oh look, there’s jay-z dismantling patriarchal views of marriage along with taking beyonce last name but aint nobody want to talk any shit about that
A baby orangutan has been born at the zoo in Paignton, Devon which keepers believe to be a girl. Picture: R. Wiltshire/Paignton Zoo/Solent News
baby boomers out here talking shit like they didn’t elect reagan
Lip Sync-Off with John Krasinski
Warning you all now: During the last song things get a little hot and heavy.
|—||Emily Browning (via cityyandcolour)|
Beyoncé - Back to Black [feat. André 3000]
What Would You Do?: A transgender woman is insulted by a man at a diner. This is a really great segment they did where a trans woman, played by a real trans woman, is insulted and ridiculed by a man (played by an actor, of course) while she serves him at a diner. You’d be surprised at how many people butted in to defend her.
So much faith in humanity restored.
Fucking great how they supported her.
I may need to watch this show more often.
I am literally crying this is making me so happy that there are people who will protect a perfect stranger especially religious people. I’m so used to hearing about people killing, hurting, misgendering people like me that I forget people like this exist.
This is ten times more wonderful than I expected it to be, because besides all those awesome people in the diner, I had watched Carmen on Rupaul’s Drag Race before she started transitioning and ahh she’s just so pretty and sweet and idk I’m really happy to see her I liked her a lot.
|—||Erika Linder (via ellieweaver)|
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
|—||Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via finedineonmyvegangenitalia)|