Eleven years ago, I got up early to watch Curiosity land on Mars. Yesterday, it was evening and just as terrifying. If I was up for utterly scaring myself, landing the way Perseverance and Curiosity did would be my choice.
It was that same surreal experience knowing Perseverance had already landed or not as the signal arrived eleven minutes behind. And then over so quick. Especially the last part from heat shield separation to free fall and powered descent and Sky Crane and touchdown. Suddenly it was there, in its lime green square with no cables running up to the descent module, just sitting there calm as can be.
And everyone going mental. Except Dr. Swati Mohan who was in the EDL Commentary chair with purple hair and silver stars, who’s been on the project since it began eight years ago, and was calm and focussed on the job all the way.
And then the images came in. And there’s a drone! And there’s microphones!
It’s been a while. I didn’t have any spare cash for a bit, then I had slightly too much (as far as the Finanzamt is concerned), and then I realised I’d decided not to blog for a few weeks (thanks pandemic and enragingly piss poor response by Berlin, Germany, Europe, and so very very many str8wyt men in all those places), and now see me trying to make an effort like showing up for the exam and everyone knows I didn’t do the work.
Yallah, a pile of books I’m reading (pretending to read) in the second half of 2020, to which I’ll add another pile because I dunno, not enough money to buy anything substantial but just enough to incur a hefty tax bill if I don’t spend it. Weird how poverty is emplaced through institutional, structural and legislative punishment.
All the poetry, and I do mean all the poetry is entirely because of Omar Sakr. Him and Sunny Singh (of the Jhalak Prize) on Twitter are responsible for a large chunk of my reading, whether directly or retweeting interesting people who turn out to be writers and poets.
Also poetry, semi-poetry, poetry-ish, with a history in a festival, Rachel De-Lahay’s My White Best Friend: (And Other Letters Left Unsaid), mainly because I read anything with Suhaiymah Manzoor-Khan in it.
Continuing the theme of books recommended by other authors, or cited in their bibliographies. Olivette Otele’s African Europeans: An Untold History, which I already blogged, but these six-monthly book dumps seem to deserve all the books. No idea where I heard about this, but either Twitter authors or one of the blogs I read. And from that, Geraldine Heng’s The Invention of Race in the European Middle Ages. Real-time internet archaeology as I write here, I likely read about both on In the Middle, the medieval studies blog, where, on Monday, Geraldine Heng responded to the hit-piece on her and this book.
Which reminded me of the double bind I periodically find myself in. The first time I personally experienced it was with JT LeRoy, who I read in the early-’00s and thought was a trans femme who I could relate to. Turned out JT only existed as a fiction of a white, cis woman, and she’s still making a profit and career off our lives. Funny how consequences slide off them like teflon. More recently it was Medieval PoC – who I used to contribute photographs of Black and Brown people in art when I was on my museum bender – and a deeply messy history going back years of her claiming Native, Roma, and other ancestry. And this year it’s been a regular feast of white cis women in academia and the arts getting sprung for building their careers on false claims of BIPoC ancestry. On the other side of the double bind, it’s white supremacy trying to flip medieval European history to its own agenda, and a ceaseless barrage of racism, misogyny, transphobia, and all the other shit against cis and trans BIPoC authors, academics, artists, very regularly from white, cis women in academia and the arts, like the 46-page (!!!) hit-piece Heng responds to.
I mean, I just wanna read books and have a good time and learn shit and be amazed and generally chill the fuck out with a bunch of words and instead it’s white people colouring up or white people doing hit jobs.
Last couple in the non-fiction pile, then. Peta Stephenson’s The Outsiders Within: Telling Australia’s Indigenous-Asian Story. The one she wrote before Islam Dreaming: Indigenous Muslims in Australia, which it turns out I may not have blogged either. That latter was a big one for me. And keeping on the Islam history thing, John M. Steele’s A Brief Introduction to Astronomy in the Middle East, recommended to me by Dr. Danielle Kira Adams of Lowell Observatory, and responsible for Two Deserts, One Sky — Arab Star Calendars (novel research things there).
Fiction, then. Science-fiction mostly. Becky Chambers, who I’ve been reading for the last few years and pretty content at the moment in reading another one from her, To Be Taught, If Fortunate. Another also from Charles Stross, Dead Lies Dreaming, though after fifteen years this might be the last I read from him, just not really doing it for me and the trans character is very written by a cis. Tamsyn Muir’sGideon the Ninth, which I’ve already read, and the sequel Harrow the Ninth, which I’m currently reading / wading through it’s corpsey gore. Claire G. Coleman’sTerra Nullius, Indigetrans colonial invasion sci-fi but not really sci-fi. And speaking of trans, Juno Dawson’sWonderland, which I kinda liked but wished the literary fixation on Alice in Wonderland stories didn’t exist (same like I wish dance fixation on ‘reimagining’ Swan Lake and the classics didn’t exist).
Lucky last. Fiction but more like Chingona autobiography ghost story, Myriam Gurba’sMean. Recommended to me by Vass. Thanks babe, she’s fucking with me.
That’s a lot, eh. Piling up, getting partly read then left, words look smaller than they used to and I need glasses but that means organising shit like ophthalmologist appointments and shelling out cash and fuck it I can squint. Though I wonder if the reason why I’m not reading as much as I used to is ’cos words in book form’s blurry all the time.
Yeah, I binged Fast & Furious Spy Racers: Rio. Of course I did. And fuck me if Rafaela Moreno’s race suit isn’t the motorsport I live for. Very much want. Very much wish I could serve Femme Hoonage Realness like that and very much love her thrashing Group C cars around Rio. And Avrielle Corti voicing her? 👩🏼🍳😙👌🏼💯
Still a better German Ring story than Wagner’s Ring Cycle.
Yes, I did buy a Nürburgring t-shirt and hoodie. Yes, the hoodie Ring is reflective. Yes, there is a future where I will spend silly money to do laps on the Nordschleife. Preferably at night in the rain.
24 hours with no racing from before midnight till eight in the morning. So much rain. 15.452 seconds between the 1st place Bimmer and the 2nd place Audi.
Charlie Martin coming in 57th and 4th in class, and racing first and last sessions.
And how diligent and unremarkable was all the mask wearing? Maybe it’s because drivers and crews are used to wearing things over their faces, but doing a transmission replacement in the wet at midnight and keeping those noses and mouths covered shows how basic and possible it is to Wear a Fucking Mask. And as soon as the winning driver was out of his car, there was someone there with a mask.
It’s so much easier and less bullshit if the rule is you have to wear a mask at all times, no exceptions. Everyone did it, very few noses exposed, everyone did it and not just for the cameras. Maybe it took the race organisers setting the rules and consequences which achieved this level of getting it right. Drivers and teams have a very strict set of non-negotiable race rules to adhere to, making this just one more rule to either follow or not race at all. Very comfortable with doing it like this.
I truly love this race, love the Nürburgring and love that in the middle of a pandemic they did the work to create this gorgeous bit of hoonage art.
Seven hours in. Night and rain and hydroplaning and attrition. Giti ladieswomen Girls Only team shredding a sikk as VW Golf VI GTI. Bad weather Red Flag, all the cars garaged and crews stripping and cleaning.
And the two old Brit geezer commentators shoutout to Charlie Martin. I have never heard motorsport commentators saying, “trans woman.” Ever. Barely ever are there cis women drivers, and from Bubba Wallace in NASCAR to Lewis Hamilton in F1 barely ever seen Black drivers. They got her pronouns right, they used her middle name, Christina, also, just in case Charlie was too unisex for us hoons, they got the terminology and context down too.
Any dickhead saying this isn’t relevant / leave politics out of sport / something something meritocracy / what’s that got to do with racing, on God I will call them a waahmbulance once I’ve sorted their ‘opinions’ with my mechanic baba’s Snap-On tools.
I’ve always been a hoon and loved motorsport. I’m already old cunt auntie and Charlie racing at Nürburgring 24h, being respectfully spoken about by the commentators, all that, is so fucking important.
Last Thursday on that proper hot 36° day, I was up north side of town getting my bike repaired. And had three hours to kill so wandered up to the Zeiss-Großplanetarium and plonked my arse outside. Excellent DDR architecture there.
While reading Elizabeth Gillespie McRae’s Mothers of Massive Resistance: White Women and the Politics of White Supremacy, I was continually reminded of the photo of Angela Peoples at the Women's March in 2017, holding a sign saying, “Don’t forget: White Women Voted for Trump”. The resistance by white people, especially white women and white mothers, to the unequivocal truth of the disparity between who they voted for and who Black, Latinx, Asian and everyone else voted for remains, not just in the US but everywhere white supremacy never went away: Australia, Canada, UK, Germany, across Europe, and elsewhere. “Their white motherhood meant teaching their children lessons in racial distance, in a racially determined place in society, and in white supremacy.” (p.237; quote above p. 240)
It’s the satellite images that upset me the most. The vastness of it, the whole east coast of Australia burning, smoke so thick it blankets New Zealand. This is what the end of invasion, colonialism, genocide, and white supremacy looks like.