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PaperclipPerfector  9mo ago (text post)   2772 thread views

Friday Fun Thread for July 28, 2023

Be advised: this thread is not for serious in-depth discussion of weighty topics (we have a link for that), this thread is not for anything Culture War related. This thread is for Fun. You got jokes? Share 'em. You got silly questions? Ask 'em.

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Depending on your tolerance of Napoleonic naval jargon, you might enjoy the Aubrey-Maturin novels by Patrick O'Brien. The novels scratch an almost sci-fi itch, in that it's a captain and his crew roaming around the strange and wonderful world (the model Star Trek emulated), who solve their problems not (primarily) with heroics and righteousness, but with being better, more efficient, more scientific sailors (there's also a long-running espionage plot involving the ship's surgeon who moonlights as a British intelligence officer).

The thing that really makes me want to recommend them though, is your second paragraph. They take place almost entirely outside, and revolve largely around a community of men working hard in the sun toward a common goal, with the strong, male, platonic friendship between the captain and his surgeon as the emotional core of the story. If anything, Master and Commander (the first novel and the name of the wonderful film adaptation of the series) is the unofficial "touch grass" story of the past few years (https://www.gq.com/story/master-and-commander-anniversary)

Oh, those are wonderful! They've got period-appropriate jokes, lots of action, tough manly men, more naval jargon than you can shake a marlinspike at, history and war, an astounding diversity to remind you that the past wasn't quite as monocultural as we think, and the great relationship between Stephen and Jack.

The weather had freshened almost to coldness, for the wind was coming more easterly, from the chilly currents between Tristan and the Cape; the sloth was amazed by the change; it shunned the deck and spent its time below. Jack was in his cabin, pricking the chart with less satisfaction than he could have wished: progress, slow, serious trouble with the mainmast-- unaccountable headwinds by night-- and sipping a glass of grog; Stephen was in the mizentop, teaching Bonden to write and scanning the sea for his first albatross. The sloth sneezed, and looking up, Jack caught its gaze fixed upon him; its inverted face had an expression of anxiety and concern. 'Try a piece of this, old cock,' he said, dipping his cake in the grog and proffering the sop. 'It might put a little heart into you.' The sloth sighed, closed its eyes, but gently absorbed the piece, and sighed again.

Some minutes later he felt a touch upon his knee: the sloth had silently climbed down and it was standing there, its beady eyes looking up into his face, bright with expectation. More cake, more grog: growing confidence and esteem. After this, as soon as the drum had beat the retreat, the sloth would meet him, hurrying toward the door on its uneven legs: it was given its own bowl, and it would grip it with its claws, lowering its round face into it and pursing its lips to drink (its tongue was too short to lap). Sometimes it went to sleep in this position, bowed over the emptiness.

'In this bucket,' said Stephen, walking into the cabin, 'in this small half-bucket, now, I have the population of Dublin, London, and Paris combined: these animalculae-- what is the matter with the sloth?' It was curled on Jack's knee, breathing heavily: its bowl and Jack's glass stood empty on the table. Stephen picked it up, peered into its affable bleary face, shook it, and hung it upon its rope. It seized hold with one fore and one hind foot, letting the others dangle limp, and went to sleep.

Stephen looked sharply round, saw the decanter, smelt to the sloth, and cried, 'Jack, you have debauched my sloth.”

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