Notes from the Center of the Universe

jezebelcom:

The New York City Marathon is the largest in the world. This year, 47,000 people registered for the race. But, snag: Hurricane Sandy rolled into town, wreaking havoc, killing dozens, knocking out power, and pushing entire neighborhoods out of their homes. And rather than cancel the race and divert resources to hurricane recovery and rescue efforts (fun fact: we’re still finding bodies here), organizers have decided to press on ahead as planned, further disenfranchising hurricane victims. 

Look: I understand the need for the city to come together and recover quickly and not let anything keep us down because we’re NEW YAWKERS or whatever, but holy shit is holding the race this weekend inappropriate. 

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whatshouldwecallme:

brosatthebar:

whenscotusupheldobamacare:

jillfilipovic:

“i bet if you were all hot and not overweight lesbians, you’d let mr. brown kiss the pain away after he punched you in the eye (because you wouldn’t shutup about something and make him a sandwich).”

I quit.

interwar:

do you ever just look at children of couples in films or television shows and go

no

you are genetically impossible

that is not a dominant allele

togetherforjacksoncountykids:

“It’s Okay to be Neither,” By Melissa Bollow Tempel

Alie arrived at our 1st-grade classroom wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. I asked her to take off her hood, and she refused. I thought she was just being difficult and ignored it. After breakfast we got in line for art, and I noticed that she still had not removed her hood. When we arrived at the art room, I said: “Allie, I’m not playing. It’s time for art. The rule is no hoods or hats in school.”

She looked up with tears in her eyes and I realized there was something wrong. Her classmates went into the art room and we moved to the art storage area so her classmates wouldn’t hear our conversation. I softened my tone and asked her if she’d like to tell me what was wrong.

“My ponytail,” she cried.

“Can I see?” I asked.

She nodded and pulled down her hood. Allie’s braids had come undone overnight and there hadn’t been time to redo them in the morning, so they had to be put back in a ponytail. It was high up on the back of her head like those of many girls in our class, but I could see that to Allie it just felt wrong. With Allie’s permission, I took the elastic out and re-braided her hair so it could hang down.

“How’s that?” I asked.

She smiled. “Good,” she said and skipped off to join her friends in art.

‘Why Do You Look Like a Boy?’

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shitmystudentswrite:

Our house was a constant target for drive-by shootings and mazel tov cocktails.