"It was March 5th, 1988. There was a prayer festival that day, so we thought it would be a good day to protest. It was entirely peaceful. We were only shouting three things: ‘Long live Dalai Lama,’ ‘Free Tibet,’ and ‘Bring Dalai Lama Back to Tibet.’ First they fired tear gas, and then they started shooting. A girl standing next to me got shot in the heart. We ran into the temple, but they came in and kept shooting. I saw three young boys get thrown off the roof. I was shot, but I managed to escape, and two Tibetan doctors helped remove the bullet. One of the doctors worked for the Chinese army, but she still helped me as a Tibetan. Soon there were posters of me hanging up all over town. They said I was a dangerous monk. My friends dressed me in women’s clothes. For a week, I wore lipstick and rings and long hair. But at one point I tried to visit my mother, and that is when they found me."
On the night of April 14, 2014, hundreds of schoolgirls at the Chibok boarding school in northeastern Nigeria awoke to the sound of gunfire. They saw men in camouflage approaching and thought soldiers were coming to save them from a militant attack, according to survivors’ accounts.
The thing about this is that sculptures like these in art history were for the male gaze. Photoshop a phone to it and suddenly she’s seen as vain and conceited. That’s why I’m 100% for selfie culture because apparently men can gawk at women but when we realize how beautiful we are we’re suddenly full of ourselves…
Well, I have said this in the past, so I hope i don’t bore you by repeating it, but I think that we live or die under the tyranny of perfection. Socially, we are pushed towards being perfect. Physically, beautiful to conform to standards that are cruel and uncommon, to behave and lead our lives in a certain way, to demonstrate to the world that we are happy and healthy and all full of sunshine. We are told to always smile and never sweat, by multiple commercials of shampoo or beer.
And I feel that the most achievable goal of our lives is to have the freedom that imperfection gives us.
And there is no better patron saint of imperfection than a monster.
We will try really hard to be angels, but I think that a balanced, sane life is to accept the monstrosity in ourselves and others as part of what being human is. Imperfection, the acceptance of imperfection, leads to tolerance and liberates us from social models that I find horrible and oppressive.
This is in fact an absurd example. One can assume safely that the pool-goers not protesting are not near the runners in question and that the lifeguard’s attention is focused when the whistle is blown and the command uttered.
The accusation against men who say “not me” are responding to blanket statements of “men are jerks because they do ‘x’ ” which seems to include all men in its circumference of guilt. What should be said is “men who do ‘x’ are jerks,” which narrows the circle down to a narrow spotlight on those who perform the guilty action (running by the pool in this case).
If you’re tired of dealing with “not me” statements, consider the language you’re using— it may have more to do with the reasons why there are protests than you think.
Oh look, a guy with a porn blog is here to mansplain us silly ladies about how “not all men.” Thanks for the tone-policing, broseph.
Okay so I grew up in a tourist town and the town’s economy heavily depends upon tourism, okay? And I’ve worked jobs in that town (because duh it’s my hometown) that required me to deal with said tourists.
Tourists don’t read signs. Tourists maybe do read signs, but somehow think they don’t apply to them. Like the guy who came in the exit “because the entrance was closed” THAT IS BECAUSE WE ARE NOT OPEN YET (hours clearly posted, it was 6:30 AM, omfg). Tourists are legend for asking questions like “at what altitude do deer turn into elk?” and “where are the mountains?” and so forth (hi it’s a small mountain town). Also, they don’t know how to drive. They don’t follow speed limits because they’re too busy ogling the mountains or doing whatever.
I’ve had tourists walk out into the middle of the street in front of me, while I’m driving a car, without looking, to take pictures.
Fucking tourists, man. They’re a fucking nightmare.
OH BUT WAIT IT’S NOT ALL TOURISTS. I am just venting and telling stories about the worst and most inconsiderate ones! I mean the good tourists, I don’t even really notice because they are fine and behave like reasonable people! But anyone from a tourist town knows EXACTLY what I am talking about when I start to complain about tourists.
It’s the same damn thing. If you’re not one of THOSE tourists, then you’re not who we’re complaining about. Although let’s be real anyone who’s been a tourist has probably done something foolish because you’re unfamiliar with the territory, and wow this analogy is really apt because the same thing goes for men too! It’s like when you’re unaware of something, say, patriarchal privilege or local customs, you are probably going to make mistakes sometimes that annoy, say, underprivileged people or locals!
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Learn where your privilege-unawareness is and become aware.
This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.
I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.
The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.
"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"
Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.
Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.
I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.
But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.
"No, I’m good," I said.
"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.
Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—
“Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
Reader, I bought them all.
(Left to Right): Peter Buffett, Jimmie Briggs, Joe Ehrmann, Tony Porter,
Dave Zirin and Moderator Eve Ensler.
and this is why I have mad respect for Eve and will also be a part of Vagina Monologues. This isn’t a women’s issue. It’s a HUMAN issue.
One of the things that I love about this confession is how different it is from Jim’s speech in “Casino Night”. In The Office, Pam is engaged and has been engaged since BEFORE the Pilot. Jim has never met a non-engaged Pam but he still harbors romatic feelings for her. Not problematic so far, but Jim’s confession to Pam was one that expected an answer, a very specific answer. He wants Pam to tell him that she loves him too.
But at this time, Pam is not a character who makes huge, life-changing decisions in the spur of the moment. She needs time to think and process and talk to her mom and she tries to tell Jim how important their friendship is to her and he cuts her off and tells her to stop. Jim doesn’t want to hear anything other than the idealized script he has in his head. He becomes curt and a bit rude and leaves disappointed and mad just because Pam is trying to deal with this shocking news he’s dropped on her and doesn’t immediately run into his arms.
Jake, on the other hand, offers up his feelings to Amy without strings. He understands she is with someone else. He doesn’t expect anything and he acknowledges that he missed his chance and should have acted sooner. He doesn’t expect a response from her, just needed to tell her what he wished could have happened (using the past tense). He makes no demands on her future and the decision is left up to her. It felt more considerate of Amy’s situation (just starting a serious relationship) and made me love Jake’s character just a little bit more.
A) Fab commentary
B) “Romantic Styles” is one of the best things said on television this year
C) It’s so hard going back and watching The Office understanding that Jim’s kind of an asshole.
I have, apparently, missed some Brooklyn 99 episodes, and this makes me want to rectify that.