Sandra Bland, in her own words: “It’s time, y’all. It’s time.”
Ms. Bland was a 28-year-old activist who often spoke out against police brutality and racial injustice. It& rsquo;s time for us to stand up for her now.
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This is my thought every time something like this happens to people black people like Sandy Bland or Freddie Gray. Look; at worst, Sandy Bland was targeted by racist cops because of her police brutality activism and was the victim of a racist lynching…at “best” Sandy Bland died of injuries sustained when she was brutally assaulted during her arrest (you can hear her complaining that her head was hurt and as a result she could’nt hear) and the police are attempting a paper-thin cover up with the weak, insulting, statistically ahistoric lie that she lynched herself
But time after t ime, the cops, corporate media and the broader (white) public almost always regurgitates the tired old meme of “You can’t indict the all cops, not all cops are bad,” to which I say: THEN PROVE IT!
If ALL the authorities in that precinct aren’t irredeemably corrupt racists, then surely one of them would step up and tell the truth - but that happens so rarely that almost the only time you ever see it is in movies, and that movie trope is only used to project the idea - the IDEA - of “good cops” who are so good that they’re willing to selflessly go against the system
One thing my siblings and I understood growing up: don’t EVER call or involve the police for anything, unless someone is literally on the verge of death, and maybe not even then, because who knows if you will be blamed or “accidentally” killed by the cops yourself? The police are NOT here to s erve or protect black people
I understand that for a lot of white people reading this, what I’m saying is a 100% foreign concept (you should see some of the blithe, totally oblivious comments left by white people on this Sandy Bland post) because although Black/PoC and White people may be in the same country, we live in two completely different Americas with two sets of rules. The most slack I’m willing to cut “good” cops is what J. Cole once said…
J. Cole: “I think there are good and great people who ARE cops. But I think the term “good cop” is an oxymoron. Because the job ain’t good. They are part of a machine that ain’t good. They are agents of a machine that’s not good. Are there good people in those roles? Absolutely! Great people who really thought they were joining to make a difference who currently find themselves fucking up people’s days.”
Please be careful out there if you’re black. And please, always record the police. It may not always save a life, but maybe, just maybe it will help get someone justice
Road Trip Rules:
Pack Light. Think of it as extra legroom you buy for– wait for it– nothing!
Be Prepared. An atlas in the backseat pocket never hurt anyone. Car phone charger and device to connect your tunes to the stereo are essential. Don’t leave without at least one bottle of H2O. Shades. AAA. A good book. Unlimited goodwill. Notebook in which you make your own list…
Dress Comfortably Cool. Tank top or tee, zip-up hoodie, sneakers, shorts or worn in jeans. Bring a stylish hat to wear when you step out on new ground.
Go with a Wing-Woman or -Man. It’s safer to take a buddy, for one reason, and, of course, it’s more fun. Passengers keep drivers awake on the road and road trips are famous friendship-builders. You gotta have someone to phone her friend when you wind up in Kalamazoo randomly. And you just might need someone to cheer you up after an unexpected speeding ticket or to help (or know how to) change a flat tire.
Play Games. It’s especially fun to make up a game along the way. But to start, jump in with tried and true 20 Questions, I Spy, Slug Bug, Hangman, or “The Movie Game” (AKA Six Degrees of Kevin Spacey).
Dive Deep in Conversation. Now’s the perfect time to engage in creative expression. Take advantage of friendship therapy. Give yourself a chance to learn something new about yourself. Practice listening.
Enjoy Some Silence. It’s great for reflection.
Detour. Do take the scenic route, at least part of the way. Stop to snap random pictures. Breathe in a brand-new-to-you corner of our planet.
So it all started, or rather re-opened up… with this Schick TrimStyle commercial. It came on one afternoon when my grandmother, sister, and I absentmindedly had the TV on in the living room, as per usual. What is that about? Our youthful-70 Granny scowled at the screen. “What is that supposed to be an advertisement for?“
As you can see, it’s an advertisement for a brand new species of razor, marketed exclusively to women, for the explicitly specific purpose of keeping one’s pubes in line. Trimmed. Out of sight. The I-guess clever visual pun is that the models obviously tend to their actual “bushes.”
Thus here we have the latest proof of the dominant Brazilian trend that’s been thoroughly globalized and shows no signs of backing down. The fad, if it can still be called that, is more of a current social custom. Some men clearly even consider it to be, by now, “polite,” the shaved or waxed or otherwise bare bikini line.
I was watching a rerun of Amy Schumer’s stand up show, “Mostly Sex Stuff” last night, and found myself cracking up at her one woman “Vagina Monologue” about modern women’s infantilized vulvae.
Well. More full disclosure? The best pussy eater I’ve ever encountered was also the first boyfriend of mine so committed (addicted?) to the prepubescent girly genitals look that he requested to personally shave my pubes himself. I was in my twenties. I didn’t object, although I thought it a little weird, but in a kinky sort of way, so I let him. We were staying in a hotel at the foothills of the Himalayas in India at the time. Shaving (and, come to think of it, showering) required us to fill a bucket with warm water. I got to sit and lay back on some pillows at the edge of the bed while my not-yet-ex boyfriend (note, 17 years my senior!) squatted between my legs, soaped me up, and (#wipemedown) very carefully gave me the cleanest shave I&rsqu
o;ve ever had in my life. He more than looked at me, more than touched me, he was taking care– albeit purely aesthetic, nonessential, perhaps even a little bit patronizing– care of me and every one of my most intimate nooks and crannies. He then proceeded to reward me for this painstaking (if not at all painful; like I said, he was extraordinarily careful) effort, with his tongue. I could NOT complain! So I have to disagree with Ms. Ensler. I know from experiential fact how much of a pussy lover a hair removal enthusiast can be. We repeated this ritual basically as often as possible. (We broke up when we each moved to different countries).
Back to the commercial. And my grandmother asking what on earth the women with trimmed bushes, poolside, were advertising. Honestly, watching it, I saw two things immediately: 1. How actually useful such a bikini razor will be –is– in the not at all distant future of girls, young ladies, women, co-ed
swimming, and foreplay. 2. The world is a different place, therefore.
Think about it. When you were little, what was the most scandalous commercial that could possibly air in front of your innocent eyes during prime television watching time? Maybe some semi-raunchy beer commercial, where everyone is at least fully clothed and the passes going on between men and women were for the most part above our heads/boring to us. Or probably an ad for menstrual products. Sanitary napkins with their blue liquid proofs were just weird enough on screen to pique an older child’s curiosity. That curiosity may have lead to important growing-up conversations about, well, growing up female, the menstrual cycle, sex, pregnancy.
What conversations, then, might the bikini trimming ads launch for families? Will we now have to talk about desire, sexual desire– and, one could hope, all of its diversity– with our young children? Because it&rsq
uo;s hardly a necessity to shear one’s genitals like sheep, hardly an essential step to becoming an adult, whether sexually active or not. And yet, it almost is now. At least for girls.
In “Mostly Sex Stuff,” Amy Schumer shares a memory of her mother occasionally bottomless and the thicket of pubic hair that “followed her around.” I have similar memories of the hairy-down-there normalcy of my mom. So what happened? When (not to mention why) exactly did things change?
“SHAVE YOUR PUSSY” reads a sign in two of my gay male friends’ apartment bathroom in Berlin. This has become universal mandate, apparently. All of which reminds me of being 12 to 14 years old in the summertime.
So, I am a casual, occasional pussy-shaver. I’ve had the wax once, and once was enough. But when I’m in a relationship the pruning, almost naturally, becomes much more regular. I remember that first time, with my “Himalayan hairstylist,” not only because in that case it felt so worth it, but also because it was not as if I had never removed hair around there before. I have always attempted to tackle the edges, at least once a summer, every summer, for bikini season. Ever since my pubic hair started growing and every so often, frustratingly showing up outside my actual bikini’s lines. That recollection is what made me rea lize how (sexually? gender-ly?) conditioned my generation truly is.
We have grown up with the skimpiest bathing suits ever invented on the planet (and no, nakedness doesn’t count. Not at all in this context, actually; nudity could really be natural). While exposed, we are some of the most insecure teenagers, too, and this, combined with an unhealthy dose of misogyny, has lead to some of the most female-hair-phobic sexual desires perhaps the world has ever known.
Fortunately, maybe, women will strike back, with the revenge of the armpit hair! A trend I’ve caught whispers of this summer, 2015. I’m ready for it. Then again, maybe it’s ‘cause I never got an orgasm from between or under my arms.