i just figured out the perfect murder
kill someone and bury them in their own garden
that way if the police find them they’ll think it was a suicide
#welp looks like the victim committed suicide and promptly buried themselves in their garden #how considerate of them
$478 for in-state upperclassmen
i feel like this study deserves an article written about it that ends pushing for cheaper tuition costs rather than one that ends encouraging students to major in things that make money
Reblogged for comment ^
Reblogged again for comment ^ ^ ^
I work at a small, liberal arts university in danger of having it’s B.A. English, B.A. Philosophy and M.A. English programs eliminated while simultaneously being inundated with baby MBAs who can’t hold a job after graduation OR pay their loans.
Before John Green, his general category of realistic (non-fantasy) YA was rife with teen angst and “issues” fiction that you might have associated with the legendary Judy Blume, or with newer writers like Sarah Dessen or Laurie Halse Anderson. Anderson’s classic 1999 novel Speak, about a high schooler struggling to deal with the aftermath of sexual assault, was so influential that three years later Penguin launched an entire imprint named after it. One of the books launched under the behest of Speak was Green’s Looking for Alaska. But it’s Green whose name you’re more likely to know today, not Anderson’s, although Anderson has won more awards and written more books.
On Twitter, Green has 2 million followers. Compared to the rest of the leaders in Young Adult fiction, that number is staggering. To approach even half the Twitter influence of John Green all by himself, you need an entire army of YA women. Anderson, Blume, Dessen, Veronica Roth, Cassandra Clare, Richelle Mead, Margaret Stohl, Kami Garcia, Rainbow Rowell, Maureen Johnson, Malinda Lo, Holly Black, LJ Smith, Ellen Hopkins, Shannon Hale, Lauren Myracle, Libba Bray, Melissa Marr, and Leigh Bardugo: As a group these women only have about 1.2 million followers on Twitter.
That’s the voice of one man outweighing several decades of women who have had major successes, critical acclaim, and cultural influence.
When a man succeeds in a devalued (because of its association with women) field, he legitimizes it in popular opinion.
An inside look at nine abandoned malls. There is nothing creepier and more fascinating.
When you congratulate a toddler on doing something elementary that even a stupid monkey could figure out, that helps associate positive rewards with desirable actions.
When you make a big deal about clapping your hands to your cheeks and hollering OH WOW YOU’RE DOING SO GOOD SUCH A GOOD JOB WOW when a kid’s learning how to ride a bike with training wheels, you’re bolstering their confidence to keep trying and improving despite the inevitable hedge they will tip over into more than once
When you take a similar attitude toward a fellow adult and peer, and make big noise about how JUST GOSH DARN PROUD you are that they’re behaving and acting like an effective human being with their life in some semblance of organization, and that YOU ACKNOWLEDGE AND VALIDATE hardships that they themselves have moved past and yet somehow you cannot, you’re a patronizing ass and most likely engaging in emotional masturbation and attempting to create for yourself a ready-made conversation-topic/power-trip dispenser for whenever you need to take the edge off.
Such strategies are super-effective in diverting attention from your own copious flaws so that you can refuse to take responsibility for them, and imposing yourself on others in the role of life coach, thereby tattooing on their brain the message that they will never be 100% level with you because gosh they’re just still trying so hard and you are gifting them with your unsolicited support.
Oh man, I bet it feels great.
#NoMoreTerry is a boycott/social media campaign aimed at the publications, brands, and celebrities that hire long-time sexual predator Terry Richardson to take pictures for them. It’s goal is to pressure companies into refusing to hire him.
I think what astounds me most is how valuable it’s been to simply have someone say “You have permission to feel this way”.
So much of depression is entrenched guilt for not feeling better. For feeling things that cause others discomfort, that require they pay you some kind of customized attention rather than the default.
My therapist wants me to feel better. Of course she does. She’s a good, compassionate person, and her Yelp reviews would probably be pretty lousy if things were otherwise. But for some reason, when she asks me about my feelings, I don’t perceive the unsaid “if you talk about it you’ll feel better, then we can all feel better” conclusion that I infer from most other interactions with the human race.
She looks at the clock, and she says “you have me, and my office, for 43 more minutes.” There’s no goal, no battle. So I put words to all of it. I give it all a name.The things that seem ugly or embarrassing or whiny, or things that, if I told my peers, they’d over-reverence on my behalf with well-meaning, bruising concern. The things that would break my mom’s heart, and for which she’d take mine to pieces in retaliation.
I say everything, and when I’m finished we still have time. It’s all there, in piles, exposed to the air and thoroughly seen. And there isn’t a protest, there isn’t a rebuttal. There isn’t confusion or regret or apologies or demands or aggressive proactivity or violent efforts to help. There’s just me, and air and quiet, and ten minutes left that are just for me.