Mariah... but not like Mariah Carey

things I find funny. or sweet. or weird. or downright scary
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As long as I’m the "face" of You Can Play we will be perceived as an organization run by a straight ally. And as long as straight people continue to dominate the conversation in the LGBT Sports movement, the word "ally" has truly lost all meaning. Whether intentional or not, straight people have co-opted and abused this movement to a degree that I am utterly uncomfortable with. With those thoughts in mind, last month I was honored to announce Wade Davis as Executive Director of You Can Play.

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.”
(via christinefriar)

(via emilyposts)

jessbennett:

The rules, as laid out by the Bechdel Test, state that each film:

  • Must have at least two [named] women in it
  • The women must talk to each other
  • They must talk to each other about something besides a man

I’m not going to go into what sort of shit my cat pulled today (hint: it involves me finding the head of a mouse on the living room floor!) so I’ll just post this instead.

(via kelsium)

televisionwithoutpity:

We’re speechless. Josh Malina, you win.

Happy Organs! (at Mr Robert’s)

humansofnewyork:

This woman was sitting across from me last night on the subway, working intently on a crossword puzzle. The man next to her leaned in, and said: “Can I help you?”
“Not if you want to be my friend,” she said. “One time I spent all day on one of these things, and the motherfucker next to me shouted out the last answer.”

Try to help me with a crossword puzzle and I will cut you.

under-radar-mag:

Dirty Projectors have have premiered what is to be their last music video behind their excellent 2012 album Swing Lo Magellan.

thecakebar:

NO BAKE halloween oreo cheesecakes tutorial

There is entirely too much happening here… But I’m into it. Yep, definitely into it.

(via twofish)

Women feel more guilt than men, not because of some weird chromosomal issue but because they have a history of being blamed for other people’s behavior. You get hit, you must have annoyed someone; you get raped, you must have excited someone; your kid is a junkie, you must have brought him up wrong.
Finally we have the computing power to grade homework at the same blinding speed that it was plagiarized from Wikipedia.