WICHITA, Kan. (AP) — A Wichita man had no anti-abortion motives when he brought a small homemade explosive device into a women's health clinic while applying for a job, police said Tuesday.
According to a message posted on their front page, Blingee.com is going to be permanently “turned off” on August 25. This is sad news. A while back, Doug (aka Internet History) and I began collecting death Blingees––sparkling tributes to dead pets, relatives, celebs, etc––and then we started posting our collection at RIP Blingee.
Anyway, Blingee is going away forever. If you feel like mourning with us, you can pay your respects at RIP Blingee. We’re going to post as many as we can before they’re gone for good.
Show her that you love her while you Blingee ~Blingee, 2006-2015~
Rachel Luster wasn’t happy when news started showing up in her social media feeds that the Ku Klux Klan wanted to train “the first recruits… in a mighty army” in her part of the Ozarks.
From neighbours chatting between rubble-strewn terraces to kids playing cricket on cracked pavements, Shirley Baker’s photographs capture a rich street life on the brink of being bulldozed into history...
“Which author would you want to bring into 2015″ is such a hard question to answer I mean you could watch Arthur Conan Doyle despair over everything Sherlock Holmes within the last century or you could present Douglas Adams with an iPad
I would quite like to unleash Dickens on the Tories.
imagine William Shakespeare in the age of social media. 24/7 supreme dick jokes and the world celebrates.
Many of the responses were tied to the solace of the outdoors, particularly running trails and the woods. On Facebook, Michelle Hammack said her home away from home is a “dirt road.”
I’m not even going to try to hide it. I am industrial/goth girl trash. I predominantly listen to aggrotech and 80′s synthy darkwave shit. Depeche Mode is my favorite. I can hear synth from 10 miles away. My wardrobe is pretty much all black and plaids. I do the shitty goth dancing that’s head bobbing, some hip movement and wrist twirls. I drunkenly got the DJ drunk at a party so he’d play more God Module. When he did, I literally cried in the bar. His name was Bones. I am listening to Nachtmahr right now. I used to smoke Cloves. I will look you dead in the eyes and mouth the creepiest parts of songs at you. I am dolled up, synth listening trash.
•The site changes format ALL THE TIME WITH NO WARNING. BE READY.
•There’s a new meme every week and you’re just gonna have to get used to seeing it everywhere for a while.
•You are going to care more about social justice, feminism, different sexualities, and the safety of bees than you ever have in your life
•It doesn’t matter who you follow, PORN WILL FIND YOU
•If you get a message from a random person politely telling you to test out their game or visit their page at all, DELETE IT AND WALK AWAY.
•We all make fun of Superwholock fans’ inability to take a joke.
•No matter who you are or what you do, someone is going to find you or someone you know problematic (and I mean EVERYONE) don’t sweat it when it happens.
Take a look at the latest images from Botswana based fashion photographer Ray Geof. Posting the series on his Tumblr, the photographer (who describes his work as "abstract') captioned one of the image as, "Black Is The New Black!"; and these images are the perfect celebration of the bold and powerful color - shot at the RiverWalk Gaborone in Botswana and featuring models from the X models Agency. Explore below.
Again, I’ve been doing this a long time, so here’s the shorthand:
If, as a director, you want to make a movie about a young gay man who has been kicked out of his Kansas home by his Christian parents for being gay who then, in turn, comes to NYC & becomes a queer radical, make that awesome movie. It’s needed.
Just don’t, um, call it Stonewall. It can even be about that era, or that particular guy’s experience in the uprising, but calling it Stonewall implies it is about the whole of the event, not just one person’s experience in it.
This isn’t hard. If you’re going to make a movie about one of the most important moments of queer liberation – globally! – then maybe try to get the history right.
The burden is on the filmmaker to get it right.
Gay white men did an awful lot for queer liberation, actually, and there are plenty of stories to tell about them, including at Stonewall and during it. They just weren’t the ones who threw the first brick.
Hiring a few trans people to work on the film would have been great. Also black and latinx actors.
People aren’t upset just because of this movie; they’re upset because this has been happening since 1970 when Silvia Rivera was first asked not to speak at the 1st anniversary of Stonewall, the very 1st PRIDE. And you would think that perhaps someone might do their research and realize how incredibly frustrating it has been for the trans community to experience this erasure, especially after being dumped from legislation that benefited the LG and not the T. That is, there’s a history to the history.
I think I’m most disturbed by the idea that the director and screenwriter were surprised by this backlash and calls for a boycott. There are about 800 people who do trans history and advocacy who could have warned them, and maybe they were warned and dismissed the warning. That said, I’ve also seen them called out for using the word “transvestite” which – although it’s not used anymore – was, in fact, the word used by Rivera and Johnson, whose organization was called STAR, after all, for Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries. While I’m at it, there’s this:
What people fail to realize is that the Stonewall was not a drag queen bar. It was a white male bar for middle-class males to pick up young boys of different races. Very few drag queens were allowed in there, because if they had allowed drag queens into the club, it would have brought the club down. That would have brought more problems to the club. It’s the way the Mafia thought, and so did the patrons. So the queens who were allowed in basically had inside connections. I used to go there to pick up drugs to take somewhere else. I had connections.
[From Rivera’s piece “Queens in Exile, the Forgotten Ones,” in J. Nestle, ed., Genderqueer: Voices from Beyond the Sexual Binary, at pp. 67-85 (2002).]
Does all this mean the movie will suck? Maybe not. It does mean that I won’t go see it.
17 summers ago, I tore the anterior cruciate ligament in my left knee while attempting a spin move in a pick-up basketball game. I planted awkwardly, my knee twisted a way it wasn’t supposed to twist, and I immediately knew something was wrong. It was painful. But, as many who’ve also torn their ACLs will tell you, it wasn’t an excruciating pain. I’ve also sprained each ankle several times, and each time that happens it feels like your foot is on fire. This wasn’t that. But it was scarier because a knee injury is exponentially more serious. Possible surgery, longer rehab, and a good chance you may never fully recover. And the knowledge of this fucks you up more than the actual pain.
But, back to the pain. I walked home that day. I needed crutches, but I was able to move myself. A week or so later, after the swelling subsided, I was walking without a limp. And if you didn’t know I was missing a ligament in my left knee, you’d have no idea I was missing a ligament in my left knee. Sure, it was far from 100% — if I tried playing I wouldn’t have been able to jump, cut, or stop — but it was manageable. I couldn’t continue playing basketball without it (although some, like DeJuan Blair, have managed to do that), but I could live without it.
But I was a basketball player. And my knee needed to be 100%. And for it to be 100%, I needed surgery. And I needed to rehab the knee for 6-12 months after the surgery to make a full recovery. So I had surgery.
And the week following the surgery was the worst week of my entire life.
Because, immediately after you wake up from the surgery — while your knee is the size of a fat toddler’s head and you still have a tube in it to drain blood and pus — you start working on your range of motion. Actually, you don’t work on your range of motion yourself. A nice nurse comes into your room with a machine. And that machine stretches and bends your knee for you. Because you can’t do it yet. And even if you could, you wouldn’t because it hurts too fucking much. You’re bleeding. The stitches keeping your incision closed tug at your skin. Every movement radiates. You move your knee and your ears somehow start throbbing. And then your face. And then your entire body. And then you ask for more morphine, because the bitch-ass droplets they’re giving you just aint enough. And then that same nice nurse comes back in your room to tell you you’ve already been given enough. And that you need to just deal with it.
And then, three hours later, they send you and the machine home. It’s outpatient surgery, after all. And this process — the forced bending, the bleeding, the radiating and excruciating pain — continues. A process interrupted once a day by the baths your mom assists you with because your leg is too limited, too weak, and too painful to move. And this is where you lose it. Where the pain and the embarrassment and the self-pity all congeal in a big-ass batch of self-doubt stew. Your eyes water. Your face numbs. You seriously wonder if you’ll ever be able to jump and cut and stop and slide as effortlessly as you were able to before that gotdamn spin move. That fucking spin move.
But then, after a week or so, you start feeling better. The swelling begins to dissipate. The pain isn’t as excruciating. Your range of motion increases. It’s strong enough for you to shit and shower with limited assistance. And then you’re able to stand with crutches. And then you’re able to walk with crutches. And then you’re able to walk without them but with a limp. And then you’re able to walk without a limp. And then there are several more “and then”s until, 12 months later, you’re playing on concrete in an outdoor summer league with no brace, no pain, no fear, and no evidence of the process aside from a half inch-long vertical scar on your kneecap.
§
America is changing. Incrementally, haltingly, and imperfectly. But it is changing. And this change is progress. Uprisings, protests, sit-ins, anger, outrage, fury — these are not signs of regression. These are the stitches stretching, bleeding, and breaking after forcibly bending your knee. Being challenged, having your feelings hurt, being forced to acknowledge certain things you either weren’t aware existed or were aware existed but refused to acknowledge — this is what change looks and feels like. It’s ugly. It’s bloody. It’s painful. It makes you question. It makes you doubt. It makes you cry. It is, in every sense of the term, fucked up.
It makes you wonder if it’s all really worth it. Because, I can imagine things seemed fine before. They weren’t perfect, but they were manageable. At least much more manageable than this fuck shit muck proceeding it.
But this is the difference between wanting actual change, actual progress, and wanting the appearance of change. Because everyone — at least everyone who considers themselves a liberal or a progressive or an ally — says they want progress. But some only want it on a cosmetic level. They want the appearance of giving an effort — an effort facsimile — and a pat on the back for this performance instead of the actual effort. Basketball coaches call this “fake hustle.” Ex-girlfriends call it “your bullshit.”
Unlike an ACL reconstruction, there is no rehab timetable for America. 20 years. 50 years. 500 years. We have no idea how long it will take us to progress to a point of full range of motion. Of full freedom. Shit, it might never happen. But right now, today, we are better than we were yesterday. We are moving. And if you want to move too, it’s going to hurt. It will be fucking excruciating. But it will be better than doing nothing. Because you will be better too.
goddamn if Vancouver doesn't have a thriving Satanic art scene. More »
Take a look at the latest images from Botswana based fashion photographer Ray Geof. Posting the series on his Tumblr, the photographer (who describes his work as "abstract') captioned one of the image as, "Black Is The New Black!"; and these images are the perfect celebration of the bold and powerful color - shot at the RiverWalk Gaborone in Botswana and featuring models from the X models Agency. Explore below.
![goat-kwisatz[1]](http://amultiverse.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/goat-kwisatz1-450x180.png)
