[Old man’s voice] Back in my days we had to have two memory cards to visit another town
please watch this cinematic masterpiece
SO MUCH LADY LOVE
I LOVE GISELLE YOU GUYS
No, but what gets me in this movie
is that every woman is beautiful to Giselle.
Women who wear suits and aren’t cute and petite. Women with wide hips and large rear ends and small breasts. Women who are black and white and every other ethnicity she came across, I’m sure. Women with straight hair and natural hair and grey hair. Older women and middle-aged women and young women.
Everyone is beautiful to Giselle. There’s no reason anyone wouldn’t be beautiful. There’s no reason beauty should ever be just one thing, that being a princess should ever be just one thing.
Everyone is a princess to Giselle, and if one of the princesses politely corrected her and said they were a prince she’d probably nod earnestly and talk about how dashing and handsome they looked too.
[Old man’s voice] Back in my days we had to have two memory cards to visit another town
Someone walks over to our step to say hello. She bends at the waist, looming over Brooke.
Brooke doesn’t look up. She doesn’t stop stripping her stick.
Dig. Pull. Dig. Pull.
Our visitor reaches out a hand and cups it below Brooke’s chin.
I freeze. Oh God.
She uses the hand to pull Brooke’s head up by the jaw.
A thin line of panic starts somewhere deep. I know that Brooke is going to scream. 5,4,3,2 …
She does scream, but not in the way that I expect.
“I HATE BEING TOUCHED!!” she shouts.
I am flabbergasted.
Words. Self-awareness. Communication. Self-advocacy.
I know the sentence will need to be reformatted. But I am drenched in pride.
I turn to Brooke. “Great job telling us how you feel, Brooke. Really great job.” I hope that my words send a message to both of them. I stand with my girl.
Our visitor is undaunted.
“I just want to see that beautiful face,” she says. “Lift up for me.”
I am stymied by etiquette. By deference to our host. By generational difference. By convention.
Brooke is not.
She lifts her head as instructed. And growls.
This has probably been posted before, but this knocks me for a loop - a blogger and her autistic daughter had the opportunity to meet Suzanne Wright of Autism Speaks, and this is how one of the noisiest voice in the autism community treated her daughter.
What knocks me for a loop isn’t so much Wright’s awful behavior. It’s the unbelievable strength and self-advocacy that the blogger Jess’s daughter, Brooke, shows when someone violates her personal space. It’s her mother backing her up for making sure someone knows that they are not permitted to touch her unless she says it’s okay. Honestly, it’s heartening. I hope Wright felt real fucking uncomfortable. She should.
When I grow up I want to be Ming-Na Wen.
She’s the voice of Mulan, as if she wasn’t amazing enough.
Girl is 50 years old.
FIFTY. YEARS. OLD.
fun fact: When you break things with your hands like that you have t break your fingers on purpose before so that they heal stronger. So basically this woman is so badass she broke her hands just to do this.
You asshat, you’re making it sound like she snaps her fingers in half.
Martial artists like Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee (and yes, fucking Ming-Na Wen, that beautiful badass) will build up their bone strength by repeatedly (and fairly gently) striking sand, gravel, wood and steel - this creates tons of microfractures in their bones (smaller than even a hairline fracture) so the bones will heal over again and make the bones stronger and denser with increased deposits of calcium.
This has to be done over long-ass periods of time, so the bones have time to heal, and none of the fractures expand into actual breaks.
Oh, and she’s doing precise-ass kicks in HIGH HEELS.
with all the force of a great typhoon
The Whitest Kids U’ Know x
whitest kids u know arent even close to fucking around
ants are some scary mother fuckers
Who needs sled dogs when you have fucking ants.
I wouldn’t want sled dogs to drag my corpse to their underground nest to be honest
dude that is some badass teamwork for something with a brain the size of a grain of salt.
remember 2001-2004 though???!? remember windows xp and kerrang and neopets and shrek being a big deal and beyblades and ps2 skating/snowboarding games and “i believe in a thing called love” and flash video sites and avril lavigne and wearing chains on jeans and t.A.T.u. and seeing LOTR and PotC in cinemas and how every boy looked like reese from malcolm in the middle
#pirates of the caribbean was kind of a formative influence #so here’s the thing #after years of chasing curses and hearts and fountains; losing the pearl and winning her back and losing her again #after rum enough to drown his sins and sorrows both#captain jack sparrow wakes up one morning and he’s immortal #just like that #no deals with calypso (he hasn’t been able to find her since the brethren court broke her chains) no desperate double-dealing #one morning he just…stops #stops aging stops dying #he gets the seas forever—except #except #the edges of the map are closing in #the lure of undiscovered treasures is waning and merchant ships are becoming better defended #the day that the East India Company takes Shipwreck Island; Jack feels a great chapter in the world’s history close #(he flees to the Barbary coast with the rest of his ilk; but the romance has gone out of it—the is too much desperation #too much hunger too much blood to it nowadays #the age of the swashbuckler won’t live out the decade) #I imagine this thing he’s chased all his life would crumble through his hands as he bounced from ship to ship #he never gets used to the square rigging on the clippers; though they lead to some good work running tea from china #but the first time he sees a steamship he nearly walks off the dock out of shock #of all the ways sailing would have changed; who thought you’d get rid of the /sails/ #(he swears he’s never getting on one of those monstrosities; let alone sailing on one) #(he manages to hold out until 1893 when the longing for the sea overwhelms him and he decides that even #that ghastly smog and the humming of the engines can be endured) #sometimes he’ll see calypso out of the corner of his eye—leaning on the deck railing; darting alongside the ship with the dolphins #(someone in the early 20th century tells him they’re not fish and he nearly busts a gut laughing) #he wears a hundred names and a hundred looks; cuts his hair short or grows it long #calls himself american; spanish; english (british); caribbean #he has two dozen different copies of Stevenson’s Treasure Island—it reminds him of something gone and half-forgotten #and in 1920 when Seitz comes out with Pirate Gold; Captain Jack Sparrow is in the first row (x)
And then in the future, everything changes. He’s been through it all, of course-watched humanity rediscover the heavens above them, watched them begin to wonder what’s out there. He cheered with the rest of the world when they landed on the moon, cheered as if he’d found Isla de la Muerta all over again, because there was something new. New treasure, a new horizon. But then they stop going, stop exploring, and he goes back to riding tankers across the rising seas. So he’s surprised when one day he wakes up from a night with his bottle of rum (his truest companion), and hears that there’s colonies on Mars now, and they need ships to supply them. He spends the next decade crafting new identities, learning all he can to qualify for the job, and after several tries (and even more faked deaths-this immortality thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be in the age of the inerasable digital self) he gets it. The ships go nearly constantly now, the needs of the terraforming project creating an unbroken line of vessels from Mars to Earth and back again. “Show me that horizon,” he whispers to himself, his personal prayer of thanksgiving, each time they leave orbit, because the worlds, the stars are in motion and it’s never the same, with nearly three years for a round trip the ports are always different, even if they keep the old names. And finally one trip something goes wrong with the reactor, they’re too low on power and have to deploy the backups, and Jack (Lucky Jack, they call him, for he survives too many things he shouldn’t but science has yet to accept that maybe some things weren’t old wives’ tales after all) goes out for the spacewalk to bring up the solar panels. And as they rise, geometric patterns black against the sun’s glare, he’s struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu, because it’s all here-wind and sails, a ship beneath his feet and stars above his head, horizon in all directions. He wonders, for a moment, if the reason he’s still here is because the universe wanted a witness, to mourn the end of one age of exploration, and rejoice in the birth of the next.
Hermione Granger, age 11 headcanon
Portrayed by Quvenzhané Wallis
“‘Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,’ she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.”
Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone, page 105
When a financial institution asks me my “mother’s maiden name” as a security question. Because it’s assumed that I have at least one and no more than one mother in my life AND that she married AND that she gave up her own name AND that that part of her identity was erased enough from my public history so as to be a password to access my private information.
Holy crap, I never realized.
I deliberately did not put down my mother’s “maiden name” when getting my state ID BECAUSE it’s still her last name and was promptly told to fill it in once I took the form up to the front desk.
My mom offered to let my dad take her name. He decided to keep his.
THERE IT IS AGAIN! THERE IT FUCKING IS! i’VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT THIS PHOTO FOR YEARS AND NEVER COULD FIND IT!! THE LAN PARTY WITH THE GUY DUCT-TAPED TO THE CEILING!! BACK IN ANCIENT TIMES WHEN PEOPLE STILL USED CATHODE MONITORS AND WHEN COUNTERSTRIKE WAS THE NEW THING. THIS SHIT IS REAL. THIS IS REAL SHIT. SHIT THAT HAPPENED.
An actual headline from The New York Times in 1919
I love this so much.