“The other thing is in Hollywood, you don’t want to show weakness as a woman because it is such a misogynist industry. To ever go to work and be like, ‘I have debilitating cramps,’ you can’t do that. You can’t be like, ‘Can I have a hot water bottle for my stomach?’ You have to act like you’re a superhero in order to be taken seriously or put on an equal playing field as the men. As soon as you like have a woman’s body and have women’s issues, it’s like, ‘Oh, you’re a hazard for us,” basically. So you just have to pretend that you’re a lot stronger than you are a lot of the time.”—Megan Fox: ‘In Hollywood, You Don’t Want to Show Weakness as a Woman’ - mom.me
“The entertainment world keeps producing stories about disabled people, yet almost never casts disabled performers at all—whether in major or minor roles, playing disabled or able-bodied characters. Counterexamples, like RJ Mitte in Breaking Bad or Jamie Brewer in the first and third seasons of American Horror Story, are rare.”—Disability Is Not Just a Metaphor - Christopher Shinn - The Atlantic
This is ‘Beggin For Thread' and it's the latest cut to surface from BANKS’ highly anticipated debut album, Goddess out this September. Produced by Jesse Rogg and Tim Anderson, the track is happier and lighter compared to her other, more dark and moody songs. Either way, give it a spin above!
“When Harry Met Sally … is, it must be said, insular and largely oblivious about its insularity. It would be cheap to admonish its makers with contemporary college-seminar hindsight about “privilege,” but the young and impressionable should be warned: Everybody has big apartments, they drink white wine from crystal glasses and play Pictionary in well-appointed living rooms, and they shop at Saks and Bergdorf. White-on-white, sophisticated Manhattan is, in this film, the only part of New York City that exists.”—When ‘Harry’ Met ‘Annie’ «
“These songs, which presume to assure women that they are attractive (and, by extension, worthwhile), assume that the singer’s relationship to our bodies overrules our relationship with them. All of our primping — our “fixing makeup, just so” — has a pointed objective, namely to be found attractive by men. And allegedly, what a relief to find out we don’t need to be doing any of it at all!”—Let’s Stop Singing Songs About Women Who Don’t Know They’re Beautiful
We think it is rape culture or gun violence that will define us as a fallen civilization. But it’s the indifference that will do us in. It’s our fierce commitment to independence — emotional, cultural, financial, spiritual — as our most prized and noble value that dooms us.
We are nothing without each other, nothing if all we can manage is protecting our own children, nursing our individual grief, urging others to be more like someone else who was “independent” enough to “move on” and “dust herself off” and “get over it.”
My father moved out that summer. My mother took us to the shore. We stayed on the second floor of a double decker house that we rented a week at a time. There was a wide wooden porch where we sat in the late afternoons until those boys moved in downstairs.
They spotted us as they unloaded their car, pointing fingers at us and calling out: Attack! It’s Pearl Harbor! They ran in circles on the sidewalk, made shooting sounds with their mouths. We were unfamiliar with the names they called us, but we knew they were not kind.
In the mornings, at the beach, we dug deep holes and buried ourselves in sand. Threw beach towels over our heads for as long as we could stand the heat. For a time we were invisible. Inconspicuous mounds eliciting no notice.
Francesca’s brother stands nude in the corner. He is wearing a wolf mask to cover his face. His arms hang down at his sides. A slender boy. They have been playing a game. He is hiding in plain sight.
I too am tired of looking at myself. In this age of tender spectacle.
Sontag calls the camera a predatory weapon – automated, ready to spring. She says to photograph a person is to violate them, see them as they never see themselves.
When she died, she left behind an unpublished artist’s book, a set of five images called “Portrait of a Reputation.”
Of her journals, in her youth, she had asked: “Does it read as a book, one wonders?”
We were child models, actors, and dancers. That summer, from the beach house, we made trips back into the city – first for a small part in a film about China. Then, for a musical. Auditions were long, unglamorous affairs and we sat around in leotards and tights with our hair in topknots for hours. Then, paraded in a line in front of a wall of mirrors. Someone demonstrated a dance combination. We mimicked. A few of us were ushered out, our numbers thinning. Then, a new combination. Then, one at a time.
I was asked to let my hair down. And then hold it up again. Can you make a worried face? Can you look confused? Can you hold your hands to your mouth like you have seen something you wish you could forget?
Elizabeth Gumport: “Her death does not simply cast a shadow over the images, but suffuses them with a strange, spectral light…”
If living is a slow erasure of self, then dying is fixing it in place. Barthes says: “the photograph mechanically repeats what could never be repeated existentially.”
The boys did not stay long that summer. A few days and then they had packed up again and the sidewalk beneath our porch was again quiet. The battle won or surrendered, it was not quite clear which.
At home, my father was packing the last of his things into cardboard boxes and trash bags. What he left behind: a few plastic hangers in the front hallway closet. A neat pile of matchbooks from neighborhood bars and restaurants.
And later, after he had been gone for weeks, on the floor of his closet, I found something he had perhaps not intended to leave: a faded photograph of myself as a child sitting on his lap. His head is turned away, and I am facing the camera. I am wearing a blue dress, leaning back against his chest.
Barthes might say that the photograph does not restore what has been abolished, but attests that what is represented had in fact, once existed.
Or he might say that experience, itself becomes vulnerable to the effects of its representation.
“Seventeen percent of viewers between ages 18 and 24 who watch “Parenthood,” for example, do it digitally. A whopping 45 percent of viewers in that demographic who tune in for “Parks and Recreation” do so online. Across all age groups for “Parks and Recreation,” “37 percent of that viewing of that show is being done on the platforms that nobody ever sees,” Wurtzel explained.”—The TV networks’ war on the Nielsen ratings - The Washington Post
“At the film site The Dissolve, where I am a staff writer, my editor has gently discouraged me from using the phrase Manic Pixie Dream Girl in my writing, less because using a phrase I coined reeks of self-congratulation, but because in 2014 calling a character a Manic Pixie Dream Girl is nearly as much of a cliché as the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope.”—I’m sorry for coining the phrase “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” - Salon.com