There seems to be this belief that science and art are total opposites, as if they each take place on two ends of a scale, and don’t have really obvious similarities between them. I hate that. I hate the elitism that comes from both ends. It’s difficult to ignore the amount of people who take science and maths and can’t see the relevance and intelligence behind the other end of the spectrum, but something about the reversal of that really irritates me. The belief that science and maths can’t be fluid or poetic, or that to even justify finding science beautiful, you have to call on its artistic qualities - you have to ignore how interesting it is in its own right.
It’ll always grate on me that schools teach kids to sit facing the front in rigid formations when it comes to typically academic subjects, and let loose in the art rooms. I completely understand the process of nurturing children’s imaginations, but all it does is reinforce the idea that science and maths are obligatory. That they’re work, and work only, and there’s no way they have any sort of personal value beyond necessity. You drill in steel for science and colour for art, and all you end up with is this whole group of people who pick a side and are either too afraid to approach the other, or completely uninterested in what they think that other means. A whole portion of all there is to learn gets thrown away.
Because art can be clinical. It can be straight lines and angles and the physics behind tuning a guitar, just like how you can find a truckload of sentiment behind the structure of a cell. I’m guessing someone somewhere has already formulated an equation for the perfect introductory paragraph of a novel. It’s scary to think that there are thousands of people out there who won’t go near a paintbrush or calculus textbook because they don’t think they could handle it, and not due to any sort of incompetence, but because they’ve never been taught that there’s more to a subject than what you need to pass an exam.
I’m not saying it’s about being some sort of well-rounded genius. Just that the second you learn to get over those preconceptions, the potential’s there.
I’ve never felt comfortable reading books that have such deliberate narratives. There’s just something unnerving about reading a story where every sentence could be a quotation written out in cursive and photographed.
It’s my sister’s birthday next Saturday, and her and my mother haven’t been talking for almost two weeks. My mum wants to buy her an iPad regardless.
(over the phone)
Me: So…you do know she doesn’t want any of that sort of stuff. Mum: You don’t know that. Me: Right, because her telling me wasn’t a sign or anything. Mum: How can you not want one? I want one. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll use it. Me: Why don’t you just ask her what she wants? Mum: As if I’m speaking to her. Me: Meaning you’re going to fork out money on a present that’ll go to waste instead of taking five seconds to ask her if she wants anything she’ll actually enjoy? Mum:… Mum: Do your revision. (hangs up)
“Here’s the thing about jokes. They only work when they’re aiming up. I wrote this in another piece recently, but I’m just going to plagiarize myself: People in positions of power simply cannot make jokes at the expense of the powerless. That’s why, at a company party, you never have a roast where the CEO is roasting the janitor (“Isn’t it funny how Steve can barely feed his family? This guy knows what I’m talking about!” [points to other janitor]). Because that would be GROSS, and both janitors would have to work late to clean up everyone’s barf. Open-mic comedians, I know you think you’re part of some fresh vanguard in alternative comedy who just discovered that a lot of black ladies don’t like it when you touch their hair, but pleeeeeeease just stick to stuff about how your stupid girlfriend is a bitch. (Just kidding. Please never speak again.)”—
I don’t know if rape jokes encourage rape culture. I don’t care. You still shouldn’t tell them.
Statistically, if you have told a rape joke to a group of more than five people, one of the people you told it to was a rape survivor, possibly of multiple rapes. They will not necessarily disclose this to you; rape apologism is endemic in society and most rape survivors are cautious about whom they tell. Some may even be too ashamed of their rape to admit it to anyone, or because of rape-minimizing narratives like “men can’t be raped” and “I consented to oral, so I couldn’t have been raped” may not admit it even to themselves. The fact remains: if you’ve told dozens of rape jokes in your life, then you have almost certainly told a joke that minimizes or trivializes rape in front of a survivor.
And if you put as your Facebook status “I totally raped at Halo today” for your two hundred Facebook friends to see, statistically, you have just reminded thirty-three people of one of the worst experiences of their entire lives.
it’s not a tiny bit of her career either. she’s disturbingly obsessed with the virgin/whore dichotomy. and she hates girls. we get it, she doesn’t party; she doesn’t have a lot of sex; she stays at home and gosh golly gee she’s so down to earth. PLEASE LOVE HER.
I love Michael Jackson. It’s like someone managed to shove yelling along to P.Y.T., failed attempts to moonwalk in socks on the kitchen floor, every infectious number he did with The Jacksons and sitting cross-legged in front of the television watching every video from Dangerous into a box. And you can retreat back into it. I could spend hours poring over every detail I can find, but it always comes back to how on the Off The Wall album, you can hear him smiling when he sings. I think I’ll always defend him when it comes to how tacky things could get, because that was my favourite part. Just being able to switch on Get on the Floor and feel completely and utterly shameless.
“When I want to know what misogyny is, I don’t ask a man. When I want to know what racism is, I don’t ask a white person. When I want to know what homophobia is, I don’t ask a heterosexual. When I want to know what transphobia is, I don’t ask a cisgender person. When I want to know what ableism is, I don’t ask an able-bodied person. The contours and definitions of oppression are best articulated by the oppressed.”—Son of Baldwin
Have you ever been to a swimming pool with a wave machine? Because going to one used to give me something that felt like sea-sickness for days on end and I don’t recommend it at all
My dad used to take me to Latchmere every Sunday because they have a wave machine (I think there’s a song as well that goes “Latchmere’s got a wave machine”) and I loved it so much. But I can understand the sea-sick thing. Also, I miss you.
I went on the Bob The Builder ride outside Tesco today - I say “I”, only my butt and torso could fit - and all of a sudden I keep feeling the same motion. Like when you dream of being on a swing or something or you think really hard about it, and you can feel it. If I sit really still, I feel like I’m being rocked back and forth and wavily like.
I don’t feel right knowing even younger kids go through this.
Imagine a minefield… a strip of land seeded with traps that will maim or kill you if you put one foot in the wrong place. What’s the wrong place? You’ll know when you step there. There’s no rhyme or reason to…
Many adults are put off when youngsters pose scientific questions. Children ask why the sun is yellow, or what a dream is, or how deep you can dig a hole, or when is the world’s birthday, or why we have toes. Too many teachers and parents answer with irritation or ridicule, or quickly move on to something else. Why adults should pretend to omniscience before a five-year-old, I can’t for the life of me understand. What’s wrong with admitting that you don’t know? Children soon recognize that somehow this kind of question annoys many adults. A few more experiences like this, and another child has been lost to science.
There are many better responses. If we have an idea of the answer, we could try to explain. If we don’t, we could go to the encyclopedia or the library. Or we might say to the child: “I don’t know the answer. Maybe no one knows. Maybe when you grow up, you’ll be the first to find out.”
”—Carl Sagan, The Demon-Haunted World: Science as the Candle in The Dark (via ironfleet)
One of the biggest flaws in the race card rebuttal is that it implies whoever spoke is getting a free pass at something. As if being in that position - where awareness of racial identity and status is so embedded in you that the worst conclusion is automatic - doesn’t cost a person somehow.
“Slut-bashing is a cheap and easy way to feel powerful. If you feel insecure or ashamed about your own sexual desires, all you have to do is call a girl a “slut” and suddenly you’re the one who is “good” and on top of the social pecking order.”—Leora Tanenbaum, Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation (via ellielamothe)