Крипота

Jun. 22nd, 2025 11:12 am
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[personal profile] elinorwise

Офорт С. Дж. Ферриса по картине К. Д. Уэлдона «Страна снов», 1883
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(no subject)

Jun. 21st, 2025 09:22 am
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[personal profile] elinorwise
Извините, я тут выбираю персонажу матерный посыл  и вот что я вам скажу: русскоязычный мат переоценен удручающе однообразен.
Вижу, как это будет на инглише, но не могу перевести на русский в собственном тексте. Получается или слишком грубо, или тупо, или то и другое.
Некоторые вещи в самом деле не переводятся напрямую, увы.
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(no subject)

Jun. 20th, 2025 05:03 pm
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[personal profile] elinorwise

Никогда не оставляю авторам негативных комментариев, но я вообще почти никогда не комментирую, а также не даю нелестных названий своим букмаркам, никаких не даю, впрочем - но некоторые авторы охуели настолько, что хочется табличку "я не с ними".
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Jun. 20th, 2025 08:44 am
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[personal profile] elinorwise
When you’re twenty-one, life is a roadmap. It’s only when you get to be twenty-five or so that you begin to suspect you’ve been looking at the map upside down, and not until you’re forty are you entirely sure. By the time you’re sixty, take it from me, you’re fucking lost.

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Jun. 18th, 2025 03:07 pm
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[personal profile] elinorwise
  Professor Burkett was so old school that he didn’t have tea bags, just loose tea in a cannister. While I waited for his hot pot to boil, he showed me where to find what he called a “tea ball” and instructed me on how much of the loose tea to put in. Brewing tea was an interesting process. I will always prefer coffee, but sometimes a pot of tea is just the thing. Making it feels formal, somehow.

  Professor Burkett told me the tea had to steep for five minutes in freshly boiled water—no more and no less. He set the timer, showed me where the cups were, and then stumped into the living room. I heard his sigh of relief when he sat down in his favorite chair. Also a fart. Not a trumpet blast, more of an oboe.

  I made two cups of tea and put them on a tray along with the sugar bowl and the Half and Half from the icebox (which neither of us used, probably a good thing since it was a month past its sell-by date). Professor Burkett took his black and smacked his lips over the first sip. “Kudos, Jamie. Perfect on your first try.”

  “Thanks.” I sugared mine up liberally. My mom would have screamed at that third heaping spoonful, but Professor Burkett never said boo.

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Jun. 16th, 2025 04:44 pm
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“Thanks again, Mr. Thomas!” I called. He didn’t turn, but raised a hand to me before putting it back in the pocket of his shorts. I was getting an excellent view of his plumber’s crack (that’s what Mom called it when she spotted a guy wearing low-riding jeans), and if that’s also too much information for you, too bad. We made him tell us—in one hour!—everything it had taken him months of thinking to come up with. He couldn’t say no, and maybe that gave him the right to show us his ass.

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(no subject)

Jun. 15th, 2025 02:49 pm
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[personal profile] elinorwise
There’s always a later, I know that now. At least until we die. Then I guess it’s all before that.

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tougher than a boiled owl

Jun. 15th, 2025 11:38 am
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[personal profile] elinorwise
John in Frisco, Texas, is puzzled by his dad’s phrase tougher than a boiled owl. Although it sounds unappetizing, the phrase has a fascinating backstory. In the 18th century, owls were associated with drunkenness, and often invoked in the phrase drunk as an owl. Among the many synonyms for “intoxicated” is the adjective stewed, which eventually was conflated with boiled. So a boiled owl is simply a “drunk owl.” The connection between owls and drunkenness may have to do with their glassy-eyed stare, the way they regurgitate undigested food, and the clumsy way they fly when startled.
Мне нужен тег для восхитительной упоротости английского языка 
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Jun. 15th, 2025 09:52 am
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[personal profile] elinorwise
Time passed, giving itself up by inches. The little red light on the tip of the Parachute Drop blinked. Pachelbel once more gave way to Fauré and Fauré to Vivaldi. Clay found himself remembering the sleeping boy who had come spilling out of the shopping cart, how the man with him—probably not his father—had sat down with him at the side of the road and said Gregory kiss it, make it all better. He remembered the man with the rucksack listening to “Baby Elephant Walk” and saying Dodge had a good time, too. He remembered how, in the bingo tents of his childhood, the man with the microphone would invariably exclaim It’s the sunshine vitamin! when he pulled B-12 out of the hopper with the dancing Ping-Pong balls inside. Even though the sunshine vitamin was D.
Люблю Кинга вот за такие вещи.
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Jun. 14th, 2025 01:05 pm
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Sitting across the narrow aisle of the little bus in the first passenger seat, the Raggedy Man only sat and stared at Clay with the half-vacant malevolence of a stupid child about to pull the wings off a few flies.
Этот забавный английский 
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