February 14, 2012 • 1,732 notes • merelyamatterofcoffee
I will marry the person who put this together. You get me.

I will marry the person who put this together. You get me.

(via fuckyeahwomenprotesting2)

February 11, 2012 • 11,209 notes • firsttimeuser
mswyrr: mizjenkins: Eve ArnoldSchool for black civil rights activists; young girl being trained to not react to smoke blown in her faceVirginia, 1960 Wow. Puts all my knee-jerk reactions to ignorant assholes on the Internet in perspective. One of the important things about non-violent civil rights work that people did was months of work-shops where people discussed their feelings on what they were doing, made collective decisions about how their efforts would be organized and toward what goals, and then did practices like this where people practiced walking out non-violent resistance. According to Rev. James Lawson (he was interviewed for the Freedom Riders documentary), who was brought to teach because of his experience in India studying the work of Ghandi, prior to the the efforts to desegregate the downtown area of Nashville—particularly lunch counters—people did workshops for six months. People talk admiringly about military campaigns, but instances like that had all the precision, commitment, and excellence of a military effort only toward the end of representing everyone rather than upholding strict hierarchy *and* using non-violent tools of warfare. I don’t hold that non-violence should be considered the only option for oppressed people. But I do believe that it’s extraordinary work that deserves wider recognition. I feel like, as with Rosa Parks, there’s this tendency for the narratives of the classical period of civil rights to portray what people chose to do as spontaneous. I feel like that denial of the prolonged, patient, careful, organized groundwork really sucks.

mswyrr:

mizjenkins:

Eve Arnold
School for black civil rights activists; young girl being trained to not react to smoke blown in her face
Virginia, 1960

Wow. Puts all my knee-jerk reactions to ignorant assholes on the Internet in perspective.

One of the important things about non-violent civil rights work that people did was months of work-shops where people discussed their feelings on what they were doing, made collective decisions about how their efforts would be organized and toward what goals, and then did practices like this where people practiced walking out non-violent resistance. According to Rev. James Lawson (he was interviewed for the Freedom Riders documentary), who was brought to teach because of his experience in India studying the work of Ghandi, prior to the the efforts to desegregate the downtown area of Nashville—particularly lunch counters—people did workshops for six months.

People talk admiringly about military campaigns, but instances like that had all the precision, commitment, and excellence of a military effort only toward the end of representing everyone rather than upholding strict hierarchy *and* using non-violent tools of warfare.

I don’t hold that non-violence should be considered the only option for oppressed people. But I do believe that it’s extraordinary work that deserves wider recognition. I feel like, as with Rosa Parks, there’s this tendency for the narratives of the classical period of civil rights to portray what people chose to do as spontaneous. I feel like that denial of the prolonged, patient, careful, organized groundwork really sucks.

(via lipstick-feminists)

February 10, 2012 • 1 note

My Dad Takes My Side On These Things

Rocio: You know, actually, is there, like, some planetary alignment for all of this year? It's a monumental year for everyone. Dad turned 50, it'll be your 30th wedding anniversary in April, Jav's 10th anniversary is coming up, you'll turn 50.
Mom: Yes.
Rocio: And 1234lander was telling me so many of his friends are getting married this year. Last week he named, like, five couples who recently got engaged, and then 3/4ths of Norm's friends will be married by summer.
Mom: Yes.
Rocio: Is it something in the air?
(Mom starts fanning and blowing air into Rocio's face)
Rocio: I'm going to interpret this to mean you really want my novel published this year.
Mom: Breathe it! Breathe the air!
February 10, 2012 • 264 notes • thecomposites
Emma Bovary, Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert She was pale all over, white as a sheet; the skin of her nose was drawn at the nostrils, her eyes looked at you vaguely. After discovering three grey hairs on her temples, she talked much of her old age…Her eyelids seemed chiseled expressly for her long amorous looks in which the pupil disappeared, while a strong inspiration expanded her delicate nostrils and raised the fleshy corner of her lips, shaded in the light by a little black down.

Emma Bovary, Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert

She was pale all over, white as a sheet; the skin of her nose was drawn at the nostrils, her eyes looked at you vaguely. After discovering three grey hairs on her temples, she talked much of her old age…Her eyelids seemed chiseled expressly for her long amorous looks in which the pupil disappeared, while a strong inspiration expanded her delicate nostrils and raised the fleshy corner of her lips, shaded in the light by a little black down.

February 9, 2012 • 18 notes • uncaged.co.uk

UNCAGED FORCES AVON TO RETRACT FRAUDULENT CRUELTY-FREE CLAIMS

powerecoads:

Another Uncaged complaint has forced global cosmetics firm Avon to withdraw false claims that they don’t test on animals. Uncaged had written to the Advertising Standards Authority in protest at a deceptive statement on Avon’s UK website that told consumers:

‘Avon does not…

February 8, 2012 • 43,822 notes • dear-jay

(via newagestreetfashion)

February 6, 2012 • 83 notes • thedecorista
Already way ahead’a ya!

Already way ahead’a ya!

February 1, 2012 • 742 notes • sesamestreet

sesamestreet: Happy birthday to Philip Glass, born today in 1937, and the man behind the music in this classic Sesame Street clip.

(via audreyhepburncomplex)

January 20, 2012 • 48 notes • fuckyeahjewelry

fuckyeahjewelry:

Catalina Brenes.

Sometimes you see something and that thing makes you say, “Ohmahguh,” and then, “Ohhhmagow”, and “Hoh!mygarsh.” I’m years away from being able to make something like this, but I’m going to make damned sure I’m as inspired, always.

January 15, 2012
Bovarina, on a chair. By Principessa Jazz. Olvera Street, Los Angeles, CA. January 14, 2012.

Bovarina, on a chair. By Principessa Jazz. Olvera Street, Los Angeles, CA. January 14, 2012.

January 12, 2012 • 1 note
Just To Explode. By 1234länder. Lake Cuyamaca, CA. December 27, 2011.

Just To Explode. By 1234länder. Lake Cuyamaca, CA. December 27, 2011.

January 11, 2012 • 9 notes • digitallibrary.usc.edu
usclibraries: Between 1893 and 1920, a 4,600-foot long wharf extended into Santa Monica Bay at Port Los Angeles. Read L.A. as Subject’s latest KCET contribution, “How Santa Monica Almost Became a Commercial Harbor,” to learn more.

usclibraries:

Between 1893 and 1920, a 4,600-foot long wharf extended into Santa Monica Bay at Port Los Angeles. Read L.A. as Subject’s latest KCET contribution, “How Santa Monica Almost Became a Commercial Harbor,” to learn more.

January 10, 2012 • 18,761 notes • jawdust
jawdust: Why you should be in passionate horny love with Elizabeth ‘Nellie Bly’ Cochrane Born in 1864/65, Elizabeth, one of 15 children, was always ‘the rebellious one’. Fierce as fuck from an early age, she testified against her abusive stepfather in her mother’s divorce trial. In 1880 she enrolled in a teacher-training college but had to leave after her first semester due to lack of funding - then moved to Pittsburgh to help run a goddamn boarding school.  This is where we get to the good shit. Age 18, she wrote a letter-to-the-editor of the Pittsburgh Dispatch bitchslapping the everloving fuck out of a sexist ballsack of an article entitled ‘What Girls Are Good For’.  The editor was so goddamn wooed by her razor-sharp tongue that he RAN AN AD asking her to identify herself. Elizabeth owned up, and was hired instantaneously, her badassery radiating from her pores and intoxicating all within a twenty mile radius. Working under the pen-name Nellie Bly, Elizabeth kicked the butts of morons everywhere, writing articles aimed at social justice, particularly labour laws to protect working ‘girls’ and reform of Pennsylvania’s divorce law, which greatly favoured men. Not content with changing the world from behind her desk, Elizabeth became a founding mother of investigative journalism. She was expelled from Mexico for exposing political corruption, and henceforth wrapped in cotton wool by her editors. Infuriated by their mollycoddling, Lizzie left them a note essentially telling them to fuck themselves and hot footed it to NYC. She was still only 23. Within six months she was hired by Joseph fucking Pulitzer himself, and continued her batshit crazy investigations uninhibited. Her very first assingment had her feigning mental illness to expose repulsive conditions in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum. Her cutting report was so fucking horrifying, compelling and persuasive that it triggered public and political action, leading to reform of the institution. In the next couple of years she had herself thrown in jail and hired by a sweatshop, all for shits and giggles. Oh, and to uncover incomprehensible injustice, cruelty, poverty, and the concealed, heinous treatment of the vulnerable and voiceless.  But was pioneering journalism, social revolution and batshit badassery enough for our Liz? Like fuck it was. On a whim Nellie did what any self-respecting 25 year old woman in the 1800s would do - she emulated Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days, and did it in 72. Millions followed her journey, and its appeal to a semi-literate populace resulted in greatly increased newspaper readership. So while travelling the entire globe (IN THE 1800s, AS A WOMAN) by ship, train, burro and balloon, she helped the world to read. Having essentially conquered the entire goddamn universe before hitting 30, Nellie retired, and wed 72 year old industrialist Robert Seaman. Their marriage was a happy one, and after his death she took over Iron Clad Manufacturing Co. But Lizzie was a writer, what would she know about the metal industry? Well, she INVENTED the steel barrel that became the model for the widely used 55-gallon drum and turned her inherited businesses into multimillion-dollar companies, so apparently a fuck ton. Furthermore, she set a precedent for working conditions, ensuring her workers had good pay, gymnasiums, staffed libraries, and health care, all completely unheard of at the time, while still writing to further the plight of the Suffragette movement. Nellie may have died age 58 of pneumonia, but HBICs live on forever.

jawdust:

Why you should be in passionate horny love with Elizabeth ‘Nellie Bly’ Cochrane

  • Born in 1864/65, Elizabeth, one of 15 children, was always ‘the rebellious one’. Fierce as fuck from an early age, she testified against her abusive stepfather in her mother’s divorce trial.
  • In 1880 she enrolled in a teacher-training college but had to leave after her first semester due to lack of funding - then moved to Pittsburgh to help run a goddamn boarding school. 
  • This is where we get to the good shit. Age 18, she wrote a letter-to-the-editor of the Pittsburgh Dispatch bitchslapping the everloving fuck out of a sexist ballsack of an article entitled ‘What Girls Are Good For’. 
  • The editor was so goddamn wooed by her razor-sharp tongue that he RAN AN AD asking her to identify herself. Elizabeth owned up, and was hired instantaneously, her badassery radiating from her pores and intoxicating all within a twenty mile radius.
  • Working under the pen-name Nellie Bly, Elizabeth kicked the butts of morons everywhere, writing articles aimed at social justice, particularly labour laws to protect working ‘girls’ and reform of Pennsylvania’s divorce law, which greatly favoured men.
  • Not content with changing the world from behind her desk, Elizabeth became a founding mother of investigative journalism. She was expelled from Mexico for exposing political corruption, and henceforth wrapped in cotton wool by her editors. Infuriated by their mollycoddling, Lizzie left them a note essentially telling them to fuck themselves and hot footed it to NYC. She was still only 23.
  • Within six months she was hired by Joseph fucking Pulitzer himself, and continued her batshit crazy investigations uninhibited. Her very first assingment had her feigning mental illness to expose repulsive conditions in Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum. Her cutting report was so fucking horrifying, compelling and persuasive that it triggered public and political action, leading to reform of the institution.
  • In the next couple of years she had herself thrown in jail and hired by a sweatshop, all for shits and giggles. Oh, and to uncover incomprehensible injustice, cruelty, poverty, and the concealed, heinous treatment of the vulnerable and voiceless. 
  • But was pioneering journalism, social revolution and batshit badassery enough for our Liz? Like fuck it was. On a whim Nellie did what any self-respecting 25 year old woman in the 1800s would do - she emulated Jules Verne’s Around the World in Eighty Days, and did it in 72.
  • Millions followed her journey, and its appeal to a semi-literate populace resulted in greatly increased newspaper readership. So while travelling the entire globe (IN THE 1800s, AS A WOMAN) by ship, train, burro and balloon, she helped the world to read.
  • Having essentially conquered the entire goddamn universe before hitting 30, Nellie retired, and wed 72 year old industrialist Robert Seaman. Their marriage was a happy one, and after his death she took over Iron Clad Manufacturing Co.
  • But Lizzie was a writer, what would she know about the metal industry? Well, she INVENTED the steel barrel that became the model for the widely used 55-gallon drum and turned her inherited businesses into multimillion-dollar companies, so apparently a fuck ton.
  • Furthermore, she set a precedent for working conditions, ensuring her workers had good pay, gymnasiums, staffed libraries, and health care, all completely unheard of at the time, while still writing to further the plight of the Suffragette movement.
  • Nellie may have died age 58 of pneumonia, but HBICs live on forever.
January 6, 2012 • 1,253 notes • banquethall
banquethall: Riot grrrls of the Amazon variety. Amidst the Ukraine’s high rates of sex trafficking and gender oppression, a new movement of empowered women takes form—Asgarda—a tribe of Ukrainian women, mostly students, who live together in the Carpathian Mountains seeking complete autonomy from men. Approximately 150 women live together under the leadership of 30-something Katerina Tarnousk. Reviving the tribal traditions of the Scythian Amazons of ancient Greek mythology, the Asgarda train in martial arts, taught by former Soviet karate master, Volodymyr Stepanovytch, and learn life skills and sciences in order to become ideal women. French photographer Guillaume Herbaut met the Asgarda and documented their daily life and studies. Via Teenage

banquethall:

Riot grrrls of the Amazon variety. Amidst the Ukraine’s high rates of sex trafficking and gender oppression, a new movement of empowered women takes form—Asgarda—a tribe of Ukrainian women, mostly students, who live together in the Carpathian Mountains seeking complete autonomy from men. Approximately 150 women live together under the leadership of 30-something Katerina Tarnousk. Reviving the tribal traditions of the Scythian Amazons of ancient Greek mythology, the Asgarda train in martial arts, taught by former Soviet karate master, Volodymyr Stepanovytch, and learn life skills and sciences in order to become ideal women. French photographer Guillaume Herbaut met the Asgarda and documented their daily life and studies.

Via Teenage

(via fuckyeahwomenprotesting2)

January 6, 2012 • 88 notes • yelpingwithcormac

Yelping with Cormac: Red Lobster

Blogs are the new poetry.

Shut up.

yelpingwithcormac:

Wichita, KS

Cormac M. | Author | Lost in the chaparral, NM

Two stars.

The manager sat tied to the chair in the corral, firelit on all sides by the torches of the townfolk. Dean stood next to him with a Colt army revolver pointed to the hardpacked earth. Who else will speak, he said.

A chorus of voices rose at once. From the din a miner hollered: The shrimp was rubberlike.

I believe Pastor Macabee already done spoke to that, said Dean. He looked around him. Ghastly amber faces staring back like funeral masks. Are there any other charges, he said.

A prostitute in dusty finery stepped forward. She spoke haltingly. I made a reservation for six persons. And we still had to wait 45 minutes to set down. Her face fell into her hands and she began weeping softly. We was on time, she said.

A drunk cowboy carrying a rusting hatchet lurched toward the manager. I’ll tickle his neck with my axe so help me, he said.

Dean leveled the big revolver at the cowboy. The man regarded him wetly and melted back into the crowd. Dean spoke loudly so that all could hear. We will do this orderly or by God I’ll send him to the capitol and to hell with the lot of you.

A little girl strode forward into the light and looked up at Dean and the manager with eyes shining and obsidian. Hang them, she said. Hang them both.