perfect gif is perfect
I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS EXPLAINED BETTER THANK YOU SQUIDWARD
What the Mexican media is doing is taking something Lupita Nyong’o worked very hard for and making it about Mexico… knowing fully well that, had Lupita tried to start a career in Mexico, she wouldn’t have been able to.
This is an opportunity she wouldn’t have been able to get and a success she would have more than likely never have achieved in Mexico.
It’s height of hypocrisy to try and talk about how Lupita Nyong’o is a Mexican success when Mexico usually can’t be bothered to acknowledge that there are black people (and not just the rare walking stereotype) currently existing in Mexico.
How many afro-mexicanas with dreams of being actresses have been denied their dreams because theirs wasn’t the right look (they weren’t proper mexicanas) by the same media that now wants to lay a claim on Lupita Nyong’o and her talent?
It’s sooooo many folks who need to have a damn SEAT when it comes to Lupita.
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk. — r.d. (via vonmoire)
(Source: elferinge, via daughterofassata)
Let’s remember Trayvon Martin, who was killed on Feb 26, 2012.
Proposing a Nightvale movie with Benedict Cumberbatch playing Hiram McDaniels (or carlos `cause of the hair)
The idea that Cumberbatch would be remotely in any way an appropriate choice for a dark-skinned Latino character. Incredible.
why is it always benedict cumberbatch though. he’s like catnip for racists
Mexico’s ski racing uniform wins the Olympics.
As soon as I saw him I knew I had to know more about him. Besides having the best uniform, Hubertus von Hohenlohe, Mexico’s only athlete at the Winter Olympics, turns out he’s quite a character full of surprises.
- He’s a 55 year old German prince whose grandfather, Kaiser Franz II, was the last Holy Roman emperor. He was born in Mexico, that’s why he can represent the country
- He is fluent in five languages
- An artist himself, he friended Andy Warhol at Studio 54
- He is the heir to an automobile fortune. His father introduced Volkswagen into Mexico
- He is a musician who has put out eight records so far, including this 2013 track “Higher Than Mars”
- He will be the second-oldest winter Olympian in history when he hits the Sochi slopes in his mariachi-inspired uniform.
This is everything that is wrong with the winter Olympics. This man represents the elitist nature of the institution and not the country of Mexico in which he makes up a very small percentile of wealthy citizens.
He was raised in Europe for most of his life, he currently doesn’t even live in Mexico yet he is the sole representative of Mexico. This is privilege personified, in a country with a GINI coefficient of 48.28 (2008), in which 38.68% of wealth is held by the top 10% of the population (2008) who has the resources to practice the kind of sports that are performed in the Winter Olympics? So not only are world institutions and corporations fucking over most of the population and promoting inequality (but that’s another rant featuring NAFTA and privatization) but now they are making a mockery of it all by presenting this man as a Mexican to speak for all Mexicans. He is the heir to an automobile empire and he is a prince how much more obvious does it have to be that he represents colonialism much more appropriately than he does Mexico. AND he thinks it’s cute to appropriate the mariachi apparel, mariachis music came from indigenous alteration of instruments introduced (or forced) by the Spanish and is traditionally music of the peasant class. This is a fuck you to Mexico.
It pisses me off male artists sing about blow jobs, fucking, date rape etc; in great detail
and Beyonce sings a song about cunnilingus, in a rather sly witty way, comparing her clit to a skittle and the top comments are : “Nasty ass song” and “I never want to eat skittles again”.
Anonymous asked: if you think this is a game about who is "more oppressed" you're a dumb piece of shit. it's about how bi women are oppressed in different ways to lesbians or straight women, and how hardly any of the LG community will acknowledge that
To the Anon who wrote, check your self, and your fuck privilege as bi woman, and acknowledge that you are fuckin contributing towards the systems of oppression by denying some ones experience and shit you will never deal with. Yeah the erasure sucks but what the fuck are you doing that has others calling you out on your shit.
anyone else feel hella uncomfortable about how self-rightous the US is being about Russia’s anti-gay policies during the olympics?
in my state its still perfectly legal to fire someone for their sexuality and the government basically doesn’t realize that trans people exist
shut the fuck up
How do you remind your self you’re worth it, when all you wanna do is break you down.