to communicate. That's somewhat focusing.
This was, uh, something of an on the job learning experience. I had to catch up with a lot of new technologies very quickly, but that wasn't the hard bit - what was difficult was realising I had to cater to people who were dealing with use cases that I had no experience of whatsoever. Dasher was extended to allow text entry into applications without needing to cut and paste. We added support for introspection of the current applications UI so menus could be exposed via the Dasher interface, allowing people to fly through menu hierarchies and pop open file dialogs. Text-to-speech was incorporated so people could rapidly enter sentences and have them spoke out loud.
But what sticks with me isn't the tech, or even the opportunities it gave me to meet other people working on the Linux desktop and forge friendships that still exist. It was the cases where I had the opportunity to work with people who could use Dasher as a tool to increase their ability to communicate with the outside world, whose lives were transformed for the better because of what we'd produced. Watching someone use your code and realising that you could write a three line patch that had a significant impact on the speed they could talk to other people is an incomparable experience. It's been decades and in many ways that was the most impact I've ever had as a developer.
I left after a year to work on fruitflies and get my PhD, and my career since then hasn't involved a lot of accessibility work. But it's stuck with me - every improvement in that space is something that has a direct impact on the quality of life of more people than you expect, but is also something that goes almost unrecognised. The people working on accessibility are heroes. They're making all the technology everyone else produces available to people who would otherwise be blocked from it. They deserve recognition, and they deserve a lot more support than they have.
But when we deal with technology, we deal with transitions. A lot of the Linux accessibility support depended on X11 behaviour that is now widely regarded as a set of misfeatures. It's not actually good to be able to inject arbitrary input into an arbitrary window, and it's not good to be able to arbitrarily scrape out its contents. X11 never had a model to permit this for accessibility tooling while blocking it for other code. Wayland does, but suffers from the surrounding infrastructure not being well developed yet. We're seeing that happen now, though - Gnome has been performing a great deal of work in this respect, and KDE is picking that up as well. There isn't a full correspondence between X11-based Linux accessibility support and Wayland, but for many users the Wayland accessibility infrastructure is already better than with X11.
That's going to continue improving, and it'll improve faster with broader support. We've somehow ended up with the bizarre politicisation of Wayland as being some sort of woke thing while X11 represents the Roman Empire or some such bullshit, but the reality is that there is no story for improving accessibility support under X11 and sticking to X11 is going to end up reducing the accessibility of a platform.
When you read anything about Linux accessibility, ask yourself whether you're reading something written by either a user of the accessibility features, or a developer of them. If they're neither, ask yourself why they actually care and what they're doing to make the future better.
1. If you were a fruit, which would you be and why?
2. If you wake up and smell smoke, and you have to get everybody (pets included) out of the house safely, but you have time to grab one item, what would you grab?
3. If you were stuck on an island, who would be the one person you would want with you and why?
4. If you could change one thing about your physical appearance, what would it be?
5. If you could spend the day with one famous person, dead or alive, who would you choose?
Copy and paste to your own journal, then reply to this post with a link to your answers. If your journal is private or friends-only, you can post your full answers in the comments below.
If you'd like to suggest questions for a future Friday Five, then do so on DreamWidth or LiveJournal. Old sets that were used have been deleted, so we encourage you to suggest some more!
I have managed all of my physio once and only once this week. I have not yet got on the mat at all. I have been spending a lot of time asleep, which probably shouldn't surprise me, and a fair amount migrainey, which does (unpleasantly). Have this evening at least managed to send the email to the headache clinic that's been due since April, and consequently may or may not actually get an appointment in time to get a prescription in time to not need to reload the f2f galcanezumab again.
(Have also been really struggling with actually opening notebook since the last trip up north, which is helping precisely nothing. Maybe acknowledging that here will make it a little less scary to go back to, at least.)
My wife, “Minerva,” and I have a 6-year-old son, “Blaine.”
When Blaine was just under 1, Minerva and I began to have issues getting along. I started an affair with “Wendy,” Minerva’s sister. Less than a year into the affair, Wendy ended up pregnant and had a son, “Cameron.” She told everyone she conceived through a sperm donor.
The affair lasted another two years, when we decided we both could not continue on with it.
The boys are close and love spending time together. The trouble is that as they have gotten older, they are resembling each other more and more—and they both look like me.
Luckily Blaine is blond like his mother, which makes it slightly less obvious, though not much. Lately Wendy and I have been taking steps to try and keep them apart, or at least have them see each other for playdates and outings without Minerva present.
However, we know we can’t keep this up. Wendy suggested that should could request a transfer to another state through work. We both agreed that would be the best thing, even if I don’t get to see my younger son grow up.
Would there ever be an appropriate time to confess the truth to my wife, or is this one of those things you take to your grave? Minerva and I have managed to repair our relationship in the last couple of years, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.
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