this may not be a spoiler free blog
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Reblogged from sorayachemaly  180 notes

Whether achieved through law and social policy, as in this and other industrialized countries, or by way of tribal practice and religious ritual, as in older cultures, an individual woman’s body was far more subject to other people’s rules than was that of her male counterpart. Women always seemed to be owned to some degree as the means of reproduction. And as possessions, women’s bodies then became symbols of men’s status, with a value that was often determined by what was rare. Thus, rich cultures valued thin women, and poor cultures valued fat women. Yet all patriarchal cultures valued weakness in women. How else could male dominance survive? In my own country, for example, women who “belong” to rich white men are often thinner (as in “You can never be too rich or too thin”) than those who “belong” to poor men of color; yet those very different groups of males tend to come together in their belief that women are supposed to be weaker than men; that muscles and strength aren’t “feminine.” By

Gloria Steinem: The Politics of Muscle

(via exgynocraticgrrl)

Reblogged from scrunchydarren  574 notes


Chris confirming that he has a boyfriend





Hey Glee friends, I just got back from lunch — did I miss anythi…


SAME. I just scrolled back through my dash, and it was like watching an episode of Law and Order in reverse. 

In the tumblr fandom system, false celebrity quotes are considered especially heinous.  

Online, these dedicated fans monitor reputable Hollywood news sources to reblog correct information to combat these crimes.  

These are their stories.


Theme of the day:

There is a mating pair of pigeons in the parking structure at the train station where I park my car. They raise their babies on the narrow steel overhead beams.

I once rescued one of the pre-fledglings that had fallen to the floor. Without enough feathering to fly he was facing certain death by heedless drivers expecting him to fly away at their approach.

Using my car as a platform, I carefully placed him back on the beam next to his sibling. Mom came over to check him out and snuggles happened. When I returned later that dat he was still ensconced in the makeshift nest happily peeping his story to his nest-mate.

This story doesn’t have a happy ending.
Three days later, I parked my car and walked toward the station entrance only to find Little Pidge pancaked into the tarmac. He fell, or tried to fledge (or was pushed off the ledge by his evil twin) and didn’t move fast enough to avoid the car that did him in.

Double sad story ending, today as I walked to the station entrance I discovered one of the mating pair of adults on the floor of the parking structure, having also been killed by car. His mate sat on the beam overhead, holding a pigeon vigil over his body.