Anne Agnes
Use wooden chopsticks to get stuck toast out of the toaster.

Or plastic ones, but never metal ones. Wood and plastic are insulators and you won’t get zapped.

So I’m as white as plain rice or bleached flour, and I was raised in the 80’s in a conservative New England town. But we had a math teacher who was Indian, and she wore the sarong (saree?) and the bindi and I thought she was amazingly beautiful. And ever since I’ve thought, sarongs are gorgeous, and the women who wear them are so graceful and stylish, as I wore jeans and sweaters and combat boots. 

So today I found this website and wanted to share what I saw there, ebcause these are stunning, dramatic, flowing, gorgeous, feminine, powerful dresses.  

I see ombre and greek and Japanese design elements, honeycomb and snakeskin, colors like the ocean and colors like a jungle pond. This is the modern world. 

http://newfashionvogue.com/seymore-trendy-saree-designs-seymore-fashion-brand/

All wars are rich men’s wars
How else do you expect to buy
The guns to fight them?
Guns cost money.
All wars are rich men’s wars but
That does not mean they are not worthwhile
That fighting them is wrong
That the cause is not just.
All wars are rich men’s wars
Blood and gold have ever been
Bound together
Your life has a set price.
All wars are rich men’s wars
You might as well burn money as shoot bullets
Might as well fire coins out of cannons
And into the bodies of the poor.
All wars are poor men’s wars
Because nobody else must go
Throw away the flowers and songs of life
For the hearing loss and infection
Of the battlefield.

Listen up.

I don’t care what your gender is or your religion or your skin color or anything. Every part of you belongs to you.

Your hair belongs to you. Style it how you choose, professionally or a home cut, dye it or leave it plain - it’s yours. Nobody tells you what to do with it. You accept the consequences of it - but it belongs to you.

Your face belongs to you. Wear makeup, get a sunburnt nose, get plastic surgery, moisturize - it belongs to you.

Your body belongs to you. Nobody has any right to touch you against your will. If you have agreed to a tacit social contract between friends that handshakes and hugs are ok, that’s you saying that contact is ok - but if you ever say “I don’t want to be touched today” that is your right. If you don’t ever want physical contact with anyone ever again that’s your choice. If you want to spend every day hugging people - well, make sure they agree, and do it. It’s your choice.

If you as an adult want to have sex, go for it (with the other person’s consent). You accept the consequences of sex with regards to emotions and physical risks, but it’s your right to choose to be open to having sex. If conversely you do not want to have sex - that’s also your right, absolute and inviolable. If you want to be a monk for the rest of your life nobody can or should force you to change that.

Your knees and shins and toes belong to you. Your fingernails and bellybutton belong to you. Nobody has a right to touch them unless you say yes, and if you say no, they have to stop and respect that. Paint your nails, get a tattoo, get a piercing, be plain-skinned and unadorned. This is your decision and yours alone.

***

Now I know that this does not always happen in real life and we don’t want to make a fuss out of every unwelcome shoulder-slap and too-long handshake we encounter in this world. But this is the baseline you start from. This is the fundamental truth of your body that you must always begin from, every morning you wake up, every night you go to sleep:

Every part of you belongs to you.

(Remember, remember that the inverse is also true: every part of every other person on this planet belongs to them, and you have no right to touch so much as their hair without their consent.)

http://amandaching.wordpress.com/2012/02/20/67/

I know it’s a 404 link. I know it’s written in cyrrilic and I don’t understand a word of it. I know they’re singing in Russian and Romanian and I don’t understand a word of that either. I don’t care. It’s awesome. 

MCU Trauma Symposium: GOTG and the misfit as refugee

emilyenrose:

dignityisforotherpeople:

All the reviews of Guardians of the Galaxy mention the “ragtag band of misfits” trope, but none of them seem to have noticed how political this movie is. Not that it’s especially allegorical or polemical, it’s not. This is not a movie about how politics is, could be, or ought to be practiced, which is good, because I hate that kind of movie. Instead, despite the epic scale, this is a much smaller movie, about the effects of political trauma on individual life.

When you hear “band of misfits,” you assume you’re going to get some combination of fuckups and weirdos, and GOTG certainly delivers. They’re all different colors and species, engaged in variously illegal activities, with levels of merriment ranging from “stonefaced” to “maniacal.” But to stop there would be to miss the most important part. The emotional core of everyone on the team comes from their origin stories, which are: abducted from home by mercenaries, coerced into service of same; family killed by invading attackers; family killed by invading attackers, then coerced into service of same; abducted from home (or synthesized?) by shadowy experimenters and coerced into experiments in service of same; and Groot, whose origins are unclear but who is completely alone, except for Rocket.

These are not “dropped out of state school because I was partying too hard” stories, despite the lazy jokes about Quill sleeping around. These are stories of political violence and disenfranchisement. Our heroes belong not to the social category of fuckups but to a political category: refugees. By the time the movie starts, they’re a long way from being innocents, but those trajectories all started with being rendered helpless and alone. “Life takes more than it gives”: it’s taken their communities, their families, their autonomy.

This movie is about what it means to make something new for yourself, after what you have is taken. Petty larceny doesn’t cut it, grand larceny doesn’t cut it, even vengeance doesn’t cut it. There are only two things that really help: making your own family, and giving a shit, which turn out to be pretty close to the same thing.

Our heroes belong not to the social category of fuckups but to a political category: refugees.

Dear Kindle: A “read around the cat” option would be nice, where you designate a portion of the screen temporarily unusable due to extenuating circumstances. 
Love, Anne

Dear Kindle: 

A “read around the cat” option would be nice, where you designate a portion of the screen temporarily unusable due to extenuating circumstances. 

Love, 
Anne

New2Who: In Days Of Yore

I was a teenaged in the northeast US. We lived in the middle of nowhere - they put this housing development in the pine woods near a Boy Scout Camp, and there was nothing nearby except some old brick apartment buildings, loads of trees, and a graveyard from the 1700’s. No swimming pool but I could hike a couple miles to a pond and swim there; they’d set it up with some sand for a beach, so sometimes in summer we’d hang out. I spent a lot of time in the graveyard and the woods though because they were nearest, there was literally no place else for miles, and I didn’t have a car. The graves were gorgeous, all hand-carved and weathered. 

But when I couldn’t go out - it was too late, or raining, or something - I’d stay home and read or watch TV and escape that way.  We only had 4 or 5 channels on TV, because we didn’t get cable (cable was for rich people, in the 80’s and 90’s.) Most TV’s still didn’t have remote controls. We had a spare black and white TV too, from the 60’s or 70’s, that still worked perfectly well so we didn’t want to get rid of it. 

Anyways I was a big old sci-fi nerd back when this was a really bad thing, before the internet existed. Girl nerd in jeans and sweaters and no make-up, the first girl in the strategic games club where we played Risk and D&D. With broken glasses, if you can believe it, really cliche, but we couldn’t afford to get them fixed so I used scotch tape. I watched Star Trek: Next Generation, and stayed up late to watch Forever Knight back when this was a big risky thing for a network to show on TV. Knight Rider and Airwolf, Quantum Leap and Alien Nation. 

And I watched PBS. Mystery, and Masterpiece Theater - PBS got away with a lot of stuff back then that a regular network would never have managed. I saw a naked guy, full frontal, in a British movie and couldn’t believe it was on TV. This was a big deal (I feel so old saying this.) I was afraid PBS would get in trouble, but PBS was an Art channel and everything is classy with a British accent, so they likely didn’t get fined. Not like anyone would have reported them anyways.

So I’m watching all this stuff, very indiscriminately consuming everything out there, and sometimes PBS had Doctor Who. Mostly then the 4th Doctor was playing. So I caught a few episodes here and there, and wasn’t quite sure what was going on or anything, but it was fun, so whenever it was on (and there wasn’t much of a real set schedule) I’d watch it.

The effects were terrible, like most stuff back then, but it was like watching a play - you ignore the set dressing because the story and the acting are wonderful. The Daleks never scared me. None of it ever scared me - it was a wonderful crazy sci-fi box of mixed up stuff, with monsters and robots and that wheezing TARDIS. I loved that the Doctor was this hodgepodge, this mad uncle, a magician. And that everything about him was broken down and only worked half-right but he still somehow always won because he could put all the bits together. 

And then it went away and I grew up, and I got my own house and my own TV with a remote and everything, and the new Doctor Who came on. I watched the first episodes and it was so different - but that was ok, because it was always different, every Doctor is different. Every Doctor is a new thing, a new time and place, all tied to the same grand long story.