OriginalDramaQueen

This or That Aesthetic…

Cherry or Strawberry ?

Woman Photographs Herself Receiving Strange Looks in Public

“I now reverse the gaze and record their reactions to me while I perform mundane tasks in public spaces. I seek out spaces that are visually interesting and geographically diverse. I try to place myself in compositions that contain feminine icons or advertisements. Otherwise, I position myself and the camera in a pool of people…and wait.

The images capture the gazer in a microsecond moment where they, for unknowable reasons, have a look on their face that questions my presence. Whether they are questioning my position in front of the lens or questioning my body size, the gazer appears to be visually troubled that I am in front of them.”

Photographer: Haley Morris-Cafiero

Project: Wait Watchers 

Source

Rick Riordan: okay here have a gay Italian sad boy

Everyone: I mean, it’s all right but-…

Rick Riordan: I understand. Want a bisexual main character, who happens to be a god?

Everyone: oh that’s actually nice…but! How about girls-

Rick Riordan: you’re totally right. Here have a pair of lesbian hunters

Everyone: …um this is actually pretty nice…how about-

Rick Riordan: a pansexual main character?

Everyone: yea-

Rick Riordan: with a gender fluid love interest? Say no more! Anything else?

Everyone:

“…it’s a call to do better in my own writing. As one of my genderqueer readers told me recently, “Hey, thanks for Alex. You didn’t do a terrible job!” I thought: Yes! Not doing a terrible job was my goal!”

Schneider from One Day at a Time

Jake Peralta from Brooklyn Nine Nine

Jason Mendoza from The Good Place

Troy Barnes from Community

Winston Bishop from New Girl

Ray Palmer from Legends of Tomorrow

clean your room.  clean space, uncluttered space, space that doesn’t have miasma clinging to it can work wonders.  clean the dishes.  sweep.  take out the trash.  peel the clothes off the floor and wash them, and then actually fold/hang them.  take a long shower.  scrub behind your knees.  brush your teeth.  (this can be utterly exhausting, but try to get it done in a day, if you can.  the end result is worth it.)

pull out your notebook.  it doesn’t need to be a new notebook, but preferably one that you don’t usually write in, or that you haven’t touched in a while.  fuck moleskins.  the yellow legal pad will work fine.  sit in your room, or in the park, or in the library, and write a list.  count clouds.  describe all the colors that you see, and note patterns that arise.  sketch the cracks in the walls.  note the shape light makes when it enters a space.  talk about what the air tastes like, smells like.  what sounds are there?  even the white nose, break that down: air planes, fans, cicadas, anything.  remind yourself that you are sitting in the middle of a space brimming with detail.  remind yourself that you are not in nothingness and emptiness.  your world is fathomless.  it has potential.

drink cold water and try to eat something that isn’t processed.  it does not need to be fancy.  buy yourself an apple with the change between your couch cushions.  eat it outside.  if you’re someone who walks, walk somewhere afterwards, just to stretch your legs.  take your fucking meds.  remember that its a good thing that you are inside your body.  your body is a fantastic and endlessly intricate machine, and even though society has smacked a bunch of poisonous ideas on it, that doesn’t change its inherent worth and splendor.  take care of it.

read a novel.  underline your favorite lines, and write phrases that twist your heart inside your chest on the back of your hand with an ink pen.  read a novel like it’s poetry.  read poetry, something decadent but unpretentious.  watch a movie you haven’t seen before.  if there are free art galleries near you, walk through one.  take your time.  let yourself bask.  if there are patterns in what makes your soul ache, write those patterns down – marbles arches or soot crumbling bricks or dandelions or descriptions of dresses or whatever it is, write them down.

your chosen family is important.  remember, they picked you as much as you picked them.  the love has no obligation.  it is given freely and it is given from a place of compassion.  you are not a burden.  if you need to breathe, take a minute by yourself and just exist, but remember to go back to your people.  when they need you, listen and be gracious.  always be gracious.  the universe sometimes remembers things like that.

listen to new music.  link jump on youtube or related artist jump on spotify or ask the chap beside you in the cafe what their favorite band is, and listen to that.  listen to something that you don’t usually listen to.  we tend to tie up a lot of memory with music.  we are falling in love again.  the soundtrack needs to be specific to that.  

I’m not a professor. I’m a graduate student, and as a graduate student you are not only trying to convince a class that you are an authority figure despite (in some cases) not being that much older than they are, but you also do not have tenure and are at the very bottom of the department totem pole. A professor who’s forty and been teaching for twelve years and has tenure isn’t worried about whether his students are going to take him seriously or whether his supervisors are going to question his professionalism because he wears jeans to lecture.

I’m a woman. There is a double-standard in academia (as everywhere else) about what is expected from male and female educators. My male professors wear jeans all the time, but when women dress down to the same degree it’s at best perceived as careless or sloppy and at worst, sexualized. Think about how high school dress codes are almost entirely focused on policing what girls wear because oh no, they might distract the boys. Professional dress codes, official or otherwise, are similarly skewed. Women’s jeans fit differently, and oh no, someone might realize you have a body somewhere under your clothes, and that would be unprofessional. Women are, across professions, held to a different standard of dress, and while some of my male peers–grad students included–certainly do teach in their denim, my doing the same would not garner the same response. 

mysterious

angelic

enigmatic

ethereal

boisterous

list of things I am:

introverted

tired

sleepy

confused

In the Colosseum, a tour guide was talking about who sat where and when they mentioned that the emperor and some other guy sat in one place, I said “And they were roommates!” And one of the girls on the tour said “oh my god! Zey ver voomates!” In a thick German accent before glaring at me.