There are accepted revolutions, revolutions which are called revolutions; there are refused revolutions, which are called riots.
BREAKING: Here’s the tweet that could lead to a new grand jury in Ferguson, MO.
#Ferguson: @shaunking took screenshot of tweeter @thesusannichols who claims to know juror on #MikeBrown #DarrenWilson grand jury & appears to be receiving leaked information. King says that within seconds of posting this, her friends told her to delete it & she did but not before it was screenshotted. She has since deleted her entire account but King says they checked & she is indeed a #STL resident w/ years’ worth of tweets from there. “If true, her tweet not only reveals a leak in the grand jury, but gives us an ugly glimpse into how things have gone so far. This person who posted it on twitter & her contact on the grand jury must be fully & completely investigated & removed if it’s true.”-@shaunking
Y’all better reblog the fuck outta this post it on facebook, twitter, IG, myspace, friendster, everything get this information out
Q:hey molly i'm having a slow day and i was wondering if you were in the mood to tell another story because literally i have not laughed as hard at anybody else's anecdotes on this entire goddamn site and it would be pretty rad
when i lived in spain, i worked as a “bartender” in madrid. i put “bartender” in quotation marks because my boss fernando trusted me with literally nothing but cleaning glasses and occasionally a CLOSELY SUPERVISED mojito. the bar was called “la chocita sueca,” which basically means “the swedish hut,” but can also, as far as i can tell, mean something VERY DIFFERENT and vERY RUDE.
- this led to a lot of general confusion from the patrons, who were always wondering whether i (the only super, super white person) was The Swede.
- "THIS BAR IS NOT NAMED AFTER ME," i would shout, trying to be heard above the music and the huge portrait of elvis that hung behind the bar. "I AM LITERALLY JUST HERE TO WASH DISHES AND MAKE TERRIBLE MOJITOS."
- "OK BUT ARE YOU SWEDISH?" they would ask me. "LIKE ARE YOU SWEDISH, THOUGH?"
- "ARE YOU SURE?"
- "VERY SURE."
- "YOU LOOK SWEDISH."
- "I UNDERSTAND, BUT I AM NOT SWEDISH."
- "NOT EVEN A LITTLE SWEDISH?"
- "NOT EVEN A LITTLE SWEDISH. AS I HAVE SAID."
- “BUT YOUR EYES ARE VERY BLUE?”
- "I AM NOT FUCKING SWEDISH!!!!!!!!"
- at which point fernando would sweep in and say soothingly, “shhh, it’s okay. why don’t you go wipe down the vomit on the bar??”
- rinse. rather. repeat.
anyway, on weeknights when the bar wasn’t busy, fernando always let me come in and talk to him and learn how to make drinks. as someone who hates hard liquor, i was very bad at it. my entire repertoire is a mimosa and a tequila sunrise. in my defense, fernando was aware of this going in. the entire hiring process went:
ME: can i work here?
FERNANDO: do you know how to make alcoholic beverages in exchange for money?
FERNANDO: come on wednesday.
so one day, my roommate bryan takes me out for a delicious fancy dinner, along with his little brother and his little brothers three friends, who were all visiting and sleeping on our floor. on the walk home i noticed that we were going to pass by la chocita (which was about a 5 minute walk from my house). so i separated from bryan and the boys to drop in and say hello to my old friend fernando.
it’s a tuesday at 9:30p.m. so the bar was naturally empty, and fernando was just chillin’ with the elvis picture and the human-sized statue of liberty replica.
"maya!!" he said. he called me maya, as did most of my friends in madrid, because it was easier and because i hate the way "molly" sounds when it is breaking up a spanish sentence. "molly" in any language that isn’t english literally sounds like a fart on a first date.
- "molly" when said in an english sentence: what a cute, rosy-cheeked young lady, probably looking to cuddle a dog and have a good laugh!!
- "molly" when said in literally any other language: WHAT IS THIS GROSS PIECE OF WOOD IN MY MOUTH?? IT TASTES OF TODDLERS AND THE ASHES OF YOUTHFUL DREAMS.
so in i pop, and there is fernando, who immediately sets to telling me all about his son and how handsome he is and how he’s about my age and fernando’s not saying anything but he’s JUST SAYING—
"here, have some of this," fernando said, and handed me a glass of kalimotxo.
- WHAT IS KALIMOTXO, you ask? PRETTY EASY:
- 1. get some cheap-ass wine, like hella cheap, like the CHEAPEST WINE YOU CAN FIND, PROBABLY IN A BOX, PROBABLY CALLED “CHEAP CHEAP CHEAP WINE FOR POOR COLLEGE STUDENTS.”
- 2. get some diet coke.
- 3. get some ice
- 4. combine.
- 5. “WHAT IS HAPPENING????” - your body, horrified and delighted.
"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? i have class tomorrow?"
"WHO EVER GOT DRUNK ON A LITTLE KALIMOXTO," fernando said.
i took the drink.
- "WHAT IS HAPPENING????" - my body, horrified and delighted.
"try this, too," fernando told me after a moment, pushing a bright green glass in my direction. "it’s new. i’m trying it out."
"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? i have class tomorrow?"
"WHO EVER GOT DRUNK ON A LITTLE BRIGHT GREEN BOOZE?" fernando said.
i took the drink.
- "THIS IS DANCING A SAMBA IN MY MOUTH!!" - my actual words to my actual boss.
"wait wait, try this one," fernando added, now pushing a tiny shot glass toward me with gold-colored liquid and sugar at the bottom.
"idk, fernando," i said. "it’s a tuesday? my lips are tingly?"
"WHO EVER GOT TINGLY LIPS FROM A LITTLE GOLD-COLORED LIQUID WITH SUGAR AT THE BOTTOM?" fernando said.
i took the drink.
- "it tastes like i already regret it!!!" - me, giving the statue of liberty replica a kiss.
"I FUCKING LOVE YOUR BAR NUTS," i said. "THEY’RE THE BEST BAR NUTS I HAVE EVER HAD. CAN I HAVE A POUND OF THEM?"
"okay," fernando said, and handed me a bag of bar nuts as big as my torso. it was very heavy. it was a tuesday at about 11p.m. and i opened the bag, dipped my hand in, and shoved a whole handful into my mouth.
- IN MY DEFENSE: these were the best bar nuts in the world.
- i stand by that.
"you should go home," fernando told me, looking suddenly doubtful. "you have class on wednesday."
"WHO EVER HEARD OF CLASS ON A WEDNESDAY?" i said. "GIVE ME SOME MORE OF THE TINGLY LIPS STUFF." it was probably hard to hear me around the bar nuts.
fernando, now very alarmed, called me a taxi. i should remind you that my apartment was a five minute walk from the bar, but with my hands full of a full 3-lb bag of bar nuts that i refused to give back and a my fist closed tightly around the neck of a bottle of tinto de verano, there was really no way i was going to make it that far.
"where to?" the taxista asked. i gave him my address. he blinked at me. "that’s… right there," he said, and pointed.
"yes," i agreed, taking another mouthful of bar nuts.
"we can see it," the taxista said.
"yes," i agreed again. "would you like some bar nuts?"
"….no," the taxista said, and pulled forward toward my apartment, glancing nervously back at the chipmonked motherfucker doublefisting bar nuts and dessert wine in the back of his cab on a tuesday.
"DID YOU KNOW," i said, "I AM NOT AT ALL SWEDISH?"
"okay," the taxista said. "we’re here."
i don’t remember what happened after that, but in the morning i woke up to the following three surprises:
- the tinto de verano was nowhere to be found. nowhere. did i give it to the taxista???? did i leave it on the stairs???? HAD THERE EVER BEEN A BOTTLE AT ALL???? WHO PUT SEVEN LEMONS IN MY FRIDGE?
- i was wearing socks on my hands.
- i woke up to bryan’s brother and his three friends asking loudly, “why the hell are there nuts everywhere?”
"NO REASON," i said.
Tumblr, this one’s for you.
For every AU you’ve wanted to see brought to life, consider that kben is exactly the person to bring those same kinds of stories to the screen.
There are two days left: http://igg.me/at/probablerobot/x/3610
Seriously. I’m serious. So. Serious.
I literally overcame self esteem issues by making ironically over-arrogant claims because even if you’re joking about something a lot you start to believe it and that can totally work in a good way if you let it
They’ve done studies and the “fake it till you make it” mindset actually works and if you keep up a mantra you come to believe it after a time. It actually is how I came to really love myself.
I think one of the reasons the Harry Potter Epilogue was so poorly received was because the audience was primarily made up of the Millennial generation.
We’ve walked with Harry, Ron and Hermione, through a world that we thought was great but slowly revealed itself to be the opposite. We unpeeled the layers of corruption within the government, we saw cruelty against minorities grow in the past decades, and had media attack us and had teachers tell us that we ‘must not tell lies’. We got angry and frustrated and, like Harry, Ron and Hermione, had to think of a way to fight back. And them winning? That would have been enough to give us hope and leave us satisfied.
But instead. There was skip scene. And suddenly they were all over 30 and happy with their 2.5 children.
And the Millennials were left flailing in the dust.
Because while we recognised and empathised with everything up to that point. But seeing the Golden Trio financially stable and content and married? That was not something our generation could recognise. Because we have no idea if we’re ever going to be able to reach that stage. Not with the world we’re living in right now.
Having Harry, Ron and Hermione stare off into the distance after the battle and wonder about what the future might be would have stuck with us. Hell, have them move into a shitty flat together and try and sort out their lives would have. Have them with screaming nightmares and failed relationships and trying to get jobs in a society that’s falling apart would have. Have them still trying to fix things in that society would have. Because we known Voldemort was just a symptom of the disease of prejudice the Wizarding World.
But don’t push us off with an ‘all was well’. In a world about magic, JK Rowling finally broke our suspension of disbelief by having them all hit middle-class and middle-age contentment and expecting a fanbase of teenagers to accept it.
Also. Since when was ‘don’t worry kids, you’re going to turn out just like your parents’ ever a happy ending? Does our generation even recognise marriage and money and jobs as the fulfillment of life anymore? Does our generation even recognise the Epilogue’s Golden Trio anymore?
I would really love to know whether inksplattersandearlyhours has read the Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman, and what they think about it.
I am so, so feeling this right now. I hadn’t thought of it this way, but not only is the epilogue a narrative cop-out, it robbed us of the opportunity to identify with the characters when we still needed them.
Here’s something I think about a lot: witches and wizards grow to be much older than Muggles. I mean, Dumbledore was about 150, right? Which suggests to me that actually, the set-up of the wizarding world must be much closer to our post-recession economy than the books suggest. I mean, talk about dead men’s shoes! In my twenties, my friends and I are finding that the sixty-year-olds aren’t clearing out of top spots fast enough to make way for later generations to move up. We’re stuck in menial jobs for so long—how much worse would that be for witches and wizards, who seem to have kids in their twenties and thirties but then don’t pass out of the workforce for another century?
Sure, the wizarding world is smaller, possibly has more space for growth, but that’s a bottleneck. And that persistence of older witches and wizards accounts for the conservatism of the wizarding world: the classism, racism, tremendous ageism, implied homophobia… How are we expected to believe that even the best and brightest young wixen (whose character assassinations by Rita Skeeter the world was all too happy to accept earlier) can break through that, and become successful by their early thirties? No, given the wizarding world we were shown, Harry, Ron and Hermione should still be struggling. Even the brightest witch of her age can’t really be expected to challenge colleagues with sixty years more experience and research behind them. As for the hot young Herbology teacher Neville headcanon—well, you need only look at the situation in Muggle academia to see how unlikely that is when there are always other, more qualified candidates.
And the thing is, it took a few years of struggling against the recession—thinking that it was my fault, that I was failing in some way—to realise that the problem is systemic. And the problems in the Muggle economy are replicated in the wizarding one. Being told that everything just fell into place for the characters we’d identified with for so much of our lives exactly when things were getting harder for us felt like the cruellest dismissal of our ongoing struggle. The epilogue replaced our teenage selves with adult strangers—and not cool adults like Charlie Weasley and Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, but the very establishment adults who insisted that going to school is a direct path to a fulfilling career and happy home life, who dismiss the difficulties of succeeding in a world that doesn’t mirror their own.
In fairness, we don’t know about the characters’ lives in their twenties. Perhaps they did move into a flatshare and hook up with other people before ultimately getting back together with their childhood sweethearts. Perhaps they struggled with the idea of going to work for a Ministry of Magic that had obstructed them and discriminated against their friends so many times. Maybe they floundered between different jobs for a while, never quite content (and after all, they’re picking these jobs for a very long life). Perhaps the “extended childhood” Millennials are constantly being accused of is a requirement in the wizarding world; a period to go chase dragons, live in other communities, do research, just so that you have enough life experience to be able to compete when you get to the point of trying to have a career. That would have been wonderfully reassuring. But we don’t get to see any of that; we just get the fait accompli of bland marrying-off, dutiful procreation and success in a prestigious field, when the road to getting there is what we really needed to see. And we didn’t need JK Rowling to write it for us; we were doing that fine ourselves. But by capping book seven with that epilogue, she took away a lot of our potential to create that material ourselves; she made any mirror to our own lives an explicit AU, rather than leaving those possibilities open.