of dislocation & graceful unravelling

Tatum O’Neil in Paper Moon (1973)

According to Internet, Tatum O’Neil’s cigarettes were made of lettuce. This is a strategy I plan to use for Quit Smoking Attempt #2.

(Source: woodyallensglasses)

“Wilbur Bold, Western Union Messenger No. 14, twelve years old, works until 11 P.M. usually, but all night when they are busy.” (1911) (via WikiPedia)

In a bold comparative analysis of The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, Jada Williams, a 13-year old eighth grader at School #3 in Rochester, New York, asserted that in her experience, today’s education system is a modern-day version of slavery. According to the Fredrick Douglass Foundation of New York, the schools’ teachers and administrators were so offended by Williams’ essay that they began a campaign of harassment—kicking her out of class and trying to suspend her—that ultimately forced her parents to withdraw her from the school.

…

Williams wrote that overcrowded, poorly managed classrooms prevent real learning from happening and thus produces the same results as Mr. Auld’s outright ban. She wrote that her white teachers—the vast majority of Rochester students are black and Hispanic, but very few teachers are people of color—are in a “position of power to dictate what I can, cannot, and will learn, only desiring that I may get bored because of the inconsistency and the mismanagement of the classroom.”

Deborah Parkin: from the series Stillness in Time

from Parkin’s blog:

For me, seeing a child with their eyes shut like this made me think of serenity, stillness, quietness - lost in their own world. But I like how having their eyes shut almost shuts us out from their world and leaves us to project our thoughts and feeling onto them. For me it is almost a symbol of empowerment, something children don’t get too often. A child is always controlled, told what to do (for good & bad) and therefore these images are a way of shutting out that adult world and being themselves - they are almost untouchable.

However, saying all that I can certainly understand that others don’t see it this way. In the introduction to this book, William A Ewing I feel articulates beautifully how seeing a portrait without eye contact can make us feel:

If photography is a mirror, and it has been likened to one since the earliest days of the medium - the mirror of nature, the mirror with a memory, and even the magic mirror - then yes, we search instinctively for some reflection of ourselves when ever we look at a photograph of a human face. This may be why photographs are always, by definition, so unsettling. it isn’t ‘us’ starting back from the mirrored, silver surface, though logically it should be And so it is far worse when that person, our alter ego, refuses to look back at us.

Last week, I witnessed a birth. I know that it happened at 11:59 am on February 21st, 2012, that her grandmother made her a pink elephant blanket, and that she arrived an “overly punctual” three days ahead of schedule. I know this because she was tagged in seventy-three photos on Facebook; images that linked to her very own profile, created by her parents. Her birth is the first major event on her page’s timeline, and she “checked in” at the hospital about eighteen hours prior to her birth. Madeline’s birth can be observed and verified thanks to a user-friendly platform that archives and shares everything she does for an interactive audience. Those actually present at Madeline’s inaugural breath were ready with cameras and smart phones, uploading photos of her before she was even free of her umbilical cord. We witnessed her delivery through the eye of a camera, or an illuminated screen – documented via the best angles and speediest of status updates. Supposedly, this means the event was real, its verisimilitude acheived through its digital artifacts, its online chronicle – its meticulous documentarians. The world is no longer experienced through rapt attention, but rather through multi-tasking surveillance and a cache of preoccupations. Has the fixation with recording our every exploit replaced our emotional awareness of an actual experience?

(via Caitlin Moore at DailyServing)

One of my most serious concerns about some day being a parent is How to Explain Social Media to My Child.

Mommy what are you doing?

Oh, just… constructing, performing, analyzing, and documenting my identity/life and commenting/reacting/validating the identities/lives of others via this electronic device.

But WHY?

I DON’T KNOW. I don’t really get it, honey, it feels important and meaningless at the same time.

magnolius:

highly controversial photo series by Canadian photographer Jonathan Hobin titled “in the playroom” which consists of children reenacting major current events such as 9/11,  The Abu Ghraib Torture Case, Hurricane Katrina, the North Korean Missiles, and the Jonbenét Ramsey trials. You can check out the full series HERE

(via affairofthepoisons)

“The Library” by Sarah Richards

On March 9th I brought my two young children to the Marlborough public library to pick out some books and DVDs and to play with some of the wonderful games and activities they have there. After spending perhaps an hour browsing, coloring, playing with trains, and otherwise enjoying ourselves, we went to the desk to check out. One of the books I had selected for the children was a cute story about penguins I thought they would enjoy. Beyond that, I hadn’t paid much attention to the details when I plucked it off the shelf. When the librarian scanned it, she cheerfully asked me, “Are you familiar with Tango?” I replied that I wasn’t. She then explained in a sweet voice with no hint of judgment that “Tango” (And Tango Makes Three by Richardson and Parnell) was a book about a same-sex family, and some people like to know that in advance.

“Oh.” I said. “Well since we’re a same-sex family that’s not a problem for us.” But I was thinking to myself: This woman has just told me that my family is offensive to some people. She just told my children that their family is offensive to some people. Now, frankly, I think it probably went over their heads this time. But what if it didn’t? My daughter is almost six and very precocious. The librarian just informed her that her family is something that people need to be warned about “in advance.”

When I think back over my ten years as a member of a same-sex couple, I can think of plenty of things I would have wanted to know about in advance. Like the time some parents of my middle school students told me I deserved no respect because of my sexual orientation, and if the students acted out in class it was my fault. Or the time my partner was accused of wanting to steal someone’s purse because “you just never know about you people.” Or the time we were loudly called dykes by young kids in a restaurant with their parents sitting nearby, saying nothing. Or the time the librarian sweetly informed me that my family was something other families needed to know about in advance. But the trouble is, I never have the advantage of knowing when these blows are about to hit. I have to roll with them when they happen.

I am not upset with the librarian who helped us check out that day. I assume it is a library policy that this book comes with a warning. But I have to wonder: Is it really the library’s job to vet books for parents? Aren’t there hundreds of topics that could be upsetting to some people? Don’t the books in the library represent hundreds of cultures and perspectives? Isn’t that what makes the library so great in the first place?

In my experience, it is generally a minority group that needs to be protected from the majority. But this library’s action clearly does the opposite. They want to protect the heterosexual majority from being accidentally exposed to ideas about people like me. They want to do this even though the story about Tango is a true story, and even though the book mentions nothing about human sexuality whatsoever. My family is the one that had to pay $6000 dollars more in federal taxes for 2011 than identical heterosexual families, even though we have a legally issued state marriage license just like everyone else. My family is the one that has to scratch out “father” and write in “mother” on hundreds of school and medical forms every year. My family is the one that needs protection. Why do I flinch, blink, and look down at my feet each time I meet someone new and they ask about my husband? Because even though the vast majority of people are kind, occasionally someone is mean. Because I never know when a moment of judgment is coming. Because too often it seems like there is no safe place for my family, not even the children’s room at the public library.

"On a somewhat serious note today because of a conversation the other day:

I am sure every girl can recall, at least once as a child, coming home and telling their parents, uncle, aunt or grandparent about a boy who had pulled her hair, hit her, teased her, pushed her or committed some other playground crime. I will bet money that most of those, if not all, will tell you that they were told “Oh, that just means he likes you”. I never really thought much about it before having a daughter of my own. I find it appalling that this line of bullshit is still being fed to young children. Look, if you want to tell your child that being verbally and/or physically abused is an acceptable sign of affection, i urge you to rethink your parenting strategy. If you try and feed MY daughter that crap, you better bring protective gear because I am going to shower you with the brand of “affection” you are endorsing.

When the fuck was it decided that we should start teaching our daughters to accept being belittled, disrespected and abused as endearing treatment? And we have the audacity to wonder why women stay in abusive relationships? How did society become so oblivious to the fact that we were conditioning our daughters to endure abusive treatment, much less view it as romantic overtures? Is this where the phrase “hitting on girls” comes from? Well, here is a tip: Save the “it’s so cute when he gets hateful/physical with her because it means he loves her” asshattery for your own kids, not mine. While you’re at it, keep them away from my kids until you decide to teach them respect and boundaries.

My daughter is `10 years old and has come home on more than one occasion recounting an incident at school in which she was teased or harassed by a male classmate. There has been several times when someone that she was retelling the story to responded with the old, “that just means he likes you” line. Wrong. I want my daughter to know that being disrespected is NEVER acceptable. I want my daughter to know that if someone likes her and respects her, much less LOVES her, they don’t hurt her and they don’t put her down. I want my daughter to know that the boy called her ugly or pushed her or pulled her hair didn’t do it because he admires her, it is because he is a little asshole and assholes are an occurrence of society that will have to be dealt with for the rest of her life. I want my daughter to know how to deal with assholes she will encounter throughout her life. For now, I want my daughter to know that if someone is verbally harassing her, she should tell the teacher and if the teacher does nothing, she should tell me. If someone physically touches her, tell the teacher then, if it continues, to yell, “STOP TOUCHING/PUNCHING/PUSHING ME” in the middle of class or the hallway, then tell me. Last year, one little boy stole her silly bandz from her. He just grabbed her and yanked a handful of them off of her wrist. When I went to the school to address the incident, the teacher smiled and explained it away to her, in front of me, “he probably has a crush on you”. Okay, the boy walked up to my daughter, grabbed and held her by the arm and forcibly removed her bracelets from her as she struggled and you want to convince her that she should be flattered? Fuck off. I am going to punch you in the face but I hope you realize it is just my way of thanking you for the great advice you gave my daughter. If these same advice givers’ sons came home crying because another male classmate was pushing them, pulling their hair, hitting them or calling them names, I would bet dollars to donuts they would tell him to defend themselves and kick the kid’s ass, if necessary. They sure as shit wouldn’t say, “he probably just wants a play date”.

I will teach my daughter to accept nothing less than respect. Anyone who hurts her physically or emotionally doesn’t deserve her respect, friendship or love. I will teach my boys the same thing as well as the fact that hitting on girls doesn’t involve hitting girls. I can’t teach my daughter to respect herself if I am teaching her that no one else has to respect her. I can’t raise sons that respect women, if I teach them that bullying is a valid expression of affection.

The next time that someone offers up that little “secret” to my daughter, I am going to slap the person across the face and yell, “I LOVE YOU”."

You Didn’t Thank Me For Punching You in the Face « Views from the Couch  (via wewantrevolutiongirlstylenow)

(via recklesschants)

sandandglass:

Child’s Own Studio.

This is the coolest thing I’ve seen in a while. They make soft toys for kids out of their own drawings. 

(via ponys)

50 Cent & son Marquis.