A late-night tip by Kristianus Ligara reminded me that I’ve been intent on an NdJ homage to tea for a few weeks. While this video is less about tea than it is about, oh, JAPAN!!!, it will serve as a suitable warmup.

Infusionist’s Log, Byrd Research Station, Day #308

I’ve spent the last four hours checking my watch, the station clocks, the Russian broadcast television that dribbles in from Russkaya station during the storms. Mostly, it’s 4pm. Mostly. We brought almost enough tea, but I use the bags twice, mostly out of fear. I can see too many grim futures, see us trapped in some snow-in for weeks, buoyed only by strong cups and thick cream.

I miss rain, frankly. And noise. I miss black, glistening nights in breathy cities; I miss the undulations of power lines beyond an accelerating car. I miss tea that stays warm for more than a few gulps. I miss tea that doesn’t crystallize.

Sure, I signed up for it. We all did. Brownlee brought in the contract one day and sat down with us, earnestly propping his elbows on his knees and underlining words like “compensation”, and “retirement”, and “phonesex”. We were seduced, enthused! We started biting and hitting and climbing over one another, just to get to our empty suitcases!

That night, our last night in civilization, we celebrated. We fools, we babes in the wood, we celebrated. Qais turned to me, well into his second cream cheese log, and threw one of his junky-limbs over my scapula. “Isn’t this what we always wanted, E?” he slurred, spraying almond slivers. “This is why we did it. The blog, the jointly-published papers, the letters to the Lancet, the black-tie nude revues. We finally got our funding. We’ll be able to prove everything.” I tugged his hair and laughed, then.

Well, bitterness is my cream cheese now. There was no “research facility”. There was no “heated dorm”, nor “Swedish masseuse”. There was a hot tub, yes, but a dank waft blew from under its protective tarp, and we could summon no will to lift it. Sometimes we find Ross standing on the tiles, barefoot and swaying. He says he has always been an accomplished sonambulist, a claim for which some of his prescription bottles make a case, but during these spells he does not have the slack absence of a true sleepwalker. No, he watches. He looks for something. Something I think I can smell, on evenings like this.

They’ll come back inside, soon.

BLU’s Muto: animation on a public wall. Beautiful surely, but I couldn’t help but think about all the artwork he covered up to make it (I know, it’s a public wall, it comes with the territory.) Thanks to Ry-Tron and everyone else who sent this in!

The Octo-Dog Frankfurter Converter. It turns your hot-dogs into octopuses. The Ectomo hive-mind cries out in ecstasy for such a device.

From the artist who brought you Elder Clean Soap comes Shoggoth Jasmine Tea. Thanks, Jezcabelle!

Don’t you fucking dare post knitting patterns for Dr. Who characters. So sayeth the BBC, though most likely it was worded in a far more politely threatening manner filled with words contain superfluous “u”s. Thanks, August Moon!

Alas, poor Yorick. Thanks, Tim McElwee!

Inky hard at work. Or is he? Alt+Tab Command+Tab, Inky, COMMAND+TAB! Thanks, Scott!

A huge photo collection of miniature junk-bots. Thanks, Bela!

Upper: Blue Onion Lower: Rose

Yvonne Lee Schultz has fashioned a number of beautiful firearms — based on the Walther PP/K and P99 — from porcelain and decorated to resemble dinnerware. An elegant accessory for any tea time spread.

Yvonne Lee Shultz [Artist’s Page] : who killed bambi?

British emcee Elemental busts a fresh flow on the subject of Ectomo’s preferred beverage: delicious, delicious tea. We at EctoCorp support this bold new direction for rap music and advocate the adoption of tea as the favored subject of choice for “sick rhymes” in lieu of the woefully oft’ preferred bitches, hos, and the pimping there of. Pith helmets, while optional, are highly recommended.

Elemental [Myspace : Brass Goggles]

While the Japanese Giant Hornet is certainly a horrifying affirmation of nature’s twisted, murderous intent it’s also a fascinating creature cautiously adored by the many warped freaks we call our friends. Apparently this fascination isn’t limited to the aforementioned bosom-dregs of society, extending to the Japanese, who treasure the enzyme rich honey created by the brutal beasts, believing it to have an invigorating effect.

The honey is collected by questionably sane apiarists on a small island in Japan who fortify the treat with methods intended to increase the enzyme levels of the honey, all so you can get the most venomous bang for your buck.

Being something of a tea zealot — and thus obsessed with constant experimentation in the field of tea accessorizing — I can ignore the hefty dosh needed to pick up a measly 4.5 ounces of this odd treat. Have a peek at the hornet honey dispensary, while currently fresh out of virulent hornet heavings they’ve got a wide array of insect-centric delectables sure to please even the most discerning adventurer’s palette.

Hornet Honey [cribcandy]