Oh my god I just sent three (3!) wanna-hang-out? texts to people who gave me their numbers in the last week, which is pretty amazing because I’m secretly really shy/believe no one remembers me or wants to hang out/have trouble making friends.
I think this is a lot of bullshit with some truth. I guess that assessment applies both to the article and contemporary use of trigger warnings. I am really curious to hear what others think. Thoughts?
I’m a little concerned when some new people follow me on tumblr because I really think they should know that I spend a lot of my day procrastinating from applying for jobs by playing candy crush and listening to the terrible/wonderful ‘Backstory with the American History Guys’ podcast.
Last night a feminist art icon of mine showed up at my house when I wasn’t expecting her to and the first thing I said was, “Oh no, my house is dirty!” and then thought to myself, “At least I’m wearing mascara.”
If I could go back and edit my initial utterance I’d change it to, “What a dump!” in a nod to Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and my love of depressed faculty wives.
I later told her she had made my favorite movie and managed, despite my compulsive need to confess everything, to not blurt out, “Well, my favorite movie tied with Cabaret.”
“Our faces have become distorted from so much smiling, our feelings have got lost from so much loving, our oversexualization has left us completely desexualized.”—Silivia Federici, “Wages Against Housework” (1975)
Just trying to think of something irreverent and witty to say about how I was even the teensiest surprised that a union fucked me over even when I knew unions fuck people over, including people I know, all the time. That and I’ve just blown money on a trip to Texas and clothes for a job I no longer have.
A view of the intervention from the floor of the atrium. (image provided by G.U.L.F. aka Gulf Ultra Luxury Faction)
Last night, over 40 protesters staged an intervention inside the Guggenheim Museum in Manhattan during Saturday night’s pay-what-you-wish admission hours. Unfurling mylar banners, dropping leaflets, chanting words, handing out information to museum visitors, and drawing attention…
When I was 21 I decided I wanted to go to college after trying to read Foucault on madness and having to stop in disgust and rage a couple of pages in because he used a Greek word, in Greek characters, with no transliteration or translation to give any clue what the fuck it was. I thought college would be the place to have someone help me advance my readings of texts beyond what I could do on my own.
In hindsight, this is a hilariously awful example of a confused turning point in my thinking about higher education.
I do appreciate that the last employer only took exactly 6 hours and 3 minutes from when I initially submitted my application online to send me a form rejection email. Someone in HR was denying me at 9:19 pm, which shows real dedication to letting me know I didn’t have a chance.