Wednesday, July 23, 2014

You’re not going to win this one.

emilyhoffman:

On Sunday I decided to take myself to the movies. It was a last minute decision and since it was a movie that would be inevitably disappointing I went alone.

I got on the subway. It was a semi crowded car and when I saw an empty seat I decided I would be better off taking it than trying to keep my balance standing up. The empty seat was the second to last one in a row and on either side were men with their legs spread out into wide V’s. On many occasion I’ve had people sit on my thighs on the subway so I approached this seat with the same caution I always do when I’m unsure of space. I backed my bum to the edge of the bench, sat on the ledge and then once I was sure that I wouldn’t sit on either man I slid my butt to the back of the seat with no space between my legs.

“Hey don’t bogart the space,” the man on the end seat said to me. “You can sit but ask before you come up and take my space.”

“Excuse me but your legs were spread taking up multiple seats,” I said. “I don’t need your permission to sit down.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Look! You’re still spread out into my seat.” I pointed down at both of our legs, my thighs tightly pressed against themselves and his still in a dominant V.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re talking to me,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to you.” Even though he started the conversation, he instantly turned tables to make me look crazy for defending myself.

“I’m talking to you because you’re shaming me for taking up space!” I said, my face getting hot. “You spoke to me first and I’m not going to apologize for sitting in an unoccupied seat!”

Then the man on my other side spoke up: “Just let it go. You’re not going to win this one.”

I cried. I had no response to that and no energy to hold back the tears.

“I get it,” he said. “You’re just trying to hold your ground. But it’s not worth it.”

He was trying to be nice. He was trying to make me feel better. “You’ll get off this train,” he said, “and you’ll have a fun night and you won’t have to worry about this.”

I still didn’t have a response. I might have let out a couple of “Uh huhs” but I was just trying to hold myself to silent tears. I didn’t want to let myself go into my loud, ugly cry. I didn’t want to bring any more attention on myself and I didn’t want to engage with the man who was trying to make me feel better. Because even though he recognized that I wasn’t doing anything wrong he kept his legs spread wide too. He paid lip service to the idea that I deserved space but he did nothing to share it. And while he may have been right that arguing with a stranger on the train wasn’t really a battle worth fighting, he was a man telling me what was reasonable to speak up against.

“Are those tears?” He asked. “What would people think of Mike Tyson if he cried.”

“They might find it endearing.” I responded, not knowing what else to say about the man with the funniest voice in boxing and not really feeling like defending my tears.

I got off of the train and shoved an entire Five Guys Burger and shake in my mouth. Food was my only comfort. I didn’t feel like there was anyone I could talk to.

Yesterday I was walking on 13th street when I heard, “Hey beautiful!”

I looked up and saw a white van with two men in the front seat. They were looking at me and laughing.

"How dare you comment on a woman’s body when she’s just trying to go about her life,” I yelled.

They laughed.

“You may think it’s a compliment but it’s not! How dare you talk about me! You don’t know me.”

They laughed. The light changed. They drove off.

“You’re not going to win this one,” echoed in my head.

“Is this a woman problem or a me problem?” I find myself asking. I’ve lost faith in so many people who talk about supporting women but when called into action demur or at least they demur to me. They’re the same as the “nice” man on the subway paid lip service to the idea that I should have space while not sharing any of his. I know so many people who claim to be feminists, who publicly call for women to speak up when harmed, but who simultaneously shame me for “saying horrible things” about their friend when I describe the ways I was used and abused and how I still don’t feel safe as a result. I’m not out to get anyone but I’d really like to live without constant fear.

I feel like I’m at the end of my rope and I’m not sure where to go from here. I just keep hearing, “You’re not going to win this one,” echo again and again.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

FXX’s Simpsons marathon “Kitchen Sink” promo commercial.

I’ve said it before: Whomever it is that makes the promos for FX and FXX is killing it. Justified, Tyrant, Fargo, this.

This Friday. 9:15pm. At Brit Pack.

This Friday. 9:15pm. At Brit Pack.

Monday, July 21, 2014

laughingsquid:

The Official Trailer for the Sci-Fi Television Series ’12 Monkeys’ Focuses on the Mistakes of the Past

Ugh.

Honestly, 12 Monkeys is not a horrible idea for a series. No worse than Fargo. And if they treated the source material in the same way Fargo treated it’s source material… but it doesn’t look that way.

thankyourobotnyc:

Mark your calendar.

thankyourobotnyc:

Mark your calendar.

megsokay:

historicaltimes:

Comic book readers in New York City, 1947 - by Ruth Orkin -

Attn: bookoisseur

megsokay:

historicaltimes:

Comic book readers in New York City, 1947 - by Ruth Orkin -

Attn: bookoisseur

Friday, July 18, 2014
humansofnewyork:

"I’m on the way to a magic meeting.""You’re a magician?""Well, I’m a funeral director who does magic.""So what happens at magic meetings?""We spend a few minutes conducting business. Then we get to the magic!"

humansofnewyork:

"I’m on the way to a magic meeting."
"You’re a magician?"
"Well, I’m a funeral director who does magic."
"So what happens at magic meetings?"
"We spend a few minutes conducting business. Then we get to the magic!"

(Source: moodcase)

thankyourobotnyc:

TONIGHT. FRIDAY, JULY 18th. 10:30PM. @ UNDER St Marks Theatre.
SUMMER FRIDAYS!
with
- FREIGHT
- SOCIAL SUMMER CIRCLE
- THANK YOU, ROBOT
Only $5.

thankyourobotnyc:

TONIGHT. FRIDAY, JULY 18th. 10:30PM. @ UNDER St Marks Theatre.

SUMMER FRIDAYS!

with

- FREIGHT

- SOCIAL SUMMER CIRCLE

- THANK YOU, ROBOT

Only $5.

(Source: madddscience)

Thursday, July 17, 2014

zacharielaughingalonewithsalad:

cellarspider:

twinkletwinkleyoulittlefuck:

purrsianstuck:

During the Bubonic Plague, doctors wore these bird-like masks to avoid becoming sick. They would fill the beaks with spices and rose petals, so they wouldn’t have to smell the rotting bodies. 

A theory during the Bubonic Plague was that the plague was caused by evil spirits. To scare the spirits away, the masks were intentionally designed to be creepy. 

Mission fucking accomplished

Okay so I love this but it doesn’t cover the half of why the design is awesome and actually borders on making sense.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t want to smell the infected and dead, they thought it was crucial to protecting themselves. They had no way of knowing about what actually caused the plague, and so one of the other theories was that the smell of the infected all by itself was evil and could transmit the plague. So not only would they fill their masks with aromatic herbs and flowers, they would also burn fires in public areas, so that the smell of the smoke would “clear the air”. This all related to the miasma theory of contagion, which was one of the major theories out there until the 19th century. And it makes sense, in a way. Plague victims smelled awful, and there’s a general correlation between horrible septic smells and getting horribly sick if you’re around what causes them for too long.

You can see now that we’ve got two different theories as to what caused the plague that were worked into the design. That’s because the whole thing was an attempt by the doctors to cover as many bases as they could think of, and we’re still not done.

The glass eyepieces. They were either darkened or red, not something you generally want to have to contend with when examining patients. But the plague might be spread by eye contact via the evil eye, so best to ward that off too.

The illustration shows a doctor holding a stick. This was an examination tool, that helped the doctors keep some distance between themselves and the infected. They already had gloves on, but the extra level of separation was apparently deemed necessary. You could even take a pulse with it. Or keep people the fuck away from you, which was apparently a documented use.

Finally, the robe. It’s not just to look fancy, the cloth was waxed, as were all of the rest of their clothes. What’s one of the properties of wax? Water-based fluids aren’t absorbed by it. This was the closest you could get to a sterile, fully protecting garment back then. Because at least one person along the line was smart enough to think “Gee, I’d really rather not have the stuff coming out of those weeping sores anywhere on my person”.

So between all of these there’s a real sense that a lot of real thought was put into making sure the doctors were protected, even if they couldn’t exactly be sure from what. They worked with what information they had. And frankly, it’s a great design given what was available! You limit exposure to aspirated liquids, limit exposure to contaminated liquids already present, you limit contact with the infected. You also don’t give fleas any really good place to hop onto. That’s actually useful.

Beyond that, there were contracts the doctors would sign before they even got near a patient. They were to be under quarantine themselves, they wouldn’t treat patients without a custodian monitoring them and helping when something had to be physically contacted, and they would not treat non-plague patients for the duration. There was an actual system in place by the time the plague doctors really became a thing to make sure they didn’t infect anyone either.

These guys were the product of the scientific process at work, and the scientific process made a bitchin’ proto-hazmat suit. And containment protocols!

reblogging for the sweet history lesson

reblogging to remind you PLAGUE has a show on Sunday (Brit Pack, 8pm).