titsay
will byers stan first human second
RMH
YOU ARE THE REASON
Xuebing Du
tannertan36
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
shark vs the universe
d e v o n
sheepfilms
Stranger Things
todays bird
One Nice Bug Per Day
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
dirt enthusiast
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi
seen from United States
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@subvertingexpectations
Posted on CBC. Had to share. This was the commentary on the page:
“Congratulations! You have encountered a grown woman in her 30s. Look at her, talking excitedly about something that’s important to her, like the novel she’s writing, or her PhD, or ravioli. Why not ruin her day and school her on the crushing reality of human biology? Here’s a handy flowchart to help you decide if you should.”
The official trailer for Hidden Figures is here!
HIDDEN FIGURES is the incredible untold story of Katherine G. Johnson (Taraji P. Henson), Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer) and Mary Jackson (Janelle Monáe)—brilliant African-American women working at NASA, who served as the brains behind one of the greatest operations in history: the launch of astronaut John Glenn into orbit, a stunning achievement that restored the nation’s confidence, turned around the Space Race, and galvanized the world. The visionary trio crossed all gender and race lines to inspire generations to dream big.
Yep. I’m crying at work. These women are the reason I am where I am today.
They’re the reason, that when I told my daddy in 2nd grade that I was going to be an astronaut he didn’t laugh. He signed me up for space camp and flew with me to Atlanta and drove me to Hunstville so I could attend (sleeping on a friend of a friends couch in Birmingham til the week was over and he could pick me up). When he heard that the next shuttle launch would be the first time a female commander was in charge, he found a way to make sure we were at the launch of STS-93. He found a Civil Air Patrol squadron nearby and made sure that they taught me how to fly before I turned 16. When my highschool didn’t have a computer program past the basics, he went into my school every day for a month to talk to the principal and the computer teacher set up a computer for me in the back next to is so he could teach me Java and C++ in between other classes. That when I applied to the Air Force Academy and MIT (the only two colleges I applied for) his only complaint was that MIT would cost him money, so I better pick the AirForce. And when I picked MIT over the AirForce he found a way to pay for my tuition.
And that first spring when I got to call him and tell him I wouldn’t be coming home for the summer, I’d be working at NASA’s Johnson Space Center, training Astronauts on the equipment I’d been helping to design at MIT. Well he didn’t say much. He just said, “Good.” and “When we moving you down there? You’re brother’s in San Antonio. We’ll fly in there and make him drive us over.” Like it was foretold. Like he knew it was going to happen.
I have over 20 spacecraft in LEO, the astronauts handle work I’ve done on a daily basis on the ISS, and this September my first interplanetary mission is launching because the black women that came first made a place in the space industry for me. And because my father (thanks to his own struggles to find space for a black man in aerospace engineering) didn’t for a second think I wouldn’t do what I told him I was going to do when I was a baby.
I’m gonna be a fucking wreck when I see this movie. And to think, that finally people will know what women like Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, Mary Jackson, Annie Easley (fixed the Centaur energy equations and formed the basis of all modern rocketry), and Melba Roy (head of the Goddard computers for the first comm satellites) did for the American space industry. That there’s actually gonna be acknoledgment of the place black women have held at NASA since the very beginning.
Imma be a wreck. And I can’t wait.
LINDA MEDLEY AND ‘CASTLE WAITING’ NEED YOUR HELP
CHVRCHES TEAM WITH JAMIE MCKELVIE FOR ‘BURY IT’ MUSIC VIDEO
things that still freak me out: those sinks americans have in their kitchens that you can destroy stuff with
Honestly this post has been on my mind all day. Those weird destructosinks for people with too much money are apparently common in America. And Americans get defensive over them.
Well don’t come crying to me when your wean gets eaten by the fucking kitchen sink.
hOLY SHIT WHAT IF U TRY AND CLEAN THE PLUG AND TURN IT ON IM SO SCARED
Okay it took me for-fucking-ever to figure out wtf you guys are talking about are you talking about garbage disposals? Like down the drain??
with the spinny knives
No knives, just a dull piece of spinny metal.
you realise it takes the same amount of force to cut thru a carrot as a finger
i dont know what you do over there but we usually don’t stick our hands in our sink drains
who’s going around fisting sinks anyway
“don’t come crying to me when your wean gets eaten by the fucking kitchen sink”
is that person saying they fuck kitchen sinks? is that what I just read? they put their dick in the sink’s drain and they fuck it?
dont sinkshame
Child. Wean means child.
Okay, so you put your CHILD in a sink and stuff them down the drain? That’s… that’s definitely worse.
This post is an experiance.
I’m really confused. Yeah, some people bathe their infants in the kitchen sink…but we also usually have two-compartment sinks. One side has a garbage disposal, and one does not. Even when we don’t…there are drain stoppers. We use them? I’m so confused.
Watch out for those American death sinks. They'll getcha every time.
Constance Wu talking about future projects
She’s perfect
Got my new Wonder Woman adult coloring book today ...
Woohoo!
Aww. Look at all this fun art!
Can’t wait to color all these amazing …
… pages …
… what …
… the eff …
… is this?!?
There are literally 8 pages of smoochy Superman/Wonder Woman art in this WONDER WOMAN coloring book.
If I’d wanted to purchase an effing “worst mistakes of the New 52″ coloring book …
… or a “totes boss plan concocted by DC’s top dudebros to get other bros into Wonder Woman” coloring book
… or a “she’s now Superman’s hot girlfriend” coloring book …
… or an “epically sexist betrayals of feminist icons” coloring book …
… I effing would have.
Ahhhhh. All better now.
This man is my patronus.
So, your queer history lesson for the day:
Everyone’s heard that pirate’s call each other “matey”. What you probably haven’t heard is that the word matey comes from “matelote”.
In the Caribbean this word was used between buccaneers to signify a life partner. Matelotes could inherit from each other, shared space, fought together, could speak for each other when one was incapacitated or absent, and more often than not the relationship was romantic and sexual.
That’s right folks. Pirates had a term for their gay life partners.
In light of this, I present to you a new alternative for significant other and partner. Bring back matelote.
(You can learn more about the practice of matelotage in: The Origins and Role of Same-Sex Relations in Human Societies by James Niell)
Arrr! Matelotage was such a great idea!
In an age when the English Navy ran on “rum, sodomy and the lash,” (as noted in many writings of the time), homosexual relationships were punishable by death.
The result here was that in the English Navy, relationships went underground. Very often, they became forced, often between a superior and a subordinate. When English crews went on the account, becoming pirates, they looked for a way to legitimize relationships of honest affection. Matelotage [French; meaning ‘seamanship’] , now used as an English word, became a term for a legal marriage between two men. […] In pirate society (and only pirate society) two men could “marry.” They would exchange gold rings, and pledge eternal union. After this, they were expected to share everything. Plunder and living spaces were obvious, but couples in matelotage were also known to share other property, and even women. If one of the partners was killed in action, pirate captains were careful to make sure that the surviving member received both shares of plunder, as well as any appropriate death benefits. Simply put, homosexual relationships had been kept under wraps by people in fear for their lives because of draconian laws. Among sailors who had practiced this form of release themselves, it lost its sense of being alien, and so became accepted and legitimized as soon as they (by turning pirate) gained the right to make their own laws. {X}
Another excellent addition!
Goddamn it.
I’ve been wanting to re-read these books for about ten years.
omfg
*dies*
You’re telling me white dude writers told a trans black woman actor and a Latina actor how women would act in their situation….. Oh god now I see the problem
Well, now we can talk about this–so that’s nice! (I am terrible at keeping any kind of fun secrets.) I’m partnering up with art phenom Maria Fröhlich for a short story that will appear in an upcoming issue of Bitch Planet! I do not know how I lucked into (1) being able to work with Maria and (2) being able to play around in the Bitch Planet universe, but I am eternally grateful for both.
If you are not reading Bitch Planet, I’d advise rectifying that! Not only is it a love letter to the revenge flicks of the ‘70s, it is an ominous warning about where we are headed if we don’t take action to eradicate the inequality and limit the violence that plagues us.
Oh this is going to be PHENOMENAL.
the most implausible thing about superhero movies is that these guys make their own suits, like seriously those toxic chemicals did NOT give you the ability to sew stretch knits, do you even own a serger
I feel like there’s this little secret place in the middle of some seedy New York business neighborhood, back room, doesn’t even have a sign on the door, but within three days of using their powers in public or starting a pattern of vigilanteism, every budding superhero or supervillain gets discreetly handed a scrap of paper with that address written on it.
Inside there’s this little tea table with three chairs, woodstove, minifridge, work table, sewing machines, bolts and bolts of stretch fabrics and maybe some kevlar, and two middle-aged women with matching wedding rings and sketchbooks.
And they invite you to sit down, and give you tea and cookies, and start making sketches of what you want your costume to look like, and you get measured, and told to come back in a week, and there’s your costume, waiting for you.
The first one is free. They tell you the price of subsequent ones, and it’s based on what you can afford. You have no idea how they found out about your financial situation. You try it on, and it fits perfectly, and you have no idea how they managed that without measuring you a whole lot more thoroughly than they did.
They ask you to pose for a picture with them. For their album, they say. The camera is old, big, the sort film camera artists hunt down at antique stores and pay thousands for, and they come pose on either side of you and one of them clicks the camera remotely by way of one of those squeeze-things on a cable that you’ve seen depicted from olden times. That one (the tall one, you think, though she isn’t really, thin and reminiscent of a Greek marble statue) pulls the glass plate from the camera and scurries off to the basement, while the other one (shorter, round, all smiles, her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun) brings out a photo album to show you their work.
Inside it is … everyone. Superheroes. Supervillains. Household names and people you don’t recognize. She flips through pages at random, telling you little bits about the guy in the purple spangly costume, the lady in red and black, the mysterious cloaked figure whose mask reveals one eye. As she pages back, the costumes start looking really convincingly retro, and her descriptions start having references to the Space Race, the Depression, the Great War.
The other lady comes up, holding your picture. You’re sort of surprised to find it’s in color, and then you realize all the others were, too, even the earliest ones. There you are, and you look like a superhero. You look down at yourself, and feel like a superhero. You stand up straighter, and the costume suddenly fits a tiny bit better, and they both smile proudly.
*
The next time you come in, it’s because the person who’s probably going to be your nemesis has shredded your costume. You bring the agreed-upon price, and you bake cupcakes to share with them. There’s a third woman there, and you don’t recognize her, but the way she moves is familiar somehow, and the air seems to sparkle around her, on the edge of frost or the edge of flame. She’s carrying a wrapped brown paper package in her arms, and she smiles at you and moves to depart. You offer her a cupcake for the road.
The two seamstresses go into transports of delight over the cupcakes. You drink tea, and eat cookies and a piece of a pie someone brought around yesterday. They examine your costume and suggest a layer of kevlar around the shoulders and torso, since you’re facing off with someone who uses claws.
They ask you how the costume has worked, contemplate small design changes, make sketches. They tell you a story about their second wedding that has you falling off the chair in tears, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. They were married in 1906, they say, twice. They took turns being the man. They joke about how two one-ring ceremonies make one two-ring ceremony, and figure that they each had one wedding because it only counted when they were the bride.
They point you at three pictures on the wall. A short round man with an impressive beard grins next to a taller, white-gowned goddess; a thin man in top hat and tails looks adoringly down at a round and beaming bride; two women, in their wedding dresses, clasp each other close and smile dazzlingly at the camera. The other two pictures show the sanctuaries of different churches; this one was clearly taken in this room.
There’s a card next to what’s left of the pie. Elaborate silver curlicues on white, and it originally said “Happy 10th Anniversary,” only someone has taken a Sharpie and shoehorned in an extra 1, so it says “Happy 110th.” The tall one follows your gaze, tells you, morning wedding and evening wedding, same day. She picks up the card and sets it upright; you can see the name signed inside: Magneto.
You notice that scattered on their paperwork desk are many more envelopes and cards, and are glad you decided to bring the cupcakes.
*
When you pick up your costume the next time, it’s wrapped up in paper and string. You don’t need to try it on; there’s no way it won’t be perfect. You drink tea, eat candies like your grandmother used to make when you were small, talk about your nights out superheroing and your nemesis and your calculus homework and how today’s economy compares with the later years of the Depression.
When you leave, you meet a man in the alleyway. He’s big, and he radiates danger, but his eyes shift from you to the package in your arms, and he nods slightly and moves past you. You’re not the slightest bit surprised when he goes into the same door you came out of.
*
The next time you visit, there’s nothing wrong with your costume but you think it might be wise to have a spare. And also, you want to thank them for the kevlar. You bring artisan sodas, the kind you buy in glass bottles, and they give you stir fry, cooked on the wood-burning stove in a wok that looks a century old.
There’s no way they could possibly know that your day job cut your hours, but they give you a discount that suits you perfectly. Halfway through dinner, a cinderblock of a man comes in the door, and the shorter lady brings up an antique-looking bottle of liquor to pour into his tea. You catch a whiff and it makes your eyes water. The tall one sees your face, and grins, and says, Prohibition.
You’re not sure whether the liquor is that old, or whether they’ve got a still down in the basement with their photography darkroom. Either seems completely plausible. The four of you have a rousing conversation about the merits of various beverages over dinner, and then you leave him to do business with the seamstresses.
*
It’s almost a year later, and you’re on your fifth costume, when you see the gangly teenager chase off a trio of would-be purse-snatchers with a grace of movement that can only be called superhuman.
You take pen and paper from one of your multitude of convenient hidden pockets, and scribble down an address. With your own power and the advantage of practice, it’s easy to catch up with her, and the work of an instant to slip the paper into her hand.
*
A week or so later, you’re drinking tea and comparing Supreme Court Justices past and present when she comes into the shop, and her brow furrows a bit, like she remembers you but can’t figure out from where. The ladies welcome her, and you push the tray of cookies towards her and head out the door.
In the alleyway you meet that same giant menacing man you’ve seen once before. He’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the banner saying Happy Anniversary, and a brown paper bag in the other.
You nod to him, and he offers you a cupcake.
This is so awesome.
A superhero's superhero story. Beautiful.
On to the next right thing, bitches. #graduated #noncompliant #carolcorps #bitchplant #bgsdlist #bgsd #captainmarvel #higherfurtherfastermore
LET'S DO THIS! #noncompliant #captainmarvel #graduation #bgsd #bgsdlist @kellysued
Anne Hathaway and Audra McDonald in Twelfth Night. I am HUGELY annoyed that this was never brought to my attention.
The Captain Marvel wallet Mk. II came together quicker than I thought it would! It has a slimmer profile than the first, the cash pocket isn’t quite as tall, and I changed up the placement of the snap and credit card pockets. Since it’s leather it should last even longer than the last one I made, which is still kicking after 5 solid years of abuse.
If you’re looking for a new wallet, I’m happy to take commissions! A leather one like this will run you $95.
Way cool!!
