Hari Kondabolu takes on Matthew Mcconaughey to brighten up our day.
It’s Wednesday! Two and a half days in an intense work week down, two and a half to go. Let’s do this!
I posted personal essays the past couple of days, so today is supposed to be a day for something light, and fun, and funny. But it’s been a sad week or two in LGBT news, and I’m still feeling all serious and twitchy.
We are all born knowing who we are. But far too often, the first bullies to teach us that we must keep parts of ourselves hidden are the adults we trust.
In pre-Kindergarten, I was that girl who loved to dance.
Lots of children move to music. It’s a natural human impulse. But tell that to my vile teacher, Mrs. Black. She ruled her pre-K classroom with an iron fist.
From day one, Mrs. Black and I had differing opinions. She thought that four and five year-olds should clean up the classroom by the count of five; to me, this seemed downright draconian. She sent home a note in my lunchbox, suggesting that I might have learning differences because I did not yet tie my shoes; as my mother explained to her, this was because no other lefty had ever shown me how. And I was already reading and writing, for god’s sake. How many accomplishments must a four year old have under her belt?
How do you tell a perfectly nice girl that it’s not going to happen? Definitely not the way I did it.
She was so pretty. Her blonde hair curled gently against her shoulders. Her glasses framed her green eyes nicely. She was thin as a whisper, kind of twitchy and serious, adorably self-conscious when she made a joke. Her eyes lit up when she spoke about her work. We flirted gently, then more urgently as the night progressed. We sat in the restaurant nearly until it closed, talking and laughing, touching hands.
Outside the restaurant, I leaned in and we kissed.
It was…well. Imagine a kiss where you’re getting all of the mechanics right, all of the movements are perfectly choreographed, but with all the sensuality of going to the dentist. Imagine a kiss that makes you feel…nothing.
We love you and we’re thinking of you. So many of us around the world. There are no words. I hope to god there is some sort of consciousness after life so you can feel safe and know that everything is all right for you now. It’s not enough, and it’s not right, but I do believe that the good energy in the world is worth something, and I am sending it your way.
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Stars and starlets in 2014 continued the old Hollywood tradition of denouncing feminism. Equality: who needs it?
Kaley Cuoco made headlines a few days ago when she was the latest in a long series of Hollywood women to weigh in on why they aren’t feminists. Although she now says that her comments were taken out of context, they made me wonder, as those comments always do: why are so many women still denouncing feminism?
We can recall that feminismis defined by Merriam-Webster as “the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities.” Much like in AA, where they say that “the only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking,” there is no one right way to be a feminist — as long as you believe in equal rights for women, you qualify.
So what’s going on with the (powerful, successful) women of Hollywood? Why are they still lining up to announce that they don’t identify as feminists?
At least in theory. But let’s face it. Christmas as an adult is way more complicated than it used to be.
As a kid, Christmas was a magical time filled with warmth and gifts and family. But when you grow up, those things change a little bit. Family becomes less of a support structure and more of a collection of people you are forever tethered to, people you will always love completely and immutably, but people whose company you might enjoy or be completely stressed out by on any given day.
Queerty breaks down why the cheery tones of the Salvation Army bells downtown still make me feel like a second-class citizen.
I was getting a pita doing some late Christmas shopping for my loved ones downtown the other day when the familiar ring of the Salvation Army bell nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was drifting over from across the street. I was headed that way. The light changed, and I walked. The closer I got, the bigger the knot grew in my stomach. I think I visibly stiffened.
I don’t know if it was the way I stared at the ground or what — it’s not like I really read gay (at least not as much as I’d like to) — but as I approached, the man standing at the little red kettle literally silenced his bell. He stood solemnly, like a pallbearer at a funeral, and watched me pass.
Which is not to say that the MPDG wasn’t a stepping stone in the humanizing of the female archetype in Hollywood. Basically, in old Hollywood, some women were crazy and damaged; other women were caretakers. Then came the MPDGs: crazy, and damaged, but also charming, and there to take care of you in ways you didn’t know you needed, a little like a rolfer.
Good news, Creampuffs! Carmilla has been renewed for a second season!
I mean, it’s very exciting. But was there ever any doubt?
Nonetheless, we, along with everyone else on social media, are very, very psyched. And in honor of the announcement, we’d like to report on the top 5 things we learned this week on Twitter about Carmilla and the lovely actors who star on the show.
This morning, the Daily Post’s writing prompt is “Kick the Bucket.” They’re asking: what’s on your anti-bucket list? What don’t you want to do in the new year? I sat down to answer that question, and found my strength.
I don’t want to feel small.
I don’t want to be boxed up by anyone’s expectations. I don’t want to be colorless, a series of outlines that people can fill in as they may. I don’t want to let people assume that I am whomever I imagine they might like me to be.
I don’t want to do things out of fear, but since I’m a person who will always have fear inside of her, patient, urgent, waiting, I want to be bigger than it is. I want to draw myself up to full height and tell fear to fuck off and feel it, feel it deep in my bones when, just for a minute, fear listens.