Comment: “When someone writes their skin is like “mocha” or “chocolate”, for me it ignites my imagination. It’s better than just saying the person was black, It’s a beautiful description and implies a certain warmth or sweetness of the character.”
Was giving a *)))nostalgia*** look at the old arts & entertainment blog I had in high school (which had like, 2 other readers) and came across an old post that was clearly written at the height of my Bronte revival phase, back when they announced that they were doing a Wuthering Heights movie. I suggested Cillian Murphy for Heathcliff, Eva Green for Cathy, and Eddie Redmayne as Edgar Linton. Am actually groaning/rolling a little internally at the thought of how great that would have been and how it WILL NEVER HAPPEN NOW.
What fucks me up about the Darren Wilson fundraiser is that he hasn’t been charged with a crime. He doesn’t have to hire a lawyer. He’s on paid leave, so he’s not losing wages. This is not covering his expenses, because he doesn’t have any additional expenses. This is a reward. He’s getting a $250,000 reward for murdering an unarmed black kid.
“If someone were to die at the age of 63 after a lifelong battle with MS or Sickle Cell, we’d all say they were a “fighter” or an “inspiration.” But when someone dies after a lifelong battle with severe mental illness and drug addiction, we say it was a tragedy and tell everyone “don’t be like him, please seek help.” That’s bullshit. Robin Williams sought help his entire life. He saw a psychiatrist. He quit drinking. He went to rehab. He did this for decades. That’s HOW he made it to 63. For some people, 63 is a fucking miracle. I know several people who didn’t make it past 23 and I’d do anything to have 40 more years with them.”—
You know that chapter from Louis Sacher’s Wayside School is Falling Down, where Bebe wanders into a classroom concealed within a hidden dimension and is kept busy with endless amounts of homework and the struggle to just get through each day with the occasional gratifying reward, until she figures out that it’s all a ploy to keep them un-attuned to what they really want and from reflecting on why they’re doing all of this in the first place? I find that story increasingly resonant/relevant day in and day out.
“If you’re a student in one of the black schools here and you get into a fight you’ll probably get arrested and charged with assault. We have kids here who are barred from voting before they’re even old enough to register.”—
A black (male) protestor/resident of Ferguson, as quoted in Newsweek.
Here is where the “talking-head”/op-ed bent of our media and culture has failed us. While they all want to bemoan the “12% voter turnout at the last election,” no one has the sense to ask about the structural forces that contribute to that low figure. Instead they (and I’m including Al Sharpton in this category) yell at black voters to do their part, or, when they’re being nice about it, try to get protestors to register to vote. But listen to those protestors who cannot vote. They’re telling us they never stood a chance.
"A riot is at bottom the language of the unheard. It is the desperate, suicidal cry of one who is so fed up with the powerlessness of his cave existence that he asserts that he would rather be dead than ignored … To be a Negro in America is often to hope against hope. It means fighting daily a double battle — a battle against pathology within and a battle against oppression without."
Spent my lunch break writing a press release for my old student organization. This are one of the times in which I know I should have taken a gap year after high school, since half of my friends were a grade below me, I was not emotionally ready for college, and I fear that my former org is going to evaporate into thin air this year under the new leadership.
the thing i hate most about people who preach ‘non-violence’ and ‘peace’ is that they never preach to those in power, you’ll never hear any of them demanding the police stop killing black people, to stop destroying their neighborhoods, and to put their weapons down, and that’s because these people are not against violence, they are only against resistance.
As much as I support my (former) school’s anti-sexual assault coalition, I still cannot believe that the Times apparently had nothing better to do than write about a college concert getting canceled. It was on the radio this morning, too. Christ.
So important. I know there are times when I could have used this!
So great. I’ve only called a hotline maybe once, for a friend, and could barely wait to get off; hearing someone’s voice made me so uncomfortable. Plus, for most people, typing it out is a much more familiar and easy way to process their own feelings and thoughts than talking is for them.
Lauren Bacall just passed away. What a crummy year for celebrity deaths.
She lived in the Dakota, the same building where Lennon and Yoko Ono lived, and whenever I passed it I always had a faint gleam of hope that I would perchance see her toddling about. It was thrilling to think that this ancient star of classic Hollywood was physically so close, ensconced up there in her fancy apartment. For me, she kind of had this permanent undying feel too, maybe because she was a New York fixture and had already outlived her hard-living Rat-Packing contemporaries by decades. Oh, man.
Robin Williams recorded his dialogue for the Genie at the same time - and across the street from - the filming of Schindler’s List, one of the most depressing movies of all time.
After he was done every day, Robin would go across the street to cheer up the cast of Schindler and make them laugh with recordings of his improvised material from that day.
I just thought you all might want to know that story.
I was just thinking of that today. Spielberg said in an interview that during filming, Robin Williams was the only person who could cheer him up. Sometimes he’d even call Williams at night, begging him to make him laugh. And Williams did.
Another story I love: Christopher Reeve in the hospital after being paralyzed from a fall, feeling depressed and suicidal, and a doctor with a Russian accent strolls him announcing that he’s going to give him a rectal exam, only to turn out to be his old friend from Juilliard, Robin Williams. Reeve said he recalled it as the first time he laughed after having his accident.
Finally, my actual all-time favorite off-screen Robin Williams moment—goofing around on the stage with a wildly baked Jack Nicholson and giggly Daniel Day-Lewis after losing an award to them. Yeah, that sentence happened.
A few days ago I started a private fundraiser on a behalf of a friend with a history of suicide attempts and who recently lost her job as a result of mental unwellness. It would be nice if some of the people I shared the fundraiser with, who are currently posting statuses about what a tragedy Robin Williams’ suicide is, would donate a buck or two.