Hi, I'm Beth! |
How do you put your life into a box? |
(Source: afishcalledwarren)
In which I try to rent The Fault In Our Stars from the library to see what the hype is about.
Welp.
(Source: factorygirl1985, via tediousargumentsinsidiousintents)
(Source: sammyonair, via pugvenger)
Here is the thing, okay? Coming into a feminist conversation with, “Have you considered that sometimes women acquire free drinks at bars?” is like walking into graduate school during Philosophy finals and saying, “Have you considered that the color blue that I see may not be the color blue that you see?”
Imagine you are the guy who just walked into that Philosophy class and laid that shit down. Imagine the class full of students who have worked very hard and committed themselves and sacrificed to be here, students who have spent several years of their lives learning about this subject. Imagine now their feelings when you go to the head of the classroom with a smirk on your face and demand the professor give you an A for effort. Imagine now that they think you are a douchebag asshole, because they do, and because you are. You are a douchebag asshole because you are obviously so self-centered, arrogant, and completely ignorant of the world around you, that you thought you could walk into a high-level course with no background and no work and say something profoundly simplistic and totally unrelated and also everybody should congratulate you for having done this thing, so brave, so provocative.
[….]
You are not asking us a real question. You are simply illustrating, for all to see, your own ignorance. You are saying, “I have not considered the implications of the question I have just asked. I have not taken the time nor effort nor commitment to sit down and ask myself this question. Instead, I have come into your philosophy classroom/office/feminist blog and shat out my question with a smirk, because I believe that my two seconds of thought are worth more than your long-term analysis, because I believe I am worth more.”
No one, ever. (via leamichelesarfati)
(Source: scoldylox, via queerfemmebabble)
Remember? Remember how our president gave speeches shortly thereafter about finding “common ground” on abortion? Don’t you wonder where, exactly, that common ground is? Is it on “Let’s come to a compromise on how many healthcare providers you assassinate per year”? In the wake of a Southern string of 3 targeted burglaries at clinics and 3 women’s health buildings set aflame (some of which don’t even provide abortion care), wouldn’t you really like to know what common ground looks like? “Let’s agree that no one likes fires in the summer; you could at least save arson for the winter months”?
Where’s a libertarian declaring “Those who would trade liberty for security…” when you could actually use one?
Dr. Tiller didn’t fuck around like that. They massed outside his office, and he had a huge sign printed: “Women need abortions, and I’m going to provide them.” No mincing, no equivocating, and no compromising his patients’ care. He went to work every day to protect women’s freedoms. Someone shot him in both arms, and he went back to work the next day. He had a gate at the clinic and wore a bulletproof vest — but his murderer shot him in the head, at church.
"Read the whole thing at The Abortioneers here. (via hellyeahscarleteen)
(via iamateenagefeminist)
but me + Monk series finale =
