Another post about Halloween costumes?! Well, everyone is doing it, I want in on this fun. Besides, why else start blogging if not to tell people what to do in six bullet points?
Here are my picks for this year’s Halloween costumes.
I don’t have a Halloween costume this year.
I used to have a dress up box full of scarves and hand-me-downs. With enough imagination, I could costume myself and all my stuffed animals and put on a puppet show with them. I used to dress myself for Halloween with some arcane explanation that I was an amoeba or a particular Greek goddess or French revolutionary. I’m sure it all just looked like scarves to my parents. Continue reading
Here’s the context of ‘Same Love,’ for those you living under rocks without access to the sweet internet nectar that is Tumblr:
Macklemore (a white, straight, cisgendered male from an educated upper-middle-class background) wrote this very pretty song about his support for same-sex marriage. It’s become a radio hit! Yay, Macklemore!
Members of the queer community have had mixed feelings about this song, including some very negative feelings. This in turn has caused other people to feel bewildered and/or outraged, prompting them to say “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM US? STOP PICKING ON MACKLEMORE!”
More recently, Angel Haze, a queer woman of color, produced a remix of ‘Same Love’ that is about her experiences as a queer woman of color and her support for her community. If you haven’t heard it yet, HERE YOU GO. I picked this youtube video because it has the lyrics in the description. Read the lyrics. They’re important.
I know this has been going around the internet lately. There have been a lot of conversations, out in the world and within our own blog-bubble. Maybe you’re all tired of it. If so, I cordially invite you to get UN-TIRED. ‘Cause I got some feels to throw at you.
These feels come in two parts! Part one: Why ‘Same Love’ as an anthem of the ‘gay rights’ movement, and Macklemore’s visibility as the Best Ally Ever, is problematic.
This is a guest post by Katie Hart.
Happy anniversary lyme disease. Here’s to one year of pain. 365 days of every symptom imaginable. 8,760 hours of uncertainty, tears, fear, and anger. 525,600 minutes since I last had energy. Over 31 million seconds since I last felt like a real person. It’s been a year, and it feels like it’s still just you and me, lyme. And I hate you.
I remember who I used to be. I remember the girl that used to get hyper off a shot of chocolate syrup and run rampant around campus like a madwoman, turning cartwheels and lounging on rooftops. The girl that used to backpack around Europe, sleeping under tables in bars on Greek ferries and exploring ruins in the French countryside. The girl that once climbed a mountain in the dark to play baseball with a bag of potatoes and a stick, or who moved to South Korea just because someone heard a rumor that the dance scene was good. The girl that was strong enough to build a teepee in Herrang and work the early morning truck shifts at a retail store. The girl that tried to outdance everyone in DC by setting a record for the most number of days danced in a row.
On October 28, 2012, I was putting on my shoes to go to campus to organize stuff for our big dance competition. I was so excited, I had been practicing hard and dancing almost every day, and I had this feeling that we were going to be amazing. And then I put my shoes on, and my back started twinging in pain and I collapsed on the ground in unimaginable pain. I should have gone to the hospital, except that there happened to be a hurricane imminently arriving and I was scared to go outside in the rain and wind. After a week of lying in bed, I finally went to the doctor’s office, and after testing me for a ridiculously high number of other diseases, my blood work came back positive for lyme.
But, isn’t lyme curable? Continue reading
The following post is about my learning disability. This is my writing raw, before I send it out for comments / edits. I am leaving it this way to show me unfiltered and unashamed.
This July, I was diagnosed with Moderate ADHD at almost 23 years old. While every case of ADHD is different, my disability affects me in a way that makes simple things difficult, like, remembering things or giving my full attention to tasks after I’ve already spent an extended period of time on them. I’m impulsive, which can be endearing or enraging depending on the situation. I’m extremely hyper and, if I’m not physically active enough during my day, I become overwhelming anxious with the amount of energy that is trapped in me. The diagnosis was not a shock to me and I volunteered for testing because I wanted to understand myself better. I had struggled with assignments all through school. I would edit my own papers for hours but some how they would be marked up in red when I got them back. Teachers and professors praised me that I was intelligent but careless. I was also incredibly forgetful. I was losing my phone at least two to four times a day because I just couldn’t remember where it was. I would forget to text people back for days (probably because I couldn’t find my phone…). While these sound like petty, little things, they manifest into something larger when you start to believe that you are stupid or lazy or thoughtless or an airhead. You begin to think that, instead of you are just different, that you are worth less than someone without your disability. You internalize it and you believe it.
I, like many, was a child who was bullied. Constantly and for years. I had it harder than some, not as hard as others. I was never physically attacked (besides the occasional shove here and there), my experience was mostly bullying through insult and exclusion. And while having to deal with that was hard, what made it harder was the fact that no one was capable of supporting me effectively.
About 2 and a half years ago, I studied abroad in Madrid, Spain. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, except for one tiny detail…the dating scene. Specifically, something that yesterday’s post mentions, a preference for the blonde, skinny, white girl. Which, for the record, is not me.
Now let’s get this clear, I was not looking for anything concrete, anything long term, since I was only in Madrid for 6 short months. But after the first month when most of the guys I met were asking about my two friends in the program, who were both blonde and blue eyed, I started to feel a bit peeved. We had been warned that racism was rampant in Spain; immigration had just opened up about 20 years ago and Spain still had a lot of issues to work through. In fact, women of color in our program were specifically told about how we could be treated, as sexualized prostitutes, because, people of our color, where “always” selling ourselves on street corners. Lucky for me, I only experienced a little of this discrimination, with cat calls of “hola morena” (literally hello brown girl) or blatant studies of certain parts of my anatomy. However, a fellow female of color peer got it much worse; people asking her how much for a night, touching her and calling to her, that she left the program early.
Fellow white people, I think we need to have a talk about racism in attraction.
There are a few things I hear white people defending over and over and over again. And I’m not talking about heinous racists, I’m talking about well-meaning white people. Liberal white people. White people whose “black friends” are actual humans.
I’m talking about the de-valuing of Black/non-white culture and norms, and the writing off of that devaluation as “personal preference” or “human nature.” Specifically, expressing disdain for things like “black names,” ignoring cultural appropriation, and claiming that it’s not offensive to say you’re not attracted to an entire race of people. (It’s also fucking racist to claim you’re attracted to an entire race of people. That’s exoticizing, and it’s stupid. Don’t do it. But that’s a subject for another post.)
Happy Monday y’all! Once again, it’s time for another installment of
brainwashing you with the gay and feminist agenda What We’re Reading! Check out what we’ve been reading, liking, and discussing behind the scenes.