I went dress shopping with my mum today at Oxford Street. We were passing the exit of a tube station, so we were suddenly thrust into this small crowd and split up a little. I saw her jacket and linked the arm, walking about thirty or so yards until I turned to ask her the time. It was not my mother. I didn’t know what to do because it was really busy and the other woman didn’t look even the slightest bit phased. In fact, she was so calm about it that I was too afraid to draw attention to the situation by apologising. So I carried on for ten more seconds, terrified, until I found a set of traffic lights and sort of turned and slid my arm out. She carried on walking, never looked back, and I had to wait for two minutes as my worryingly slow mother caught up.
Maybe it's not only about the pig's penis, it seemed that the penis only proved successful when slapped (LOL.) against Jude's ear.
I agree though, courting seems much more simplistic than we've made it. Who knows: maybe in 10 years time we will be using an array of animal genitals as ways to covey our emotions?
(I sincerely hope not... Just sayin')
I love the idea of a different animal being appropriate for a particular situation. Like, a horse for a funeral or a cow’s at the birth of your child.
I wonder if it would have signified anything else if it was used differently. Maybe if she had skipped past, holding it with her arm outstretched, and it lightly grazed his cheek, it would have been the equivalent of a ‘Your mum…’
Any comment possible is completely overshadowed by the fact that I spent an hour and fifteen minutes trying to work out why I was reading about a severed pig’s penis being thrown at someone’s ear in an exam on love/seduction in literature.
Icaro Doria, a Brazilian man, working for a magazine in Portugal started this campaign using real data from the UN and flag images, he’s created whats known as Meet the World. The colors within the flags from its respective country are used to represent current, geographical relevant issues. Take a look.
Day Twenty-Eight The month you were happiest this year, and why.
Probably February. Well, I say that, but I can’t actually distinguish between these past several months. I just remember certain moments and they happen to be in February. I had friends over on Valentine’s Day and I remember feeling a lot closer to them after. It was a case of being really good friends with people, and having that one event where, for some reason, you all just talk for ages and you end up learning more than you thought you knew of them through it. Sappy, I know, but it was nice. February also marks a particular event which came as a bit of a shock, but it allowed me to step back and sort of move on from something. I suppose the happiness is more in retrospect, but I definitely felt quite content when it happened.
I’m only using it for people from school, to keep in touch now we’ve technically left. It’ll be probably be used for those I meet at university, but that’ll be it. If you are somebody from school, you’ll be able to find it easily, if not, then no. Sorry.
I’d like to know why you ask. If it’s just to get some more basic information on me, it’s nothing new to what I post here. Books, films, music and the like. Unless you’re after pictures, in which case, very few people should be subjected to that. Provided you don’t know me in person anyway, in which case it’s too late.
Day Twenty-Four Things you want to say to five different people
Whoever moderates the History A2 exam I have tomorrow:
Take pity, for I have suffered for this.
The person who finalised the decision to cancel Pushing Daisies:
You had your reasons. They didn’t factor in my happiness, but how were you to know? Though, understanding aside, am I bitter? Yes. Do I curse you every time I watch an episode? Yes.
The person who finalised the decision to reject me from that university:
If I was that awful sort of person, I’d deliberately fail your child if I was to ever teach them in the future. But I’m not. So I shall forever cast my death glare upon your institution’s alumni.
Why is watching the television with you so awkward, no matter what?
My old piano teacher:
Do you remember that time you told me that the blind girl you knew when you were younger played better than I did, and that I hadn’t practised for the lesson enough, and then I said that I found it really difficult to go near the instrument, and I heavily implied it was because your unforgiving glare didn’t do much in the way of easing panic when trying to play a piece better suited to a four year old with no hands, and you struck fear and frustration into every fibre of my being, and you thought I was joking but I wasn’t? Because I do.
“It’s ironic how the White girl mimicking Black culture has been viewed as quirky, cute, and interesting in the past. But sisters who fashionably rock bamboo earrings, gold nameplate necklaces, and blonde streaked weaves, will inevitably be considered “ghetto” by society.”—
All the time. I wore my favorite earrings to work once and folks were alarmed. Lots of side-eyes and backhanded compliments that day! Then one of the white women I work with found some fake bamboos at Forever 21 all of a sudden she’s a fashion powerhouse. Same thing with this Kreayshawn, excuse me, Nastassia. She isn’t doing anything new or innovative. She’s just sprinkling her Special Snowflake Dust all over the internet and fuck you if you don’t think post-racial America is real because it is and you are a hater!
But go on and have your 15 minutes, Nastassia. While you’re making up contrived as hell hard luck stories in the name of authenticity, I’ll be over here listening to Rye Rye. She actually deserves the accolades and the million dollar deal because she’s fly for real. And she didn’t have to jack her flyness because she was born fly.
What’s wrong with cultural appropriation? I mean, I know it’s bad, but I need this one kind of spelled out for me. Is it always bad? Are some cases worse than others? I want to be a good anti-racist, but I fear I’m not educated enough.
Cultural appropriation exists because of centuries of:
Imperialism: more specifically, cultural imperialism which is essentially one cultural dominating another. (IE: white folks and everyone we’ve ever invaded ever. Including each other.)
Racism: justifies the appropriation by making various cultural/racial/ethic groups marginalised, oppressed and seen as inferior by the privileged group.
Exoticism: justifies commodification and objectification.
Entitlement: thinking that oppressed people’s culture, society, and spirituality are up for grabs.
Unawareness of privilege: based on misunderstanding of power dynamics, entitlement, exoticism and racism
Why is cultural appropriation harmful?:
Cultural appropriation reinforces oppression because it invalidates and commodifies marginalised groups.
Invalidates: the culture/society/the people
Homogenizes: lets look at the white girls wearing warbonnets and mukluks. War bonnets are worn traditionally only by various Native plains tribes and mukluks are boots made of usually seal skin warn/made traditionally by Alaskan/Arctic natives. This haphazard and disrespectful throwing together different pieces of two completely different Native cultures which is portraying an image of homogeneity and reinforces the stereotype that there is just one Native American culture and they are all the same, which reinforces oppression and racism.
Commodifies: putting a monetary value on something that should not be sold or purchased or marketed in any way, eg. spiritual practices.
Reinforces stereotypes: which reinforce oppression and racism-a tool of colonisation.
Distorts traditions into inaccurate and offensive caricatures
Romanticises cultures: often this is something that results in entire groups of people being seen as ‘something that used to exist’ as opposed to people with lives and cultures that exist and flourish today. You get this a lot with Native American and Canadian culture.
Eroticises/exoticizes people: this is incredibly dehumanising.
Here are some awesome people who talk about appropriation and how it is shitty- linked is all their posts tagged appropriation. Please look through their archives, and do not just message them asking the same question, they are people not encyclopaedias.
Day Twenty-One Something you can’t seem to get over
No, I’m not sure. There are lots of things actually, but I don’t know whether or not they would count; they still affect me, but not in nearly as negative a way as they did before. I had some really questionable friends when I was about fourteen/fifteen. They did a bunch of stupid stuff that made me feel really insecure, and then I realised I had no valid reason to feel that way and now, instead of not being to get over certain hang-ups, I find it difficult to get over how ridiculous those people were. Same situation, different type of inability to let something go.
Mind you, there are positive things. I can’t get over the fact that I actually have something I want to do with myself, based on a subject I can say I’m decent at and enjoy. I had an inkling of what I wanted to do after university, but not a clue as to what subjects I’d take or anything specific. So I suppose I also can’t get over how I have a sense of direction, and I’m fairly confident in it.
I just asked my mum if she’d like some tea, to which she replied: “No thank-you, and please don’t leave getting married until too late. I have to tell you these things now in case you find someone at uni, and it’ll be too far gone for me to teach you.”
The doppelganger of Timothy Spall as Peter Pettigrew
There was a man delivering something for my mum (who was in the shower), but I didn’t know and ignored the doorbell, which isn’t very nice, but I was changing some bedsheets and tangled up and I wasn’t dressed enough to face the outside world. The doorbell rang again, and really, it couldn’t have been an emergency if they waited so long to ring once more.
And then the phone rang, and I thought, “Ah, potential justification for ignoring whoever’s outside”.
It was him.
The window was open and I was right by it, so I could hear him over the phone as well as outside. I nearly died. I had to be all: ”Ah, yes, sorry, can you please hold on a second?” to make it seem as though I was actually busy, and then I had to run around finding something to change into. When I opened the door he was holding what looked like a pitchfork in a bin liner.
I didn’t know what to do, and I told him my mum was the one who handles all of that, and that I didn’t have the money because I HAD NO IDEA WHO HE WAS. He said he’d come back on Sunday evening and then he just stood there. We established the conversation was over, and he just. Stood. There. Now, I could be wrong when it comes to the norms of doorstep departures, but I thought that it’s the person who’s outside who leaves first. So I had to sort of smile and nod my head and shut the door as he just stood there holding the could-be-pitchfork. Only I also chose to say: “Okay, well, bye Gordon!”
I had a list already prepared, and then I realised that they’re more things that make me really uncomfortable. So, really thinking about it:
The thought of somebody standing at the foot of my bed at night
Anything involving little girls in white dresses with eerie smiles. Throw in a slow wave and I’m near enough done.
The thought of being trapped in a cage with a gorilla. Not that I could handle a tiger or something, but a gorilla springs to mind first when thinking about undesirable cage situations.
Walking beneath a flock of birds.
Things that go bump in the night.
When I’m talking and somebody tells me to stop in a really scared voice. And they’re focused on something behind me or near me.
Walking upstairs to my room after watching a horror movie, no matter how much I laughed during it.
My incredibly bad reflexes and what they could (not) do for me in a drive-by shooting. Which I don’t think I’m at risk of given where I live, but if I can be afraid of a potential cage-share with a gorilla…
Everybody knows, though I don’t think many know how much. There’s so much to list in terms of reasons why.
I want to talk about a subject I love five days a week, several hours a day. I want to go over lesson plans in the morning and spend evenings with a desk full of sheets of A4, finding out what thirty or so fourteen year olds make of a policy or a writer’s language. I want the satisfaction of a red pen around a teenager’s your/you’re mix-up. I like that a group of students will know more than they did an hour before, and that I’d be a part of their education. I like the idea of being able to maintain some sort of informal banter with a class full of adolescents as they find out about something they never thought would interest them. I want to get a group of adolescents so interested in something, they’d take the lesson over the banter.
I want to make a particularly rude child stay behind after the end of class and be able to find out why they did that and said this, and discover the right balance between their strengths and downfalls when explaining their behaviour to their guardians on Parents’ Evenings. I like the idea of remembering what it felt like to go into a lesson just after a morning break argument, so much so that I can give a teen the short-term relief of waiting a while before I ask for the homework they probably forgot. And I like the idea that I’d be able to remember myself at that age - enough to understand them, enough to understand I’d moved on.
I’m going to write sappy quotations on my board in the morning, and tell bad jokes, and take the register in a stupid way when there’s enough time. I don’t mind if a kid prefers their Science or Music or PE teacher, but I want - so badly - to make a group of them look forward to the content of a lesson. Even if they don’t really care for who’s explaining it. I want to explain it too - I want to make it click for someone that whoever-they-have-to-research used that particular word for a reason, and how long-term certain implications were. I really, really want to give a constant to a group of awkward and gangly kids who’ll spend the rest of their time wondering what to say and wear and do and be.
I see people quoting poems that they probably never would have known existed until a particular lesson, and I hear friends explain huge concepts with confidence because they have that knowledge from, what, a few hours within a week? I’d be giving somebody information and knowing they’d learnt something. Even if they don’t care for the theme or understand it immediately, they’d know something that was given from as objective a viewpoint as possible. It isn’t about the smug sort of afterglow of inspiring an ASBO who’d rather stab me in the neck than hear me talk.
There’s an intensity around how seriously I take certain subjects because I know what I want to do with them after university. I embarrass myself, sure, and I dress it up and dumb it down by joking about how many pencil skirts I’ll have to buy, and how many times I’ll lock myself in a stationery cupboard out of frustration. Even with all of that, as much as I drone on and on about wanting to be a teacher, I really don’t think people understand that when I say I want to be one, it isn’t a fleeting case of “Teaching sounds cute, why not?” I hate the fact that somebody’s probably lumped me in with the people who pick teaching because it’s a last resort, because you get your qualifications and you’re set. I hate the fact that I’ll have to compete with people who want it on a surface level - for the security and not so much in itself. I suppose I don’t have much room to judge if those in question can do it well, but even so. I just want to be a good one.