“It really worries me that 84% of this audience agrees with that statement, because the kind of people that say “political correctness gone mad” are usually using that phrase as a kind of cover action to attack minorities or people that they disagree with. I’m of an age that I can see what a difference political correctness has made. When I was four years old, my grandfather drove me around Birmingham, where the Tories had just fought an election campaign saying, “if you want a nigger for a neighbour, vote Labour,” and he drove me around saying, “this is where all the niggers and the coons and the jungle bunnies live.” And I remember being at school in the early 80s and my teacher, when he read the register, instead of saying the name of the one asian boy in the class, he would say, “is the black spot in,” right? And all these things have gradually been eroded by political correctness, which seems to me to be about an institutionalised politeness at its worst. And if there is some fallout from this, which means that someone in an office might get in trouble one day for saying something that someone was a bit unsure about because they couldn’t decide whether it was sexist or homophobic or racist, it’s a small price to pay for the massive benefits and improvements in the quality of life for millions of people that political correctness has made. It’s a complete lie that allows the right, which basically controls media now, and national politics, to make people on the left who are concerned about the way people are represented look like killjoys. And I’m sick, I’m really sick— 84% of you in this room that have agreed with this phrase, you’re like those people who turn around and go, “you know who the most oppressed minorities in Britain are? White, middle-class men.” You’re a bunch of idiots.”—Stewart Lee (via voixhumaine)
I'm usually one of the first to step up to an inappropriate joke.
Looks like the cheap shots have started. I think people are forgetting that we actually watched somebody deteriorate. It might come as a surprise, but not everyone has the same mental stability and support system. I’m not a fan, but even I can acknowledge it’s not my place to judge the way a person loses their self. It won’t ever be until I fully understand her own feelings and reasons.
Pretty sure you've always wanted to see me naked.. Well.. I'm feeling pretty adventurous today so go to datelink7[dot]com (switch [dot] with .) then sign up and find my profile under the username 'lolsummer69'. I hid my face in the pictures. but I want you to guess who I am and then hit me up on Facebook lol. Good luck.
Pretty sure you've always wanted to see me naked.. Well.. I'm feeling pretty adventurous today so go to datelink6[dot]com (switch [dot] with .) then sign up and find my profile under the username 'lolsummer69'. I hid my face in the pictures. but I want you to guess who I am and then hit me up on Facebook lol. Good luck.
Will you ever post a picture of yourself that isn't blurry and doesn't obscure your face?
Haha, this sounds like something somebody I know would ask.
No, never. Well, probably. I’m fussy with pictures of myself. I’m not saying I love the ones I do post, just that those ones are done in moments where I care a little less. But yeah, I will. I don’t know when.
It seemed to Jack that if an ordinary human being, his own son, no one particular, could have this purity of mind, then perhaps the isolated deeds of virtue at which people marvelled in later life were not really isolated at all; perhaps they were the natural continuation of the innocent goodness that all people brought into the world at their birth. If this was true, then his fellow-human beings were not the rough, flawed creatures that most of them supposed. Their failings were not innate, but were the result of where they had gone wrong or been coarsened by their experiences; in their hearts they remained perfectible.
“Filming Fred’s death was actually pretty easy. On the day we filmed I knew it was gonna happen so every time I saw James I would get really sad. When we went to film it they had James lay down on the stretcher and just wait until the rest of the cast got there. I took one look at James on the stretcher and burst into tears. I can’t even imagine how it would feel to lose him. We have done everything together since birth and to see my brother laying down on a stretcher pretending to be dead just killed me inside. After James got up and I gave him a huge hug. David said you did great, it was very believable. Then I told him I just thought of it as me and James not Fred and George.”—
Okay why should they cover themselves? I don’t know if you read my post earlier where I told about a story so I’ll tell it now. While I was with Faizan Siddiqui, one my favorite brothers, on the seats waiting for the train to come a guy was sitting next to me. And a girl walked by and she was wearing a skirt. And this guy was looking at her from ALL the way from in front of me until she left the station which was like what 30 seconds. That’s disgusting. And this isn’t odd in NYC. Or anywhere to be honest. That’s not true beauty. Would that happen with a sister in hijab? And hijab just doesn’t mean head covering mind you. Anyways, yes I believe women should cover themselves. Why? For the betterment of both THEMSELVES and the men. Men are animals. But don’t cover for that then fine. Cover for YOURSELF. I hear girls complaining ALL the time about not finding nice guys or anything like that. Um hello? You prolly got a nice guy right behind your back right now as yall are reading this. The point is, when you’re covered men approach you not for your physical beauty but for your inner ones. Your personality. Your actions. Your beliefs. That’s what’s truly beautiful. Not how good looking you are. A lot of people get married. Not everyone is attractive to each other. Because of appearance? Sure it plays a role but is that the MAJOR factor? YOU tell me. No, it is NOT. Anyways, I believe they should cover so they can find this comfort. This comfort of not being gawked at by these animals. Men can’t control themselves. So why you gotta make it harder? Your husband will want you regardless of what other people think. So why do you have to flaunt it? Are you nervous? Are you scared of your looks? Are you not confident? There’s two people. If you’re confident, you BETTER be covering yourself. And honestly, everyone should be confident. And if you’re not, someone’s been messing around with your mind. Because YOU ARE beautiful. And you don’t need to showcase it to prove it. I’m done now :)
I can understand the reasoning, but I have to disagree with several of the points made. I like the comment about somebody approaching you for something other than physical attributes. As somebody who feels indifferent to compliments regarding physicality, the idea of somebody paying more attention to personality and beliefs is lovely, but even I have to admit that covering up doesn’t guarantee this; often, a lot of people see those who dress more demurely as ‘challenges’, going against the point.
I was actually incredibly offended by: “Men can’t control themselves. So why you gotta make it harder?” It may not have been meant like this, but it seems like a slightly watered down version of “If that woman didn’t want to be sexually assaulted, she should have worn something less revealing”. If a woman is the victim of objectification, it isn’t up to her to compromise her choices, it’s up the person making her feel that way to learn to control themselves.
"So why do you have to flaunt it? Are you nervous? Are you scared of your looks? Are you not confident?"
This sounds like you’re assuming that to “flaunt it” is a result of insecurity, and a possible desire to feel validated by others’ attention. Even your use of the word “flaunt” is problematic. It implies that women dress revealingly for the attention of others, and not for themselves. Not everything females do is for the gratification of others. I mean, some dress in shorts purely because long skirts and jeans feel uncomfortable to them.
"And a girl walked by and she was wearing a skirt. And this guy was looking at her from ALL the way from in front of me until she left the station which was like what 30 seconds. That’s disgusting. And this isn’t odd in NYC. Or anywhere to be honest."
Why is that disgusting? Given that the example mentioned a skirt, I’m guessing he was mainly focusing on her legs. Believe it or not, covering up actually helps to sexualise these completely innocent limbs - a body part that is constantly hidden ends up with an air of exoticism and intrigue around it. I’m not saying that we should all wander around naked and be done with it, but I don’t see how the guy or girl is to blame. The very fact that one believed such an innocent body part deserved to be scrutinised was probably the result of it usually being covered up in the first place.
"That’s not true beauty."
And that’s not for you to say. As I said before, they’re legs. Any accusation of flaunting or insecurity is an assumption on your part. You have no idea what the context behind her choice to wear that skirt was. Maybe she’s always hated her legs, and this was a milestone for her in self-acceptance. Maybe she realised a few days before that she has legs that function, and who cares if people don’t find them attractive or stare? They’re amazing things that get you from A to B, and might as well be shown the way things like hands and eyelashes are. Maybe they’re a testament to how hard she exercises, proof of some sort that she worked hard and stuck to something she wanted. That is true beauty. And even if it was to be looked at, that is too; if she places value in how attractive she is, it isn’t for anyone but her to judge how right or wrong her priorities are. What harm is she doing by wearing that skirt anyway? Pointing out that people sexualise parts of the anatomy unnecessarily?
"Because YOU ARE beautiful. And you don’t need to showcase it to prove it."
As I said before, choosing to not cover up has nothing to do with validating your beauty, at least, not to the majority who do so. To believe that women do it to “showcase” completely ignores the fact that we do things for ourselves.
"If you’re confident, you BETTER be covering yourself."
You have no place to make set in stone comments about what women should and shouldn’t do. Not as a male. No, not as anyone who isn’t the person making their own decision.
How do you feel about the Oxford comma and the semicolon?
I love semicolons. So much so that I use them unnecessarily. In any given situation where I have to write something under pressure and I can’t quite work out how to structure a sentence, I go straight for a semicolon. Even if it doesn’t fit. I just love them. If punctuation marks were people, I’d marry one.
—-, —-, and —- :
I need the Oxford comma. Everybody does. Language does. Well, some, particularly English. I will use one whenever necessary, and anyone who tries to stop me will be crossed off of my Christmas card list.
And just for the sake of it:
BEST COMMA RELATED JOKE EVER
A panda walks into a café. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air. “Why?” asks the confused waiter, as the panda makes towards the exit. The panda produces a badly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder.
"I’m a panda," he says, at the door. "Look it up."
The waiter turns to the relevant entry and, sure enough, finds an explanation.
"Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots, and leaves."
TAG YOU'RE IT!
Here are the rules:
Each tagged person must post 10 things about themselves. You have to chose and tag 10 people. Go to their blogs and tell them that you have tagged them. Oh yeah.. No tag backs
I didn’t realise this was in my inbox. “No tag backs”? Does that mean we can’t ask the person who sent it to us?
Desperately trying to think of ten things about myself now.
When I was little, I was obsessed with dinosaurs and other prehistoric life. I wanted to be a palaeontologist, and subscribed to this dinosaur magazine. My mum and dad bought me an encyclopaedia on dinosaurs as a gift once. I loved it, but only ever looked at the pictures. It’s on the shelf next to me, actually. And my sister bought me this toy thing which was like a box of sand and hidden plastic fossils, and you had to use these special brushes and tools to find them. I miss that.
I hate frogs’ legs. They disgust me. I don’t mean the food, but the actual limbs themselves. The way they’re so thin in comparison to the rest of the body, and how they look like really disproportionate human legs when they stretch out. Nasty stuff.
I have a freckle-y thing on my left palm, right at the top. Between my middle finger and ring finger. I discovered it in a History lesson in Year 11, and sort of poke it when I’m bored.
A lot of people assume that I A’d my way through secondary school. I didn’t - I was average in most subjects, and good but not the best in others. I only found out I was capable of doing really well in one or two towards the end of Year 11 (just over two years ago).
My favourite colour is orange. I get really annoyed when I’m in a situation where people are handed something coloured, like an information sheet or pen, and somebody else gets the orange one.
I’ve been trying to teach myself Afrikaans for a year now. I’m still failing miserably.
I was not a cute kid. Seriously. In hindsight, I have so much respect for everyone I encountered purely for how they managed to restrain themselves and not push me off a cliff.
I hate the number eight and any number that adds up to it - seventeen, twenty-six, fifty-three, sixty-two, etc. In school, I could never work in textbooks that were recorded with a number that added up to eight. I live at number fifty-three, so that’s awful. And the digits of my phone number all add up to eight. Ew.
The first music video I can remember seeing is Michael Jackson’s Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.
It’s one of my goals in life to find a barbershop quartet who’ll sing MJ’s Get On The Floor for me.
Mr. What About The Men “The real problem here is all these false rape accusations that are destroying our society! 90 million men are falsely accused of rape every second! A woman just has to sort of mumble a…
The fraction of the trip that was the reason I went.
Favourite birthday ever.
Woke up at 7am to this outside the balcony:
Took a brisk walk up to the cable cars five minutes away, and ate the best pistachio ice cream in the world (birthday breakfast part II?) at 9.30am, in a bar above cloud level.
Strolled around eating overpriced food in Lucerne and Zurich.
Went to that night’s hotel and found that I needed the programmed key for my door to operate the elevators. - Failed to understand how to operate elevator. - Went to top floor where an attractive young man who spoke no English got in. - Watched him walk out onto my floor, didn’t quite register that it was mine, and went to the second after I couldn’t get the doors to stop from closing. - Walked out when the doors opened (thinking I’d give up and take the stairs, despite my huge suitcase) only to find it had skipped the second floor and gone straight to third. - Rushed back in, saw the green light by the card and confidently pressed the “1 —- ONE” button, and watched as the monitor at the top of the elevator went past my floor:
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers. Thanks to your love a certain fragrance, risen darkly from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride, so I love you because I know no other way than this: where “I” does not exist, nor “you,” So close that your hand on my chest is my hand, So close that your eyes close and I fall asleep.
I was leaving the bank today after sorting out some stuff, and as I got closer to the exit I noticed a couple of people pushing the revolving door forwards to leave. I misjudged my speed and size in relation to the next disappearing compartment’s, and leapt forwards to walk out, and then got wedged between the glass panel (that should have been behind me had the attempt proved successful) and the door frame. Like this:
I was stuck for about seven minutes. Staff had to help.
I really wanted this to be the same sort of languid summer that 2009’s was. I think I assumed that would be the case because of the earlier end to sixth form (like in Year 11, only without the exams mid-June), and the later-than-usual term beginning for university. It was a little stupid, really; there are too many obligations to go through with. Some compulsory, others not so much, but still necessary in one way or the other.
I leave for Switzerland on Friday, which means I only have tomorrow and the day after (and what’s left of today) to finalise the packing and get all sappy over technically becoming an adult. It won’t happen until Monday, but the itinerary my mum’s found for the weekend won’t leave much room for sentimentality. Not that the chance to vote/go clubbing/buy alcohol hassle-free is something I assume makes a sparkly and mature grown-up, but if people want to dress up life post-seventeen, I might as well pay some attention to the 11th. I don’t think I have any proper free time until the beginning of August; we return on Tuesday, but leave again in two weeks.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but I think the idea of Switzerland and Italy in a bundle sounded better several months ago - without the reality of effort and rush. I still have August and September, provided I get into my first choice, but those won’t be carefree Teenage Dream type days. It’d be stupid to kid myself. There’ll be results day panic, finding a decent job, getting everything sorted for university, and clearing out the rest. The last one’s a mix of general tidying and just getting rid of old school stuff. It’ll be strange in itself. Every time I clean my room or the study, I work around the huge stacks of worksheets and books. I’ll be keeping far more than several things, but it is a little strange to think that every ambiguous looking sheet I’ve been careful to leave just in case they’ll be needed for AS/A2, I can shove into a drawer and tip upside down into a recycling box. And that’ll be it.
It’s under the condition of relative results day success, but I have now until the end of September. I can pace myself. Try to, rather.