basically, anyone reading this knows that tumblr + studying = difficult. we’re all procrastinators. so i thought i’d share my favorite ways to crack down, not suck, and make it through finals week. you’ll need
- this or this. it’ll whip your ass into gear. you name a list of websites that distract you, set a timer, and bam. no more hour long study breaks. the best - or worst - part is, it can’t be undone by the application, by deleting the application, or by restarting the computer. you just gotta wait, and if you’re going to wait, you may as well study.
- goals. when you sit down to study, write down everything you’re going to do. then do it. aimlessly staring at your books won’t do shit.
- something to listen to. i suggest movie scores, song covers by the vitamin string quartet, or white noise.
- a queue. if you’re really obsessed with keeping your blog up to date, set aside some time, fatten up your queue, and let your blog run itself for a few days.
- breaks. during your breaks, dance, run around, work out, go for a walk, talk to your friends, call your mom. going back on the internet is an easy way to get out of the mood, so i wouldn’t suggest it.
- tea and coffee - if not for the caffeine, then for the feeling of cozying up with your text books and feeling studious.
- a place to study. it doesn’t matter if it’s in a coffee house, a library, or your kitchen table. as long as your bed’s not in sight and tempting you into a nap, you’re good.
that’s all i’ve got. i’d try to think of more, but that, my friends, would be procrastinating. off to study.
bringing this back because IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN
The relative merit’s of JKR’s extra-textual outing of Dumbledore as gay have been discussed ad naseum since the announcement. You know how where I stand on this (unimpressed), but I’m beginning to wish she’d never outed him at all. And here is why:
One of the central themes at the heart of Harry Potter is love: familial love, platonic love, motherly love, and all those warm fuzzy feelings we get for those we trust and call home. But there is one type of love that the text warns us against: obsessive love.
The drama of Good Love versus Bad Love is played out through the juxtaposition of Molly Weasley and Bellatrix Lestrange. Molly Weasley represents Motherly Love,which is shown to be the purest of all loves because it is self-sacrificing and unconditional, while Bellatrix, as her role as Voldemort’s most loyal supporter, represents obsessive love, a force that is selfish and destructive. (Sidenote: this is why Molly had to be the one to kill Bellatrix, as opposed to Neville. It was the triumph of healthy love over destructive love.)
The text is very clear on this: there is healthy love (which is the bestest thing in the whole wide world) and there is unhealthy love (which can tear the world asunder).
Everyone whose sexual or romantic inclinations are addressed within the text are heterosexual. There is absolutely zero gay representation within canon, queered readings of subtext aside. What does it mean then, that Dumbledore, the only gay character in the universe experienced the sort of obsessive love that is demonized by the text itself? Because what kind other kind of love could we call Dumbledore’s affections for Grindelwald? The closest we get to an explicit reference to his homosexuality is when Dumbeldore admits to being “blinded [to Grindelwald’s evil intentions] by love” (and even this, in context, is ambiguous because it can easily be read as a platonic, not romantic love). Dumbledore’s affections, obsessive and blind, for Grindelwald, enable the other man’s despotic quest for power. Grindelwald was the Voldemort of his era, the Original Dark Lord.
What does it mean that JKR wants to make the only queer character in the universe, the only queer love story in the entire narrative, a cautionary tale of obsession and subsequent penance? What does it mean when the Dumbledore we know, who lacks any sort of sexual or romantic development, is assumed heterosexual and the very representation of morality, until BLAMMO, plot twist: he actually was involved with the rise of the dark wizard Grindelwald and may like to take it up the arse to boot. The grandfatherly Dumbledore of our narrative is motivated by his regret, his guilt, his shame for his youthful folly. Does that sound like positive representation to you?
“”Excuse me,” she asked. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
It was a nice surprise. Most people don’t buy me cups of coffee, and I was just sitting at the Starbucks trying to plot my novel. So it was kind of charming, to have a cute girl offer to buy me a free drink. I told her sure. She brought me a nice iced chai, and sat down next to me, and then asked, “So have you heard about Jesus?”
Now, as it turns out, I’m a Christian, so I’m not opposed to Jesus -– but it was a little disappointing to realize this drink wasn’t done out of niceness, but as a sort of recruiting tool. Maybe I’d have been into a religious discussion if she’d said, “Hey, let’s have a philosophical talk,” but as it was, I felt a little betrayed. So I said that I wasn’t interested, as politely as I could (for I was sipping a delicious drink), and returned to my plotting.
The next day, another girl: “Hey, can I buy you a coffee?”
This time, I was trying to work out a difficult programming solution in my mind, and she asked me at exactly the right moment to have all of my thoughts collapse like a house of cards. “Are you just going to ask me about Jesus?”
”Oh, no,” she said, reassuring me. “It’s just that I think you’re cute.” And she was kind of pretty.
“…all right,” I said, guardedly. She bought the coffee. Sat down at my table.
”But if you were wondering about Jesus…” she said earnestly, and I ejected her from my table. I kept the drink, though. It seemed cruel, but she had been stupid enough to buy it for me even though I didn’t want it.
Over the next week, it just got worse. Two or three times a day I’d be deep in thought, trying to focus on this tangled plotting that I needed to resolve, and some woman would tap me on the shoulder to offer me a cup of coffee. I couldn’t concentrate, because sometimes they were very insistent: “You sure you don’t want a coffee, sweetie?” they’d ask, sometimes lurking over me after I’d refused them, just in case I changed my mind. Sometimes they just bought the coffee for me anyway, without even asking me if I wanted it, plopping themselves across the table from me and yammering on about being saved.
It was affecting my concentration. I started to tense up at the Starbucks, waiting for the next Jesus freak’s interruption. If it was a regular thing, like an hourly interruption, then maybe I could have worked around it, but it was erratic. Some days, I’d have four or five at once, other days I’d be blissedly free of interruption. But I had to be continually braced for the next hand on my shoulder, knowing that no matter what I was doing they’d be bursting into my personal space. I wrote less, my programs were buggier.
My friends couldn’t understand my upset. “Dude,” they told me. “You never have to pay for coffee again in your life! You’ve got it made! Do you know how much money you’re saving?”
”But I don’t want to talk to these people,” I said.
”You’ve talked about God with us before,” they replied. “Sometimes, we’ll stay up until two, three in the morning discussing the nature of heaven and hell. You dig philosophy, Ferrett. If you like talking about that shit with us, then why not with them?”
”Because they’re just one-note and don’t really care what I have to say,” I said.
”Just try ‘em, man. Some of them are cute. Maybe some of them actually want to date you!”
”I guess,” I said. “But how do I know which ones are genuine without having to talk to a bunch of phonies?”
Eventually, it got to the point where I started bringing friends with me for cover, so I wouldn’t get interrupted. That didn’t work, either –- while it helped, the more aggressive proselytizers would interrupt me in mid-sentence to ask me if I wanted a drink. Suddenly, the Starbucks wasn’t fun anymore -– it wasn’t a place to hang out, but a place where I’d just constantly be bugged by attention I didn’t want. And the guys who weren’t getting free drinks were calling me stuck-up, jealous that I was getting all these free drinks and not even wanting them.
So I stopped going.
Okay. Clearly, that didn’t happen. But I’m trying to prove a point here.
One of the things that guys don’t get is why women don’t like to be hit on. As a guy, when you get hit on, even if it’s a clumsy attempt, it’s generally a very rare and remarkable event –- it puts a spring in your step, even if you’re not particularly attracted to the woman, because as an average-looking guy, scarcity of compliments is the norm. So if a girl catcalls you and goes, “Nice butt!” and appears to be serious, there’s often this sort of strange pride. Hey, that doesn’t happen often, she must really be into me.
So a lot of guys have this unspoken attitude of, “I wish I’d be harassed.” And they don’t get why women are so angry when hey, I was just trying to be nice, why you gotta be so mean?
Thing is, when it’s not scarce, then even the nicest act starts to get annoying. Because you don’t get to control when people are quote-unquote “nice” to you, and it happens all the time, and you know there’s always a hidden cost behind it. You start to question people’s niceness, because they’re not doing it to be kind, they’re doing it because they want something from you. And maybe, yes, that’s something you like to give to certain people, but definitely not to everyone, and almost certainly not to the kind of guy who’s certain you’re going to give it to him if he just bugs you enough.
Harassment isn’t once. Harassment comes from a lifetime of dealing with people constantly doing things to you, whether you wanted them or not, at random intervals. You learn not to trust people. And what might have been pleasant, once, as an isolated incident, starts to feel pretty oppressive when it’s something you deal with on a weekly basis. It changes you, and then guys call you bitchy when you don’t feel like playing along and pretending this is just about the coffee.
But I think most of ‘em would feel the same were the tables turned. So please. Think about what you’re spouting.”
Article by Ferret Steinmetz, posted on Jezebel.
ALL OF THIS
please don’t trivialize anyone who commits suicide with “if they hadn’t acted like a slut then they wouldn’t be in that situation”.
a human being is dead. everyone makes mistakes. judging people for “acting like a slut” (which is a total social construct anyway, by the way) is to completely ignore the person. you don’t know why they did what they did, there’s always background, and someone is DEAD. AN ENTIRE BUNDLE OF THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS AND LOVES AND PASSIONS AND HATES AND FRIENDS IS GONE.
for judging this person, you act far worse than “sluts”.
“are you on your period”
why yes, i am bleeding today
would you like to join me
the best advice i could give anyone: nothings embarrassing unless you make it embarrassing
stop caring what other people think because 98% of the time theY DON’T ACTUALLY CARE YOU’RE MAKING IT ALL UP IN YOUR HEAD
Male Privilege Checklist
1. My odds of being hired for a job, when competing against female applicants, are probably skewed in my favor. The more prestigious the job, the larger the odds are skewed.
2. I can be confident that my co-workers won’t think I got my job because of my sex – even though that might be true. (More).
3. If I am never promoted, it’s not because of my sex.
4. If I fail in my job or career, I can feel sure this won’t be seen as a black mark against my entire sex’s capabilities.
5. I am far less likely to face sexual harassment at work than my female co-workers are. (More).
6. If I do the same task as a woman, and if the measurement is at all subjective, chances are people will think I did a better job.
7. If I’m a teen or adult, and if I can stay out of prison, my odds of being raped are relatively low. (More).
8. On average, I am taught to fear walking alone after dark in average public spaces much less than my female counterparts are.
9. If I choose not to have children, my masculinity will not be called into question.
10. If I have children but do not provide primary care for them, my masculinity will not be called into question.
11. If I have children and provide primary care for them, I’ll be praised for extraordinary parenting if I’m even marginally competent. (More).
12. If I have children and a career, no one will think I’m selfish for not staying at home.
13. If I seek political office, my relationship with my children, or who I hire to take care of them, will probably not be scrutinized by the press.
14. My elected representatives are mostly people of my own sex. The more prestigious and powerful the elected position, the more this is true.
15. When I ask to see “the person in charge,” odds are I will face a person of my own sex. The higher-up in the organization the person is, the surer I can be.
16. As a child, chances are I was encouraged to be more active and outgoing than my sisters. (More).
17. As a child, I could choose from an almost infinite variety of children’s media featuring positive, active, non-stereotyped heroes of my own sex. I never had to look for it; male protagonists were (and are) the default.
18. As a child, chances are I got more teacher attention than girls who raised their hands just as often. (More).
19. If my day, week or year is going badly, I need not ask of each negative episode or situation whether or not it has sexist overtones.
20. I can turn on the television or glance at the front page of the newspaper and see people of my own sex widely represented.
21. If I’m careless with my financial affairs it won’t be attributed to my sex.
22. If I’m careless with my driving it won’t be attributed to my sex.
23. I can speak in public to a large group without putting my sex on trial.
24. Even if I sleep with a lot of women, there is no chance that I will be seriously labeled a “slut,” nor is there any male counterpart to “slut-bashing.” (More).
25. I do not have to worry about the message my wardrobe sends about my sexual availability. (More).
26. My clothing is typically less expensive and better-constructed than women’s clothing for the same social status. While I have fewer options, my clothes will probably fit better than a woman’s without tailoring. (More).
27. The grooming regimen expected of me is relatively cheap and consumes little time. (More).
28. If I buy a new car, chances are I’ll be offered a better price than a woman buying the same car. (More).
29. If I’m not conventionally attractive, the disadvantages are relatively small and easy to ignore.
30. I can be loud with no fear of being called a shrew. I can be aggressive with no fear of being called a bitch.
31. I can ask for legal protection from violence that happens mostly to men without being seen as a selfish special interest, since that kind of violence is called “crime” and is a general social concern. (Violence that happens mostly to women is usually called “domestic violence” or “acquaintance rape,” and is seen as a special interest issue.)
32. I can be confident that the ordinary language of day-to-day existence will always include my sex. “All men are created equal,” mailman, chairman, freshman, he.
33. My ability to make important decisions and my capability in general will never be questioned depending on what time of the month it is.
34. I will never be expected to change my name upon marriage or questioned if I don’t change my name.
35. The decision to hire me will not be based on assumptions about whether or not I might choose to have a family sometime soon.
36. Every major religion in the world is led primarily by people of my own sex. Even God, in most major religions, is pictured as male.
37. Most major religions argue that I should be the head of my household, while my wife and children should be subservient to me.
38. If I have a wife or live-in girlfriend, chances are we’ll divide up household chores so that she does most of the labor, and in particular the most repetitive and unrewarding tasks. (More).
39. If I have children with my girlfriend or wife, I can expect her to do most of the basic childcare such as changing diapers and feeding.
40. If I have children with my wife or girlfriend, and it turns out that one of us needs to make career sacrifices to raise the kids, chances are we’ll both assume the career sacrificed should be hers.
41. Assuming I am heterosexual, magazines, billboards, television, movies, pornography, and virtually all of media is filled with images of scantily-clad women intended to appeal to me sexually. Such images of men exist, but are rarer.
42. In general, I am under much less pressure to be thin than my female counterparts are. (More). If I am fat, I probably suffer fewer social and economic consequences for being fat than fat women do. (More).
43. If I am heterosexual, it’s incredibly unlikely that I’ll ever be beaten up by a spouse or lover. (More).
44. Complete strangers generally do not walk up to me on the street and tell me to “smile.” (More: 1 2).
45. Sexual harassment on the street virtually never happens to me. I do not need to plot my movements through public space in order to avoid being sexually harassed, or to mitigate sexual harassment. (More.)
45. On average, I am not interrupted by women as often as women are interrupted by men.
46. I have the privilege of being unaware of my male privilege.
- soft hair
- soft skin
- general softness
- i can share clothes with my girlfriend
- they look cute when they sleep
- they are good cuddlers
- and when you cuddle your bodies fit perfectly together
- the way they kiss
- they always smell nice
- i can play with her hair
- they tend to be more understanding
- their eyes
- they’re cute when they get mad
- and even more beautiful when they cry
- i just love girls
These are the companions to the sexuality cards I created a few weeks ago: GENDER BUSINESS CARDS.
The opposite side to these cards are pronoun based, like the final image. I have pronoun sets of:
These pronoun set will be uploaded in a separate post since tumblr only allows for 10 images per photoset.
To get the whole “business card experience,” print your two selected cards double-sided. Cut them out, and bam. You’re in business. (I’m so sorry for the pun. It was necessary.)
Thank you to everyone in the trans*, genderqueer, and beyond communities for teaching me and helping me on my journey! Your help was greatly appreciated, and these would have never been possible without the people who contacted me and gave me advice and guidance. You guys rock!
i won’t link to the full review of our show the other night, or even name the publication (if you care, google), because i don’t want to give the writer the satsifaction of the hits. but can i talk for a moment about how incredibly much this pisses me off? thanks, i will. the review begins:
“‘How can I make my friends into feminists?’ ran one of the more odd questions put to Amanda Palmer during a sit-down Q&A in the midst of this show. One answer, if you happen to be an internationally adored cabaret artist, is probably not to coo and gaze adoringly at your bestselling fantasy author husband for two hours in public.”
…and it goes on to give the rest of the show a great (four star) review. the show was, by the way, fantastic. neil read for about an hour, i played for about an hour, we did a bunch of great songs together, and i think pretty much everybody had a stellar fucking time.
i’m not even sure what the journalist MEANT by this statement. did he mean “real feminists shouldn’t show open affection for their husbands?” or did he mean something else? the fact that i’m “internationally adored” and neil is “bestselling” seems to be part of the point he’s making, but….what’s the point? that if i were a real feminist i’d stand there screaming “I KNOW YOU THINK YOU’RE HOT SHIT, GAIMAN, WITH YOUR BEST-SELLING MAN-PENNED NOVELS AND ALL THAT CRAP, BUT I AM FAMOUS CABARET WOMAN! FUCK YOU MAN! I ALSO MAKE AN INCOME! I STAND HERE, EQUAL TO YOU, AND SHOWING YOU AFFECTION WOULD CLEARLY BE A SIGN THAT I KNOW I BELONG TO THE WEAKER SEX.”
the larger irony, of course, is how i ACTUALLY answered the question, which was something along the lines of:
“if you’re trying to turn your friends into feminists, i think you’re taking the wrong tack. i would back up and start off by not trying to turn them into ANYTHING…this is how we got into this whole mess in the first place.”
as far as i’m concerned, the most powerful feminist can do WHATEVER SHE WANTS.
THAT IS WHAT DEFINES A TRUE FEMINIST.
this includes: wearing heels, wearing combat boots, wearing nothing, sporting lipstick, shaving, not shaving, waxing, not waxing, being political, being apolitical, having a job, being homeless, glamming up like a drag queen, going in man-drag, being in a five-way polyamorous relationship, being childless, being a stay-at-home parent, being single, having a wife, having a husband, and gazing/cooing adoringly at those that wives or husbands anywhere they fucking choose, including elevators, restaurants, puppet shows (well, maybe keep it g-rated if there are small children present), ….or on theatrical stages at fringe festivals. are we getting the picture here?? the most powerful feminist can do WHATEVER SHE WANTS. the minute you believe you’re a “bad feminist” because you said the wrong thing/wore the wrong thing/got married/chose to have children…or otherwise broke some unspecified ”code of feminism”: DON’T BUY IT. THERE ISN’T ONE. you can do ANYTHING YOU WANT. ANYTHING. THAT’S THE POINT.
let’s say that one more time for good measure:
don’t let anyone try to turn you into a feminist.
just be one.
mum made me a cup of tea but i’m pissed off at her so i’m not gonna go drink it
that’s how we show our anger in england, you see
English teenager. Pansexual. Reads, writes, cares an excessive amount. Good at procrastination, snarkiness and keeping up an outward appearance of total apathy. If you want to know more, just ask.|
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