This play began with some promise. I liked the part about the genius doing brilliant work based on scientific principles that nobody around him has the capacity to understand. But then everybody started bothering him about his emotions and singing about loving him all the time and I lost interest.
Jessica enjoys playing sports with her group of attractive, racially diverse friends and going out on the weekends. Here she is during a game of touch football.
Blanche DuBois enjoys spiraling into madness. She must move in with her younger sister because she has turned thirty. Due to her being thirty, she finds lightbulbs and the harsh glare of the noon sun painful (because being thirty is taking away her beautiful face).
Alexandra Flanagan and Phoenix Tso present the results of a five-year attempt to improve the way Tufts addresses sexual misconduct on campus.
We published this completely mammoth investigatory piece on how students at Tufts have attempted to change how the university deals with survivors of sexual assault, and I am afraid that no one will actually read it, so I would really appreciate a signal boost from campus feminists and allies.
Mallory has written the most perfect parody of all YA dystopia novels:
Now, society’s bad. There was only one way for society to survive. Society’s real bad. Our society was bad after the War because of bad things. Remember all the things about your society right now? Just make ‘em worse, that’s our society. Nothing’s trees but everything’s brown leggings and government.
After years of silence, JK Rowling finally speaks the truth about Ronbledore.
“I have said this before and I will say it again: I will never be intimidated into silence about Ronbledore. Wake up, sheeple. The evidence is already all there in the books. Did Cedric Diggory know too much about Ronbledore? Why is “Cho Chang” an anagram for “Weasley Time Prison”? Why does Parvati Patil keep referring to Ron as “Headmaster Time-Child” during the Yule Ball before she dissolves into a disembodied ball of gas? We’re through the looking glass, here.”
Manisha Aggarwal-Schifellite explains what “Bend It Like Beckham” meant to her as an Indian-Canadian growing up in Toronto. A lot, as it turns out.
I love love love this piece, and it got cut off by a file error yesterday, so please read it, and if you’ve already read it, read the whole thing, and otherwise just do me a personal favour and reblog it because I feel bad for the author that it got cut off!
The very air seemed to hum with green light cast by lush, illusory heaps of kale, and to reek with the rubberish tang of newly unfurled yoga mats. Bandwidth gleamed from a vigorous spiffing of dating profiles. It was a new year, and everyone was making resolutions, and she wanted no part of it….
Welhouse: I also got a couple marriage proposals to pass on to you, overwhelmingly from young women.
Block: [laughs] I was going to guess they were from young women! My boyfriend is always saying to me, “It’s the girls! It’s those girls. We go anywhere for those readings, and that’s who comes up to you.” I’m waiting for some 50-year-old man to come up, but it’s always young women.
Welhouse: Well, now I can tell them that I’ve passed their messages on.
Block: Wait. One thing. Tell them that I love them, too. Because believe me, I fall in love with all my readers so often. They’re amazing women. So, thank them, from my heart.
Hi. I’m Ani DiFranco. You may remember me from such things as singing like a wizard trapped inside an aged toad is trapped inside of my throat and being allergic to capital letters. I’m here to talk to you about something that’s very close to my heart today: writing songs on old slavery plantations.
Like all the best satire, Mallory’s is almost indistinguishable from the original.
“In 1736 I lost one of my sons, a fine boy of four years old, by the small-pox, taken in the common way. I long regretted bitterly, and still regret that I had not given it to him by inoculation. This I mention for the sake of parents who omit that operation, on the supposition that they should never forgive themselves if a child died under it; my example showing that the regret may be the same either way, and that, therefore, the safer should be chosen.”—Oh, look, BEN FRANKLIN knew more about vaccination than half of the people on Facebook in 2013. (From "The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin")
1. Let me fix you, Thorin Oakenshield. (cue the Coldplay montage)
2. Why are Thorin and Kili (and, arguably, Fili) totally legit, human-looking, attractive men, andeveryone elselooks like they are actually a different species?
3. Like, if you saw Thorin or Kili at a bar, you’d say “well, they’re short, but at night all cats are grey,” or some other Victorian euphemism for “10/10 would bang,” but if you saw, say, Balin, you would probably call the army.
This Femslash Friday honors the classic pairing of Rory/Paris from Gilmore Girls.
Not only is this the best, she says THIS about Jess:
Jess – Worthless. Worse than worthless. At the time, of course, we did not yet know that loving a man who enjoys Kerouac novels was morally wrong — the science wasn’t quite there yet — but we already knew that Jess’ busy wall-leaning schedule wasn’t leading anywhere good. I will not go so far as to accuse him of wearing leather bracelets, but he seems exactly the type of man who would do so, given half the chance at an 18+ concert. “Oh, I’m too consumed by my own inner pain to arrive to events on time.” “I invented record stores; guess how many cigarettes I can fit into my mouth.” “I love you so much I moved to California without telling you.” “How can you expect me to plan a date, I’m too full of smoldering emotionsto know what day of the week it is.” He wrote a book called The Subsect. I will listen to nothing good about this jean-jacket-festooned wastrel. Begone, you gel-smeared, sneering fop. You are no Ryan Atwood. You have no heart of gold underneath those ill-fitting wifebeaters. Take your baby-boy-Pink act on the road. Your powers will not work here.
Over at The Toast, we’re talking about hazy memories of books we read as kids, and crowdsourcing to figure out authors and titles! It’s a lot of fun, and maybe you could help? Here’s my three mystery books:
1. It’s a girl whose mom is dead, and she has, like, a book of leaves that her mom had pressed, and she and her dad move to a new house, and I think her dad marries a new wife with a kid, and the kid destroys the book of leaves.
2. Dystopian underground society, boy is trained from birth to remember strings of numbers, eventually has to, like, use this ability to activate/deactive a weapon? Chilly father figure.
3. This one is NOT Half Magic. It’s a kid who gets sent back to Arthurian times during a field trip, or some such thing, and his mom is too, and she keeps waiting for the cream tea she was promised in the brochure. This one is making me really nuts, so please help.
Reblogging encouraged, because I’m beginning to think I just dreamt up #3.
From "My Female Students Don't Seem As Impressed With Me As They Used To"
HANK: “It’s getting harder and harder to awe these inexperienced female teenagers these days, Smitty.”
SMITTY: “Tell me about it, Hank.”
HANK: “Just yesterday, in one of my intro classes, I used the word ‘problematic’ in a sentence — real casual, just to let them know I’m one of the good guys — and not one of them stayed after the lecture to ask me just what I meant by that or to see if they could borrow the conspicuously dog-eared copy of Pedagogy of the Oppressed I like to leave on my desk in case any female students want to borrow it.”
SMITTY passes the bottle back to HANK.
SMITTY: “Things are bad all over.”
HANK: “You know, it’s very important to me that I be thought of as down.”
HANK: “That copy has my phone number in it. You know, the old ‘write your phone number on the front page of a copy you lend to female students only under the “IF LOST PLEASE RETURN TO” bubble’ gag?”
There’s a big, boring problem in the world of slash pairings, and the answer starts with Mellie/Olivia.
The first of Mallory’s weekly Femslash Friday posts: in which Mellie and Olivia wear tiaras and rock each other’s sexual worlds. Tumblr, make it happen. You know about the gifs and things, right? Next week is already slated for Brienne/Sansa.
Every woman must decide how not to sleep with Jonathan Franzen in her own way. I learned from my grandmother, a wise woman who lived in the forest and only very rarely slept with Jonathan Franzen. She told me once, on a frosty winter night, how best to escape his sexual clutches if I ever encountered him on the path that led to the nearest market town.
“You will know him,” she said, “for he shall be riding on a white steed, and his right hand will bear no glove. When you see him, you must rush at him, and throw your kirtle over him, and hold fast to him, no matter what form he may take as he struggles against you.”
“What forms will he take?” I said. She leaned in close to me and stoked up the fire.
From "The Most English Details of the Upcoming English “Badger Slaughter,” In Order of Englishness"
9. “Meles meles, the European badger, is indigenous to the United Kingdom, lives in an underground labyrinth of tunnels called a sett, and feeds on worms and grubs. There are about 300,000 badgers in England.”
At least 30 of them live in Salamandastron (near Dover), the legendary seat of the Badger Lords and their fighting force of hare-warriors. The Lords of Salamandastron have struck a deal with the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and have been promised that their ancestral lands will not be affected by the culling.
"Nobody who was secretly a witch-hunter or a wizard prince or a werepanther or a thousand years old or half-demon took special notice of her, either. Which isn’t to say they disliked her. They just didn’t have much in common. She was a regular sixteen-year-old girl, which meant she spent a lot of time at soccer practice and a little bit of time reading manga and the rest of her time listening to music, and they were really more into esoteric magic shit."
“My last DUI, please Jesus, knock on wood, was in the late summer of 1998. I was driving a white 1968 Cadillac Coupe de Ville, Randy’s “project car” at the time, home from the Dead Mule Social Club of downtown Chapel Hill, where we’d been putting back the Maker’s. Randy himself was sunk in a wordless bubble of booze in the tiger-print covered passenger seat next to me.”
“This is the freedom that I want, too. I want that freedom more than I even want a gun. Which is why I’ll buy a gun. Buying a gun and then never using it isn’t totally “crazy,” as Stevie suggested. People do it all the time. For instance, I still have a driver’s license, left over from my non-blind days (though it’s simpler to just call them my “worrying about peoples’ facial expressions” days), and I don’t drive. Who says I can’t have a gun and not shoot it?”—The Toast’s blind correspondent on why he should have the same right to own a gun you do.
It’s not all just pointing at the horizon and walking next to Africans. Sometimes I sit in a Jeep with no roof as a storm approaches. It’s standing and looking at mountains. It’s sometimes saying how important water is near a magazine reporter. Are you a magazine reporter?
Water is still very important, even if you are not from a magazine. Even in Africa, people like water almost every day.
REPORTER: And the second episode of the first season, which really cemented the show’s popularity, for which you took “The Red-Headed League” as your inspiration…is it true that you scrapped what had been originally planned to run in its stead? A crimson-lit blur of Asian drug smugglers and organized crime which inexplicably represented a significant departure in quality from the rest of the series?
BENEDICT: We spent a LOT of time discussing Orientalism together. We spent an entire weekend in Yorkshire, chastely sharing a crofter’s cottage, making thoughtful and informed creative choices, and decided to fire that writer and write our own script.
REPORTER: So, you were not yet lovers.
BENEDICT AND NICOLE: (staring intently at each other) Not yet, no.
NICOLE: I thought he was pretty freaky-looking for the whole first season, to be honest.
BENEDICT: That’s pretty common, because I have such a weird-looking face and very little muscle tone.
NICOLE: And, of course, I was devoted to the memory of my late husband.
REPORTER: Yes, how long had he been dead at this point?
NICOLE: (firmly) Thirty years.
REPORTER: Such a long time for you to have been devoted to his memory, especially considering you are now only twenty-eight years old yourself.
BENEDICT: Although I was in love with her instantly–helplessly and passionately in love–and texted her constantly to ask about her day or to compliment her on her writing or to share great lines she already knew from 30 Rock, I knew she was so loyal to the memory of her late husband and focused on the show that there was little chance we could be together.
“In the beginning, half a bottle of wine or maybe three beers would get me through the night. Then the whole bottle or the entire six-pack. Finally, I had to have at least two bottles of wine stashed away to feel secure, occasionally dipping into the giant jug of cheap red wine my roommate bought every three months. Once, I hid a large bottle of vodka in the back of the freezer; the fact that it only lasted 3 days filled me with shame. It got me too drunk, too quickly. “Drinking problem” and “alcoholism” were words that I would not even allow to enter my conscious thoughts. Instead, I thought to myself, “you are a bad person.””—Sydney’s story.