Intelligent Girls

A couple of days back, I spent roughly around 8 hours talking to a girl friend about the woes of being an intelligent, thinking female at this day and age. To most, we would clearly come off as waxing lyrical depression as this surely is in no way a problem. To be certain, plenty of people would give an arm and a leg to be able to complain about the same.

To begin, we mulled over how few people share our avid love for art and culture. Because of this, so little opportunities and outlets are available to those who do. This constant need to nourish our brain and soul then becomes a reason for mockery, instead of praise. The line separating us from those who cannot and do not enjoy our interests thickens and divides until between us stands a gulf impossible to bridge.

Already, and so early on in the conversation, we find ourselves facing a catch-22. To avoid conflict, we either forgo the things that nourish us and submit ourselves to live banal, empty existences as sheep in the herd, counting off each agonizingly slow day as we lose ourselves completely, or we stand our ground and wait to be condemned and/ or ostracized by our peers.

This paved the way into talking about how, for most women, independence meant isolation. You either chose to celebrate or love yourself alone, or you modify yourself to suit someone else's idea of how you should be. Jewel suddenly mentioned how she acts the bimbo and is therefore suffering because of it. No one takes her seriously because of the way she presents herself -- however, she'd take this over the nagging fear of being alone any day. But after countless relationships wherein she compromised herself and her ideals to fit into this two-dimensional image of women still very present in our supposedly progressive and forward world, she's sick and tired of it.

Here's the deal, especially with relationships, men like to think they want a head-strong, independent, opinionated girl, but in reality, they still long for the meek, submissive, weak ones. It is, of course, always nice to hear that your significant other is a financially independent, thinking individual who enjoys reading, musical theater, writing, art films, museums, philanthropy, history and culture -- by God, she is the personification of class and breeding; a paragon of virtue! However, most men aren't strong enough or secure enough in their masculinity to handle such a head-strong female. Men get tired of fanning the fire of her passion and choose to diminish it slowly, with each passing day. And once that spark inside her dies, it is near impossible to re-ignite, and all you're left with is an empty shell of a woman. You no longer see in her the things you loved about her the most.

It's ironic how being an independent woman is a lot like being a gay man. You either strut yourself proudly alone on top, with an audience to bask in your brilliance from afar, but with no one to give you a hug should you fail, or you remove that twinkle in your eye and blend in with someone who can never fully appreciate how fantastic you are. It's the age-old question: do you want a pedestal or an arm?

And still, after everything that was spoken of, everything that was written here, we find ourselves with no answer.

Perplexed,
Essa.

The End Of An Era

"I have just returned from the dubbing studio where I spoke into a microphone as Severus Snape for absolutely the last time. On the screen were some flashback shots of Daniel, Emma and Rupert from ten years ago. They were 12. I have also recently returned from New York, and while I was there, I saw Daniel singing and dancing (brilliantly) on Broadway. A lifetime seems to have passed in minutes.

Three children have become adults since a phone call with Jo Rowling, containing one small clue, persuaded me that there was more to Snape than an unchanging costume, and that even though only three books were out at that time, she held the entire massive but delicate narrative in the surest of hands.

It is an ancient need to be told stories. But the story needs a great storyteller. Thanks for all of it, Jo."

- Alan Rickman, Empire Magazine, April 26, 2011.
SOURCE.

MY BONES WILL LIE IN THE THEATER FOREVER.

From the minds of babes.

Here's a short story my 8 year old niece wrote over the span of 2 hours, while sipping her frappucino. How amazing is she? Babs, you are so talented. I love you. I'm so proud of you!

Disclaimer: Spelling and grammar mistakes are hers. Phrases/Concept/Whatnot are all hers as well. Absolutely no editing on my part.

Dreams or Premonition

“Haha!” The evil laugh of the murderer echoed around the house. I panted and shrieked for my parents and siblings. I went into my room and I saw my brother at the corner of my room, crying. As I walked towards him and came to a sudden halt. I heard the laugh once more. This time, louder than ever. I turned around and saw the murderer. He had a smirk on his face. He wore a black jacket and it was filled with bloody knives. He was about to choke me when I heard my mom.

“Amy! School!” I turned sideways and next thing I knew, I was flat on the floor. I scuryed out of bed and dashed downstairs,. I could smell the aroma of the overcooked but crunchy bacon. I must have had a nightmare. I blabbed about my dream and it sounded like the continouese of my previous dream I prepared my clothes for school and headed off.

Once at school, I met up with my usual friends, telling them about the dream. Adam said, “Amy! Remember the guns and cap before and before that, the bag and glass mirror? Now, it’s the jacket and the knives, all were covered in blood! Amy, I think that you are in danger. Someone in school is a murderer!!!! We have to figure it out!” I made the crazy sign with complete disbelief. I looked at Macey for support but she was already nudging me! I must have been too upset with Adam to notice that she was taking Adam’s side. I said without thinking, though it was in a harsh tone, “Fine, let’s investigate!”

We kept talking until we reached Science class. I stared into space thinking about the dream. The bell rang and finally, I was back to reality.

I walked back home endlessly thinking about the dream. I though of someone, who hates me, loves to wear black and red and is amazed by guns, knives, broken mirrors and death? Gina!

I was not able to sleep that night with the possibility of dying while sleeping? No way!

The next few days were tiresome. I did not see Macey for about a month and Adam broke an arm. Our Science teacher, Professor George gave us tons of shomework and asked me to go for extra classes. I was bored to death!

It was the coldest day of the week and I saw Gina in her reddest and blackest outfit ever and a cap with a sharp knife on it. She laughed loudly at the sight of me. Ugh! She must have found out about my extra classes. I entered the lab.

It was getting colder and my eyelids were getting heavier. A sudden laugh had awoken me. It was the same evil laugh I heard in my dream. I looked around and nobody was there. Gina. I ran and ran until I reached my house. The doors were locked, the windows! I climbed the slippery ledges of the window, panting.

The house was unbelievably quiet. This was the dream, but in real life. I looked around, wondering where Gina was. I remember now, my room. Once again, there was my brother. But now, he was bloody dead. He wore a deathly pale face. Tears found its way down my face. “HAHAHAHA!” There came the laugh once more. I turned around only to see that it was not Gina but it was four people: Professor George who was strangling Adam and Macey who was about to kill Gina. We fought and fought endlessly. Although I knew that it was too late to save anyone, I wanted revenge. Finally, I caught Professor George and Macey. They were about to die a painful death. I was about to push them out of the window but before they completely fell down into the ground, they grabbed hold of my wrist.

I thought to myself, “At least if I was going to die, I die a little victorious.” I touched the hard, strong ground of the unbelievably unfair world, the last thing I saw was my house with a big black dot.

ALPT, 8 years old.

Women In Love

There's a subliminal message here somewhere. I just don't have the braincells to decipher them at this particular moment.

Video SOURCE.

RH Bill: PRO

The only thing I will say in the matter is...

I believe in morality, which is doing right regardless of what I am told. Not in religion, which is doing what I am told regardless of what is right.


Pass The Bill.

Mother's Day

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.


Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.


All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.
- Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest, 1895


God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers.
- Jewish Proverb


A mom reads you like a book, and wherever she goes, people read you like a glowing book review.


Mother - that was the bank where we deposited all our hurts and worries.


One good mother is worth a hundred schoolmasters.


That best academy, a mother's knee.


Of all the rights of women, the greatest is to be a mother.


There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it.

TO ALL THE BEAUTIFUL MOTHERS IN THE WORLD... Happy Mother's Day! Your beauty both in and out knows no limits. Your love no bounds.

Love,
Each and every child.

Memento Mori

I cannot claim to know death personally, nor can I say that I know what it is like, how it is, what happens after, if anything happens after, or any other topic being centered on death itself. But I have witnessed it, as I'm sure all of you have, and been a bystander of it far too many times than I care to count.

The celebration of Osama Bin Laden's death has been going on since news broke out of his demise. I get it. I empathize and I sympathize with the families who lost a loved one during the terrible tragedy of 9/11. However, while I feel that Osama signified unrest and disclosure to those left behind and I get why his death is so significant and important to these people, I cannot help but feel inhumane about the fetes thrown over his departure of the earthly realm.

Many of us, if not all, have been forced by fate's cruelties to bid adieu a loved one. We are angry and we are so deeply immersed in the madness and sadness of the loss that we look for some sort of revenge, or comeuppance. Something to cling to and hold on to. In spite of, or maybe because of this knowledge, I have an aversion to throwing a party in response to a lost life.

I mourn and grieve the deaths of thousands, but I absolutely refuse to participate in a celebration of a lost life. Let us all go in peace.

On that note, I wish for the souls of 2 people I know who have also been casualties of life. May your deaths not be in vain, and may you always be remembered.

2 Smart Blokes

Fitzwilliam Darcy: “All right?”

John Thornton: “I’ve been better.”

FD: “Hmmm, I know that look. You’ve got woman trouble and I bet I know of just what kind. Don’t tell me. You met a girl with more than the full complement of opinions. You then spent several weeks trying to tell yourself you didn’t like her, in spite of the fact that you were thinking about her all the time and pretty much wanted to – er – marry her without delay. You popped over to share the glad tidings and, instead of being deeply sensible of the honour and sobbing into your shirt front with gratitude, she read you a lecture about your shortcomings and started eyeing the fireirons.”

JT: “That’s exactly what happened – how did you know?”

FD: “Been there, done that, bought the cravat. There’s more. Having trodden her dainty feet all over your heart, I’ll bet the ranch she then made some crack about you being ungentlemanly.”

JT: “Oh yes – I got that off both barrels.”

FD: “Thought so. Me too. Classic ‘get-lost-you-lowlife’ tactic. I take it you exited stage right in a bigger hurry than you arrived?”

JT: “I did.”

FD: “And then your own family started getting on the case and, before you knew where you were, you’d got some funereal old bird giving you the yap about how your bride of choice was, in fact, Satan in petticoats.”

JT: “Yeah, my mother did have one or two things to say on the subject.”

FD: “I had an aunt sticking her beak in. Did your girlfriend get a visit from the old crone?”

JT: “She certainly did.”

FD: “I knew it. And did the light of your life give the old dear a flea for her trouble?”

JT: “Yep. Big time.”

FD: “Your woman-of-choice and mine aren’t sisters by any chance are they? She’s got a load of sisters, I lose count ….”

JT: “Only if her father’s a deceased ex-clergyman. Shame he’s deceased - he was a nice old boy, I really liked him.”

FD: “Not sisters then. My father-in-law is still among us. He’s a good bloke as it goes, but the mother …. don’t get me started.”

JT: “Nightmare?”

FD: “The full ticket to dreadful. All I can say is thank God there are a lot of miles and bad roads between Derbyshire and Hertfordshire. What’s your girlfriend’s old lady like?”

JT: “Dead.”

FD: “Result. How’d you manage that?”

JT: “I polluted the local climate with my factory and it aggravated her consumption. Cost me a fortune in fruit baskets before she finally shuffled off though. Never bought so many flippin’ grapes.”

FD: “So, to recap: you had the offer of your heart and mattress callously given the full frosty. I take it you’ve spent the time since being thoroughly miserable and reforming your character?”

JT: “Check on both counts. If you knew how much stew I’ve had to eat in the company of oiks just to impress her.”

FD: “I know the drill. I had to cosy up to my tenants and bribe my housekeeper to spread the word. Believe me, it’ll be worth it in the end - women lap all that stuff up. What you need now is some family crisis that you can sort out on the QT, so you can look heroic but modest with it. I had a stroke of luck in that department. The beloved’s silly cow sister ran off with a total scumbag. I strongarmed the scumbag into doing the decent thing. Cost me a packet but the dream date started to look more favourably on the old suit so it was worth every penny.”

JT: “I’m already sorted on that one thanks. There was some trouble with this girl’s brother. Never met him but he sounds like a bit of a numpty to be honest. Anyway, he landed her with a possible court appearance which made her lip wobble big time. Couldn’t have that, so I put a stop to it.”

FD: “What did she say to that?”

JT: “Not much, although she has stopped lecturing me about my moral duty every time I enter a room, so that’s a step up. I’m going to see her later this morning actually. She wants to lend me 18 grand.”

FD: “18 grand eh? Well, it’s none of my business mate, but I think you might be in there.”

JT: “I dunno. I saw her at dinner last night and she wasn’t very chatty. Looked a bit pink though.”

FD: “Well, play it by ear. See how she is this a.m. Have you got some romantic gesture up your sleeve just in case the moment presents?”

JT: “It’s not up my sleeve, it’s in my waistcoat pocket. I’ve got some roses in there that come from her hometown. She’s completely sentimental about the place.”

FD: “Impressive. If she doesn’t want to snuggle up after that I think you’ll just have to cut your losses.”

JT: “Oh well, better get going – don’t want to be late. Just one thing though …. do you think there’s any truth in the saying that if you want to know what your wife will be like in 20 years, just look at her mother?”

[Long, long pause.]

FD: “Let’s hope, for your sake and mine, that there isn’t.”

SOURCE.

Why Youtube Owns

Kid, you've got skills.


I called it.


I'm gonna give the props to their glee club advisor here. These children performed MGMT's kids at the Academy Awards.


I honestly can't say if I prefer this or the original. Honestly.


Let's be honest. She did it better.

Relax