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This is part of why I love twitter: finding random, super awesome stuff. @maudnewton  shared this orgasmic Map of Science Fiction. (Click that link "History of Science Fiction"; apparently it goes by both.)

It's huge. And thick.
And a thing of beauty.

It's got Doctor Who, which is already a win in my book, but there's more. So much more. I want this as a poster on my wall.
It's got L. Ron Hubbard turning into scientology and his Battlefield Earth turning into a "Bad Movie".

It's got "Counter Enlightenment" exploding off into "Romantic Era" and the resulting "Gothic Novel" and all that fun supernatural horror and stuff like Edgar Allen Poe (Fun note: it's even got Oscar Wilde's Dorian Gray).

It's got Battlestar Galactica. Both of them. :)

It's got Penny Dreadfuls and Pulp Magazines. It's got "Future War Novels" abruptly ending with World War I (lawl).

It's got Cyber Punk, Soft, Hard, Space Opera and New Space Opera.

It should go with out saying I could nerdgasm on this for weeks. I'm only nominally familiar with most of this, and it's got me all kindsa horny. Is it accurate? How the hell should I know. All I do know is it's dorky and awesome--much as I myself aspire to be.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…