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ysabetwordsmith at 04:44pm on 17/11/2025 under climate change, environment, nature, news, science
busyatlas_obscura_places_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025
Between the 1830s and the 1860s, Clarion County, Pennsylvania, was known as “The Iron County,” thanks to its booming iron industry and many cold-blast iron furnaces. For a stretch of time, at least one new furnace was being built each year. And each new furnace meant many new jobs: the largest employed 75 to 100 men each, while the smaller ones employed 25 to 50. These furnaces became, literally and figuratively, pillars of the community.
The Helen, or “Heiland,” Furnace still stands relatively intact: in the village of Helen Furnace, just off a quiet country road, this nearly 200-year-old furnace has remained throughout the region’s changing seasons. The Helen Furnace was built in 1845 on the Alexander McNaughton Farm, where it operated until 1857. At the height of its production, it generated 1,000 tons of iron per year—and that’s within a 26-week operational window. While its name has been Americanized, the original name—Heiland—came from Scottish people who settled in the area.
The 32-foot-high furnace is still in impressive condition, unlike many of its peers who have become ruins or been demolished altogether. Its masonry walls stand tall and intact, and visitors can even step inside the furnace and look up the tall, narrow chimney that offers a small window of sky above. Visiting the furnace offers a glimpse into the industrial history of Clarion county, which was booming in the mid 19th century. It’s also still set on a beautiful, quiet piece of land, between a small stretch of rolling grass and some trees behind it, proving that even the small, historic, industrial bits of this county are swathed in natural splendor.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025
Along a rural highway just south of the town of Sligo lives one of Clarion County’s most unique attractions: a giant black-and-white cow (specifically, a Holstein) made of fiberglass and steel and named Blossom.
This striking heifer was built and installed by local farmer Vern E. Over, to advertise his business, Over’s Dairy. While the dairy shut down decades ago, Blossom remains as a reminder of the region’s farming history, and a time when local dairies dotted the countryside and family-owned businesses were more prevalent. She has also become a beloved landmark and a point of both pride and nostalgia for the local community.
Blossom plays the role of mascot for locals, who dress her with the seasons: scarves in the fall, Santa hats in winter. Around the holidays, she’s often lit up in colorful lights, too. She’s also a handy landmark, as people often direct others to, for example, “turn right at the big cow.”
For a 50-year-old gal, Blossom is looking pretty fresh: Her paint is well preserved, her ears still perky, her smile mild. While there isn’t a local organization who cares for her, her good condition has led most curious onlookers to believe that there’s someone—or a group of someones—who have taken on her upkeep. So when you pull over on Route 68 to take a photo, you’ll have these mystery elves to thank for keeping Blossom as fresh as she was in the 1970s.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025
The Sutton-Ditz House in Clarion, Pennsylvania, is a home that has been lovingly preserved and turned into a small museum. The 2½-story, revival-style brick house was first built in the 1840s by local attorney Thomas Sutton, Jr., one block south of the Clarion courthouse. In 1909, local hardware store owner John A. Ditz bought and renovated the house, inspired by late Victorian and early Arts and Crafts movements. Ditz added the impressive columned porch and balcony, as well as handmade woodwork and lighting fixtures.
Today, the house is home to the Clarion County Historical Society and its collections. Inside, you’ll find themed rooms, bedecked in era-specific decor, with both permanent and temporary exhibits. These rooms include the Military Room, the DAR Women’s History Room, the “General Store” Room, and the Business & Industry Room, all of which give visitors a deeper look at Clarion County’s community history.
Some believe that there are other “historical” features of the house—namely, ghosts. Three years after Thomas Sutton built the house, he and his six-year-old son both died there. According to Mary Lea Lucas, director of the Historical Society, the house welcomed paranormal investigators a few years back, who brought a “spirit box” to help them communicate with potential spirits. The box—which kept bringing up the word “bear”—led the investigators and museum staff to discover a silver Art Deco ring trapped inside the lining of a brown bear fur coat from the 1920s.
Lucas has also experienced her own hauntings in the house: Once, while staying late to prepare for an exhibition, she randomly stopped on the second floor and asked aloud if anyone wanted to communicate. Later, she heard a never-used antique phone (with an unlisted number) ringing from the kitchen. When she picked it up, she heard a small child’s voice calling for his mother. She later learned that Sutton and his son had died on the same calendar day that she’d heard the call—March 24. Others have claimed to see a young, sick boy roaming the house.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025
Cook Forest offers choose-your-own-adventure sightseeing. One option is to park in the ADA-compliant lot and walk a short distance to the Seneca Point Overlook, which gives gorgeous views of the Clarion river from a vantage point of 1,600 feet. You’ll be able to take in the natural splendor of Cook Forest and the river valley below, which is dotted with “Indian mills.” These small, bowl-shaped indentations in stone were used by local Indigenous peoples, predecessors of the Seneca tribe, to grind seeds and grains.
The area is an ancient forest and national landmark that has been named one of “The Best Old-Growth Forests” in America and rightly so, as Cook Forest is home to some of the tallest trees east of the Rockies. Its patches of old growth trees are variously known as “The Ancients” and a “Forest Cathedral.” Whatever you call them, once you see them, you’ll understand the awe that they impart.
If you want to add a little adrenaline to your sightseeing, you can climb the 87.5-foot fire tower at Seneca Point, which will offer you even better views—and the thrill of climbing the structure that was once used to spot forest fires.
For a mobility friendly experience, the Cook Forest Sensory Trail is a one-quarter-mile paved loop designed for wheel-chair ease with guide cables for visually impaired visitors. The park also has a driving self tour.
As you take in Cook Forest and the river below, you can reflect on the park’s long history. Before Europeans arrived in the area, the Seneca Nation of the Iriquois confederacy used these lands for hunting. After the French and Indian War, the English purchased the land from the Iroquois, eventually naming the woods after John Cook, the first American to settle in the area in 1826. His sons ran various mills that ran on water power from the river, and many of the nearby properties are still maintained by the Cook family. In the 1920s, the Cook Forest Association was established to protect the old growth trees that remained. The firetower was built in 1929.
conuly at 05:40pm on 17/11/2025atlas_obscura_places_feed at 05:00pm on 17/11/2025
After the journey through the winding roads of Hong Kong Island's verdant south side, the first sight that greets visitors to the popular beach town of Shek O is the much-loved bus terminus. Though many beachgoers will make a beeline straight for the golden sands of Shek O beach, the delightful terminus building is worth more than a mere glance.
The building was designed by Su Gin Djih of Hsin Yieh Architects & Associates. Su was part of the first wave of Chinese architects to study in the U.S., and the influence of the American modernist movement can be seen in the terminus building's clean, straight lines and horizontality.
Completed in 1955, the design of the two-storey building features its signature cantilevered balcony running the full length of the upper level. On the lower level, the recessed waiting area is on one side, the old stationmaster's office on the other, defying the commonly held architectural notion that symmetry equals beauty.
In 2013, despite having fallen into a state of decay and disrepair, the bus terminus was granted Grade 2 historic building status by the Antiquities and Monuments Office (AMO). Deeming the building worthy of 'special merit', owing to its status as a rare, surviving building from the 1950s and its design in a style seldom seen in modern day Hong Kong.
Finally, in 2020, having consulted with the AMO on how to correctly carry out the restoration works to uphold the building's authenticity, the New World First Bus Company began the process of renovating the terminus building. During the renovations, an old well that was originally used as the building's water supply was discovered, as were several vintage bus stop signs.
In the lightning paced, ever-evolving metropolis that is Hong Kong, little attention is paid to conservation. Shek O town and the bus terminus continue to serve as reminders of past eras and to reinforce that Hong Kong doesn't consist solely of glass, steel and concrete reaching skyward.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 04:48pm on 17/11/2025
On a quiet street in Chestnut Hill, you’ll find a small grey-green home that, on first glance, might look quite ordinary. Keep looking, however, and you’ll begin to notice unusual specificities in its design; some subtle, some less so. The more you observe, the more unconventional architectural details you’ll see, from the massive offset windowed chimney to the numerous plays on scale throughout the structure.
The Vanna Venturi house was built by the Pritzker Prize-winning architect Robert Venturi as a residence for his elderly mother. Widely considered the exemplar of postmodern architecture, the structure juxtaposes generic design features with postmodern elements like a dead-end staircase.
Venturi’s body of work is highly concerned with the tensions contained by complexity and contradiction. At a certain point, architectural theory merges with philosophy, as occurs in Venturi’s book of essays, Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture, where he questions what a sheltering space is and how its design impacts the lived experience of those who exist within it. In this work, he expounds on his feelings about modernism, which can be boiled down to a critique of the Modern obsession with precision and functionality in the name of purism.
To view the Vanna Venturi house is to understand how these theories and abstract concepts show up in the built environment. The 1,800-square foot structure is informed by the geometry of modernism and features Modernist details like ribbon windows, but rejects the modernist tenet that form must follow function. “I am for messy vitality over obvious unity,” wrote Venturi. Thus, the structure features unusual installations like an oversized fireplace that competes for centrality with a staircase in the living space. The negative space of the fireplace is juxtaposed—with complexity and contradiction, of course—to the solidity of the staircase.
Vanna Venturi lived in the home until 1973, when she entered a nursing home and it was sold to new owners. Since then, the house has changed hands just once. Today it is occupied by a resident who locals say cheerfully greets the streams of architecture students and fans as they pass by, sometimes by the busload, to check out the house.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 04:45pm on 17/11/2025
The Philadelphia Merchants’ Exchange Building is a prominent site in American history. Once the location of the nation’s first stock exchange, one of Philadelphia’s early post offices, and the headquarters of the Philadelphia Board of Trade, the marble building also served as a common space for civic and industry business.
Prior to the erection of the stately Greek Revival structure in the late 1890s, negotiations and transactions took place in coffee houses and taverns. But without widespread telephone adoption, this nodular setup made coordination and communication difficult.
In 1831, a group of citizens led by prominent banker and philanthropist Stephen Girard envisioned a civic space that would contain multitudes, cohering Philadelphia’s business processes—from contracting to commodities trading—in a single space. They tapped Philly architect William Strickland, who designed many of the city’s most notable buildings, for the job.
Strickland was apprentice to Thomas Jefferson’s architect of choice, which afforded him a strong reputation among early Philly’s movers and shakers. When he was appointed to the Merchants’ Exchange job, he was faced with the uncommon architectural challenge of designing a rectangular-footprinted building on a triangular plot of land. The back side of the Greek Revival structure demonstrates his solution: a semicircular façade that follows the curved line of Dock Street to the building’s rear.
Today, the Merchants’ Exchange serves as headquarters of Independence Historical Park, a campus of historical sites and buildings in a federally protected historic district of Philly’s Old City. On a visit, check out architectural details like imported Carrera marble from Italy alongside local Pennsylvania blue marble, an ornate Corinthian portico inspired by Athenian architecture, and the cornerstone that was laid to commemorate the 100th anniversary of George Washington’s birth.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 04:00pm on 17/11/2025
For the first two centuries of its existence, the story of Riga’s Old Jewish Cemetery was like the story of any other Jewish cemetery in Europe. The cemetery was established in 1725 at what was then the outskirts of Riga, and it was desperately needed by the local Jewish community, who previously needed to transport people 40 km to the nearest Jewish cemetery in Jelgava. The cemetery saw a lot of use over the centuries, and it was even expanded twice in the 19th century.
Then, with the advent of World War II, the history of the cemetery became complicated. Following the invasion by German forces in 1941, the cemetery was incorporated into the Jewish ghetto used by the Nazis to control the movement and activities of Riga’s Jewish population. At this point, the location ceased to function as a normal cemetery. The occupying forces burnt down a prayer house and mortuary within the cemetery and proceeded to use it for mass burials.
After the war, when Latvia had been incorporated into the Soviet Union, the cemetery’s grave markers were either taken away to be used as construction material or were otherwise allowed to crumble. Eventually, the cemetery was converted into a park with the name “Park of the Communist Brigades”.
In 1992, after the Soviet Union had collapsed and Latvia had regained its independence, the park was renamed as the “Old Jewish Cemetery” (or “Vecie ebreju kapi” in Latvian), and a few small commemorative monuments have been placed in the park. Otherwise, no sign of the old cemetery remains in this small patch of trees in Riga’s southeastern suburbs.
wychwood at 09:17pm on 17/11/2025 under job: i have admin access now muahaha, wychwood: fails at life
confusedsnopes_feed at 08:15pm on 17/11/2025atlas_obscura_places_feed at 03:00pm on 17/11/2025
The Konkan region along the western coast of India has a rich cultural history and is popular for its beaches, temples and forts. The region is dotted with idyllic coastal towns and villages where tourists come to relax and enjoy the sea.
One such town is Harihareshwar, known for its iconic temple complex. It is also called Dev-Ghar, or "House of God," and Dakshin Kashi, or "Kashi of the South," in reference to the northern holy city of Varanasi, regarded as India’s spiritual capital.
Next to the Harihareshwar temple complex, there is a canyon with stone steps that descend towards the sea. At the base of the hill are fascinating rock formations shaped like honeycombs. These are called tafoni, clusters of cavities that develop in granular rocks due to centuries of weathering by natural elements, in this case, the sea.
These tiny rock cavities lend the place an almost supernatural, other-worldly atmosphere.
ysabetwordsmith at 01:50pm on 17/11/2025 under birdfeeding, gardening, illinois, nature, personal, wildlife busysnopes_feed at 07:17pm on 17/11/2025atlas_obscura_places_feed at 02:00pm on 17/11/2025
In 1963, Bristol’s streets became the stage for a collective stand that would capture the nation’s attention—a boycott against an unspoken rule that had kept Black and Asian workers off the city’s buses.
The Bristol Omnibus Company, despite facing a labor shortage, flatly refused to hire non-white drivers and conductors. But a group of determined activists had other plans. Led by Paul Stephenson and the West Indian Development Council, the Bristol Bus Boycott galvanized the city, lasting 60 days and spearheading national discussions about racism in the country. Inspired by the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the United States, it gained support from politicians, churches, and civil rights advocates across the country. Even then-Labour leader Harold Wilson voiced his backing.
By the time the boycott ended, the company had lifted its discriminatory hiring policies, and Bristol welcomed its first non-white bus conductor. The protest’s ripple effects reached Parliament, influencing the groundbreaking 1965 and 1968 Race Relations Acts, Britain’s first legal steps toward banning racial discrimination.
Today, a plaque at Bristol Bus Station commemorates the campaigners who fought for justice. Among them, Paul Stephenson, Roy Hackett, Guy Bailey, and Barbara Dettering have since been honored for their pivotal roles in reshaping British society. Decades after the boycott, even the union that once upheld the “color bar” formally apologized. The plaque was unveiled in August 2014, with Bristol’s mayor, George Ferguson, in attendance.
mcsweeneys_feed at 01:15pm on 17/11/2025Early in President Trump’s first term, McSweeney’s editors began to catalog the head-spinning number of misdeeds coming from his administration. We called this list a collection of Trump’s cruelties, collusions, corruptions, and crimes, and it felt urgent to track them, to ensure these horrors—happening almost daily—would not be forgotten. Now that Trump has returned to office, amid civil rights, humanitarian, economic, and constitutional crises, we felt it critical to make an inventory of this new round of horrors. This list will be updated monthly between now and the end of Donald Trump’s second term.
These lists, along with everything McSweeney’s publishes on this site, are offered ad-free and at no charge to our readers. If you are moved to make a donation in any amount or subscribe to our website’s Patreon, please do. This will help support this project and our other work.
– Constitutional Illegalities, Collusion, and/or Obstruction of Justice
– Environment
– Harassment, Bullying, Retribution, and/or Sexual Misconduct
– Lies and Misinformation
– Musk Madness
– Policy
– Public Statements and Social Media Posts
– Trump Family Business Dealings
– Trump Staff and Administration
– White Supremacy, Racism, Misogyny, Homophobia, Transphobia, and/or Xenophobia
mallorys_camera at 01:20pm on 17/11/2025 under shawangunk
ljgeoff at 01:04pm on 17/11/2025 under arctic ice
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025
The Pulcinella installation unfolds along a route illustrating the multiple origins of the mask and brings together original documents relating to Pulcinella’s popular, literary, and theatrical traditions. It features costumes, masks, and photographs of the actors who have portrayed Pulcinella. The exhibition also contains rare objects and examples of ancient and modern Campanian craftsmanship and a Pulcinella nativity scene, along with a traditional “guarattelle” puppet theatre.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025
If the fiberglass rendition of Louie the Lumberjack outside the Walkup Skydome looks familiar, that's because it is actually one of around two hundred Muffler Men found across the United States. International Fiberglass constructed the Muffler Men in the 1960s and 1970s for various roadside businesses across the country. Most have identical faces with or without a beard, and typically hold some object in their hands. Although many of the businesses that originally commissioned them have closed down, they often remain as tourist attractions and symbols of their local communities.
In 1962, the very first Muffler Man was constructed by International Fiberglass's predecessor, Prewitt Fiberglass Animals. It was meant to be a statue of legendary giant Paul Bunyan for a customer in Sacramento. When the statue went unpaid for, however, it was sold instead to the Lumberjack Cafe in Flagstaff. International Fiberglass would go on to use Paul Bunyan's mold for all the other Muffler Men.
After the Lumberjack Cafe rebranded in the late 1970s, it was donated to Northern Arizona University, who repainted it in their own livery. Eventually, the statue and the university's mascot acquired the name Louie from the 1963 song “Louie, Louie.” NAU also acquired a second lumberjack Muffler Man from the Lumberjack Cafe, built several years later. It now lies on the south side the Walkup Skydome, further away from the main entrance and box office. A third smaller wooden lumberjack statue from the cafe also stands at 218 S Milton Road.
sciam_feed at 04:17pm on 17/11/2025A thin crescent moon and dark skies could give watchers a clear view of this astronomical event
sciam_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025Twenty years ago Forbes.com sent hundreds of thousands of messages to the future. Here’s what happened next
sciam_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025When written knowledge is more ephemeral than ever, how can we pass on what’s important?
sciam_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025Black holes and quantum mechanics present a paradox about the preservation of information
sciam_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025Designing nuclear-waste repositories is part engineering, part anthropology—and part mythmaking
sciam_feed at 01:00pm on 17/11/2025A ridiculous but instructive thought experiment involving deep time, plate tectonics, erosion and the slow death of the sun
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 12:00pm on 17/11/2025
Born Sergio Arturo Castro Martínez in 1941 in the city of Delicias, Chihuahua state and then raised in an orphanage, Sergio Castro trained as agronomer, veterinarian, civil engineer and teacher. He moved from his birth state on Mexico's northern border to Chiapas, a state bordering Guatemala, in 1964. Chiapas has many superlatives among Mexican states, having one of the highest percentage of population belonging to an Indigenous group, it is considered to one of the richest in natural resources but also being the economically poorest. In this context, Castro assisted in building basic facilities like schools and outhouses in indigenous-majority communities.
Through this work, he picked up on a few things. For starters, he became fluent in Toztzil/Tsotsil and Tzeltal/Tseltal, the languages of the Mayan family which are the most widely-spoken among the state's Indigenous populations. He also realized the failures of Mexico's healthcare system towards disadvantaged communities, often based on systemic racism, which lead to a significant percentage of these people to have little access to or trust in mainstream medicine. Traditional medicine remains commonplace for many indigenous populations in Mexico, but Castro's veterinarian training allowed him to use his knowledge to treat some injuries and burns on people that traditional remedies had not managed to cure.
Doing this work free of charge and across large swaths of land also lead to Castro picking up nicknames like "El Andalón" (The Walker or Wanderer) in Spanish and two in Tzotzil: "Bankilal" (Big Brother) and "YokChij" (Deer Leg), with this last one seemingly being his favorite as it is also the name of his charitable organization. "El Andalón" would become the title of a 2010 documentary about his life and work. Castro's collection was amassed during his travels as well, since many people would gift him clothing and artifacts to thank him for his services.
By the 1970s, he turned part of his San Cristóbal home and clinic into a museum where he could showcase the cultures of the state he loved, while collecting for donations to maintain his work. In addition to the Maya languages, he knows several European ones, which he used to provide tours of the collection, with Italian, French and English joining his native Spanish. As of mid-2025, visiting the museum might no longer include a tour, but it is still possible to get a glimpse into the life of and likely meet the man that was recognized in 2023 as "Living Immaterial Heritage" of Chiapas state.
tcampbell1000 at 06:23am on 17/11/2025 under creator: berni wrightson, creator: bernie wrightson, creator: jim starlin, title: justice league international
nicolagriffith_feed at 05:00pm on 17/11/2025Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. We believe she was originally buried at her main foundation of Streoneshalh, now known as Whitby, but sometime after Whitby was destroyed by Viking raids, her remains were, apparently, translated to…well, somewhere else. No one knows. Various religious foundations have claimed her—not unlike Arthur; saintly relics were (and still are) big business—but no one knows for sure.
There are several grave markers from Whitby though I have images of none of them (and none are for Hild). However, there are also several from Hereteu, or Hartlepool (where Hild was abbess for a while before founding and moving to Whitby). One intriguing stone, dated ‘mid-seventh to mid-eighth century,’ was found under the head of some skeletal remains. The runes spell out hildi þryþ, that is, the feminine personal name Hildithryth:
As we don’t know Hild’s full name, it might be tempting to assume this is our Hild’s stone.2 But I doubt it. For one thing it was part of a group of similar burials, and as abbess, saint, and royal advisor I doubt she would have been buried among others. Plus, of course, she was more than likely buried at Whitby. And as Hartlepool was also most likely destroyed by Vikings (as with mos records of this time and place, much was lost in the Viking raids from the late eighth through ninth centuries—all we know is that, after Hild, Hartlepool essentially vanishes from history) no one in their right mind would have transferred her there.
So here’s how I imagine her pillow stone3:
You’ll see I’ve made her cross round-ended and equal-armed, more like the kind of cross I think she would have worn, rather than the more traditional long upright and shorter crosspiece of the Hartlepool marker.
Enough about her death. Back to her life: Why is Hild patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.
I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly.
My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me. (And in fact I like this photo so much it forms the basis for the cover of my upcoming book, She Is Here.)
In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones—the beach is littered with them. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.
Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings4, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.
There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.5
Here’s what H. bifrons looks like as a snakestone:
And here’s a much more finely carved specimen:
When I was working on my black and white zoomorphic series, I tried to draw a snakestone. It turned out to be remarkably difficult to get the proportions mathematically pleasing. I started with a different genus, a ceratite, with a kind of wavy division to each of its segments, because they seemed to grow in more mathematically predictable ways. They’re just not what I think of as a classic ammonite; they seemed a bit, well, boring. I tried jazzing them up a bit—make them look as though they’re dancing to form a kindof ammonite triskele inside a Lindisfarne Gospels style interlace wreath. Better—but not great.
So then I tried yet another genus, a…well, actually I forget what it’s called, maybe a baculite? Anyway:
You won’t find these in Britain, but I like the crinkly look. It had possibilities. So I copied that, and then turned it into a snakestone. Much better!
Earlier this year we were at Worldcon, where we bumped into a friend, Wendy, aka MaudPunk, and got talking about all things metal work—Wendy loves to forge Early Medieval replicas from bronze, silver, copper, etc. (She’s made me several things, including this brooch.) She was wearing a great pendant she’d made, based on the Fairford Duck. Kelley really wanted one. No, she wanted two—one silver, one copper.
I like the duck well enough, but that’s not what fired up my neurones. Ever since Tor commissioned a lovely enamel brooch/pin for Spear, I’ve enjoyed wearing it on my jacket lapel. I get many compliments (“Is that Tiffany?”). The Spear pin is boldly coloured, which I love, but it does occasionally limit my sartorial choices. So I’ve been subconsciously looking for something more neutral. And I thought: A snakestone! In silver! And wouldn’t you know, Wendy had already designed a snakestone pendant; it did not take much persuasion to commission one as a pin.
And, lo, just in time for our birthdays, we got a package with what we’d asked for:
And here’s the pin in all its glory—straight out of its lovely linen pouch:
It’s hand-carved in wax then cast in the metal of your choice, then ground and polished by hand. Here it is on my jacket lapel, where it will stay for at least a couple of weeks, after which I’ll probably alternate with the enamel pin:
So Hild and her ammonite are still bringing me enormous pleasure, and still—as is only fitting for the patron saint of culture and education—helping me learn new things.
Tonight I will raise a glass to Hild, to ammonites, to Whitby, and to all things beautifully made and perfectly proportioned. wes þu hal! Or maybe wæs hæil! I dunno, Old English is not exactly my forte—but drinking and merrymaking is :)
︎︎︎︎︎
Adults can draw what they see, the real thing, in their pictures. Children, though, draw the “idea” of what appears in their heads. [p. 82]
Translated from the Japanese by Jim Rion, this short illustrated novel seems at first to be three tenuously-connected novellas. The first begins with a blog on which a man posts some pictures drawn by his wife, who died in childbirth. Each picture has a number... The second story is about a small boy who draws a picture of the apartment block where he lives, and scribbles out the windows of his home. And the third pertains to a grisly unsolved murder mystery, and the implications of the sketch found with the corpse. Gradually, it becomes clear that these are all the same story, or at least all revolve around the same individual.
( Read more... )
thoughtfulsmbc_comics_feed at 11:20am on 17/11/2025
Hovertext:
Do what I want, not what I said.
Pre-orders for my new book Sawyer Lee and the Quest to Just Stay Home have begun!
Sawyer Lee is an illustrated middle grade novel starring an unadventurous kid who'd rather dig a deep dent in the couch than make a mark on the world, as many in his illustrious family of astronauts, scientists, spies, champion athletes... blah blah blah... have. He has decided that after generations of effort, it’s time to spend one lifetime relaxing.
The
problem is that Sawyer keeps getting caught up in the exhausting
expectations of his wicked aunt Celia, his complex relationship with his
ambitious other friend, Angela, and the shenanigans of every else
in town hoping to win the yearly Gourd Thump festival celebrating
nature’s dullest vegetable.
In this tale of mystery, treachery,
conspiracy, plant husbandry, and an imaginary love triangle, Sawyer
knows it will take a regrettable amount of energy to escape these
entanglements and find a way back to his happy place on Gary’s couch,
with a cozy throw blanket, a steaming mug of chamomile tea, and an empty
schedule.
You can check out the first chapter here along with pre-order links!
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025
In the plazas of Catalonia, a centuries-old tradition continues to defy gravity and unite communities: the castells, or human towers. These awe-inspiring structures—reaching up to ten levels high—are built not with scaffolding or steel, but with the synchronized strength of people climbing atop one another, forming a living monument to balance, teamwork, and daring. Declared a UNESCO Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity in 2010, castells remain a vital part of Catalan cultural identity.
While the tradition is practiced across the region, the city of Tarragona holds a special place in its history. Every two years, thousands gather in its grand Tarraco Arena Plaça for the Concurs de Castells, the most prestigious human tower competition in the world. Teams—called colles—train year-round to perfect their technique, hoping to achieve the elusive tres de deu amb folre i manilles, a ten-level tower requiring extraordinary coordination and courage.
In Tarragona, castells are more than a spectacle—they're part of the city’s heartbeat. The tradition is deeply woven into local festivals, schools, and neighborhoods, bringing together people of all ages, from toddlers who climb to the top as the agile enxaneta, to seasoned veterans forming the sturdy base. The communal spirit behind each tower is a reflection of Catalonia’s resilience and solidarity.
At the center of Rambla Nova, Tarragona’s main boulevard, stands a striking tribute to this tradition: a bronze monument capturing a frozen moment of ascent. Created by artist Francesc Anglès in 1999, the sculpture immortalizes the unity and tension of a castell that has just been crowned. Look closely and you’ll see individual expressions rendered in vivid detail—straining muscles, clasped hands, and upward gazes—each one part of a collective reaching higher, together.
atlas_obscura_places_feed at 10:00am on 17/11/2025
Embedded within a residential zone of Toronto’s Christie Pits area, a full-scale African elephant sculpture has been strategically positioned in the front yard of a standard brick dwelling. Constructed from fiberglass and measuring approximately 9.5 feet in height, this installation has produced notable behavioral responses among pedestrians and motorists, including visual double-takes and hesitation, indicative of its high-impact presence within the local environment. Over time, it has evolved into an unofficial landmark with significant recognition among area residents.
The distinguishing feature of this installation lies not solely in its dimensions or context, but in its sheer incongruity within the urban landscape. There is a deliberate absence of interpretive signage, guided explanations, or commercial elements. The juxtaposition is immediate: a series of uniform residential facades interrupted by an anomalous, hyper-realistic pachyderm. Such an abrupt visual anomaly is statistically rare in metropolitan settings characterized by architectural homogeneity.
Originating as an art school project in the late 1990s, the elephant was relocated to its current site in 2003, where it has since remained stationary, effectively serving as a static sentinel on Yarmouth Road. The sculpture is not enclosed or otherwise inaccessible, permitting unrestricted visual engagement by the public—rendering the location an informal, open-air exhibit.
Historically, the installation included supplementary components—specifically, concrete sheep and a bronze red herring—though these have since been removed, resulting in the elephant’s solitary presence. This reduction arguably intensifies the symbolic impact and the interpretive ambiguity of the piece.
In summary, this object functions not merely as public art but as a persistent stimulus for inquiry and social interaction within its community. It exemplifies the potential for unexpected, site-specific installations to disrupt routine visual experiences and catalyze public dialogue, serving as empirical evidence that urban environments can accommodate elements of unpredictability and whimsy.
rebeccmeister at 10:21am on 17/11/2025 under projectsmcsweeneys_feed at 08:01am on 17/11/2025Everyone’s got their thing. For some, it’s baking. Others, gardening. Me? I like to take a modified Honda Accord, drive over 100 mph, and swerve between cars, almost killing entire families, babies, men, women, whoever.
That’s my thing. Gets my balls rolling. Sometimes I’ll almost kill a family by swerving in front of them at 125 mph with just barely enough room to squeeze in, and then I’ll immediately swerve all the way over to the right and get off at the exit. I could have just slowed down and changed lanes and calmly exited, not almost killing anyone, but then I wouldn’t have almost killed an innocent family, and almost killing them is what gives me something to do when I’m bored.
By the way, I’m not trying to actually kill one. That’s not my thing at all. If that’s what you’re getting from this, then I don’t know what you’re reading or how you thought that, but you’re totally off base.
My thing is that they’re thinking they might die, but really I’m just driving as fast as possible because I don’t fully understand the purpose of life. I have, like, a general sense? I know we’re supposed to have money and live somewhere, and we need to eat food, but after that, I don’t really get the rest of it.
But the one thing that really makes sense to me is coming out of nowhere in my jacked-up Honda Accord with purple lights, serving so fast in front of cars that people have mini heart attacks where they die, but it’s so fast they don’t actually have time to die, and when they come out of it, I’m already a mile away.
I’ve done this to, like, twelve families so far.
One thing I should make clear, though, is that I’m not a jerk. I don’t have to have my way. I’ll do this in a Kia Forte too. In fact, I have. My buddy has a Kia Forte, and he likes to almost kill families, too. So we’ll go out together, and sometimes we switch cars.
I don’t vote in elections. That feels relevant for some reason. I’m also not a good boyfriend. I try to be, but honestly? I don’t. She’s always saying things like “You care about your Honda Accord more than me.”
This court-ordered therapist I had to see once said I had trauma, and I was like… so? The therapist told me that I drive fast on the highway because I’m searching for an identity. File that one under “who gives a shit.” The therapist asked me how I feel when I swerve fast between cars, nearly killing people, and I said, “happy.”
It really is my happy place. My meditation. If I’m almost killing you in my modified Accord (or Toyota Corolla or Nissan Sentra), then I feel happy. You might be thinking, “Why doesn’t he just go to a race track if he wants to drive that fast?” Look. Put a few families with young kids on the track, let me swerve around them at 125 mph, and I’ll gladly drive on a track.
I can only imagine when I fly past a family, who is now catching their breath and feeling the fleeting nature of life, they think, “How did he get that Honda Accord to go so fast???” Well, I had a dream, and when you have a dream, you do what it takes. So I stopped paying child support or my rent, stole parts from other cars, and now I’m living the dream. My dream.
Oh, before I forget, I also like to go as fast as possible on an off ramp where it’s going from two lanes to one and I have a narrow opportunity to speed past the person in front of me to get in front of them before we both stop at the red light shortly thereafter, and almost make them crash into the side wall and go up in flames, myself included. Sometimes life gives you an opportunity to almost die in a heap of fire and wreckage, and I’ll take that opportunity. I’m willing to throw it all away and destroy someone else’s life in the process if I can get in front of them before the red light, even if we both have to burn to death.
Why? Can’t say. It just feels right. And it’s something to do.
sciam_feed at 12:00pm on 17/11/2025The same brain areas that help us map physical space help us chart social connections, and the best relationship cartographers have most clout
sciam_feed at 11:00am on 17/11/2025Scientific American’s editor in chief David M. Ewalt reflects on a 20-year experiment in e-mailing the future
snopes_feed at 02:00pm on 17/11/2025lsanderson at 06:59am on 17/11/2025atlas_obscura_places_feed at 09:00am on 17/11/2025
In central Chișinău, two bronze children sit side by side on a bench, caught in a moment of innocent curiosity. The boy points excitedly toward a rooftop where a group of bronze animals—a cat ready to pounce and pigeons fluttering just out of reach—belong to the same sculpture group and could be easily missed without his gesture. Though many people call it the Cat Chasing Pigeons Sculpture, its real name is Copii pe bancă—Children on a Bench.
The artist behind the sculpture is Veaceslav Jiglițchi, who was made an honorary citizen of the Moldovan capital for his work around the city. He makes the figures look real but adds a playful, slightly kitschy touch. They feel like characters from a storybook, which makes people want to sit down and be part of the scene. This mix of real and fun is why locals like the sculpture so much.
The city hasn’t had an easy history—war, earthquakes, and years of tight budgets have left their mark. It’s not a place people usually call beautiful. Lately, though, local leaders have been adding public art to brighten things up and give residents something to connect with. Copii pe bancă is part of that effort, bringing a small moment of warmth and playfulness to a community still working on its future.
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