liartownusa:

LiartownUSA has always celebrated ONLINE SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIORS. Now, spurred by popular demand and a deep desire to properly honor the internet’s bravest, most productive heroes, I am very pleased to announce the very first LiarTown item to consensually enter the physical world.

First appearing in a December 2013 post and honored by rave reviews from Jezebel.com (“The absolute best cat calendar!”) this now-100% real publication is officially available for sale. 

This full-color, 12” x 12” grid-style wall calendar is presented and shipped in plenty of time for the holidays. Each month features a charming kitten professionally photographed in a heroic pose appropriate to a small cat defiantly speaking out on the hottest social justice issues of the day. A sassy, uncompromising declaration erases any doubts about each precious cat’s passionate convictions, sense of humor, and tough-as-nails attitude! 

Each of these twelve adorable kittens was subject to a week-long, grueling interview process to ensure there was absolutely nothing problematic in its beliefs. Unlike bland, privileged garbage kittens chosen for nothing more than shallow good looks, Social Justice Kittens radiate fierce strength in the face of untold adversity, and all are gifted with a dazzling array of genders and orientations to go with their tiny, oh-so-kissable faces! The patriarchy WILL NEVER accept these kittens! 

After thousands of years of CIS-HET BULLSHIT, here at last is a calendar that DARES YOU to speak truth to power. A calendar which boldly announces to the world that you aren’t going to sit back and let others speak for you. A calendar that holds you up high so others can see you’re able to stand proudly on your own!

It comes down to this: Do you want to financially support the ideals embodied by this unique, functional gift, or refuse to purchase a copy and become a hateful fake ally who actively embraces injustice and the murder of innocents? The choice is yours.

One more time, to be clear: This is a genuine 2015 calendar, printed on big machines and then mailed out by mid-November.

To visit the online store, click here. 

Last but not least, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who supported this project during its formation!

I don’t usually fall for memey gimmicks, but I like this memey gimmick a lot.

liartownusa:

LiartownUSA has always celebrated ONLINE SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIORS. Now, spurred by popular demand and a deep desire to properly honor the internet’s bravest, most productive heroes, I am very pleased to announce the very first LiarTown item to consensually enter the physical world.

First appearing in a December 2013 post and honored by rave reviews from Jezebel.com (“The absolute best cat calendar!”) this now-100% real publication is officially available for sale. 

This full-color, 12” x 12” grid-style wall calendar is presented and shipped in plenty of time for the holidays. Each month features a charming kitten professionally photographed in a heroic pose appropriate to a small cat defiantly speaking out on the hottest social justice issues of the day. A sassy, uncompromising declaration erases any doubts about each precious cat’s passionate convictions, sense of humor, and tough-as-nails attitude! 

Each of these twelve adorable kittens was subject to a week-long, grueling interview process to ensure there was absolutely nothing problematic in its beliefs. Unlike bland, privileged garbage kittens chosen for nothing more than shallow good looks, Social Justice Kittens radiate fierce strength in the face of untold adversity, and all are gifted with a dazzling array of genders and orientations to go with their tiny, oh-so-kissable faces! The patriarchy WILL NEVER accept these kittens! 

After thousands of years of CIS-HET BULLSHIT, here at last is a calendar that DARES YOU to speak truth to power. A calendar which boldly announces to the world that you aren’t going to sit back and let others speak for you. A calendar that holds you up high so others can see you’re able to stand proudly on your own!

It comes down to this: Do you want to financially support the ideals embodied by this unique, functional gift, or refuse to purchase a copy and become a hateful fake ally who actively embraces injustice and the murder of innocents? The choice is yours.

One more time, to be clear: This is a genuine 2015 calendar, printed on big machines and then mailed out by mid-November.

To visit the online store, click here. 

Last but not least, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who supported this project during its formation!

I don’t usually fall for memey gimmicks, but I like this memey gimmick a lot.

meaghano:

Tonight it was just me and the baby and I kept looking at him and getting really sad. He’s becoming more of a person and I know to say I feel a little bad about that is so morose it’s funny, but I do. He is starting to get preferences and to want things, more and more, beyond food. He’s wildly happy most of the time but sometimes he will just stare quietly and look sad if I ignore him and I want to cry. If I put him down for a minute to pee or to get a glass of water or god forbid, eat a meal, he gets so spastic and scrambly when I pick him up, his arms tight around my neck, all of him gasping and kicking. Babies do not “play it cool,” haha. Dustin thinks he is learning to miss me, though everything seems to say that he won’t develop that for a couple more months (separation anxiety). “But remember, our baby is a genius.”

My son loves me so much, is what I’m saying, and it’s making me sad, reflexively. I love him too, and it’s like, Oh god, ok, all this and love, too? Just when I thought there wasn’t room for anything else. Dustin and were talking about baby love the other day, and I was trying to say how it feels very close to romantic love for me, minus the sexual attraction obviously, but like the physical need to be close to / affectionate with him is more similar than I would have guessed. The idea that I once felt this with my own mother is wild to think about, and really sad because where is that now? I have faint memories of loving the way she smelled, too, and of wanting to rub my face on her upper arm, or remarking on how soft her skin was. Does she still feel that way with me? I can’t even think about it.

As the baby moves from alien intruder who could slip into death at any moment to person who is funny and needy and beautiful and charming and alive, the intimacy is intrusive and surprising. Sometimes he looks at me across the chasm between his barely-there personhood and my own, and I am shocked. And a little creeped out, to be honest, like he must be a ghost or God or some universal something or other, communing with me on the changing table.

It’s been wild to experience new love alongside the, for me, intense personal transformative shit of becoming a mother. They should be one and the same I guess and maybe they are. But on the one hand I feel this wild desire to be alone and to think and to write. I feel a stronger Self than I ever have, almost as a defensive move I suspect, as I feel like the world wants me to give it up. Catholics talk about “dying to self” when you get married, and certainly when you have kids. I am worried someone is going to snatch my Self out from under me, so I’m scrambling and kicking my legs and wrapping my arms around its neck.

And then my baby is reclining in his Boppy and staring at me and his face breaks out into a smile and we laugh together and I think, Oh fuck, dude, you are really in for it, out here with us. I am so so sorry.

Oh look, a perfect post.

We consistently fail young women—all women—by tacitly relying on them to learn from each other, or from their experiences, which of the people in their communities they can and cannot trust. We ask them to police their own peers, but quietly, through back channels, without disturbing the important people while they’re talking. We wait for the victims of abuse to be the ones to take power away from their abusers, instead of working actively to ensure that these motherfuckers never get that far in the first place.

I see the two people and I want them to start to go out and to be shy and to hook up when they’re not drunk and, like, admire each other’s bodies and start to go on dates and maybe move in within eight months to a year and, you know, maybe have a nice life together forever. If they want to.

I wondered what my husband was doing right then and I wondered what he’d ever do now that we’d both have to do things in this new kind of without, the kind of without that was final, the kind that meant there would be no apologies, no forgiveness, and now we’d each have to go about the slug of waking, bathing, eating, without the other as a witness, this person we’d split so much of our lives with, a person who housed entire armies of information about the other and who, I wondered, who would we thumb over our pasts with and who would notice how golden my husband’s pale skin became in the lamplight in his office so late at night when his mind would move chalk sticks across, across, across, creating problems and solutions and problems and solutions and if there was no one to notice these things about my husband would my husband even exist anymore? And where would all the me that he had housed in himself go if I wasn’t there to be with him and see what he kept of me in him, and did the versions of us that we had crafted so exactly and precisely for the other person, did those versions just evaporate, just die, just disappear, just fall out of a building somewhere in each of our brains and if they did then why didn’t we get to have funerals for them? I loved the he that he was to me. I loved him and he is dead and I want a black moment for that man. Give me a black moment for that.

  Nobody Is Ever Missing, Catherine Lacey

Transparent is a show that you 10,000% need to be watching if you’re not already, and this scene from the end of episode 7 just made me cry in front of my TV like it was happening in my own life because it was such a beautiful, sensitive, perfectly-acted thing.

I remembered that Simon said possums were not indigenous to New Zealand, that they had been brought here by somebody a long time ago, some European, and since there were no animals here that liked to kill possums, all those unkilled possums had fucked up the whole fucking ecosystem by eating plants, too many plants, by wanting so much, and now there were what? — ten or fifteen possums per person in New Zealand? Something fucked-up like that; and I imagined my dozen fucked-up possums gathered around me, a personal audience, and I wondered which things inside a person might be indigenous or nonindigenous, but it isn’t as easy to trace those kinds of things in a person as it is in a country. I wished that I could point to some colonizer and blame him for everything that was nonindigenous in me, whoever or whatever had fucked my ecosystem, had made me misunderstand myself,—but I couldn’t blame anyone for what was in me, because I am, like everyone, populated entirely by myself…

  

Catherine Lacey, Nobody Is Ever Missing

this book is ruling in a very major way

A Year’s Worth of Books III

For the third year in a row, I am sharing a list and short review of the things I’ve read over the course of the past twelve months!

Per sacred tradition, I’m just writing what I can remember along with what my Goodreads star rating was.

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