Sophianotloren

China was, and will always be, in its heart of hearts, an empire — whether it is royal, revolutionary, or techno-bureaucratic-communist-cum-capitalist. First and foremost this is what China Through the Looking Glass — possibly the largest show in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s history comprised of 140 pieces from the 1700s to now — celebrates in its gorgeous, over-the-top, utterly fabulous way. Though more discretely billed as part of the department of Asian Art’s centenary that includes nineteen exhibitions and installations in over fifty galleries of Asian Art throughout the year, this is the centenary’s most splashy, killer app. Andrew Bolton from the museum’s Costume Institute (formerly of the Victoria and Albert Museum) explains the show is about “the impact of Chinese aesthetics on Western fashion.” The exhibit showcases, among other things, a collaboration and bromance between Bolton and Wong Kar Wai, a Hong Kong Second Wave filmmaker who won the 1997 best director film award at Cannes for his film Happy Together, a love story about a pair of gay expatriates living in Buenos Aires. Wong also presided as president of the jury at both the Cannes Film Festival and the Berlin International Film Festival, bestowing on him some serious cinematic chops. Also included in the exhibition’s mix is production designer Nathan Crowley, known for his work on the movies Interstellar and The Dark Knight.

If you start at the lowest level (the show is dispersed throughout the Chinese Galleries and the lower level Anna Wintour Costume Center) you are immediately surrounded by a darkened video tunnel flanked on either side by two wall-sized projections of Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1987 multi Oscar winning film The Last Emperor, accompanied by Ryuichi Sakamoto’s yearning, nostalgic soundtrack.

The video terminal leads up to, like the Wizard of Oz, a presentation of the authentic, yellow imperial festival robe of the last Emperor of the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911) Henry Pu Yi, worn when he was a mere four years old. This mis-en-scene introduces the aptly titled theme of the show “Through the Looking Glass” derived from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, where Alice dives through the mirror into a made-up world. Both Bolton and Wong note the aura of fantasy is “far from authentic,” but instead of dispelling typical Orientalist stereotypes and dealing with racial, gender, and power imbalances, the curator and his various collaborators have decided to embrace them to the hilt. As viewers ensconced in this worldview, the show is so well put together you might as well go along for the ride.

Imperial robes are paired with Western haute couture, with enormous mirrors constantly playing a trickster role. Some of the robes on display are stitched with the twelve imperial symbols worn by Chinese emperors. The British milliner Stephen Jones was commissioned by the museum to commit a royal court taboo by riffing off these symbols with his modern headpieces for the mannequins.

A Chinese artist friend from Beijing gave me a bit of needed cultural perspective, saying the show was for people who knew nothing about China, or for ex-pat Chinese who had not been back to the mainland for 30 years. For mainland residents the show is just a display of China’s myth of itself, which means the show contained no surprises for her, though she was happy to see Western people enjoying themselves, and proud of the respectful presentations.

It’s not just the imperial empires that are represented, it’s also the other modern dynasties that followed including the Republic of China (1912–49) and The People’s Republic of China (1949–present). The Shanghai films from the 1920s to the 1940s play a big role as clips from notable Chinese directors like Zhang Yimou, Chen Kaige, Ang Lee, and of course Wong Kar Wai are looped again and again, representing “women of style” like Hu Di (Butterfly Wi) Oei Huilan and Soong Mei-Ling (Madame Chiang Kai-shek). I saw a number of elderly Chinese stare at the film clips in awe and wonder, surprised to see moments of their youth flash by on huge LED screens inside a Western museum.

The modern qipao or cheongsam, a type of dress derived from imperial robes and styled with a more modern ideology was a fashion beacon mostly before World War II. The dress was most exemplified by Paramount Studios costume designer Travis Banton in his dress for Chinese actress Anna May Wong’s role in the 1934 potboiler film, Limehouse Blues.

Situated in the Met’s calligraphy gallery are two simple dresses from the early 1950s, one by Coco Chanel and the other by Christian Dior. The fabric, covered in Chinese calligraphy is actually, and hilariously about someone’s dyspeptic digestive issues.

Chinese blue-and-white porcelain, first exported into the West in the 16th century was later ‘reorientalized’ by the Chinese themselves. Guo Pei, the designer who created the much maligned and celebrated “Rihanna dress” for the Costume Institute Gala has her blue-and-white, porcelain-inspired dress situated next to those by Roberto Cavalli, Alexander McQueen, Giambattista Valli, Galliano, Valentino, and Rodarte. As if to ratchet the porcelain metaphor up a notch, Red Gate Gallery’s Li Xiaofeng shows his actual porcelain piece, “The Weight of the Millenium,” a contemplation, as he put it in a mailing sent by his gallery in Beijing, on the emergence of the Mongol Yuan capital Khanbalik as a “blue snake that has been hibernating for a millennium,” saying the porcelain shards represent the “splendor once crushed … (and) illusions flowing with sorrow!”

The Met’s Ming dynasty-inspired Astor Court with its scholar’s garden is the most jaw-dropping installation in the show. Nathan Crowley created a moonlit oasis with a gigantic moon projected on the ceiling and reflected back in a pond of water, surrounded by seven mannequins wearing his spring 2003 Christian Dior Haute Couture Collection and Maison Martin Margiela repurposed costumes, a combination of a fantasy of Beijing opera, the Queen Mother of England, and Kabuki style ideals all inspired by the performances of the renown Chinese opera performer Mei Langfang.

In another gallery, a special bamboo garden of 20-foot high Perspex plexiglass rods lights from the bottom with LED lights to create a simulated Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon effect. In the installation, martial arts-inspired figures show British menswear designer Craig Green’s spring 2015 collection.

The People’s Republic of China will always be equated with the Zongshan suit, which actually came from Sun Yat-sen, but is known as the Mao suit, after Chairman Mao Zedong. It is the embodiment of utopian ideals and the last type of clothing that screams China. Mao and Mao’s wife Jiang Qing with her kitschy Red Guard ballets spawned the art of the Cultural Revolution (1966–76), inspiring Andy Warhol, now revered in China, to print paintings of Mao in 1972, right after Richard M. Nixon visited China. That act ultimately resulted in Warhol’s rather anonymous 1982 visit to China. The photo of Mao he used came from the 1964 portrait ensconced in the Little Red Book, and inspired Zhang Honglu to print his own Chairman Mao series, of which I have seen gracing the fabric on people’s couches in Beijing. For her 1995 spring/summer collection, designer Vivienne Tam used Zhang’s images to make a dress pulsating with Mao’s images.

If you go along with the fantasy and the spectacular theatrical effects, and the notion of museum as Alice in Wonderland meets Disneyland with a dollop of nostalgia, you will have a fine time at this gorgeous show. If you are going for anything smacking of critical inquiry, take a raincheck.

China Through the Looking Glass continues at the the Metropolitan Museum of Art (1000 5th Ave, Upper East Side, Manhattan) through August 16.

Originally posted 2015-05-25 10:13:55. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

jada stevens sheena shaw school source: droolingfemme.

I know a lot of you have questions about the book deal I just agreed to, so let me just do that “fake interview” thing I do to answer some of the big ones. Let’s begin, shall we?

Wait, what happened? Sorry, I was really high last night.

Fair enough. Here’s the story in the New York Times, and for those of you who don’t want to click through, here’s the headline:

Holy shit!

Yes, that was my reaction, too.

Dude, that’s like… a lot of money.

It is. Mind you, it’s spread out over a decade and thirteen books. And I only get the money if I actually, you know, write the books. But, yeah.

Is the deal some sort of record?

Don’t know, don’t care. Certainly people in genre (and out of it, obviously) make more per book. And it’s entirely possible that people have deals encompassing more books. In aggregate, yes, it’s unusually big. That said, the deal here isn’t about counting coup on other writers; I don’t care how much anyone else makes and if they make more than me, then good for them. It’s about something else.

What is that something else?

Stability, basically. Tor and I have decided to be long-term significant partners with each other. One of the very good things having a long-term relationship affords is the ability to plan, strategize and build on previous works and strengths. Or to put it another way, we know we’re stuck with each other until 2026 at least. Better find a way to make it work for both of us.

Also, I’m not going to lie: For the next decade I know where my money’s coming from. For a writer, that’s some nifty job security. Especially with a daughter coming up on college. Not having to search for a new book deal every book or two means I can spend more time writing, which I think is the thing we would all like me doing.

Thirteen books is a lot.

It is, but again, it’s over a decade. Between 2005 and 2015, I published seventeen books: eleven novels, five non-fiction books, and an anthology, which I edited and co-wrote (if you include The God Engines and Unlocked, novellas published as standalone books, the number goes up to nineteen). So based on previous history, this is a doable thing.

So, do you have thirteen books in your head?

As it happens, when I went in to talk to Tor about this, I presented the folks there with a proposed release schedule for the next decade, with synopses of every book. So, yes, I do. Will every single book I’ve proposed hit the shelves? Probably not; there’s flexibility for us to read the market and take advantage of what’s going on as it happens. But it’s always nice to have a plan.

What’s the plan, then?

The highlights:

* A sequel to Lock In, the title of which I shall now reveal exclusively here — Yes! I am giving myself an exclusive! — as: Head On;

* A new epic space opera series (two books planned at the moment, let’s see where it goes from there) in an entirely new universe;

* Another book in the Old Man’s War series (this one might be a few years, though, so be patient);

* Several standalones (or least, intended as standalones, but then OMW was intended as a standalone, too);

* Three Young Adult books.

Wait, YA?

Yes! YA! Because I love YA, many of my favorite writers are in that field, and I have ideas that are best suited there. I’m really excited about this part of the deal.

Note well that I have no illusions that I am just going to waltz into the YA field and be successful — it’s a different writing field with different conventions, and one great way to screw up is to think “eh, it’s for kids, how hard can it be?” (Hint: really hard.) But I’m looking forward to the challenge.

So now we know what you make as a writer.

Well, you know what I’ll make from this particular deal, before royalties. There are other revenue streams: Audio isn’t covered in this deal, for example. Neither are foreign language sales, or film/TV. Plus there are royalties from my previous books. And so on. I do all right.

Is it awkward to have people know about your finances?

Not exactly but it has interesting social echoes. I used to talk about how much I made as a writer because I think it’s important that writers do talk about money — silence about money only works to the advantage of those who are paying writers (or not paying them, or paying them insultingly little, as the case may be). But after a certain point I stopped talking about my earnings publicly because Krissy wasn’t comfortable with it, and because after a certain point it stops being useful to other writers and starts looking like bragging. I don’t want to be that asshole.

At this point, there’s no reason to be overly coy about it, so I’ll note that I’ve been making mid-six figures a year for a while now, much (indeed most) from book sales. The deal is a reflection of that track record; please don’t be under the impression I would have gotten the deal if Tor didn’t think it could make that money back and then some. It also means I’m an outlier when it comes to book sales/income and I know it.

I’m comfortable with people having some idea what I make, but outside very specific circumstances (like, uh, this one), you probably won’t see me talk about it other than very generally.

Can I borrow some money?

No.

But dude, $3.4 million!

Yes, but, I don’t get it all up front; that would be irresponsible of Tor. I get some of it up front, but probably not as much as you might think. Most of it I get like any other writer does — when I turn in the novel, and then when the novel gets published. This is a decade-long deal. The money comes in over all that time. I’m not going to be doing a Scrooge McDuck-like dive into a pool of coins, sorry. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a ton of money. Just broken up into manageable chunks over ten years.

So yeah, sorry, random Internet dudes. If you want my money, you’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way: Kickstart something I want to back.

Why are you sticking with traditional publishing! Think of how much money you could have made self-publishing!

Yeah, thanks, no. One, for various reasons, I find it doubtful that I would be making more self-publishing. I’m not going to go into those reasons at the moment because it’s a long slog, but, you know. Trust me on this for now. Assume I know my business pretty well after all this time.

Two, look, I like to write, and I don’t mind marketing myself. But there is a whole lot more that goes into producing a book than just showing up with a manuscript and then telling people about it. I don’t want to do any of the rest of that stuff. That’s why publishers exist. That’s what publishers do. As it happens, when it comes to science fiction, Tor is as good as it gets, in every department. They are better at these things I don’t want to do than I am. I am delighted to partner with them and let them handle all that. I am clearly making enough money.

Three, if I want to self-publish something, I can, and have in the past. So, false dichotomy in any event.

You should probably thank people now.

You’re right! I should! At Tor, obviously, Patrick Nielsen Hayden and Tom Doherty, for being willing to work long-term with me on these books. My agent, Ethan Ellenberg, did some amazing work and earned his percentage and then some. At home Krissy and Athena have had to deal with me freaking out rather a bit over the last couple of weeks, and did so without hitting over the head with a shovel.

And also, clearly, I need to thank anyone who has ever bought a book of mine. They added up! You rock.

I have now run out of questions to ask. 

That’s fine. The comment thread is open for other people to ask questions they might have.

Variety reports that the great comic actress and writer Anne Meara has left the stage. She was 85. If you read the article, you will be astonished at what a rich and full career she had, working almost continuously since … Continue reading →

The War After the War
by Debora Greger

for Greg Greger

I

Where were the neighbors? Out of town?
In my pajamas, I sat at my father’s feet
in front of their squat, myopic television,
the first in our neighborhood.

On a screen the size of a salad plate,
toy airplanes droned over quilted fields.
Bouquets of jellyfish fell: parachutes abloom,
gray toy soldiers drifting together, drifting apart—

the way families do, but I didn’t know that yet.
I was six or seven. The tv was an aquarium:
steely fish fell from the belly of a plane,
then burst into flame when they hit bottom.

A dollhouse surrendered a wall, the way such houses do.
Furniture hung onto wallpaper for dear life.
Down in the crumble of what had been a street,
women tore brick from brick, filling a baby carriage.


II

What was my young father,
just a few years back from that war,
looking for? The farm boy from Nebraska
he’d been before he’d seen Dachau?

Next door, my brother and sister fought
the Battle of Bedtime, bath by bath.
Next door, in the living room,
a two-tone cowboy lay where he fell,
too bowlegged to stand. Where was his horse?
And the Indian who’d come apart at the waist—
where were his legs to be found?
A fireman, licorice-red from helmet to boot,

a coil of white rope slung over his arm
like a mint Lifesaver, tried to help.
A few inches of ladder crawled under a cushion,
looking for crumbs. Between the sag of couch

and the slump of rocker, past a pickle-green soldier,
a plastic foxhole, cocoa brown, dug itself
into the rug of no man’s land
and waited to trip my mother.


III

Am I the oldest one here? In the theater,
the air of expectation soured by mouse and mold—
in the dark, a constellation of postage stamps:
the screens of cell phones glow.

And then we were in Algiers, we were in Marseille.
On foot, we fell in behind a ragged file
of North African infantry. Farther north
than they’d ever been, we trudged

straight into the arms of the enemy:
winter, 1944. Why did the French want to live in France,
the youngest wondered while they hid,
waiting capture by the cold.

They relieved a dead German soldier
of greatcoat and boots. Village by muddy village,
they stole, shadow to shadow, trying to last
until the Americans arrived—

as if, just out of range of the lens,
the open trucks of my father’s unit
would rumble over the rutted horizon.
Good with a rifle, a farsighted farm boy

made company clerk because he’d learned to type
in high school—how young he would look,
not half my age, and no one to tell him
he’ll survive those months in Europe,

he’ll be spared the Pacific by Hiroshima.
Fifty years from then, one evening,
from the drawer where he kept
the tv remote, next to his flint-knapping tools,

he’d take out a small gray notebook
and show his eldest daughter
how, in pencil, in tiny hurried script,
he kept the names of those who died around him.

There’s a game called “Rust” in which you play a character in a wilderness. When it first came out, everyone was assigned the same avatar: a white dude. As we all know, “white dude” is the default everywhere, so no one complained.

Then, in an upgrade, they added other avatar options: different faces, different skin color. As an interesting experiment, these options were not under player control: they were randomly assigned. White dudes logging in suddenly found that their avatar might be a black dude (still a dude, at least; female avatars aren’t yet available).

White dudes freaked out.

If the skin color is forced on you, you won’t like it…OK, where were you when everyone was forced to play a white dude?

Not trying to be racist, it just comes naturally to you, I guess.

You don’t want to “take the chance of playing a black character.” Why? What would happen to you in the game? This is an entirely cosmetic feature, you know.

But please, self-awareness! Turn it around. Racism must be a big deal if the devs are MAKING PEOPLE PLAY AS WHITE CHARACTERS.

Here’s a lovely summary of what’s going on in this situation.

Why is it that the supposed lack of choice with regards to the player’s avatar only became a concern after people of color were added to the game? The reactions reflect a failure on the part of some gamers to recognize that whiteness is a race at all. These players appear to think of whiteness as a neutral type of embodiment, the universal category of humanity against which all those who do “have” a race (anyone who is not white) are compared. The backlash also confirms a theory posited by new media scholar Lisa Nakamura that, on the Internet, there is a tendency to assume that, in the absence of direct statements to the contrary, the people that we meet are white. Indeed, as Nakamura writes in “Digitizing Race: Visual Cultures of the Internet”:

Until lately, the structure of the Internet has been such that it has greatly facilitated covering [or passing]; early utopians especially lauded and adored the Internet’s ability to hide or anonymize race as its best and most socially valuable feature. The Internet was just as much a machine for not-seeing as it was a machine of vision, at least in terms of race and gender identity.

In other words, by reintroducing the visualization of difference into the virtual world, Rust is making gamers question their racialized assumptions about the people they are interacting with online.

Making people question their assumptions…it’s like skepticism and critical thinking and all those good things science-minded people like to promote! I guess the problem is that white people must not be science-minded.

Oh, that’s not fair. We’re looking at a subset of white people in this example. Maybe it’s just gamers who are stupid.

moonblossom:

deluxetrashqueen:

Honestly, Rick Rolling is the best practical joke ever. Like, there’s nothing offensive or mean  spirited about it. It’s just like “Oops you thought there would be something else here but it’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’.” which isn’t even a bad song. It’s fairly enjoyable to listen to. There’s no jumpscares, no screaming, no ill will. Just Rick Astley telling you he’s never going to give you up. I think that’s great. “You fell into my trap! Here, listen to this completely benign song that will have no negative effect on you.” 

I wish this were true. There’s a really good article about the problems inherent with rickrolling here.

If you thought traditional Japanese breakfasts were unusual, with their servings of fish, pickles, rice and soup, you’ll be in for a surprise when you see the new offering that’s coming to the table to greet you in the morning.

It’s time to say hello to the morning potato chip. Especially designed for breakfast consumption, these bags of fruity – yes, fruity – goodness are said to combine the energy-giving health benefits of the humble potato with two popular fruit flavours: peach and banana.

So how could these chips possibly fare as breakfast meals? Come with us as we head out into unchartered territory, pairing potato crisps with yoghurt, toast, and a bowl of granola and milk. Will the results be delicious? Read on to find out!

Currently on sale at convenience stores nationwide for 120 yen (US$0.98), these two unusual chip flavours will be hitting supermarket shelves from 1 June.

Opening the packets, we get our first glimpse of our morning meal. While they look like any other potato chip, the aroma’s certainly different. Rather than getting a big hit of salt, these give off a sweet, fruity aroma, more like a packet of gummies.

The banana crisps are covered in the powder of the fruit, giving them a slightly yellow hue. Koikeya, the company behind the unusual snack, prides itself on the fact that this chip variety has the energy-giving equivalent of 3.95 bananas.

The peach crisps, meanwhile, have a slight pink tinge to them and purportedly provide the same amount of energy as 3.73 Japanese-grown peaches. The fruity aroma of both these varieties is surprisingly alluring, even though it’s something we haven’t encountered from a bag of potato chips before.

Unlike more conventionally flavoured crisps, these ones contain unusual recipe ideas on the back of the pack. The suggested recipe for the banana crisps is marshmallow banana toast, drizzled with chocolate sauce.

The peach variety are said to pair nicely with fresh ham, alongside a cream cheese dip.

Having a quick look through the pantry, we found we were totally out of marshmallows and didn’t have any fresh ham or cream cheese. Instead, we decided to whip up a few inventive recipes of our own. We started off with our version of bananas on toast.

The first bite of this was, well, weird. From the look of it, there’s an expectation that this will taste like your regular chip sandwich. But then, the sweet banana flavour hits your tongue and everything gets thrown into disarray.

After a few bites, it becomes clear that this is a surprisingly good combination. The chewy texture of the toast goes well with the crunch of the potato chip, and the banana flavour permeates each mouthful, bringing a distinct sweetness to the bread. We can definitely see this working with marshmallows and chocolate sauce!

For our next course, what could go better with peaches than a bowl of fresh, plain yoghurt?

We decide to go for a ‘chips and dip’ style for this offering. The first bite made us laugh out loud, as the taste was exactly like a delicious peach yoghurt – only crunchy!

▼ Definitely a winner – thumbs up for yoghurt with peach chips!

Now, we’ve had granola with dried fruit before, so why not try them out with their nouveau chip versions?

We crumbled up both varieties of crisps and sprinkled them on top of an unsuspecting bowl of granola.

Adding milk to potato chips is certainly a first, but we had faith that this pairing might just work!

And it’s another surprising winner! The crisps work well as soft layers of fruit flavour, gently seeping out into the milk and making everything delicious. We can’t believe we’re saying this, but chips for breakfast actually works.

The verdict on Koikeya’s new fruit-flavoured potato chips? Strangely delicious! We must admit, we were dubious about this (as you probably still are!) when we started, but thanks to the minimal use of salt and the familiar fruit flavours, these work really well and are seriously pleasing to the palate. The only hurdle to get over is the fact that the product looks like something you’d normally snack on while watching a movie or with a couple of beers rather than your morning coffee.

Despite the unusual combination, these are a great example of the skill of Japanese snack manufacturers, who have an uncanny knack for blending some of the world’s most unassuming flavours. From past experience, these unique chip varieties won’t stay around for long, so get them now while you can!

Photos © RocketNews24

Origin: We mix banana and peach potato chips with toast, yoghurt and granola for a new Japanese breakfast
Copyright© RocketNews24 / SOCIO CORPORATION. All rights reserved.

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The Dial - 120/150cm - Charcoal and gold leaf on paper.

Joseph Loughborough

Like everything 90’s, the undercut is back- but this time with the addition of intricate designs. It’s a whole lot better than that time in 6th grade I asked for a peace sign cut into mine, and ended up with what was clearly a chicken foot scwaled into the nape of my neck.

Come to Dinner photographed by Tim Walker for Vogue Italia, May 2015

In the last few months, I’ve found myself having several variations on what I think of as “the talk” with male friends and/or acquaintances. These guys have been people who have discovered that they have explicitly feminist leanings in the not-very-distant-past, who want to do more but are not really sure what to do with the generalized guilt that comes with feeling complicit for the failings of their gender. Since I kept repeating myself, I thought it would be worth writing about here.

So – dudes and dude-identified people! If the first paragraph sounds like you, then pull up a chair because it’s time to have “the talk”. (I promise it won’t be as bad as the actual “talk”.)

First: the pep talk that isn’t

You are going to fuck up. Accept that as a fact of reality. Gravity is a constant, the sun rises in the East, Taylor Swift’s music is pretty good despite that people like to make fun of it, and you are going to fuck up. Period. It is as inevitable as climate change or Fox News anchors being racist. You are going to fuck up. That may seem, on it’s face, a bleak statement to make. However, I give this knowledge to you as a gift to liberate you from fear.

As privileged people, we know that we shouldn’t engage in racist/misogynist/whatever-ist behavior. And fundamentally, everyone wants to believe that they are one of the good guys – that they are a decent human beings despite their faults! And as a privileged person who is starting to learn about feminism and social justice, sometimes that fear of fucking up can be paralyzing. Because you want to not to be like the other privileged asshats out there! You want to be better than that!

The problem with that way of thinking, however, is that taken to extremes, that fear can cause you to prioritize your fear of not wanting to be seem as [whatever]-ist over the feelings of real actual people suffering that real actual -ism. I’ve seen it happen, and it’s never pretty when it does. Because inevitably, it goes something like this:

Privileged person: [fucks up]

Marginalized person: Dude, you just fucked up.

Privileged person: How dare you! I would never fuck up! I’m a GOOD person, not some terrible, awful fuckup! You’re just a bully! A big stupid bully!

Marginalized person: [headdesk]

So instead of being “That Ally”, accept the inevitability of fucking up.

It does not give you permission to willfully be an asshat – you do still need to try not to fuck up; ironic sexism is still fucking sexism and it still isn’t okay. But fucking up doesn’t make you a monster, it makes you human. Accept that patriarchy has been imposed on you, just as it has been on everyone else. We are all participants in patriarchy.

Fucking up doesn’t make you uniquely horrible or monstrous – it’s simply a thing that people do every day. When it happens, acknowledge it with grace and apologize with sincerity. Then go forth and do better, always remembering that you’re not perfect. If you do really well, you’ll simply find new and different ways of fucking up.

You can choose to be depressed by all of this, but I offer it to you in the spirit of liberation – because the fear of being racist/sexist/whatever-ist and by extension a terrible person can be absolutely paralyzing, and it can take you to some deeply toxic places. So let it go, my friend. Let it go.

Next: Ally 101 – where to go from there

But, wundergeek! That’s it? That’s all I get? Just don’t fuck up, but have fun fucking up anyway?

Well. Yeah – kind of? I mean, there are a ton of resources out there on how to be an effective ally, many of which are pretty easy to find even with weak-to-moderate Google-fu. However, since I’ve also been seeing a lot of the same rookie ally mistakes that have been really getting under my skin, here are the absolute basics of the basics of the basics.

1. Learn to use Google

I appreciate that you’re probably sincere in your desire to learn more. But what you need to appreciate is that engaging with every probably-well-intentioned dude who wants me to give him a reading list to get him started down the path toward Being a Feminist (Ally) would be a colossal waste of my time.

I am not here to educate you. This blog explicitly states is not a 101-level blog and if there’s something here that you have trouble understanding, THAT’S WHAT THE REST OF THE INTERNET IS FOR.

That’s pretty much true for almost any other major feminist you can think of. We have SHIT TO DO that doesn’t include providing reading lists for any old rando who asks. So do yourself a favor and learn how to Google the answers you need. I PROMISE you they are easy to find.

2. Call men on their shit

When a man says or does something shitty in your presence, call him on it. You don’t need a lecture or a special technique or anything. Quite often, a “dude, not cool” will suffice.

Patriarchy is perpetuated by silence, so don’t be silent. As a dude, you have the automatic power of People Always Listening To You – a power most decidedly not conferred on lesser (read: non-dude) mortals[1]. With the benefits of patriarchy comes an obligation to use your power for good.

3. -ist jokes: JUST SAY NO

DO NOT make -ist jokes. Challenge people who make -ist jokes (when you can) in your presence. If you are not able to do so, say, because you work in customer service and this behavior is coming from a customer – refuse to laugh at -ist jokes.

Humans are social animals. The temptation to laugh politely so as to not make a scene will be there. Resist. Because “not making a scene” tells the -ist asshole YOU ARE ON THEIR SIDE

4. Don’t make light of or attempt to find the bright side of abuse

If you know someone who is experiencing sexist/racist/whatever-ist harassment or abuse, for the love of Christ don’t diminish it or try to make it humorous, because I promise you that there is nothing even remotely humorous about what they were experiencing. And yet twice this week I have talked with dudes who have attempted to “find the humor” in the misogynist abuse that I get through this blog. Because, you know – life is funny! Laugh it off! Because misogyny is just such a laugh riot and I should be able to shake it off!

So yeah. Don’t do that. You might think you are helping, BUT YOU ARE NOT. You are doing the opposite of helping.

5. STOP TALKING AND JUST LISTEN

Look, it can be hard when someone you care about or respect tells you about awful shit they are experiencing. It may be that your natural impulse is to jump in and try to help! Because you want to be a not-terrible human being! But that impulse? Sorry dudes – but mostly it is super unhelpful.

Look, as a dude just starting out in feminism I can pretty much guarantee you that any solutions you have to offer are not going to be original. The woman you want to share your “brilliant insights” with will not be awed or impressed, because she will have heard them before from every other well-meaning-but-unhelpful-dude who thinks that he has All The Answers. The thing you’re trying to fix is MY FUCKING LIFE. Which I have been living, all day every day for quite a long time now. I spend quite a lot of time thinking about it, seeing as how it’s mine, and I can promise you that the thing that popped into your head after two minutes of listening to me talk about my problems isn’t anything I haven’t already thought about myself.

So stop. Just. STOP. And listen. And when a response seems warranted, practice saying things that follow this formula (your wording may vary):

Expression of sympathy: “That must suck”, “That sounds hard”, “Wow – that’s bullshit” PLUS

Expression of regret: “I’m sorry you have to go through that”, “I’m sorry – you don’t deserve that”, “I’m sorry that happened to you” PLUS

Expression of (CONTEXT-APPROPRIATE) respect and/or appreciation: “You’re my friend and I have your back”, “I love you and I’m here for you”, “I admire your work and continue to find value in what you do”.

Then stop. Listen more. And repeat as needed. Because this? THIS is the shit that keeps me sane when I’m having a bad anxiety day, or when I’m so angry I’m trying not to cry, or when I feel like I just want to give up and walk away from it all. THIS.

Now go forth and do better.

[1] Reasons I have been told that I am not worth listening to in the last month include: I am “fat”, I am “ugly”, I am “unfuckable”, and I kill mens’ boners.

(440): I thought he was foreign, but it turns out when you're that drunk, an Ohio accent just sounds Russian.

You really really really want to click this link. Trust me.

(And yes, this is the Monday news, a little early.)

(And yes, I will write more about it. Probably tomorrow.)

I have a nasty cold but thanks to the magic of DayQuil I can at least give you a few links to funny videos.

My Drunk Kitchen, episode one:

Hannah Harto is an absolute genius at comedic timing. An incredible amount of work must go into editing these videos.

Jenna Marbles, Bounce That Dick:

Yes it’s three years old. It’s still funny.

zefrank, True Facts about the Owl:

There’s a whole series of these, they’re all pretty great.

Jake Jacobson III, Ylvis vs. Drowning Pool – Let the Foxes Hit the Floor

Not so much a video but you can’t tell me this isn’t funny

Henry Edmonds (animation),  Robert Clouth (music) – Boots and Cats

This will now be stuck in your head forever. If I were a better person I’d feel bad about that.

Mr Weebl – Badgers:

Electric 6 – Gay Bar:

Duck Sauce – Barbra Streisand:

Us vs Th3m – You can’t simple maths under pressure. A game, not a video, but it has a horribly catchy theme song that gets stuck in my head for hours

And if that doesn’t keep you entertained, there’s always Khan Academy. If you’re bored, why not go learn a thing?

Terrific article. The grim conclusion about this totally proactive new paradigm:

Ultimately, Arizona shows two ways that universities can respond to government defunding. They can become country clubs, or they can become “knowledge enterprises” that rely on the Internet to deliver education to enormous, geographically diffuse student bodies. Either way, the gap between the type of education available to children from affluent families and that offered to everyone else is going to grow. There was a moment in American history, says Newfield, when “the kind of thing that the Bush family could take for granted at Yale became possible at U. Michigan for somebody whose father was a middle manager.” That moment is over.

[Erik] See also Andrew Hartman’s essay on the Republican war on the humanities.

The public narrative of the cause for 2015 and the way forward has already been framed by the right wing of the party:

It failed in small-town England but advanced in London and big cities. It continued to lose working-class votes but bolstered its middle-class support. How to weave together a winning electoral coalition out of such fragmentation is far from straightforward. But you’d never know that from the response of Labour’s leadership candidates. Taking their cue  from Blair and a string of former New Labour luminaries, all have fallen in – with more or less enthusiasm – behind a Blairite agenda.

The problem with Ed Miliband’s leadership, they intoned from the start, was that it was “anti-business”, put a “cap on aspiration”, threatened rich people with punitive taxes, and failed to accept that the last Labour government “overspent” in the runup to the crisis of 2007-08.

However, the numbers are not on the side of the “modernisers” (a misnomer, given the modernizers are refighting the battles from 1992-1994).  John Curtice (a well known political scientist in the UK) suggests the problem with 2015 was in part the loss of support on the left:

 Britain’s most respected opinion pollster has warned Labour its chances of winning a majority at the next election verge on the “improbable” and that blaming its defeat on a shift away from Blairism is “wholly inadequate”.

Setting aside his pessimistic assessment for the future as I haven’t had the opportunity to explore those numbers at all (but will not be improved by the near certainty of a boundary review during the current Parliament) I do agree with the suggestion that a shift to the right would not enhance the electability of the party. Anecdotally, campaigning on the doorstep over the past two years, I haven’t once heard somebody tell me what the Labour Party needs is more Blairism. I have heard from many former Labour supporters who lamented that the party “has abandoned people like me”. I’ve also heard a lot of anti-immigrant vile, which as an immigrant myself are always my favorite moments (said without sarcasm) because invariably they don’t include me as a target for their life’s frustrations.

While Curtice focuses solely on the debacle in Scotland, the nearly 1.2 million Green Party voters also need to be included in any assessment:

If Greens had backed Labour in Derby North, Croydon Central, Bury North, Morley and Outwood, Plymouth Sutton and Devonport, Brighton Kemptown, and Telford, it would have been enough to deny David Cameron a majority, and Ed Balls would still be in his job. That’s just 2984 votes that would have needed to change hands.

Plymouth Sutton & Devonport is my constituency.  The Labour Party candidate, Luke Pollard, lost to the incumbent Conservative MP by 523 votes.  The Green Party candidate received 3401 votes.

I’m not arguing that the 2015 loss was the fault of the Greens or the SNP.  I am arguing that the Labour Party needs to make itself a more appealing alternative for those voters, one that combines addressing progressive issues and concerns with the chance of actually forming, you know, a government.

It’s Labour’s fault that many former Labour supporters voted for what they perceived to be a more attractive alternative. Embracing 1994 all over again will not get them back.

tinyhousedarling:

I think bikes with built in bars are the coolest!

Originally posted 2015-05-24 19:26:49. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

brazil xposed source: droolingfemme.

marshmellowtea:

high-metafive:

so i made and account on tv tropes and it asked for my relationship status

i went over and was about to put in “single” or “it’s complicated” and, well..

i can’t deal anymore

this is beautiful

Wow.

John Forbes Nash Jr., the Princeton University mathematician whose life story was the subject of the film “A Beautiful Mind,” and his wife of nearly 60 years died Saturday in a taxi crash on the New Jersey Turnpike, police said.

Nash was 86. Alicia Nash was 82. The couple lived in Princeton Junction.

The Nashes were in a taxi traveling southbound in the left lane of the New Jersey Turnpike, State Police Sgt. Gregory Williams said. The driver of the Ford Crown Victoria lost control as he tried to pass a Chrysler in the center lane, crashing into a guard rail.

Elizabeth Cotten had an unlikely musical career. As a left-handed young girl she taught herself to play her brother’s banjo. Then she bought a guitar from Sears Roebuck at 11 and proceeded to play it Jimi Hendrix-style, upside-down. After getting married at 17 she basically gave up playing guitar for 25 years, except for occasional church performances. Quite at random, she was hired as a maid by part of the Seeger family—working for Pete Seeger’s dad and the children of his second wife. She picked up the guitar again, and blew everybody’s mind. Mike Seeger (Pete’s half-brother) started recording her and the sessions were made into an album from Folkways Records—Folksongs and Instrumentals with Guitar. Her signature tune “Freight Train” became hugely popular among the folk musicians of the revival of the late 50s/early 60s, being covered by Joan Baez and Bob Dylan among many others.

She started to tour and perform with big names, released another influential record in 1967, Shake Sugaree, and kept touring and playing till the end of her life (January 5, 1895 – June 29, 1987). Her unusual picking style was greatly admired, because it’s totally awesome! People have worked out alternate ways to play the songs that don’t involve playing the guitar upside down and backwards. (John spent two weeks learning “Freight Train” when we were on Martha’s Vineyard last year, causing our children to, in extremis, institute a strict “no Freight Train” policy. Happily, though, now it reminds us of my aunt’s house and all being together with my siblings and cousins, and beach plums, and the creek with its perfect flat wet stones, and the cold Atlantic, so grey.) Her music is distinctive because of the bass lines—the strings sounding the lowest notes were at the bottom of the guitar and so she picks out distinctive tunes on them. The highest string being on top, she sometimes treats the guitar like a banjo—since that’s where the high-pitched drone string is. I just learned reading the wikipedia article that she wrote “Freight Train” at 11!

Her voice is wonderful, but many of her best songs are instrumental only:

I’m having trouble choosing here, “In The Sweet By and By” is beautiful…some songs are painfully short, like “Mama, There’s Nobody Here But The Baby” or “Ain’t Got No Honey Baby Now.” [Which I can’t find a working video of :/ ] 56 seconds? NO. Although Harry Taussig plays a killer version on steel guitar. I’ll close with the topical “Take Me Back to Baltimore.”

My dad is an incredible guitarist, and plays steel 12-string bottle-neck slide, though he removes the second string from the highest two strings, making it 10-string. He also picks in this style—and we are big fans of Ry Cooder who is a master at it. When I was a kid we always had music playing. My godfather played the fiddle and we had plenty of other random musicians at parties, which, in South Carolina through to the late 70s were always two- or three-day affairs. We had a whole crew of Hell’s Angels camped out in the back yard one time. My brother and I would sing, folk songs like “Froggy Went a-Courting.” That’s happiness for me, standing on the front porch catching lizards on the screen, listening to live music and the leathery sounds of the palmetto pushed by the wind, live oaks tossing their heads and their festoons of Spanish moss, my feet slowly blackening with the super-fine dust of mildew that settles inevitably on the grey floor of any screen porch, the sky and the hydrangeas planted around the base of the house and the screen porch ceiling all alike powder-blue, the smell of salt water and marsh and endless joints burning mingled into a perfect sweetness. High tide. Got to be high tide at 2 p.m. with a summer thunderstorm blowing up far across the river. Not low tide and with all hanging breathless and hot, and the mud flats on the sandbar across the river stinking in the sun. Eating cold boiled peanuts and watermelon and drinking sweet tea. Perfect. Except now I’m homesick!

Let’s say you care about the exploitation of nail salon workers. Rather than just decide to change your habits and not get your nails done or do them yourself, which does nothing to alleviate the workers’ plight, what can you do. Let me direct you to two similar statements. First, our own valued commenter Karen24:

1. Don’t use acrylic nails. Most of the health problems have been traced to the really nasty chemicals in fake nails, especially the particulates. So, just don’t.

2. Don’t go to the super cheap salons. Here in Texas, $15 is about the minimum for a manicure and $25 for a pedicure. Anything below those numbers should be suspicious.

3. Look around the place first. Does it look clean? Is there an overwhelming chemical smell? Most states — except apparently New York — require salons to be ventilated. Complain to the state board if the place is stifling. Cleanliness is a matter of customer safety, but also indicates that the salon owner is invested in keeping the place open and cares enough to follow cleaning rules. A clean salon is also an indication that the owner is hiring experienced and licensed operators. Having a license is no guarantee that the worker isn’t being exploited, but it does mean she has completed the state requirements and can get a job someplace else pretty easily. (One of the problems with the New York system is its use of apprentices, who have to work at one salon until they complete enough hours to qualify for an individual license, meaning the operator can’t leave without losing all her accumulated hours.)

4. Notice the names of the operators and notice whether the same ones are at the salon over a period of time. High turnover usually indicates that the salon owner is doing something wrong.

5. Be aware of your state’s regulatory bodies and file complaints if anything looks off. I’m not aware of any state that doesn’t have a labor board or agency regulating cosmetology, and all of ‘em should have a website that instructs consumers how to file complaints. (New York’s is terrible; but it does exist.) Note that in most states the labor board and regulatory authority are different agencies. File a complaint if anything looks like a problem. There is of course no guarantee that your complaint will lead to anything, but it is absolutely certain that nothing will happen if you don’t complain. Texas at least accepts anonymous complaints and will investigate them.

6. Tip generously, in cash.

Personal grooming is a delight, and the democratization of little luxuries like mani/ pedis is a genuine achievement. We can, with little effort, make sure that the people who provide these luxuries get to enjoy them as well.

Second, Liza Featherstone:

Support workers’ groups. For example, Woodside-based Adhikaar organizes in Nepali-speaking communities and has been educating workers and consumers on health and safety problems faced by nail aestheticians. The group presses for policy changes on its own and as part of the NY Healthy Nail Salons Coalition. Adhikaar’s website explains how to donate or volunteer — its fundraising gala is on June 4, so there is plenty to do.

Pressure politicians. Contact your City Council representative and ask her (or him) to support a bill introduced earlier this month by Public Advocate Letitia James to improve the health and safety working conditions of nail salon employees.

Contact Cuomo’s office, too, and praise him for responding so quickly, but pressure him to do more than create a task force. Adhikaar and the New York Committee for Occupational Safety and Health are calling on the governor to increase the number of health and safety inspectors dedicated to this industry.

Demand nontoxic salon products. If your neighborhood salon won’t switch to nontoxic polish and remover, take your business to any number of organic, toxin-free salons around the city.

Tip big! Adhikaar advises at least 20%, but remember that tip theft is also common. Tip in cash and directly into the hands of the person who helped you, so the boss won’t steal it.

And, don’t forget that this isn’t the only exploitive industry in our fair city.

Of course, Featherstone’s advice is largely New York based, but the principles are universal. Engaging in any of these actions will play a small role in improving the lives of workers, certainly much more so than withdrawal. Each of us can only do a little bit, with a few exceptions who can do more, but collectively we all matter if we are aiming for the same or similar goals. This is what consumer support of workers’ movements is about.

Hiiiii

madeleinerosca:

Guitar Lessons with the Doof Warrior.

Swiped from www.funnyordie.com