I nearly spit my beer on the screen...
This is what keeps me up at night ;)
one time in sixth grade i did my math homework and then because i was excited that i had grasped the lesson so well, i did the next day’s homework too
the next day in class i told my teacher, and she looked constipated for a second, and then said dismissively, “well, then you’re not very good at following directions, are you.”
Cause tags are truth. Maaan ,that one time a teacher stole my encyclopedia cause it proved her wrong.
when I was eight and in public school, we could do a report based on any historical character who had a book about them in the school library.
I picked Harriet Tubman because Harriet Tubman, and I wrote about how her master had thrown an anvil at her head, leaving her with a permanent dent in her forehead. I know that the anvil part was definitely in the school library book.
My teacher circled the word “anvil” and took off points.
“I HAVE SPELLED ANVIL CORRECTLY,” I roared in tiny confrontation.
“No,” she said, and it transpired that she didn’t know or care that “anvil” is a word or that “anvils” are a thing.
And so despite my helpful attempts to explain what anvils were, including references to blacksmiths and the Roadrunner, I had points taken off OH MY GOD.
YES, I AM STILL MAD ABOUT THIS TWENTY YEARS LATER.
FUCK YOU, LADY. YOU ARE DOUBTLESSLY DEAD BY NOW AND I HOPE YOU KNOW YOUR STUDENTS STILL HATE YOU.
ANVILS ARE A THING.
From “Daring Greatly” by Brene Browne:
“…85 percent of the men and women we interviewed for the shame research could recall a school incident from their childhood that was so shaming, it changed how they thought of themselves as learners.”
I think about this quote a lot when I think of school.
Sometimes you just see a combination of posts that really crystallizes something for you. thank you spcsnaptags for putting these thoughts together this way.
THIS. when i was in first grade i was bored in class a lot. my solution was: finish my work as quickly as possible, then read a book, because teachers said that books were good and i liked to read. except i got in trouble, more than once, for working ahead. because… we were doing it as a class i suppose? but if y’all are gonna take an hour to descirbe how to tell time, why shouldn’t i finish my worksheet? i remember we had these clothespins with our names on them and we had to move them to yellow or red from green if we got into trouble, and because i answered the next three questions ahead (correctly, i might add) i had to move my pin to yellow and miss recess.
and it didn’t stop as i got older. i once had an 8th grade science teacher tell me off for reading in class and said he would throw my library book away, because i had finished my work and the other people in my group, who didn’t want to do their work and were whining to copy off mine, hadn’t finished. because i was expected not to be done until they were, and he refused to believe they wanted to cheat. (of course the solution here was to let them cheat and go back to harry potter, because fuck if i was going to listen to them complain through every single problem they didn’t want to do).
tl;dr: STOP PUNISHING KIDS FOR WANTING TO WORK HARD
in fourth grade we had an end of the trimester pizza party or whatever for the kids that had worked hard enough to read x amount of books. it was like, four books and the only requirement was that it had to be at your reading level or above, so the kids who struggled to read could also get the chance to partake.
well, i had read the third and fourth harry potter books along with some others, and i had one book left. we had to tell our teacher what we were reading so she could keep track.
i told her i was reading order of the phoenix and she said no. “you’ve read too many of those.”
YOU REALLY, HONESTLY WANT TO TELL A NINE YEAR OLD THAT WANTS TO READ AN 870 PAGE BOOK TO NOT DO IT?
I said fuck her and read it in two days. she was pissed but she had to count it because i passed the computer test on it so she knew i had actually read it.
don’t tell a kid they can’t read something, for god sakes. don’t punish children for wanting to learn or to do something above the regular level. thats how kids wind up not doing anything.
There are literally no words… [x]
As a resident of the Southern US, allow me to translate:
“Zucchini, Potatoes, Tomatoes, Jalapeno Bell Peppers”
This individual is selling cheap fresh vegetable, possibly from their own or a neighbor’s farm. They might also have fruit and boiled peanuts. I highly recommend you buy fruits and vegetable from stands such as this. The best tomatoes and watermelon you’ve ever had in your entire life can come from the back of pickup trucks.
Imagine a wall full of circular holes, that circles can keep walking in and out of with no difficulty.
Now imagine that the triangles manage to get the resources together, after years of not being able to fit through the circle’s holes, to drill a single triangle space into the wall.
Now imagine that the circle — who previously supported the triangle’s efforts because they are well-rounded (har) and value equality — comes along and sees the construction project. But instead of being happy, they get angry.
“Well, I won’t be able to fit through your hole!!!!” the circle cries.
“I helped you get the drill!!!!” the circle shrieks.
“Make it fit me too!!!!” the circle demands.
The triangles, barely holding it together enough to get a triangle hole together, stare at the circle in confusion.
“You have all the holes you need,” the triangles explain. “This is for us. You don’t need to fit through our hole, too.”
“YOU’RE BEING UNEQUAL AND HURTING MY FEELINGS!” the circle wails. “I DON’T SUPPORT YOUR HOLE IF IT DOESN’T FIT ME TOO. GIVE ME MY DRILL BACK.”
“It’s not your drill, it’s our drill. You helped us get it, because you said you cared.”
“I ONLY CARED WHEN I THOUGHT YOU’D MAKE A HOLE EVERYONE COULD FIT THROUGH. YOU’RE PERPETUATING INEQUALITY!!!”
“Why is it up to us, the small group that has never been able to fit through the wall at all, to make a hole everyone can use? Why isn’t it up to you, the people who have been able to cross back and forth at will for years? We just want to see the other side; why are you yelling at us?”
“I DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN A CIRCLE, OMG. I’VE HAD TO WORK HARD ALL MY LIFE TOO. YOU’RE JUST BEING BIGOTED AGAINST ME BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I CAN’T CONTROL, JUST LIKE EVERYONE IS AGAINST YOU.”
“You are interfering with our project and asking us to comfort you while we’re trying to make progress. Please leave.”
“I’m going to tell everyone about this,” the circle warns. “Nobody will support you now.”
“Apparently nobody ever did,” the triangles sigh, getting back to work.
It’s kind of sad
That we have to draw comics using colorful shapes
To explain systematic inequality to people
Reblogging again because yes good
When I see more than 10 stars in L.A.
#WomenBetrayed is trending, so I thought I’d post this in response.
The amount of sass is unreal
Must name my next cat Godot
-waits for Godot-
This is why we dont call the cops. Stop asking why.
no todos los héroes usan capa
I wish more people knew and understood this.
Why didn’t my teacher teach this smh
The More you know =O
The civil rights movement didn’t want to use Claudette because she was pregnant without a husband.
Claudette didnt become pregnant until the summer afterwards. theNAACP didn’t want to use Claudette because she was poor, dark skinned and her father was and alcoholic. they felt white people wouldn’t sympathize with her. stop trying to clean up history
Let’s hear it from Ms. Colvin herself:
“When asked why she is little known and why everyone thinks only of Rosa Parks, Colvin says the NAACP and all the other black organizations felt Parks would be a good icon because “She was an adult. They didn’t think teenagers would be reliable.”
She also says Parks had the right hair and the right look. “Her skin texture was the kind that people associate with the middle class,” says Colvin. “She fit that profile.”
Also, there were other black women who refused to give up their seats but were “quietly fined.” Unfortunately, their stories never made headlines. (source)
There’s something about watching a beautiful woman self-destruct that we can’t turn away from. Asif Kapadia’s new documentary, Amy, that follows Amy Winehouse from age 14 until her death at 27 in 2011, had the chance to redeem her from the paparazzi-fueled spectacle of tragic victim martyred to the media and the music industry. But Kapadia seems, at least in part, to pick up where the media left off—cashing in on images of Amy’s wasted body, eyes rolling back in her skull, her smeared makeup and scratched-up face, her crumbling teeth, coke-lined nostrils, scenes of her desperately clinging to her husband, her father, her bodyguards, and managers. Her musical genius is almost an aside in the film, dashed off most convincingly in two short scenes in the beginning and a scene with Tony Bennett at the end.
I liked watching Amy. I loved hearing her voice again, catching rare but precious glimpses into the sharp-witted sparkling young woman she was before ravaged by addictions and celebrity. I’m also guilty of rubbernecking—what happens when a person finally submits to their darkness is fascinating to watch, and lets a viewer vicariously experience the relief of just giving up the fight. But there is a fascination with decay, a person dying before our eyes, the skeletal, the ghosted, that is covertly harmful. It’s the same fascination that uses emaciated models to sell dresses, and models posing dead-eyed and hollow-cheeked, legs askew, to sell designer handbags. Women’s death and suffering sells. It’s sickly sexy, and it’s dangerous.
In her article for Pitchfork, Molly Beauchemin contrasts Amy with Montage of Heck, Brett Morgan’s biopic of Kurt Cobain that came out this January. She claims a comparison of the two films displays the sexist double standard of the music industry and the media, one in which a man’s musical brilliance is showcased with almost tangential mention about his struggles with addictions, whereas the narrative of the woman focuses on her downward spiral sensationalized by paparazzi and a public hungry to watch a celebrity unravel.
This double standard is well-precedented. Beauchemin cites coverage of other deaths of young women in the music industry—Janis Joplin, Billie Holliday, Whitney Houston—who were rendered as “substance-addled messes,” while reporters depicted the deaths of men like Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Keith Moon as flamboyant geniuses with some “sensual excesses.” Beauchemin writes that in Amy:
A slurry of ugly tabloid images fly across the screen and we see paparazzi preying upon her existential nadir—meanwhile, Montage of Heck posits a cache of neat magazine covers that offer obsequious, reverential coverage of a man whose drug addiction was portrayed as incidental to his supreme talent.
In an interview with the Guardian, Amy’s father, Mitchell Winehouse, deemed the film “horrible.” After a private viewing, he told the filmmakers, “You should be ashamed of yourselves. You had the opportunity to make a wonderful film and you’ve made this.” He also claimed the film was “both misleading and contains some basic untruths” about her family and management. Granted, Winehouse has copious reasons for discrediting the film. It portrays him as an absentee father who reenters his daughter’s life to ride on the coattails of her ascent to wealth and fame. Winehouse claims he was always trying to protect his daughter and work tirelessly for her best interest. It’s hard to know where the truth lies, probably, as it usually does, somewhere between the two narratives. But his point is well-taken—the film eschews Amy the artist for Amy the addict, and that’s a show we’ve already seen.
I wanted more footage of outstanding performances, improvisations and songs I hadn’t yet heard. The film does grant some access into the private archives of Amy as friend, daughter, lover, and wife. But we hardly learn anything about her early musical training, we rarely see her brilliant performances, triumphs, and successes. More outstanding performances and improvisations can be found in a cursory YouTube search. We do see some notebook scribbling, some shots of Amy recording in the studio, but this storyline is overshadowed by the much larger focus on Amy as victim.
And she was a victim of so much—bulimia, depression, an absent father, an enabling mother, drug and alcohol addictions, co-dependent relationships, men in power over her—namely her father, her ex-husband, Blake Fielder-Civil, her manager, Raye Cosbert, all of whom, the film implies, pushed her past her breaking point for personal gain. As Tony Bennett points out towards the end of the film, she was also a victim of her youth. He said, “ Life teaches you how to live it if you live long enough.” Amy did not live long enough to learn that lesson, nor how to manage worldwide celebrity, Internet stardom, and all the baggage she brought with her.
There’s no doubt that Amy’s depression and addictions are part of her story—in fact they charged her music with the depth, urgency, and strength that made it so famous and well-loved. It gave her voice its distinctive haunt. Without her demons her lyrics and melodies may have joined the rest of the pop music at the time, music she herself criticized as shallow and unoriginal—one-offs about romantic love or lust or money. She made her music because she desperately needed it—it was her lifeline, therapy, medicine. In the film she dismissed medical treatment of her depression saying that she can pick up her guitar for an hour and feel better. But music can’t replace treatment, and while drugs and subsuming herself in her passion for Blake delivered temporary respite from her inner black, it wasn’t enough. The film doesn’t focus on her demons in service of her music, it dips into them on their own, brings us with her into the darkness she couldn’t see her way out of.
If this film had a thesis it would be: Amy, a brilliant talented artist, was led astray by men in power. She self-medicated with music but also with bulimia, drugs, and alcohol, and this killed her. I wish it had been: Amy was a brilliant and tortured artist. Lets explore her brilliance. Let’s watch her perform. And, like Montage of Heck, let’s portray her death quickly, with dignity. Perhaps this is a naive wish. I know sex and scandal sells. But we had plenty of that during her life. I wanted someone to come and raise her out of that in her death.
Kapadia failed to elevate Amy from that swirling mess of media filth, but Amy did succeed in exposing the paparazzi’s ruthlessness and carnivorous appetite and the way that can drive a person mad. Much of the film’s footage comes from the paparazzi who hounded her. Anthony Lane writes in the New Yorker, “You ask yourself if ‘Amy’ might not be half in league with the tabloid frenzy that it purports to scorn.” Towards the end of the film, Amy’s bodyguard, Andrew Morris, reports that the night of her death she was watching YouTube clips of herself. He reports that she said to him, “Man, I can sing.” And then, “If I could give it all back just to walk down the street with no hassles, I would.”
If Kapadia fell short of restoring the focus on Amy’s life to its rightful place—on her music—he did so with the complicity of the free world. With his film, he gave us what we’ve proven we want—to tear down and watch fall what we’ve built up—like we’ve done with Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, and Miley Cyrus. Their dissolution sells magazines. But why?
Beauchemin believes that successful women upset a major cultural convention, one we are hungry to set right again. Beauchemin writes, “When women succeed as Winehouse did, we anticipate their downfall and pounce hard, relish the sillage of failure when we get a whiff… We martyr our women because we fear their greatness.”
One of the hardest things for me to see in the movie and in pictures online is how stripped down and ravaged her body became from her eating disorder—in some shots she is reminiscent of skeletal prisoners and torture victims. And we all watched, hungrily, and still she sang, was photographed, interviewed. This kind of intrigue is that it strips women of their power, of their very flesh—it gives the impression: ladies, if you want to be noticed, suffer like this, starve like this, bleed out in public like this, die like this. We’ll pay good money to watch.
Los Angele’s Pacific Electric Red Car system in 1925. It covered over 1000 miles, today new York’s subway system covers about 800.
This thing literally covers most of Los Angeles County and more. Also it was hydro electric
The hashtag #CrimingWhileWhite became a platform to illustrate what often happens when white people engage in criminal activity. It was a powerful moment, as white people openly acknowledged that they don’t face nearly the same punishment or brutality experienced by their black counterparts. But despite the good intentions of those who participated, many others felt like the hashtag detracted from conversations about the value of black lives.
The Bluescreen of Meh
Is Sharp Turkey any better than Moon Turkey?
Must not give the wife any ideas...