Oia, Santorini is a small Greek island in the middle, lower part of the Aegean Sea that offers one of the best sunsets in the world. People actually travel from all over the globe to wach the sunset each night from the famous “Captain’s House” at the top of the mountain which offers 360 degree views of everyone below. If you have a travel bucket list Santorini island shoudl be right up at the top.
“Kodak’s film was so bad at capturing the different hues and saturations of black skin that when director Jean Luc Godard was sent on an assignment to Mozambique in 1977, he flat-out refused to use Kodak on the grounds that its stock was “racist.” Only when the candy and furniture industries began complaining that they couldn’t accurately shoot dark chocolate and brown wood furniture did Kodak start to improve its technology.”
“I counted everything. I counted the steps to the road, the steps up to church, the number of dishes and silverware I washed … anything that could be counted, I did.”
On her NASA calculations:
“Early on, when they said they wanted the capsule to come down at a certain place, they were trying to compute when it should start. I said, ‘Let me do it. You tell me when you want it and where you want it to land, and I’ll do it backwards and tell you when to take off.’ That was my forte.”
Katherine really stood out in her field because she was the only woman who asked questions.
“The women did what they were told to do,” she explained. “They didn’t ask questions or take the task any further. I asked questions; I wanted to know why.“
In 2011, when asked if she still counts things:
“Oh, yes. And things have to be parallel. I see a picture right now that’s not parallel, so I’m going to go straighten it. Things must be in order.”
Coyote finds old dog toy, acts like a puppy A photographer spotted a coyote as it trotted into her yard and explored a toy left in the snow. What she managed to capture on camera is the beauty of play.
“Recognize the KluKluxKlan as a domestic terrorist organization & make their eradication a Homeland Security priority.” There are 24,980 signatures by far and 75,020 is needed.
We’ve seen several fusions now, but despite Steven mirroring the audience’s desire to see them, only a few have been presented as a positive thing. All the others were demonstrated by the show and by Steven’s in-show reaction to be distinctly negative for everyone involved.
For the positive, we have Garnet, Opal, and Stevonnie (Opal is rocky, but she got the Garnet seal-of-approval in Giant Woman, and Garnet is probably our authority on healthy fusions). Garnet and Opal are seen to be quite similar, actually - cases in which her two halves’ differences balance out in a fusion, instead of compounding similarities like Sugilite.
For the negative, we have Sugilite (who shows how dangerous fusion can be), Sardonyx (who was downright mean to Amethyst - call it shade all you will, but I sure wouldn’t like my friends to form up and then talk about me like that), Rainbow Quartz (Who was a being of pure spite and completely failed the Garnet Litmus Test), and, of course, Malachite. Alexandrite gets a by because she’s too monstrous and unstable to really have a distinct personality.
So what is the difference between the positively-represented fusions and the negatively represented fusions?
Communication.
Rebecca Sugar is putting a story about consent and communication right in front of us. What’s the difference between Opal and, say, Sardonyx? When forming Opal, both Pearl and Amethyst have the same intention. They’re both know why they’re doing it (to save Steven) and they are both equal parties in the fusion. For Sardonyx, not only was Pearl lying about her motivations, she was also not viewing the fusion as a fusion of equals (I think Garnet was - she doesn’t actually think she’s better than her friends, and she seems to hate that they think she is). Same goes for Rainbow Quartz, who was again a being composed of two different motivations and no communication of those motivations (Rose just wanted to put on a show, Pearl wanted to mark Rose as her territory). Sugilite is much the same as Sardonyx. Malachite was obviously and deliberately formed with two different intentions.
Garnet has turned into a sort of relationship guru for the show. She gives people advice, seems to have good knowledge of what is healthy and unhealthy, and is held up often as an ideal relationship. She considers herself a conversation. Trust and honesty aren’t just important to her - they are literally what she is. I can’t imagine how trying all these fusions based on dishonest principles must be for her.
The importance of honest communication is the number one theme of this show. If the gems don’t start actually talking to each other sharpish, they are going to fall apart.
Hey people, please follow this person because their commentary is spot on and gets far less attention that it deserves.
With an over six-month waitlist, L.A.-based tattoo artist Dr. Woo has garnered attention for his exceptionally effortless tattoo designs. Composed from delicate lines, dots, and geometric patterns, his tattoos are a highly coveted work of body art, which require patience and effort to obtain.
Summer is in full swing, which means firefly season is officially upon us. While these brilliant bugs are lighting up the night all around New York, we wanted to share a few fast facts about the insects that are such an indelible sign of the season:
Despite their name, fireflies aren’t flies at all, but a type of beetle.
There are more than 2,000 known species of fireflies worldwide, but those you’ll see in Theodore Roosevelt Park and around New York are likely Photinus pyralis, one of eastern North America’s most common firefly species.
Fireflies are bioluminescent, producing light by blending a cocktail of two chemicals—luceferin and luciferase—in a specialized organ known as their lantern.
For reasons that aren’t yet clear, fireflies that flash are extremely rare west of the Rocky Mountains in North America. Fireflies that do live in this region communicate using pheromones rather than flashes of light.
Fireflies flash to signal that they are ready and willing to mate. But in some species of fireflies, the females are known to take advantage of this display of eagerness, using their flashes to lure males and then attacking and eating them, a practice known to researchers as “hawking.”
Osh-Tisch, Crow bate (Two-Spirit), falls under most peoples’ definition for trans, so I refer you to that entry.
As for future entries: I very much want to do more, but it’s tremendously difficult to fit 21st century ideas of gender into a historical context. Gender is a wide spectrum, and it’s nearly impossible to determine how a historical figure would have defined themselves in modern terms.
An illustrative example would be the Chevalier d’Eon. There’s textual evidence that the Chevalier thought themselves a woman assigned male at birth, but there’s also evidence that it was all a charade to keep themselves from the hangman’s noose (the Chevalier was a wily one). Missed in History Class, who do their homework on this sort of thing, did a 2-part podcast on the Chevalier (one, two), and they used male pronouns - but it was a matter of some debate (and up to the old hosts’ interpretations, 4 years ago. new info might have emerged since then).
Or take Catalina de Erauso, whom I’ve already written about. Lived as a man for most of her life (could argue she thought of herself as a man!), but switched pronouns constantly in her autobiography (hrm), and declared herself female late in life, but under duress by the church (so does it count?). Genderfluid? Trans? Who am I to say - and it’s not like Erauso would ever give a straightforward answer anyway. Scholarly works on her get so confused by the question of her gender that one paper switched which pronoun it used every single time it referenced her. (it was a confusing read)
Elagabalus, possible transwoman and real-life Hedonism Bot, is similarly confounding. You get the idea.
(it’s like looking in a mirror)
There’s more clear-cut examples of historical trans men that I’ve found in my research, but as has been previously established, trans men aren’t going to be included in this project (so, no James Barry, Charley Parkhurst, Henrietta Faber, etc).
However, I will probably blog about these people. In fact, I have one historical figure I plan to blog about sometime soon (maybe tomorrow) whose gender fluidity puts Orlando to shame. I’m not sure they were trans, but one could probably argue that they were.
If anyone has good examples of historical trans figures with interesting lives, please send them in. It’s a tricky subject. I will say that the RP book will have at least two trans figures.
Black Orchid - Fredclarkeara Black Lace ‘Baker’s Dark Angel’
In nature, black flowers are rare. The reality is that there is almost no plant in the world that is truly black in color. Most are shades of deep blue or reds or purples. This is also true about orchid flowers. Growers and hybridizers have tried many different orchid plants and hybrid orchid varieties to try to get to a truly black flower.
Among the most notable hybrids (since 2010) with truly black flowers (currently commercially available from Sunset Valley Orchids) you can find Fredclarkeara (Asparagales - Orchidaceae), an intergeneric hybrid between the orchid genera Catasetum, Clowesia and Mormodes. (Ctsm. x Cl. x Morm.).
The Fredclarkeara breeding produces flowers that are fragrant, have lots of color and are long lasting. As you can see on this one in the photo, the Fredclarkeara Black Lace ‘Baker’s Dark Angel’ is indeed black.
Being a girl was complicated. It was swallowing rusty nails and clawing our way towards something we didn’t even know we really wanted.
When I was thirteen I told Stephanie that drinking orange juice could stop you from fainting because it raises your blood sugar. In sophomore year, she slammed her head, saw stars, and ended up drinking an entire carton in one sitting. She vomited on her kitchen floor, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the concussion or from a pint of orange juice sitting in her stomach. Her doctor told her mother, “All girls try throwing up at some point.”
I remember the first time one of my friends came to me with eyes so red I thought she’d inhaled a desert. She said her mother had died from breast cancer the night before. She said her home was an open grave, a holy space. She said she’d rather be in school than dealing with an absence so loud nobody could speak. I still think about her every time someone says “save the ta-tas” instead of “please god save our mothers haven’t enough of us suffered.”
On certain Saturday nights we’d all get dressed up like we were going somewhere fancy and then sit in and watch Disney movies. We filled ourselves up with popcorn and gossip. When Patty showed up with a black eye again, we all said nothing about it. We were too young to make fists out of fingers, I think.
A girl on the train was reading a book I love. We got to talking. She’s from the Peace Corps, she said, gave me a smile like a thousand volts. She was one of those people who make you feel good about yourself. When she got up to go, she gave me a little wave. I said “Go stop violence,” and she laughed. Hanging off the back of her bag was a little pink can of mace.
We learned to be secret defend-each-other types. We were going to hold the world down until it liked us. There is something bold about being defiant. There is something about having soft petal skin and still showing sharp teeth.
The box was little and teal and had a bow attached to it. Inside was a pair of brass knuckles in the shape of cat ears. “In case,” my father said, “In case.”
I remember my sister, body wrapped in a towel, saying, “It’s not as bad as it looks,” her shinbone a mess of blood where her razor slipped. She said she saw the patch of skin she removed. She wiggled her eyebrows while holding up her pointer finger. “This long,” she said, “And pretty thick.” She had to throw it out rather than let it clog the drain.
He was tall and gawky and if you asked him personal questions, his ears turned red. He asked if I wanted to go out to the pond in the woods. I blushed and told him I couldn’t swim, and he gasped as if he’d been stung. He picked me up so easily, like I weighed nothing. He put me in the trunk of his car. We were laughing.
Much later, a stranger the same size would say, “Hey mama, wanna come home with me?”
I remember I met this one girl passed out on a couch, her dress hiked up around her hips. She was lying in her own vomit. “Let’s keep walking,” someone said, “Don’t get involved.” I was too much empathy in a small body to let her go unprotected. She shivered in the shower we put her in. Her skin was so blue around her eyes, I thought maybe she’d slipped the sky in there. She looked terrified. I asked her how much she drank, she couldn’t say. I asked her how she got here, she bit her lip and shook her head. “My friends… Just left,” she said, “They just left.” Sometimes friends are like that, I guess.
In late nights, I heard Kathrine crying about the things her father had said to her. She once told me that if it was a choice between being born with her learning disabilities and being born without a tongue, she’d choose the latter one. I whispered something of an apology that fell as flat as I felt, we don’t talk about it ever again.
Skeleton hands never stop shaking me awake. Sometimes I think we’re drowning and sometimes I think we are just painted that way. There’s never an excuse not to be dainty. Someone once told me that beauty is pain.
I remember her lips and how they were bright pink, because the words out of them were sick green things. Maggie said she’d swallowed eighty-nine Tylenol two days before. She said they’d filled her with charcoal and had her spit back up the blackness that was swelling like a river inside of her. We were fourteen.
We flirted with people we didn’t know, we used other people’s hands to mess up our hair, we got home late. We towered in heels that hurt to look at. We felt fierce, on fire. We painted our lips blood red and kissed the mirror until we got a perfect mark out of it. We’d spend ages just getting ready. It was the fun part of parties, I guess.
Her spine cracked while she rested her head on my leg. She said, “Let’s never get old, okay?” and I told her that sounded great. Sometimes in the darkness, she’d sound serious about it. I wanted to ask her if she was fighting bigger demons than the ones I can raise, but before I found out, she moved away.
We belonged to a group that was all punchline. Someone says, “teen girls, am I right?” and laughter spreads like ripples through the room.
I remember the first time you find out that they hurt one of your friends, because that’s how you find out you’re not safe either. She looked so whole, and that was the problem. Her mascara wasn’t even running. I watched her tell the story five ten twenty times to officers who shuffled papers and sniffed at every other word and sighed often and looked at their watch even though they were the reason she was talking. They asked her what she was wearing, she gestured to her body: jeans, tee-shirt, hoodie. They asked her if she knew him, she said no. They asked her if she provoked him, she said no. They asked her if she told him to stop, she fell silent. After a while, she’d try to explain the fear that had crept up her throat until she had choked. They sighed. Asked for the story again. She had this look on her face that I still dream about. It looked like someone had sucked her soul out.
Kelly in the ninth grade with her shining face telling me, “One of us is the better person. Everyone always compares us.”
A waiter looking down my shirt and saying, “Just a water for you, huh?”
Ballet class with pin-thin shaking hands and bathrooms that smelt like a bad dream. A teacher who said, “Don’t eat unless you faint, darlings.” You get used to cigarettes in the hands of young girls. You get used to the backstage addictions of “only nine hundred more crunches to go.” You get used to seeing this stuff until one day someone asks you why you know all the calories in a grapenut.
The television saying, “Lose weight, feel great.”
The television saying, “Girls mean nothing.”
The television saying, “If you’re not pretty, you’re not worth discussing.”
The television saying, “If you’re pretty, your personality is awful.”
The television saying, “Spend your money.”
My father telling me: there’s nothing wrong with this system.
If I’m ever not a girl anymore, I’ll always remember that I was a girl once. This sounds like it could have been written by any one of the people I spent my Friday nights with in high school. I don’t like to think about them anymore. But this piece of writing makes me grateful for the experiences I learned from. The experiences I’m still learning from.
Agents want to love your book. Hiring managers want you to be exactly the person they need. The person on the other end of that blind date is hoping beyond hope that you’re their huckleberry.
Applies to interviews too!
A+ philosophy.
This definitely applies to interviews as well! I really like this! Excellent tips.
