Babe, you can always talk to me. If you want to add me on Skype or AIM or something, just send me a message off-anon. Or if you already have it you can just message me. :3
REBLOG AND SEE IF YOU GET A COLOR.
PURPLE: I don’t talk to you but I really love your blog.
YELLOW: I wish we were friends in real life.
RED: I love you with a burning passion.
GREY: I wish we’d talk more.
TURQUOISE: I would hug you if we met
PINK: I love your blog it’s one of my favourites
TEAL: We have a lot in common.
BLUE: You are my tumblr crush.
ORANGE: I don’t like your blog.
WHITE: MARRY ME PLEASE.
GREEN: I think you’re cute.
CORAL: I think you’re beautiful
BLACK: I would date you.
BROWN: I don’t like you.
From Lorde to Macklemore, it’s a sentiment that’s galling for its popularity: white artists need to stop using the wealth signifiers of rap music to gesture at their self-important “anti-consumerism.” What Allen misses as she washes rims in a kitchen decorated only with bottles of champagne is that it’s not anti-consumerism when it only targets one type of consumer.
Rap owns a unique history soundtracking the triumph of financial success in a country that long barred black Americans from that success. It shouldn’t be an opportunity for white artists to wax superior. Beyond poor taste, it’s the myopia of latent racism that’s more anxious about gold chains on a rapper than an Armani tie on a hedge fund analyst.
Similarly, Lily Allen’s response to sexist industry demands for thinness becomes entirely ineffectual when it lashes out against women who succeed despite those demands. Allen is not savily critiquing the world of Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” and Miley Cyrus, she’s resentfully bemoaning not getting to enjoy the same success.
“Hard Out Here” is the opposite of Mileywave. Instead of using black women as props to further her career, Allen blames them for its stagnation. In full-sleeved dresses Allen mocks her inability to twerk amidst women of color in body suits who launch into exaggerated dance moves, licking their hands and then rubbing their crotch. Her older white male manager tries to get to her to mimic them. Meanwhile she sings, “Don’t need to shake my ass for you/‘Cause I’ve got a brain.” Cut to black women shaking their ass, so much for sisterly solidarity.
I’m sorry, Eren. I won’t give up. I’ll never give up again. If I died, I won’t be able to remember you. So I’ll win, no matter what!
Okay, tumblr, I need your help. I’ve seen things like this get thousands and thousands of notes, and I really think that this is a cause worth sharing.
This couple is an elderly couple that live in my small town in Canada’s smallest province. They both suffer from dementia and for the last 55 years, they’ve sent out Christmas cards to everyone in their neighbourhood. They’re both in a home now, and their son is doing a little project. The woman, Bev, her favourite movie is A Miracle On 34th Street, and she especially loves the part where the christmas cards come in by the hundreds. Her son is trying to get that to happen for her.
It would make this lady’s Christmas to get the hundreds of Christmas cards from all over the world. I think we owe it to this kind soul to come together and give her a Christmas miracle. If you would like to send a Christmas card, their information is;
Don and Bev Enman, C/O Summerset Manor
15 Frank Mellish Street
Summerside, P.E.I. Canada
Please reblog this and spread the word, guys. There’s also an article here x if you want to read more about them.