I hate it when people call their birds their “babies”… I prefer to call them my “rarely sober angry roommates”. I mean, what “baby” hangs from the ceiling at 3 AM upside down in the bat pose while tweeting the French national anthem as quietly as possible? None. No baby does that. Only drunk roommates.
I think we really need to reaffirm now that no amount of homophobia can be acceptable in our culture. There is no such this as harmless or victimless homophobia. All homophobia contributes to violence against us. You can not “disagree” with lgbt people’s “lifestyles” without supporting the rhetoric and legislation that puts us in very real danger.
Homophobia isn’t that black and white though. You can hate the sin and still love the sinner.
OK, as a queer person who grew up in a genuinely loving, caring, utterly wonderful, and still deeply homophobic Church, let me try to fill in what you’re not understanding about this whole “Love the sinner” deal.
When we refer to people like you as “Homophobic” I want to be clear what we’re saying here. This is not a judgment of your intent. We are not describing you as a hateful person, as an aggressive or violent person. But we are saying that your actions and your attitudes participate in and reinforce a system of rhetoric that encourages violence against LGBT people, and, far, far more importantly, that forces millions of LGBT people to live in shame.
That’s really what this comes down to. Not hate. Not violence. Shame.
Consider the point purely theologically. Jesus tells us that to desire a sinful thing is as bad as to act on that desire. My lusting after another mans wife is as bad as actually sleeping with her. My genuine desire to hurt someone is as bad as actually hurting them.
So when you tell me that loving another man is a sin, you’re not just talking about physical acts of intimacy. You don’t get to draw the line there. You don’t get to pretend that I can be bisexual so long as I never actually physically act on it (which is already a terrible burden to place on someone). You’re saying that every time I look at a guy and imagine how soft his lips would be, or think about how beautiful his eyes are, I am sinning. I am a sinner every time a dude walks past me with a tight sweater on that shows of his arms. Every time he has nice hair or a nice smile.
My love, according to you, is a sin. That is the burden you are forcing people to live under. That burden forced me so deep into the closet that I didn’t even know I was there. It forced me to repress every genuine feeling of sexual attraction for other men, and to live for years with those feelings straining to get out, whilst I struggled with the constant guilt and shame that came from having those thoughts.
And I am one of the lucky ones, because I’m alive to have this conversation. Because for many, many LGBT people that guilt and shame manifests as self-harm, substance abuse, low esteem that leads them into abusive relationships, and very often suicide.
You tell yourself that you’re one of the good ones because you don’t hate us. You only hate what we “do”. But what we “do” is living. It’s being alive and whole and a part of this world, and if you genuinely believe that we can’t have that then you might as well put the gun to our heads and pull the trigger. Because you’re already doing that, you just don’t have the guts to admit it.
“You only hate what we do, but what we do is living” Wow. This is beautiful and so well written
reblogging for perfect commentary and future reference
on the topic of humans being the intergalactic “hold my beer” species: imagine an alien stepping onto a human starship and seeing a space roomba™ with a knife duct taped onto it, just wandering around the ship
it doesn’t have any special intelligence. it’s just a normal space roomba. there are other space roombas on the ship and they don’t have knives. it’s just this one. knife space roomba has full clearance to every room in the ship. occasionally crew members will be talking and then suddenly swear and clutch their ankle. knife space roomba putters off, leaving them to their mild stab wounds.
“what is the point?” asks the alien as another crew member casually steps over the knife-wielding robot. “is it to test your speed and agility?”
“no it doesn’t really go that fast,” replies the captain.
“does it teach you to stay ever-vigilant?”
“I mean I guess so but that’s more of a side effect.”
“does it weed out the weak? does it protect you from invaders? do repeated stabbings let your species heal more quickly in the future?”
“it doesn’t stab very hard, it gets us more than it gets our enemies, and no, but that sounds cool — someone write that down.”
“but then what is its purpose?”
“I don’t know,” the captain says, leaning down to give the space roomba an affectionate pat. “it just seemed cool”
this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard but I thought about it for five seconds and realized that if I were, say, a random communications officer onboard this ship and someone taped a knife to a roomba it would take maybe three weeks before even I was inordinately fond of Stabby. I would be proud of Stabby when I met up with my other spacefleet friends for space coffee, I would tell them about the time Stabby got the second mate in the ankle five seconds before the fleet admiral beamed on board and she swore in seven different languages in front of high command.
also by the fourth day Stabby would be in the ship’s log, he’d have little painted-on insignia, people would salute him as he went by, and someone would hook up a twitter account to tweet maniacal laughter and/or a truly terrible knock-knock joke every time he managed to nick someone.
Omg so the ting I typed up might actually happen this is gold
Here is a tiger just going about life until this human gives it the fright of its life. Still cute af. Dream job to be honest. 17/10 would be such an honor to pet
no no no no no look at those ears, tiger totally knows he’s there
tiger thinks the bipeds are terrible, terrible tigers and don’t know how to tiger worth a damn so when one actually pays tiger cub ambush game tiger is so happy
look at that happy tiger
look at it
YES YOU TERRIBLE TIGER YOU ARE FINALLY LEARNING HOORAY :D
Native Americans weren’t allowed US citizenship until 1924.
Let that sink in. We lived here first…for thousands of years. And less than a hundred years ago we were finally given citizenship.
We also fought in WWI despite not being US citizens.
In Arizona, natives weren’t granted the right to vote until 1948. Think how that type of neglect ties into resource colonization as infrastructure was developed within years prior.
In addition: the indigenous peoples of Canada were not recognized as Human Beings until the year 1960. Now let that shit sink in.
In the US it wasn’t until 1968 that the Indian Civil Rights Act was passed and allowed for the right to freedom of speech / assembly / press, a jury trial, the right to an attorney etc. It’s so fucking frustrating.
and it wasn’t until 1978 that we were legally allowed to practice our own religions. in a nation founded on religious freedoms, it was illegal to practice our own religions. in our own country. how fucked up is that?
Aaaand Native Americans weren’t entitled to their own languages (had no legal rights to teach them in their schools, use them in business) until the Native American Language Act of 1990.
I teach this to my students, because NONE of it is in a single textbook. This is and act of indoctrination
Public Service Announcement: If you are not a virgin do not presume to wear a white wedding dress. It is an honor that is earned from chastity and virtue. Not a tradition for you to soil if you lacked the same.
what about anal? does it count
The idea that the white wedding dress is “an honor that is earned from chastity and virtue” is historically bullshit.
In the west the white wedding dress has it’s origins in the Victorian era, specifically in the white dress Queen Victoria wore in her marriage to Prince Albert. At the time, red was the most popular color for upper-class women to wear at their wedding, and her wedding dress was sort of the contemporary version of Lady Gaga wearing some outlandish outfit to a red carpet event. (She also eschewed the ermine and crown traditional for a queen to wear, which was quite startling to many people.)
After that, a pure white dress became a fashionable way for wealthy, upper-class women to show off their money. Because a pure white dress would quickly yellow and could be ruined by a single spill or a little dirt in an era before 20th century laundering techniques, a white wedding dress was a way of saying “that’s right bitches, I’m so rich I can afford to have this beautiful, elaborate gown made for me and I’m only going to wear it once. Plus odds are good I’ll never work a day in my life or come into contact with anything that might soil it so yeah, great to be me, right?”
Connotations of spiritual purity and eventually virginity only came years later, when the idea of a “white wedding” began to appear in etiquette and housekeeping guidebooks. Even then, it was more because these qualities were associated with upper-class women rather than because the white dress was an honor earned through keeping hands off one’s genitals. Even then, most women just wore their best church dress to their wedding for quite a while. It was the image of thew white wedding dress in post WWII Hollywood movies that finally cemented it as a standard and iconic part of the culture.
Nowadays of course, the American wedding is an orgy of conspicuous consumption, and every woman regardless of her financial situation is expected to get married in a dress she’ll never wear again.
tl;dr, that tradition you’re so keen on protecting has less to do with virginity than is does with showing off big wads of cash.
Poor people would traditionally wear their Sunday best to get married in. They were usually black, brown or other dark colours, because Sunday Best outfits had to last for years and be appropriate for all occasions, including funerals.
Reblogged for historical debunking
I’m always in favor of historical debunking that also gives the middle finger to Magical Virginity.
virginity is not a virtue virginity is not a defect
fuckin christ i’m so ready for us as a culture to get over this
Ron Glass, known for playing Shepherd Book on the acclaimed Joss Whedon show Firefly and its follow-up film Serenity, has passed away at the age of 71. No other details have been released at this time.
I swiped my dad's copy of The Mists of Avalon when I was ten-ish. My parents later told me they had been concerned, but decided it wasn't doing me any harm. My dad and I had a whole conversation about how surreal watching Camelot was, after reading it. (I mean Gwenivere is just so BLOODTHIRSTY in Camelot, it's disturbing).
why everybody be tryna act like they didn’t have a twilight phase
Excuse you. Some of us are old enough that we instead had an Anne Rice phase.
I had a Clan of the Cave Bear phase.
I, too, had a CotCB phase. Did you swipe your mom’s copy too?
I did!
Honestly, between the Earth’s Children and my grandmother’s lousy romance novels, I read more rape scenes before age ten than I did healthy relationships.
An unidentified Muslim woman was accosted on Wednesday at a Smith’s grocery store in Albuquerque. The woman was in the checkout line when another unidentified woman, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, began shouting at her to leave the country and that she was a terrorist. That’s when employees of the store and some shoppers came to the Muslim woman’s defense.
One employee placed himself in the screaming woman’s path blocking her; a shopper embraced the woman. Local station KRQE reported on the story. You can view the video of their broadcast below. The screaming idiot was escorted out of the store where she stood in the parking lot, waiting on the shopper she harassed to come outside. Employees of Smith’s escorted her to her car, loading her groceries for her. Police were called to the scene, but by the time they arrived the screamer had left the premises.
The Muslim woman returned to the store later in the day to thank the employees for their actions.
Incidents such as this have been steadily increasing since the (s)election of Donald Trump as president—more than 700 at last count. The actions of the staff of Smith’s should not only be applauded, but emulated. There is hope after all.
Today in class people talked about giving Trump a chance to lead and said we should “be civil”.
FUCK THAT.
I want the democrats to filibuster every bill. I want protestors outside the White House for the next four years. I want them to boycott Ivanka’s clothing line and his golf courses and show up at his in-laws’ buildings in Jersey. I want his wife to have to deal with people shouting at her and making memes of their kid. I want everything the Obamas got to come to these vile monsters 10x over, until they can’t stand it anymore. The time for civility is over.
They want us all to “take the high road” and “be the bigger person” so they don’t have to experience any kind of the same shit they can dish out for eight goddamn years.
“In other words: Norway is you. Norway is us (…) My greatest hope for Norway is that we will be able to take care of one another. That we will continue to build this country – on a foundation of trust, solidarity and generosity of spirit. That we will feel that we are, despite all out differences, one people. That Norway is one.” – 79-year-old King Harald V of Norway celebrating the diversity of his people and stressing the importance of support for refugees, religious tolerance and LGBT rights in a speech on 1 September 2016
I’m watching a documentary about rats and this guy is like “they say there’s a rat for every single person in New York City” and I know he’s talking about like population numbers but it kind of sounds like he’s trying to tell everyone in New York that they have an individually assigned rodent friend and I think that’s beautiful.
The next big thing in fandom: Rat Soulmates
Well I’m here, when do I get to meet my Buddy Rat?
As I approached the near-empty parking lot that practically hung out over the Hudson, I took my 78th look at the pamphlet that had arrived on my doorstep yesterday: my 16th birthday. The pamphlet said,
Congratulations on the 16th anniversary of your birth. Please report to: Rodent Assignment Terminus #1 13th Avenue Manhattan, NY
Honest to God, I had no idea there even was a 13th Avenue on Manhattan but here I was. After about two minutes of look around, I spotted the ramshackle little kiosk in the corner of the floating block of asphalt and pavement. It was surrounded by mini traffic cones forming an impromptu runway that led right to the small window carved in the side of the slanted hut. I knocked on the window sill and waited.
The tiny window slid open and the wizened face of an old lady appeared. By my rough estimate, she was approximately 170 years old. “Name?” She croaked, taking a drag off her cigarette with shriveled lips.
“Uh… Addison. Addison Sharpe.” I held up the pamphlet with my eyebrows up, letting her know I also did not know why I was here.
The window slammed shut and I heard the bustle and groaning of the old lady getting up out of her seat.
To my surprise, she appeared outside the kiosk with a metal wire hanger-looking device with a hook hammered into the end. She shuffled three feet to a tiny, manhole cover and slipped the hook through one of its holes. I rushed forward to offer to do it myself but to my utter shock, she lifted the manhole up and to the side with no more effort than it took her to slam the small window of her kiosk. She removed her cigarette with one hand and cupped her mouth with the other. “Addison Sharpe!”
A low, unholy sound emerged from the depths of the hole in the ground. It sounded like 8 million chairs squeaking across a poorly-waxed floor. It sounded like 32 million claws clicking and clacking their way across a cement car port. It sounded like the asthmatic breathing of a mass of nightmares. It got closer… and closer to the top of the hole.
A single rat, about the size of a small chiuahua, emerged from the hole.
“Look, he got dressed up for you,” the old lady wheezed affectionately, and casually moved the manhole cover back into place.
The rat in question appeared to have a pink bow on his head, stuck there with what I can only assume (and hope) was gum. He regarded me, whiskers twitching, beady eyes staring.
“I like your bow,” I offered.
The rat hobbled towards me, latching onto my pant leg with sharp little claws and climbing until he reached my hoodie pocket, where he settled with a decisive sigh.
I turned to thank the old lady, but she slammed the door of the kiosk in my face.
This is the most magical thing that’s ever happened in response to dumb shit I said on tumblr. I love you. And I like the bow, too.
I know a lot of prescriptivists like to shit on “internet speak” but here’s the thing. These words communicate very concisely large and complex ideas. Like. The words edgelord and dudebros can communicate a concept it would take me a paragraph at least to explain otherwise. That’s why language creates words. It’s doing exactly what language is supposed to do.
when you hear those words, you turn tail and run as fast as you can. you run before it’s too late. These words are an abuse tactic
you are worth the world, and never, even in your darkest, believe that this one person is the only one who gives a shit. I have seen the kindness of strangers and friends alike, and you are not unloved. do not believe them.
i mean i know we all know that leslie odom jr could make the happy birthday song into a heart-wrenching ballad about the unrelenting passage of time but but, goddamn he did not have? to go this hard?
The highest minimum wage in the country is $11.50 an hour, in Washington, D.C. This is something of a problem, because the lowest living wage for a single adult in the country is $14.50, in South Dakota. South Dakota’s minimum wage, meanwhile, is $8.55 an hour, while the District of Columbia’s single adult living wage is $21.92.
Those numbers come to us courtesy of a new report from the People’s Action Institute. The big picture:
Forty-three states have a living wage above $15 per hour for a single adult, and in no state can a single adult make ends meet on less than $14.50 per hour. Yet, only nine states have a minimum wage greater than $9 per hour and while California and Massachusetts reach $10 per hour, each still falls well short of providing a living wage. Even Washington, D.C.’s recent minimum wage increase to $11.50 provides only 52 percent of the District’s single adult living wage.
Nebraska comes the closest to having a minimum wage that’s a living wage—but that doesn’t mean it’s close. Nebraska’s minimum wage of $9 is 60 percent of its living wage of $15.03. Just 18 other states have a minimum wage that’s at least 50 percent of the living wage. Two—Hawaii and Virginia—are below 40 percent.
When you look at it this way, the demand for a $15 an hour minimum wage is freakin’ modest.
