This is the Moth Place

Hello, and welcome once again to my beautiful blog. You may notice something different today - yes, a new banner, a new title, and a new URL. I've been thinking for a while about cultivating a slightly more appropriate and perhaps more spooky atmosphere here, and so, here we are: MOTH PLACE.

A metamorphosis.

My new header banner takes its moth from a 1705 set of illustrations by Maria Sibylla Merian, via the Biodiversity Heritage Library at the Smithsonian, and the Public Domain Image Archive. Immediately I feel a collage-y, and slightly mysterious aesthetic is evoked. It's better this way. We are entering a new world.

These bugs are just like me.

Congratulations, for you have arrived at the sort of place where moths may lurk. Where flickering lights glow, and where nights stretch on forever. Gather around the morsels of light and clutter. Stretch out a feeler. Raise a wing.

This is a Moth Place now. The only one. 

Please update all links as needed to either:

https://mothplace.blogspot.com/ or https://mothplace.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default (this latter RSS feed format is needed for Blogger's Blog Roll sidebar widget to update properly, just in case you're a Blogger user who didn't know about that particular quirk).

The Woodchuck Question

I've been thinking about philosophy, and all of the great questions about life that we all love to ask, and I'd like now to answer one of the burning questions of our time: how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

First of all, it's important to know what a woodchuck is. It's the same thing as a groundhog, so perhaps we can look at one of the most famous groundhogs (maybe the most famous groundhog), Punxsutawney Phil, for our answer. This little freak was born in 1887, and maintains a freakishly long lifespan by imbibing a mystery juice that apparently extends his life (do not question this). So, realistically, if chucking wood is a part of his life, he has probably done quite a lot of it in that time.

Phil doing his thing, via groundhog.org.

But the shocking truth is that these creatures do not chuck wood, in any shape or form. They just don't do it. Even Punxutawney Phil. Fish and wildlife technician Richard Thomas took it upon himself to come up with a sort-of answer to this question anyway, substituting wood for dirt, a substance that is often displaced by groundhogs when they dig burrows in the ground (via BBC Science Focus).

An idiotic little baby, via the Wildlife Center of Virginia.

This genius claimed that groundhogs have "thick strong legs" (just like me), and did some calculations based on their average weight and the average size of their burrows to arrive at an estimate of 700 pounds of dirt displaced through the act of creating a beautiful home. We can safely assume they could shift roughly that amount of wood too, if they needed to. Maybe.

A proper bloke, by Dawn Scranton.

Supposedly, the name "woodchuck" is a sort of bastardisation of an Algonquin word, "wuchak", but this origin is a bit murky. In any case, the woodchuck isn't chucking any wood. But if it could, it would be a lot, probably.

Behold: Doraemon

I have a very special little Doraemon that I bought from a BOOKOFF Super Bazaar in Matsudo, just outside of Tokyo, for ¥400 (about £1.86), and today I would like for you to gaze at him. Look at this guy. Isn't he something?

There is something glorious about BOOKOFF, a meticulously organised second hand chain you'll encounter everywhere in Japan (and that has selected stores in the USA), but entering a Super Bazaar (that's an extra large version) is even better. These larger stores have huge aisles dedicated to particular goods. I love perusing the toy section and encountering fifty million reduced Pokémon plushies. I love looking at all the pin badges and not recognising any of the ugly anime characters. I love checking out the ultra reduced manga shelf, full of random twelfth volumes from unreadable slop series. It's amazing.

But when I found him, sitting there politely, awaiting my clammy hands, I knew I had to have him. That beautiful Doraemon. And here he is. In my house. Chilling with me. Love this guy.

I've also made him into a pngtuber avatar to use on streams where I don't have a webcam, and quite frankly, he is beautiful and perfect for such a thing. When I play video games, I can be a bouncing soft Doraemon. The world is good. The world is right.

 

Photos I Took at Disney World

When I was four years old I went to Disney World, Florida. It was a very exciting time for me. I discovered Froot Loops and thought they were phenomenal. I obtained and adored a small Goofy cuddly toy, which came everywhere with me. I saw Woody Toy Story in the flesh.

Oh my God. It's Buzz.

But arguably, the most pleasurable aspect of this trip was the chunky kid's camera I was given to document it with. One beautiful roll of film was my domain. I was ecstatic to record the world as I saw it, to express my gorgeous vision. And I did.

We went to Sea World, too, which was quite spectacular. Free Willy had been a big film, still on the minds of many, and dolphins and killer whales seemed exceptionally cool. And then, of course, there were the seals, the wizened characters of the sea. Beautiful wet boys. Much to be seen.

The Mickey blobs approach.

Between these enticing, graceful animals and the jubilant Disney World parades, the sheer height of sensory madness was a delight and a thrill to little me. I was, of course, too small to go on most rides. But there was that Dumbo elephant ride that rose gently into the air and wooshed forward in an acceptable way.

My beloved Goofy.

The most beautiful thing of all though, the major focus of my purest beam of love, was Goofy. My little Goofy toy was pretty much in my hands the whole time. I loved him so. When I look at this picture of him now, I still feel an intense love. Like, presumably, a mother's love for her perfect child. The strength of feeling it's possible for a young child to have for a toy is almost frightening. But, I mean... it's Goofy.

You can see, clearly, that I had an immense creative eye even though I was just recently out of the womb. But so would any child exposed to Goofy and the killer whales of the sea. It's just natural.

A Lovely Orange

Everyone shut up and look at my orange.

That's right, I have a delicious orange. I'm about to tear off its flesh and consume it. But before this ritual takes place, here we are together. One woman and one medium-sized, respectful orange. I hope to find a supreme juiciness within - although when it comes to fruits, orange is not my highest pick. I'm more of a pear and grape lover. Strawberries are good, but they have to be SWEET rather than TART or I will SCREAM.

But presently, here I am with the orange. The zesty one. A fruit beloved by many, but really, truly understood by few. It seems right, in the midst of May, to indulge in an orange.

May you, too, soon be blessed by an orange. 

5 Solutions to the Heat Problem

It's hot out. I'm feeling like an insect floating in a scalding soup. I'm considering building that big dome that Mr Burns uses to block out the sun. There are, surely, worse ideas at this point. But you know what creative and beautiful geniuses do at times like these, don't you? They innovate.

So here are my proposals on how to fix the problem of it being too hot and sunny. Kier Starmer, leave a comment if you're interested in collaborating on any of these on a governmental level (I know you are reading my blog, Kier).

1. Inland Icebergs

Beautiful iceberg, photographed by Jason Auch.

We have icebergs in the world. Floating around, causing trouble in the sea, etc. I think: if they can wander around freely in the ocean, why not on land? We can perhaps entice the icebergs in with exciting tourist attractions. No discerning iceberg can resist going to Animal Crossing Land, which will be built in Stoke-on-Trent. And if the icebergs come here, other cold things will naturally follow.

2. Saying it's Cold

This is an option that might be challenging, depending on your personal willpower and imagination, but the idea is just to say things like "brrr it's cold!" and "I'm freezing". The power of the mind is strong, and many people can convinces themselves of almost anything, so I think it's worth a shot. Let's try it now. Wow, isn't it chilly?

3. The David Blaine Ice Block

David Blaine, the magician man, famously put himself in a big block of ice for a while. Why don't we all just do that? It would have the added benefit of looking really cool and alien - everyone in their shiny new ice block. Plus, everyone you hate would be encased in an ice block. This could be good for us.

4. Get in the Fridge

Honestly, let's just get in the fridge. This is similar to the ice block idea, except we'd be comforted by having various yummy foods for company. A more humble approach, although somewhat limited by the size of the fridge. Small people will get more mileage out of this one.

5. Stay in the Bath Forever

You, feeling excellent in that bath.

My last solution, and in some ways the most elegant, is that we can just stay in the bath. The bath is a wonderful thing, often taken for granted. I say: no more. Lets fill it up with freezing water straight from the tap and live life as wrinkled prune creatures. We came from the primordial soup, after all - so why not go back in?

***

Those are my five top solutions for now, but I will be workshopping these and perfecting them. Let me know if you have any solutions I might not have considered. And have an icy day! 

Snippets of an Old Journal

I was looking through an old journal today (from '23/'24), and I liked how I used different parts of it for different things. There was a stretch of pages devoted to keeping a travel diary (documenting my first trip to Japan), and then a few pages of pencil drawings of hands. I liked that it really felt like a sketchbook, that I had little care for the continuity of the entire book.

That often happens just because I take so long to finish one journal that there ends up being a progression into obvious shifts in focus, and I really like that disjointed feel. What I don't like is the way the pencil comes off on my hands (and on other pages) when I look through a journal filled with pencil drawings, but such is the nature of the devious pencil.

With no further ado, I present to you: some of my favourite spreads from this much-loved journal. A thing of beauty, sure, but more importantly, a thing of life. 

Movie Quests

I'm thinking about movie quests, at this moment. Small, achievable goals which allow me turn my movie-watching into a tickable to-do list. Because that's the sort of thing that makes any action into an incredible accomplishment. 

Jessie Buckley in The Bride!

Early in the year I posted about wanting to watch every Jessie Buckley movie (I'm only at 6 out of 35 - how embarrassing), and every David Lean movie (3 of 17). I haven't completed those beautiful goals, but I did watch one awful Jessie film (Fingernails - a Black Mirror style sci-fi romcom which had no idea how to flesh out its premise), and an amazing David Lean one (This Happy Breed - a drama spanning the gap between world wars, watch it here immediately). This is already enough to make having thought of these goals worthwhile, but I will have to get back into it and continue my gorgeous quest. It must be done.

Sexy old man, David Lean.

That said, I have a new one in mind. Sophie Thatcher. She has, as it turns out, not been in a huge amount of films yet. But she was in Companion, which I really enjoyed. A true "good for her" movie. 

There she is.

There's something charming about her, and I guess it was that first season of Yellowjackets that did it. She pulled me in. And I'm at 2 out of 14. This could be my chance. And then, who? Sidney Poitier, perhaps? Yeah. But he has 83 movies. I've seen ONE.

Well then. Only 82 to go.

I must quest. I have no choice.

The Bunny Approaches

Picture this. It's a sunny day with a light breeze. You're walking through a pleasant meadow, peppered with daisies. The distant buzzing of stray bees can be heard as they work their way through the flowers. And there's a lumpen creature, you notice. 

Here she is:

What will you do?

What will you do?

You will become her. 

Top 3 Elves

I finally missed a day of updating my blog! Sound the alarm, release the party poppers, ready the handcuffs. For yesterday, I did not post. What I did do though, was stream some Morrowind. And it was incredible.

It's my first time playing the game, and while I've played tons of Skyrim and Oblivion before, and so know the rough shape of Elder Scrolls living, this is a different beast I am yet to know. What struck me most, immediately, was the incredible elf choices available. 

Peter, this Reddit poster's Altmer mage.

Of course, the other games allow a lot of good elf choices of their own, but between the beautiful assembly of these polygonal, yet wonderfully realistic, faces, and the sheer emphasis on elf typing you're thrust into right away, I figured why not give you my initial ranking of the Morrowind elves? Yes, that's right. Forget all external elves for now. This is serious. 

Here is the third best elf:

3. WOOD ELF (BOSMER)

Menelras, a gorgeous wood elf.

Now, the wood elves are super normal. They don't have unusual skin colour, by human standards, and they're just chilling in the woods or whatever. It's good to have a relatively normal elf in the world, but they don't intrigue and delight me as much as a more otherwordly elf might, so I have to put them dead last. Sorry guys, your archery skills bore me. Get nastier. 

2. DARK ELF (DUNMER)

Giron, a beautiful dark elf.

These elves are hateful and sinister. They have glowing red eyes. They are undeniable gothic icons. It can't be denied that this is a great elf. They are absolutely committed to judging, and I think they all listen to Cradle of Filth. Unfortunately for them, when it comes to the ranking, there is a yet nastier type of elf.

1. HIGH ELF (ALTMER)

Eldafire, a stunning high elf.

Okay, so as you can already tell, the more snooty and insane an elf's culture is, the more I love them. These elves have the incredible combo of being bright yellow, and being mega racist. They're always talking about their superior genetics, meanwhile they're jaundiced as hell. They look like pee pee. That's awesome.

These elves are supremely pompous, and sure of their own perfection. I think Matt Groening probably saw these guys and new instantly that he had to make Simpsons. Yellowness, as we all surely know, is next to Godliness.

***

So that's my elf ranking. If you wish to debate me on it, I will listen sombrely. In the meantime, I will be streaming and meeting many more of these wonderful elves.

Baby: Unleashed

Would you like to see me as a baby? Yes? Great. Please observe and take notes on the following images. You may be tested at a later date.

It's always a bit comical to know that I, truthfully, was once a little tiny baby. This is the kind of information that seems inherently funny. Me? A fully grown adult? I was once a goo goo gaa gaa ass little baby with a neat blonde fuzz atop my tiny, foolish head? That's funny. And true.

Me and my mum.

I love remembering being a baby and/or toddler. There's not much in the way of solid memory there, but I do distinctly remember things, such as learning to read (the coolest thing ever, and it still feels that way), playing with my doll, Gabriella, or indeed, my very first concrete memory (Rik Mayall smacking Adrian Edmondson with a frying pan on TV).

And of course, scattered memories of my dad, who died when I was four, and so remains something of a nebulous character to me. But I do remember him.

It's also just generally very cool to look at these pictures and find them so helpful in recalling specific things, like items of furniture (the coffee table and oversized books in some of these pictures, for example), or THE GORILLA.

Yes, the all important gorilla. One cannot forget the gorilla of one's childhood. I'm sure you remember your gorilla. 

Halloween: The Game

Guys. There's a Halloween game for the Atari 2600. And it is iconically silly.

You play as a blonde girl with blinding white tights, and your task is to walk leisurely away from Michael Myers, who spawns after a few seconds on each screen and follows you as a scintillating 8-bit version of the Halloween theme plays. It's sort of... cute.

The game, you will immediately discover, is broken beyond belief. You can walk to the next screen and then return to despawn the man, and so you're never in any real danger of getting gotten. Your task is to meander around the map until you find a weapon, with which you can hit your frightening villain one single time to kill his ass and gain a few hundred points. Then he returns, and you must do the same thing once again. This is more or less the extent of the gameplay, and it is delectably stupid.

It's pretty rapidly dull, given that there is nothing to do but run circles around your sad, useless enemy - aside from escorting some random children to safety, or alternatively watching them be brutally slain (you're not punishing for leaving them to die) - but there is an incredible delight to this empty interpretation of the movie. There are sections with flickering lights that are fairly effectively scary - if I can't see him for a second, he actually maybe could possibly get me! But nah... he's never gonna get me.

It's so good.