“For three months I was disguised as a man, and very successfully… I passed my mother several times … she never recognized me.” Frieda Belinfante, a half-Jewish lesbian, used this disguise to hide from Nazi authorities. In a later interview she said, “I really looked pretty good.” Her involvement in the #resistance movement included planning the destruction of the #Amsterdam Population Registry in March 1943, falsifying identity cards, and arranging hiding places for those who were sought by the Nazis. She was forced to hide after many other members of the Netherlands-based gay resistance group were executed in 1943 by occupying Nazi authorities. In December 1943, Frieda escaped to Switzerland and later immigrated to the US.
Frieda’s contribution showed the scope of complexity and diversity of the resistance movement to aid others that many faced during the era of the #Holocaust.
Yes, let’s just ignore that whole part in the middle where she was being hunted by a mummy who tried to use her body as a vessel for his dead lover.
I’ve seen a handful of comments like this and I just wanted to address it because I think it’s worth talking about. I realise my summation of the film is flippant; it was an attempt at irony because obviously the movie is full of gruesome death and dismemberment, and I fully agree that Evie is terrorized. But that’s not what the film is about. It’s not about Evie the human sacrifice – that’s something that happens to her but it isn’t who she is.
The point is, the whole plot of The Mummy literally could not happen without Evie pursuing the thing that she loves.
They go out to Hamunaptra because Evie is passionate about knowledge and discovery, and when they get there she is in her element – she is loving every minute of it and she is proud of herself and she is absolutely going to kiss Mr O’Connell. But once that thirst for knowledge and discovery inadvertantly raises Imhotep, and there is literally fire and brimstone raining from the sky, and everyone else is running and hiding, she never ever once despairs. She accepts responsibility, she owns her mistake and she refuses to believe there is nothing to be done. She follows her passions again and decides that more knowledge and more discovery is what’s required. And she’s right. She finds the answer and she takes triumphant pleasure in proving to herself that she is a greater scholar than the ones at Bembridge, the ones who have repeatedly found her lacking.
Do you realise how rare it is for a female character’s intellectual pursuit to be the thing that kicks off the action and the thing that saves the day, AND a source of ultimate joy in her life?
When Imhotep comes for her she goes without a fight, to save her companions’ lives, because she knows that’s the best chance they have. When Rick and Jonathan and Ardeth come to save her she is pivotal in her own rescue. She is never a Damsel, she is always part of the team.
And then Evie SAVES THE WORLD. She saves the world by doing the thing that she loves and is good at. She saves the world, she gets the guy, and they ride off into the sunset with some treasure. And really, that’s a pretty good end to a day.
Also, she is one of the very, very few cool librarians in fiction. And she is proud of that.
why are there so many posts about asexuals being immune to sirens. people. sirens don’t lure you in with sex (necessarily). they sing about whatever it is that you want most. they could sing about mothman or cinnamon toast crunch and guess what then your asexual pirate is fucking dead
this is the only kind of ace discourse i ever want to see on my dash. the only kind. ever again. good job
Do you think the sirens would be grateful that they finally get some variety?
“Oh my god we can finally just sing about pasta thank the fucking gods.”
I’m not asexual but I’m fairly certain sirens would do a far better job luring me into the depths with a song about pasta rather than sex…
I mean.
“WHAT THE FUCK STAY AWAY FROM THE ROCKS.”
“FUCKER THEY SAID THEY HAVE FETTUCCINE CARBONARA AND HOT GARLIC BREAD OVER THERE HANG ON BITCH.”
This is true; Odysseus heard them promising him knowledge of the future. So the next time you see artwork like this:
Remember those sultry naked chicks are saying “We’ll tell you the winning lotto numbers.”
Them: “We have unlimited wifi at incredible speeds~” Me: *diving headfirst into the water*
I love this post
Them: hey man if you jump into the water you’ll fucking drown Me: i’m all in baby
“Away with you!” I exclaimed, swinging an oar toward the unyielding siren
“Oh, but we have anything you could ever want,” she cooed. I shook my head.
“I want for nothing! There is nothing you could offer me!” The siren paused for a moment.
“Dank Memes,” she said, “The Dankest Memes you co–” Her sentence was cut short by my epic cannonball into the water.
Do you know anything about the world besides your preconceived notions of people on tumblr? Or would you rather just complain about “tumblr” instead of googling a thing.
Doctors don’t even know what some illnesses look like on dark skin because all the examples are white.
Traditional rape indicating dye kits don’t work on dark skin and apparently no one thought it was important enough to research/rectify this until relatively recently.
Well damn.
Most medicines are tested on men and companies don’t even know that there are sometimes different dosages for men and women (Ambien is an example of this)
A few weeks ago my mom stapled pages of a story in one of her women’s magazines together and handed it to me. She gave it to me pretty much with the tag lines “for your feminist blog” and “something new to consider.” Indeed it was; she knows me well.
The story is titled “I was forced to be pregnant.” With a title like that, reading it was actually not on the top of my to read list. I thought it was about women not exercising their right to choice. I was very, very wrong on that one.
Have you ever heard of Reproductive coercion? It is a term that was quite recently coined by the advocates against domestic violence to describe a certain type of abuse some women face. It occurs when a man pressures their partner to have kids and/or impregnates them against their will. Reproductive coercion comes in three different types: 1. Emotional pressure that turns into verbal and physical abuse. 2. Sabotaging birth control 3. Marital rape Over 75% of women 19-49 who reported once experiencing domestic violence also endured some type of reproductive control by men. It’s all about control and domination over a woman’s body.
The first story in the magazine is about a woman who got married around 36 years of age. After a few months of dating her boyfriend talked excitedly about having children. After he proposed he began calling her “The Babymaker.” She then confided with him that one of her fallopian tubes was blocked. He in return insisted she see a fertility doctor. She recounts, “I had finally met a great guy who was eager to start a family with me. What woman wouldn’t fall for that?” Soon after her honeymoon he persisted on in an obsessive manner, but his efforts had to be temporarily halted as she had to get emergency back surgery. Alas, 6 months into recovery he was back to pressuring her again. She was in much pain at the time due to her back, but she agreed to In Vitro Fertilization. She then became pregnant, but soon miscarried. In response, her husband grabbed her by the neck, choking her. He apologized, blaming his outburst on his grief and had her sign up for another round of IVF. And then a third round. She tried to put him off with the excuse that she needed to weigh more before she could take treatments, her husband forced her to get on the scale often and filled the fridge with fattening foods. “It hurt that all I was good for was getting pregnant.” She recounts. At the end, he screamed at her, threatening to replace her with a maid if she couldn’t get pregnant and she told him she no longer wanted to have his child. He destroyed bedroom furniture, pushed her down the stairs and threatened her with a gun. She fled to a domestic violence shelter.
The second story was about a woman who faced marital rape. This woman was 40, had a then boyfriend and two children from a previous marriage. After telling her boyfriend she did not want any more children, her boyfriend refused to wear a condom and began to rape her. She then became pregnant with her third child. Birth control was never an option for her because she couldn’t hide pills anywhere for he went through all of her belongings. Three months after giving birth, he raped her again, impregnating her with twins. She lost the twins in a physical fight with him, but soon became pregnant again. During her recovery she begged her obstetrician to remove her ovaries and devise a lie to tell him; that she had cancer. After a decade of sexual abuse and violence she was able to get a job that kept her out of the house and often times traveling.
One in four callers to the National Domestic Abuse hotline said that their partners had tried to force them to become pregnant. Why? As one woman stated, “Its like he wants to own me from the inside out.” Having a baby is the perfect tie that binds. These type of abusers want to create a circumstance in which their partner is dependent on him.
WHAT’S THAT HAVE TO DO WITH PLANNED PARENTHOOD?
Many voters never consider how defunding these clinics could hurt victims of domestic violence who turn to them for counseling as well as pregnancy prevention. Abused women will turn to health care providers long before they will turn to domestic abuse hotlines and organizations. Many women in abusive relationships rely on life saving, affordable care programs such as Title X. It is critical that such places are open and operation when women and children need them so desperately.
tw: abuse, rape, domestic violence
holy fuck im crying.
I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control. I was on the pill until he found them in my purse.
I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem.
Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo.
When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to.
And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe.
I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy.
I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.
If you can read this, and still think there is no situation in which a woman should have access to safe abortions, basically you’re saying that you value women as little as the abusive assholes in these personal, true stories did. That you’d rather have a woman die at the hands of her abuser than terminate a pregnancy, and that you’d rather have numerous children born into a dangerous, damaging, terrifying home than allow a woman to have control over her own body and her own reproductive choices.
will never not reblog this; why @plannedparenthood is indispensable and irreplaceable.
I’ve been part of the AIDS research community for a long time. I’ve watched this same shit happen elsewhere in the same ways. Women who can’t NOT be in sex trade who can’t demand condoms or any kind of birth control. People talking about this kind of thing as if it’s always “somewhere else”.
It’s never somewhere else. It’s always right here.
Reblogging. I always will. Places like Planned Parenthood aren’t “luxuries for selfish women” as we are endlessly told. These are places that can save, and do save, lives. It happens to be they save women’s lives, which I happen to consider to be just as valuable as my own male life. Funny that.
you wanna know how your grandparents “worked through” their problems and didn’t divorce?
cause ya grandmama most likely didnt have her own assets or income and depended on your grandfather to support her and the family. she had no choice but to work it out. also the stigma a divorced woman would face? pfffffffft.
trust me alot of yalls grandfathers are/were awful people and your grandmother wouldve left him if she could
!!!!!!!!!
A lot of people act like higher divorce rates are indicative of a loss or morality or commitment in our generation, but to be honest, I always am glad when I see high divorce rates because it means people are leaving abusive and unhealthy relationships at higher rates. It means that fewer women are dependent on men and can decide for themselves what they want their life to be.
Republicans act like higher divorce rates and fewer young adults wanting to get married is a bad thing when really it’s just a sign of social progress and greater autonomy.
Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.
“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”
Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.
I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.
About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.
I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”
She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.
She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.
Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.
“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”
I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.
He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.
With Bateman, I thought he was trying to learn how to be a human being, so if he wanted to learn how to have sex, of course he watches porn. I talked to Christian a couple days before we shot it and he decided that because Bateman had watched pornography, we would watch pornography, so he got one of the PAs to get us a couple of videos and we both took notes. He came in the next day before rehearsal and he had done these little stick drawings, and there was one where two girls were giving Bateman a blow job at once. We were laughing, thinking, That’s ridiculous and it doesn’t make logistical sense, but we’ll do it anyway.
When we came to rehearse the thing, the little room they had given us happened to have a mirror on the door. When I saw that, I said, “Christian, watch yourself in the mirror as you’re having sex,” and then he really went with it and was so hilarious. But the thing I said to the actresses playing Christie and Sabrina is, “For your characters, it’s just a job. You just have to get through this.” I think that’s where a male director would have directed it differently. When does the prostitute ever find these things sexy? It’s a job to suck this guy’s dick. He’s having his fantasy, and their faces are adding a sort of counterpoint.
There’s not a lot of nudity in the scene — Christian wore a sock, and I think the girls were wearing underwear — but there was definitely a lot of digital removal if you saw this or that. Still, it was a very lengthy process in the editing room of taking out frames. The MPAA was okay with the violence, but they really objected to that three-way sex scene where it looks like there might be rear-entry sex. At the time, I had very young children, and the studio was sending me VHS tapes of the latest cuts of the sex scene. I had one of those VHS tapes next to a children’s video from the library, and I remember I put the wrong one in the envelope. Fortunately, I checked it before I turned it in, and I was like, “Oh my God, it’s the American Psycho sex scene! This is not Barney.”
myblog 