Why don’t we ever talk about the fact that Vod took Simon’s virginity?
And there is no shade. Global warming may literally kill me. Anyway, if you live in PA please go vote in your local election. For my sake.
Hal Hartley wants to make a third movie after Henry Fool and Fay Grim?
AND MY AXE!
Tears of joy! Long time followers of this blog may remember my deep and abiding love for Fay Grimm.
I re-blogged a picture of a little girl, dressed as Tiana, hugging the face actress who plays Tiana at one of the Disney Parks, and noted that everyone should have their princess. And a few people have now contacted me basically going “no, only straight white people can have princesses if you stick with the classics.”
I am a folklorist, and it’s time for some Fun With Folklore.
First off, very few Princesses/fairy tale heroines who are going to become Princesses because that’s what you do are actually defined by specific physical attributes. You have Snow White, who yes, requires the “skin as white as snow” etc, but that’s to make her an alien beauty and justify the actions of her stepmother. She belongs to the Aarne-Thompson tale type 709, which is commonly referred to as “Snow White,” but which contains a hell of a lot more, including “Bella Venezia”, “Myrsina”, “Nourie Hadig” and “Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree.” All those links will take you to Wikipedia. Click them. Note that NOT ONE of those girls is defined by her appearance, beyond “incredibly beautiful.” “Nourie Hadig” is Armenian in origin; you can bet that girl was not white as snow. (Note that I do not actually care for the “Nourie Hadig” 709 variant, due to using a Roma girl as the main adversary, but that’s another story.) Any story you want to tell is going to have variants where the heroines are never described! You know why?
BECAUSE THE PEOPLE WHO WERE TELLING THESE STORIES UNDERSTOOD THAT IT WAS IMPORTANT FOR CHILDREN TO SEE THEMSELVES IN THE MIRROR OF THE TALE.
There are fairy tales about people with disabilities, ranging from the physical (missing limbs, missing eyes, missing tongues) to the emotional (girls who cannot smile, boys who cannot feel fear). There are fairy tales that end in same-sex marriage. There’s even an excellent fairy tale about gender identity, “The Princess Who Became A Prince,” in which our hero has always felt he was a boy, but tried to be a dutiful daughter, until a dragon stole a neighbor princess and he had to ride to rescue the girl in order to save the kingdom. One misaimed curse later, and wham, our new-minted prince is finally outwardly as he had been all along on the inside.
THIS IS JUST AS OLD AND TRUE AND SCHOLASTIC AS CINDERELLA AND THE OTHERS.
The “big fairy tales” of today are the ones that someone seized on as marketable. We have the power, as drivers of media, to say that we want more diversity. We want Princesses of every race, creed, and religion, and we have the folklore and fairy tales to make them real. We want our transgender Princess (although wow would the marketing be problematic). Saying “the classics” are 100% about straight white people reduces the past to a place where only straight whiteness existed, and where no other children ever needed stories. And that’s not what the past was.
Once upon a time has never stopped being right now.
I wish more of the obscure tales got made into films… and that more folklore from non-european stories got told.
Where was the disney movie about the transgender prince that I needed when I was a kid
Keep: Famous Friends
Kaling has a bevy of famous friends, and we doubt she burned through all of them in Season 1. So let’s keep rolling out the welcome mat for them, because Seth Rogen and B.J. Novak’s visits certainly brightened this show up.
Read more: The Mindy Project: How to Makeover the Show
Hey! Back off the Mindy Project. TMP was my perfect half hour of television this spring. Yes it had a rocky start, but once it found it’s footing it was sweet and awkward and COMPLETELY hilarious. Stop asking sitcoms to reinvent themselves every year. This is what destroyed Up All Night.
Can’t not reblog.
This is very silly, but it’s truly impossible to keep from laughing when he gets to the chorus and starts singing about “Mooordoor, where dreams get buuurned up, inside of vooolcaaanooooes!”
I had known this guy for maybe 3 hours and had a cumulative total of 5 minutes of conversation with him at the point that he asked me this question. My former co-worker met up with me at a show this past Tuesday evening and invited a few friends. This guy, we’ll call him T, was one of the people who came along.
Up till the point we started arguing, T wasn’t going to be someone I remembered. There was a point at which my former co-worker and I were briefly talking about a woman we weren’t fond of and T asked, “Is she hot?” I asked why that would matter, seeing as how it had no bearing on our discussion, and he said that her attractiveness may affect how much he would be able to stand her. That should have been the red flag. I brushed it off since being a QWOC in this world means it’s too exhausting to get worked up over every microaggression I come by.
A little while later, as I am having a conversation with my best friend, Rekha, who performed at the show we were all attending earlier, I hear T use the word “tranny” while describing a supposed friend of his. Rekha and I both stop speaking.
“Excuse me,” I ask, “did you just say the word ‘tranny’?”
“Yes. You see, my friend just lost her penis.” T explains, “In her country, she’s not legally recognized as a woman.”
“That’s fine and all,” I say, “but could you refrain from using such a derogatory slur when referring to transgendered individuals?”
“I see my friend as a woman and I treat her as one. But legally, she is not considered a woman. They don’t recognize transsexuals where she’s from.”
“But do you have to use the word ‘tranny’ when referring to her?”
“I won’t say that word if it’ll make you happy.”
“But we’re friends and to me, she is a woman. I think it’s more important the way I treat her and the way she views me than the types of words I use.”
“You don’t think it’s insensitive to use such an oppressive term when talking about a friend of yours?” I ask.
“I think you need to look at the history of that term,” Rekha explains. “It’s not a word that exists in a vacuum. There’s a context for why it’s offensive.”
“She knows that I’m fully supportive of her identity.” T says defensively.
Getting fed up with this nonsense, I resolve to using a comparison I try to avoid, but I know tends to be more accessible than launching into a whole lecture on queer theory. “Even if you have a Black friend who is okay with you using the N word, that doesn’t mean you should feel entitled to use it and ignore the word’s historical oppressive usage.”
“What is the N word?” T asks.
Not knowing whether he’s seriously confused as to the word I’m referring to or deciding to be an asshole, I ask, “Are you joking?”
“I want you to tell me, what is the N word?”
Answer: asshole. I stare at him for about 10 seconds. It’s 12:15 at this point and I’m weighing the pros and cons of launching into a 20-minute lecture on queer theory and objecting my ears to hearing more ludicrous cissexist bullshit or if I should just turn around and stop this conversation in its tracks. Based on our conversation thus far, I conclude that he is likely as stubborn as he is arrogant and that I’d rather not spend my Tuesday night trying to convince someone to stop using oppressive language when he is clearly not receptive to learning why. I turn my body to face Rekha, and continue the conversation we were having without another word to T.
It was a good decision. I would catch part of his ramblings the rest of the night about why identity politics is bullshit and similar gems of Libertarian thinking.
I constantly find myself surprised during situations like these where I directly encounter thinking so radically different from my own. Going to the college that I did, making the friends that I have, working the job that I do, and reading the Tumblr users I follow has created this hyper-aware social justice bubble around me, sheltering me from all of the incredibly problematic and awfully anti-progressive viewpoints out in the “real world”. I occasionally get into arguments with friends’ friends on Facebook, but rarely do I find myself in a similar argument with someone face-to-face. I have several close friends with whom I will occasionally strongly disagree over some political issue, whether it is current events-, economic-, or media-related. But having known my friends as long as I have, I can usually predict what subjects will land in arguments and I have a pretty good understanding of the philosophy behind our disagreements, Plus, I’m 100% positive these friends would never defend the use of the word “tranny”.
Even though I live in this bubble, I consider myself to be realistically grounded. I know it would be naive to expect everyone I encounter to be as aware, as interested, or as able to be concerned with social justice issues as my self-selected communities are. But I tend to assume that people who don’t pro-actively seek out discussions about power and oppression are more apathetic than willfully contrarian. And given the rather aggressive nature of my voice and personality, I don’t often encounter active resistance to my calling out of -isms or problematic language. So it was a bit of a shock Tuesday evening to nearly start an argument with someone so unwilling to consider his language may indeed be perpetuating trans* oppression.
I wish the conversation had gone differently. But in a way, I’m glad it didn’t; it reminded me that there’s still a whole lot more to go in this fight.
Doesn’t she understand I have existential pain?
This entire country needs to have a therapy session. We’re not doing this.
Lifescouts: Picnic Badge
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Last year a long time friend and I had a bit of a picnic in Valley Forge Park… we basically ate some snacks and drank… I actually can’t remember what we were drinking. It was nice bonding time on a beautiful day.
A picnic is actually on my list of preferred date ideas…
It was very strong, I’ll just leave it at that.