Fuuuun! Can’t wait for my galaxy print bikini!!!
Priscilla Ono by Vijat Mohindra for Slink Magazine #9 - Health Issue
CREDITS : Photographer: Vijat Mohindra - Makeup/Model : Priscilla Ono - Hair Colorist : Teresa Cliff - Hair Stylist : Benton Lee - Wardrobe : The Kids - Manicure : Stephanie Stone
i’m done i’m so done
what is life if i can’t be like this
Lime green has never looked this fierce to me.
Can we just observe when he says “communicate their feelings and just enjoy each other’s company” what we see is people just staring on their phones. No one is interacting with another person.
Aren’t we mindless zombies already?
I’m seriously tired of the message ‘technology has made us all zombies and we don’t talk to each other anymore’. Yes, there are serious problems. Yes, there is a large amount of room for improvement.
But you know what I did before technology? You know what I did before I had a phone?
Nothing. When I was in school I brought novels with me every day and I read them. I didn’t talk. I managed to make a few friends and only had fun with them because they forced me to do things that I hated. I don’t like parties and clubs and other stuff, every single bit of that was hell for me, because I like quiet and suck at conversation and places like that were nothing but balls of stress to me.
If not for technology, I would still be a miserable pile of constant anxiety, afraid to break out of a routine for fear I’d do/say something wrong and stupid. I never talked or socialized and when I did muster up the nerve to speak it was always awkward or too blunt. I became known as a cold-hearted bitch who was mean to everyone, even though what I mostly did was go home and cry and call myself stupid.
Computers changed all of that for me, showed me for the first time that there were people like me. The better tech got, the more I opened up. But I still was pretty alone when not around people I knew, because I’m not a talker, not really.
Chatting online - chat rooms, emails, lj comms, fanfiction, all of that taught me how to be social. All of that helped me be braver, made me more willing to talk to people anywhere, everywhere. It’s less overwhelming to me now to have to go into a strange room and talk to people. I don’t go deer in the headlights now when someone randomly starts talking to me.
My phone also helps when I’m being harassed. Back when I didn’t have a phone, if the nutjobs on the bus or in the airport started harassing me, I had no choice but to endure it until it was over or try to say something or just leave and risk whatever the fuck happened next. Now? I always have my phone. I can always call and say ‘talk to me so this person leaves me alone’. I can text someone to come rescue me at the bar. I can fucking call for help at the drop of a dime if I have to. Airports are no longer a terrifying place where I will be stuck for hours with no one to talk to unless I want to risk an uncomfortable, even dangerous, situation.
Technology made me more aware of the problems and challenges that other people face. It showed me a broader world. It’s made me more patient with people, it’s made me more determined to remember that you never know what someone is going through.
If not for technology, I never would have been brave enough to try writing. I doubt I’d be an author right now. I certainly never would have met this crazy chick who was living in Vermont and was just as miserable as me. I never would have emailed her every morning and night and texted all through work and wound up with my best friend and current roommate slash business partner.
So don’t fucking tell me that technology is turning us into zombies that don’t communicate.
And people don’t just enjoy each other? that’s such bullshit. I was at a concert just a couple days ago. The radio was playing while they waited for the show to start, and Gangnam Style came on. The entire fucking building exploded with people dancing and cheering and laughing and having a good time together for no reason more than we were all amused as fuck that song came on the radio.
I see that kind of thing happen all the time. We’ll randomly be talking about something on someone’s phone at a restaurant and the waiter will chip in because he recognizes it. I’ve shot the shit with so many people over something that was happening on someone’s phone. People I may not have talked to otherwise.
Technology is quite literally one of the main reasons I live a brighter, louder, happier life than I would have otherwise. Like goddamn hell am I a zombie.
This 2009 image captures the scene on a foggy night in Odessa, Ukraine, when a digital billboard crashed and displayed a floating error warning in the night sky.
oh my god
My Femme Roar:
I shaved my beard,
watched my “masculinity” swirl down the bathroom sink.
A whirlpool of blonde, red, brown facial hair colonization.
Now I am ambiguous. Fishy. Double-glance worthy.
I have earned the dangers of womynhood,
the exclusion from feminism due to “transsexualism”,
and the invisibility of being a Two Spirit femme queer that transcends all this Western binary bullshit.
I exist. I exist.
Survival is one breath at a time.
Chick-Fil-A COO Dan Cathy owned up to the company’s contributions to anti-gay causes in a recent interview. In other news, don’t eat at Chick-Fil-A. (via 12345pigeons)
Right. The biblical definition of the family unit. And which one would that be? Adam and Eve, who had no parents? Abraham, who passed his wife off as his sister so she wouldn’t be stolen by kings? Who slept with his wife’s servant to have a son? Who allowed his wife to toss out that servant and her son? Or maybe Jacob, the trickster, who had two wives, two concubines, and children from all of them?
Perhaps he means David, the great king of the Hebrew scriptures. You know, David who had a very special relationship with Jonathan, who had eight wives and more than ten concubines. Or how about his son, Solomon? We can find varying numbers for Solomon’s wives: was it 900? 700? With 300 concubines?
How about the family of Jesus himself, the most famously born bastard of all time? He was conceived out of wedlock, his adoptive father coerced into marrying his pregnant mother, and he tossed family relationships back into their faces during his ministry. (“You should have known I’d be at my father’s house!” “Who is my mother and brothers?”)
Which one of these is the biblical definition of the family unit? Because I certainly don’t see anything that looks like “biblical family” in 21st-century America! (via undercovernun)
I remember my first eagle ceremony when I turned nine. The first eagle you get is always declawed, which I always thought was pretty inhumane, but it was a good way to ease into caring for the birds. My eagle (named Baldy, because I wasn’t a terribly clever child) was already quite old when I received him (he was a rescue eagle, luckily) but I did have him until I was 16. I don’t know if I was more excited about getting my drivers license that year, or my new eagle! You should have seen the party we had when I got him, too! Grilled hot dogs and fire works and lemonade…. obviously I named my beautiful new eagle Freedom. He’s too big to keep inside anymore, unfortunately, but we’ve got a pretty comfortable roost for him on our apartment’s balcony.
Ah, yes, the eagle ceremony! My Justice and I remember his quite well. (They had just come out with telepathic link transplants when I got him, which is how I know he remembers it.) Our celebration was quite modest, compared to Freedom’s—apple pie under a cloudless summer sky as we signed our Declaration of Interdependence. I still have the inked and talon-pierced document hanging on my wall.
what is this
Get out Canada
I was so scared during my pet eagle ceremony I almost threw up. But Stonewall Jackson and I have been best friends ever since. My dad and grandfather built a really massive roost behind the house for my eagle and my sisters’ eagles. Stonewall always waits for me when I get home from class since schools are getting so over protective and strict these days and won’t allow eagles indoors. Which just goes to show how much we’re bubble wrapping kids today. Back in the day, if you couldn’t handle a few stitches because you pissed off the wrong kid’s eagle, you had to just man up and learn your lesson!
Ooo, I never miss a chance to tell this story! I had a rather unusual first eagle ceremony. The traditional giant American flag that you wave around to summon your eagle had been severely damaged the week prior (a ceremony that had not gone according to plan, but the child only suffered minor talon wounds. The flag took the brunt of the attack). Anyway, I couldn’t use the normal flag so we had to search ALL OVER for one suitable for eagle summoning. Unfortunately the stripes weren’t the correct shade of patriotic red so everyone was worried an eagle wouldn’t show up at all. I had to stand in the middle of that wheat field, the wind creating amber waves out of it, shaking that flag in the air for over three hours. Everyone was just about to give up when suddenly Patriot appeared out of nowhere! He came to me so quickly it was like he was apologizing for being late. And we’ve been together ever since.
Some people think it’s excessive to have two eagles. But what can I say, I’m a two eagles kind of guy. Well, I can say, “You must be a terrorist to call me out over my excesses,” but I digress. We don’t have many open fields around here, so I got Liberty by waving my flag atop a decommissioned WWII aircraft carrier. I was kicking a couple of boxes of tea into the harbor for good measure, and there she was. I loved her so much I repeated the process a year later and got young Colbert here. It’s hard work, raising two eagles, but I have two shoulders, after all. Besides, I know that the secret to happy and healthy eagles is plenty of Bud Light.
Oh man, the eagle ceremony. I was a weird fucking kid, okay, so I was totally sure that the eagle ceremony wasn’t just going to net me my eagle and deepen the mystical bond between a citizen and their country, I thought I was going to get to turn into an eagle too. So me and my mom and my dad and my little brother are all standing in the old civil war battleground, surrounded by the ghosts of our fallen soldiers, and all and the problem here — it’s not usually a problem because I make sure to shave my beard off twice a day, three times on sundays — was that I am, actually, born on the fourth of July. So it wasn’t just one eagle that showed up, it was pretty much every big old patriotic warbird in Missouri, all flapping around confused and pissed off, their innate senses of direction completely fucked up by the way firecracker babies warp America’s natural system of ley lines. And I was six, so grabbed the flag and ran with it over my shoulders, rippling in the wind, thinking it was going to turn into wings for me and I would go be an eagle with all the other eagles. Instead I just got mobbed by a freaked-out mess of nationalistic avians who all weighed more than I did. I lost half my nose and my whole left arm and spent most of fourth grade in reconstructive surgery getting machine guns welded on to the shattered remains of my ulna. Completely missed my little brother’s eagle ceremony, which I will always regret, but it was all worth it to have met Columbia. I never did turn into an eagle on the outside, but I like to think those long hours in the hospital, feeding her rubbing alcohol and my own blood, have made me an eagle in my heart.
cannot stop laughing