My Other Posts

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
celestedoodles:

A while back I had a request for Jem (of Jem and the Holograms) as an older woman. She goes on to pen a Broadway musical, Starlight Girls, about women in rock music dealing with the industry. It’s a hit and people are dazzled by the holographic lighting and set elements. The show does very well at the Tony Awards 

celestedoodles:

A while back I had a request for Jem (of Jem and the Holograms) as an older woman. She goes on to pen a Broadway musical, Starlight Girls, about women in rock music dealing with the industry. It’s a hit and people are dazzled by the holographic lighting and set elements. The show does very well at the Tony Awards 

I was really starting to agonize about driving 3 hours down to my mom’s family reunion/Easter thing in Hell, but then I remembered that we barely know those people, I absolutely don’t want to, and my own mother doesn’t expect her own offspring to go visit people who don’t visit us.

(Seriously, half of us live in the same county and don’t hang out, and the rest are in town all the time for their kids’ sporting events and most of us don’t see one another ever.)

Also, my sister asked if we wanted to hang out on Saturday as well (not really, but I can’t work ALL the time) and Evelyn’s been asking about going to her aunt’s house. 

Growing up, our parents raised us to believe we were the only family we needed.  It still feels true, even if we would probably get along fine with cousins and we do love our inlaws and the families we’ve created for ourselves with our friends and neighbors and coworkers and church people.  There’s this weird feeling that takes over when we’re together and it makes the husbands sideeye us just a bit.  But we’re close (maybe more than usual? How do you even measure that?) and we love each other’s babies and we are making our own traditions with foods and dammit, I really like these people.

There’s no point to this. Evelyn and I playing with crafts and listening to “Wishlist” and she’s talking about some little felt hearts snuggling each other. She’s happy and secure. She has a sweet Easter dress and  I want to take pictures of my nephew wearing Easter hats. I want Evelyn to meet our sister’s new dog and follow her uncles around and ask them a million questions.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

—Plato (via observando)

(via chan-chan)

curvily:

How often have you been shopping and you come across something that is just PERFECT, but does not go up to your size? Over 60% of American women wear a size 14 or above, but only 17% of clothing sold is 14 & up. That is a ridiculous disparity.
Moreover, when some brands move into plus (ahem H&M), they throw their signature trendy looks by the wayside in favor of flowy dark fabrics that they think “work” for plus sizes. That is crap. Plus size women want color, print, and structure. Moreover, we want variety. A group this numerous cannot be a monolith, and since style is such a personal thing, we all have different tastes. I want #plussizeplease to be a way to showcase the demand for styles we’d buy and rock, and all the money brands are forfeiting by refusing to expand their sizes.
So here’s how to use it:
1) Snap a picture of a garment you love but does not come in your size. Include the brand and price, tagging the company if possible. For example, I am in love with this Zara marble print dress. I would have purchased it yesterday if it went above a size L. My tweet would be:
“.@Zara marble print sheath, $59. I’d buy it right now if it came in my size. #plussizeplease”
2) Use it on any social media – Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest… even Facebook supports hashtags now.
3) Tag anything you’d purchase, whether in store or online.
4) Feel free to include the size range it comes in and/or the size you think you’d need. Sizing can be tricky, so this is definitely not required.
5) Tell your friends! I don’t just want this to be a blogger thing – I want all women who wear size 14 and up to show their purchasing power and share styles they love. Let’s be unignorable!

Smartest thing ever.

curvily:

How often have you been shopping and you come across something that is just PERFECT, but does not go up to your size? Over 60% of American women wear a size 14 or above, but only 17% of clothing sold is 14 & up. That is a ridiculous disparity.

Moreover, when some brands move into plus (ahem H&M), they throw their signature trendy looks by the wayside in favor of flowy dark fabrics that they think “work” for plus sizes. That is crap. Plus size women want color, print, and structure. Moreover, we want variety. A group this numerous cannot be a monolith, and since style is such a personal thing, we all have different tastes. I want #plussizeplease to be a way to showcase the demand for styles we’d buy and rock, and all the money brands are forfeiting by refusing to expand their sizes.

So here’s how to use it:

1) Snap a picture of a garment you love but does not come in your size. Include the brand and price, tagging the company if possible. For example, I am in love with this Zara marble print dress. I would have purchased it yesterday if it went above a size L. My tweet would be:

“.@Zara marble print sheath, $59. I’d buy it right now if it came in my size. #plussizeplease”

2) Use it on any social media – Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest… even Facebook supports hashtags now.

3) Tag anything you’d purchase, whether in store or online.

4) Feel free to include the size range it comes in and/or the size you think you’d need. Sizing can be tricky, so this is definitely not required.

5) Tell your friends! I don’t just want this to be a blogger thing – I want all women who wear size 14 and up to show their purchasing power and share styles they love. Let’s be unignorable!

Smartest thing ever.

(via celestedoodles)

Anonymous asked: describe yourself in two words

communistbakery:

sexually frustrated

erikkwakkel:

Circular song
Medieval music books, with their merry notes jumping off the page, are a pleasure to look at. This sensational page from the 14th century adds to this experience in a most unusual manner. It presents a well-known song, the French ballade titled En la maison Dedalus (In the house of Dedalus), be it that the scribe decided to write both music and lyrics in a circular form. There is reason behind this madness. The maze created by music and words locks up the main character of the song, the mythological figure Ariadne, who is a prisoner in the house of Daedalus - she is represented by the red dot. The book contains treatises on music theory, notation, tuning and chant. In other words, it was meant for experts readers. The beholder likely enjoyed the challenge of singing a circular song (did he or she spin the book around?) and how it held its subject hostage in the merriest of ways.
Pic: Berkeley, Music Library, MS 744 (made in Paris in 1375). More about the manuscript here, including more unusual images. This is a study of the book (the ballade is discussed at p. 14).

erikkwakkel:

Circular song

Medieval music books, with their merry notes jumping off the page, are a pleasure to look at. This sensational page from the 14th century adds to this experience in a most unusual manner. It presents a well-known song, the French ballade titled En la maison Dedalus (In the house of Dedalus), be it that the scribe decided to write both music and lyrics in a circular form. There is reason behind this madness. The maze created by music and words locks up the main character of the song, the mythological figure Ariadne, who is a prisoner in the house of Daedalus - she is represented by the red dot. The book contains treatises on music theory, notation, tuning and chant. In other words, it was meant for experts readers. The beholder likely enjoyed the challenge of singing a circular song (did he or she spin the book around?) and how it held its subject hostage in the merriest of ways.

Pic: Berkeley, Music Library, MS 744 (made in Paris in 1375). More about the manuscript here, including more unusual images. This is a study of the book (the ballade is discussed at p. 14).

(via fuckyeahbookarts)

First you’re taught to fear a phantom, a man in black, a man with a knife, a man who’ll pounce in dark alleys. Well-intentioned women—mothers, aunts, teachers—will train you to protect yourself: Don’t wear your hair in a ponytail; it’s easier to grab. Hold your keys in one hand; hold your pepper spray in the other. Avoid dark alleys. When you reach young adulthood, the lessons change. They acquire an undertone of disgust: Don’t drink so much. Don’t wear such short skirts. You’re sending mixed signals; you’re putting yourself at risk. If you follow the advice and it never happens—if you end up one of the three out of four—you can convince yourself that safety is a product of your own making, a reflection of inherent goodness. But if you’re paying attention, you realize something doesn’t add up. Because it keeps happening: to your sisters; to your friends; to little girls and grown women you’ll never meet, in places like Cleveland, Texas; Steubenville, Ohio; New Delhi. Good people, bad people, neutral. It keeps happening in TV shows and novels and movies—they open on the missing girl, the dead girl, the raped girl. If you’re paying attention, you begin to realize that it isn’t happening. It is being done. And you are not safe. You have never been safe. You were born with a bulls-eye on your back. All you have ever been is lucky.

Cara Hoffman’s 2011 novel So Much Pretty opens on the dead girl. Her name is Wendy White; she’s been missing for five months, and within the first fifty pages we learn that her body “was put to use for months before being found.” In another book, my heart would sink, reading those words. Among many other things, I’m tired of the way this story is told in fiction: from the point of view of the male detective, grizzled and weary, shaking his head over some beautiful broken body. The man represents cynicism; the body, innocence. By the end, his jaded worldview will be confirmed, or he will be saved—either way, he’ll need to see the body. I’ve read enough of this genre to know I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the way it puts women’s bodies to use, as footnotes. The dead girl is the beginning of the man’s story. Being dead, hers has ended before page one.