“Society’s wariness toward sex is highlighted by contrasting it with the greater societal tolerance toward violence. This dichotomy is especially vivid in the media and mass culture, where violent depictions are far more accepted than sexual ones. The contrast was aptly capsulized by Martin Shafer, a top executive at a film production company, when he noted, ‘If a man touches a woman’s breast in a movie, it’s an R rating, but if he cuts off a limb with a chain saw, it’s a PG-13.’”—Nadine Strossen (from ‘Defending Pornography: Free Speech, Sex and the Fight for Women’s Rights’)
Byron Hurt is a pretty neat person. I recently watched his documentary “Beyond Beats and Rhymes” which was this in-depth look into the rap industry and how it perpetuates not only sexism and misogyny but racism as well…It was incredibly depressing/enlightening and also made me want to start my own record label. Anyways its a good start to learning more about intersectionality.
Stop using the term. You are not pro-life, you are anti-choice. Don’t act like you give a shit about people that can get pregnant. If you cared about them, you wouldn’t oppose safe, legal abortion. But hey, who gives a fuck, because being a self-righteous, misogynistic, fuckbag, slimeball, scumsucking, douchebag is clearly the better option.
>”Pro-life” laws kill 70,000 people per year and leave millions permanently injured
In the midst of my deep breaths and low, nonsensical murmurings of calming words as I tweak out over the goings-ons of my most current book this was the sudden revelation I had: I am a hardcore book junkie.
Okay, so this wasn’t necessarily a new revelation but upon further reflection I realized just how true that descriptor was. When I finish a book I get a legit high where my brain goes light, I get ridiculously giddy, and my whole body just feels dizzy with energy and in the case of series, it has me craving the next book with an obsessive, almost painful need. I get lost in that need for days, weeks, months…years where I think about the object of my affections on a regular if not daily basis (as well as haunt chat rooms, read fanfiction, buy merchandise, ANYTHING to remain close to my dear, dear love). The worst thing about being a book addict is that when it comes to series the wait for my next fix can be so fucking long. When I got the third Fever book in the mail after a year of waiting, I was literally having moments where I was too excited to breathe.
I know I have an addictive personality- when I get into something it’s all I can think about for a while or until it runs out (like watching the entirety of Avatar almost straight through) which is why I’m always very aware of the things I take up because in addition to having an addictive personality, I have absolutely no will-power.
So, this is my pointless post, which was more to talk out my revelations and distract myself so I don’t go over the edge while reading this book (even though I already know I won’t be sleeping until it’s done). In any case, of all the things I could have a long standing addiction to, books seems a pretty harmless choice since it doesn’t harm my body, the people I love, or anything but my bank account…and trees. Damn it.
I get that the primary purpose of television is to feed this consumer driven need to BUY ALL THE SHIT but it still manages to give me conniptions and toss me into bewilderment on a regular basis.
After being abroad for sixth months and not watching any television…okay not watching any commercials, coming home it took weeks to get over the strangeness of television commercials, so many of them are just fucking weird. However another sixth months have come and gone and I’m back to my well-conditioned, oblivious, de-sensitized to the madness self except in one respect, the food commercials that (benevolently?) grant women permission to eat.
I cannot believe how often that theme pops up and when I say I cannot believe it I mean I can believe it I’m just continuously outraged by it. I mean from those ridiculous Dr. Pepper commercials forbidding women from drinking Dr. Pepper 10 (which is a whole other kettle of fish) to these subtly pernicious commercials selling low calorie brownies or pies or whatever which take the marketing strategy of “Hallelujah women can eat sweet shit again” I slowly lose any sort of faith for humanity. I know its a (seemingly) small thing but the constant exposure and as someone who has struggled with my weight and body image my entire life as well as experienced un-healthy eating patterns, self-loathing, and food-guilt, and depression which were rooted in my perception of my body when I see this bullshit a little part of my just gets sucked right back to those moments. Which is why I’m here ranting about it on tumblr.
Allison was biologically a girl but felt more comfortable wearing Tony Hawk long-sleeved T-shirts, baggy jeans, and black tennis shoes. Her parents were accepting and supportive. Her mother braided her hair in cornrows because Allie thought it made her look like Will Smith’s son, Trey, in the remake of The Karate Kid. She preferred to be called Allie. The first day of school, children who hadn’t been in Allie’s class in kindergarten referred to her as “he.”
I didn’t want to assume I knew how Allie wanted me to respond to the continual gender mistakes, so I made a phone call home and Allie’s mom put me on speakerphone.
“Allie,” she said, “Ms. Melissa is on the phone. She would like to know if you want her to correct your classmates when they say you are a boy, or if you would rather that she just doesn’t say anything.”
Allie was shy on the phone. “Um …
tell them that I am a girl,” she whispered.
The next day when I corrected classmates and told them that Allie was a girl, they asked her a lot of questions that she wasn’t prepared for: “Why do you look like a boy?” “If you’re a girl, why do you always wear boys’ clothes?” Some even told her that she wasn’t supposed to wear boys’ clothes if she was a girl. It became evident that I would have to address gender directly in order to make the classroom environment more comfortable for Allie and to squash the gender stereotypes that my 1st graders had absorbed in their short lives.
I was hoping you could take some time to read my research paper, and give me your thoughts, as a feminist. What happened to you when you were lobbying for sex education is a perfect example of how limiting yourself to either…
Everytime I run across things talking about that "Until Abortion Ends" campaign I can't stop this wave of fury/disbelief/confused amusement...
This was today’s response to a guy selflessly giving up his VIDEO GAMES which we all know is the first love of all menz.
Dear all you “pro-life” menz, when you talk to me about how horrible abortion is this is what I hear: “I AM A PRIVILEGED ASSHOLE TELLING YOU WHAT TO DO WITH YOUR BODY BECAUSE YOU ARE ALREADY A MORALLY QUESTIONABLE WHORE AND CLEARLY NEED TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO AND AS A MAN I AM THE BEST PERSON TO TELL YOU EVEN THOUGH I WILL NEVER BE PREGNANT.” But if you want to make a REAL difference, you can go to untilabortionends.com and give up something you love…like maybe your right to bodily autonomy.
“Plan B is safer than Tylenol, yet we’re putting barriers to keep young teens from preventing pregnancy?”— Susan Wood who, in 2005, resigned her job as the top women’s-health official at the FDA, claiming that the agency’s refusal to allow over-the-counter sale of emergency contraception was the result of political pressure by the Bush administration. (via iamdrtiller)
Yes! Or I read some of it. It was the text book for my pop culture class. I plan to read the rest when my life is less crazy. What I have read is incredible…and depressing. Have you watched her “Reality Rehab” video on Youtube (or the book website)? SHE’S SO GREAT.
I love the juxtaposition of this picture. In the sky, lighting up the heavens, is the moon, full and ripe and luminescent. It is the embodiment of the night, of beauty and lovers whispers, of mysterious teases and secrets. She is the unknown. While this pictures fails to capture the magic of this moon, you can imagine what it was like to sit beneath it on an island in the Mediterranean, the sound of waves crashing on obsidian beaches, the smell of salt and lemons and green, the taste of sea-water and wine a melody on the tongue while the hum of lizards and rustle of sleeping birds joined in to make a symphony for the senses. All of these things the moon was apart of, an integral part of the fabric with which all this life was woven into; something completely separate from human forces, a body in its own right. Seeing this, feeling this,was magic and it was easy to understand why the moon has been worshiped for thousands of years, a Goddess that has wielded power over the lives of men and women just as surely as it has pushed and pulled at the waves.
Below, poised on a mountain and as close to the heavens as it will ever get was the garish fluorescent cross. It seemed ridiculous: utterly preposterous. That humans have given up worship of the Moon in favor of something so hopelessly earthbound, so obviously fashioned by the minds and hands of men, an invention that at best is a mirror of ourselves and at worst an arrogant display of humanity’s sense of entitlement. Pathetic.
While I believe the philosophy introducing my blog makes it clear that I do not believe in some “heavenly” figure with a white beard and smiting capabilities, who for reasons I don’t entirely fathom feels the need to make paintings cry and create convoluted, contradictory creeds for humanity to live by, I do believe, as Shakespeare put it so well, “that there are more things on Heaven and Earth, than are dreamt of in our philosophy.”
I love this quote, it is the only “scripture” I need. While I do not begrudge others their beliefs, unless of course they conflict with my rights, happiness, or well-being, I think that when you strip away all the ridiculous, man-made delusions of grandeur, the hierarchy-inducing “Laws,” and various forms of ritual, the thing everyone is worshiping is the same thing. Whether it be God, Allah, Jehovah, Buddha, Krishna, Goddess, Science or Bob the Universal Plumber, the force behind the name is the same. And the only thing you gotta have to worship is faith, and sometimes even that’s negotiable. Because whatever that force is, the chaos of the universe, the sparkles and glitter of a God with a human face, it doesn’t really care. Our lives are finite flashes in its vast infinity and to give us special notice would be an insult to the rest of the space, from The Beginning to The End, that we have not and will not occupy, and that’s a lot of space.
But the universe unfolds, it creates and it destroys and those are the only two forces it is concerned with, it is a constant state of paradoxical ordered chaos. And, if we’re going to worship anything, I can think of nothing more awe-inspiring, more fantastic and larger than us to which we should give reverence. I have faith in the universe. I trust that things will go as they are supposed to go and if I throw my two-sense in, send out my prayers and meditations I can only hope that the small energy my tiny life-force emits is enough to tip the huge scales weighing the forces of creation and destruction in my favor; a cosmic flap of butterfly wings.
So, I do not waste my time on crosses glowing on hills. I give over my admiration to the moon, an embodiment of the universal chaos.