“I think possibly what people working for one hate the most is indecision. Even if I’m completely unsure, I’ll pretend I know exactly what I’m talking about and make a decision. The most important thing I can do is try and make myself very clearly understood.”
Even Anna Wintour fakes it til she makes it. (via annfriedman)
thingsorganizedneatly:

SUBMISSION: Hand tools at the South Street Sea Port Museum.
“I fear we are witnessing the “death of expertise”: a Google-fueled, Wikipedia-based, blog-sodden collapse of any division between professionals and laymen, students and teachers, knowers and wonderers – in other words, between those of any achievement in an area and those with none at all.”

Tom Nichols (via azspot)

GOOD.

'Expertise' as used here almost always requires the acceptance and approval of the Powers That Be - automatically excluding anyone who has knowledge that comes from experience (look, ‘expert’ and ‘experience’ have the same root for a reason), who can’t afford/has no access to traditional institutions through which ‘expertise’ is conferred, whose expertise conflicts with the agenda of those Powers, etc., etc.

The glory of Google and Wikipedia and everything like them is their ability to democratize knowledge. Furthermore, that is precisely what teachers want: to help people learn stuff, whether they normally would or not, whether it’s taught in schools or has been thrown aside for three months of test prep, whether it’s the area someone specializes in or is simply curious about… There’s no reason whatsoever that knowledge has to come from a ‘professional’ rather than some other source; that doesn’t make the knowledge any less potent, or any less true. 

There is no division between “students and teachers, knowers and wonderers”. I am a teacher; I am also a student, always, because no matter your knowledge, you can always learn more. ‘Knowers’ v. ‘wonderers’? Really? How do you think people come to know things in the first place? I’m definitely an ‘expert’ on a number of things—an institutionally certified expert, even!—but I still wonder about all those things. Besides, who determines what is ‘knowing’? Plenty of those things I have expertise in are *not* institutionally certified, and that makes my expertise not one whit less.

For instance: I know a shitload more about recovering from traumatic brain events than my neurologist. He knows all about how these things happen in the first place, all the ins and outs and mechanisms; however, when it comes to practical advice for what’s necessary to not continue to fuck yourself up in the weeks afterward, he learns a hell of a lot from me. He’s an MD/PhD, he’s about as ‘expert’ as you can get; but that’s nothing in the face of actual experience. In fact, the main reason I knew he was an infinitely better doctor than the other neurologists I’d seen is because he acknowledged how little he knew about the experience of, say, having your life force drained from you by anti-seizure medication. Despite his honest-to-Dog genius, he does not pretend to all-encompassing expertise, or treat his fount of knowledge as the only valid source - which makes him smarter and more ‘expert’ than anyone who thinks they know it all. 

And everyone knows that the only difference between professionals and laymen is that one gets paid for their achievements and the other doesn’t. It’s such a pathetic example, really: ‘laymen’ is a word created to distinguish the people who were not endorsed by the institutional Powers That Be in religious life; the Jesus Christ of the Bible was a layman, and as such was anathema to the institution. Now, we’ve all seen how much we should blindly trust and accept what the Church/etc. tells us, right?

Finally, that bit about “achievement in an area” is utterly nonsensical. Is ‘achievement’ supposed to stand in for ‘experience’—which, as already noted, is never accepted as institutionally valid in conferring ‘expertise’? Does ‘achievement’ mean an official document a la a diploma? How many of the world’s political leaders have degrees in management, policy, diplomacy, etc.? Have they ‘achieved’ less than those who have studied those topics in a fucking ivory tower? To reverse the question, there’s that old saw about how those who can’t do, teach. Now, I think that’s bullshit, because teaching is a fucking skill, and plenty of people who have incredible achievement in an area can’t go into a classroom and convey any of that in a useful way. By the same token, when those people *are* good teachers, do we keep them out of the classroom because their ‘expertise’ comes from experience rather than academic success? Never. 

This whole thing is bullshit. All those signal words—expertise, professional, layman, student, teacher, knower, wonderer, achievement—are deliberately misused, ignorant of their actual definitions and meanings, to make a faux-profound statement that has no purpose other than to bitch about how the Powers That Be are no longer as all-important in conferring expertise as they used to be.

You can be an expert without paying for it. That really pisses this person off.

(via aka14kgold)

"I worry that in an information-driven age of technological marvels, nobody will treat me like I’m a wizard-priest anymore."

(via blue-author)

I think this is becoming a sort of under-the-table war. And I’m not really exaggerating. For example, recently various academic groups and journals have been banning their members and editors from having blogs:

Academic blogging grew from the desire to compensate for people being unable to access academic scholarship,” Saideman told the Guardian. He said academic blogging has become a part of a professor’s job and that it is part of a movement to share scholarship with broader groups of people, including translating it into other languages.

One of his many critiques of the ISA’s proposal is that it further reduces the plurality of voices in scholarship, potentially affecting the number of minorities and women heard in academic discussions. If you’re telling people that the only way to be on editorial teams is by reducing your voice elsewhere, then that’s logically going to reduce the amount of voices out there,” Saideman said.

(via vayaconqueso)

greatestgeneration:

A welder at a boat-and-sub-building yard adjusts her goggles before resuming work, October, 1943. By 1945, women comprised well over a third of the civilian labor force (in 1940, it was closer to a quarter) and millions of those jobs were filled in factories: building bombers, manufacturing munitions, welding, drilling and riveting for the war effort.

Bernard Hoffma—Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images

greatestgeneration:

A welder at a boat-and-sub-building yard adjusts her goggles before resuming work, October, 1943. By 1945, women comprised well over a third of the civilian labor force (in 1940, it was closer to a quarter) and millions of those jobs were filled in factories: building bombers, manufacturing munitions, welding, drilling and riveting for the war effort.

“I am often grilled or ridiculed for my lifelong inability to manage money, and occasionally asked outright why or how I could choose to spend over a decade racking up tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt by traveling the world. This line of questioning is an immediate tell that the person interrogating me has never been poor, because when you’re poor for your whole life, your “immediate benefit vs. long-term cost” meter gets broken. I wanted to have those experiences before I died, and there was no other way for me to get them: that’s it, that’s the only reason why. It was either maxing out yet another Visa card or shuffling off this mortal coil having never set foot in my beloved heart-home of Birmingham (UK), and I chose the former. And I am so happy that I did. I feel so lucky every day. I don’t care how long it takes me to pay it all off or how much more I end up spending than I would have if I would have just worked for decades to save up — I did not want to die without those experiences, being poor means feeling like you have no future so I grew up thinking I might die at any moment, but now those experiences cannot be taken from me no matter how much debt I have. Mission fucking accomplished.

Besides, what was I supposed to do, open a savings account? Jesus, I was making $6.50 an hour. And what the fuck was I supposed to save for, a fucking college education? Man, you might as well have told me to start saving for my next trip to Mars. Poor people don’t go to college, we don’t know how to do that shit! It really feels like scholarships and financial aid are for well-connected, motivated, and intelligent poors with stronger bootstraps or better families than the rest of us. Because the rest of us were born and raised to internalize exactly one piece of knowledge: you must do whatever you need to do to be able to eat and keep a roof over your head. Everything else is for rich people. If we are lucky, we will be able to grind away at entry-level jobs until we keel over and kick the bucket and if we are not, we will starve and die on the street.

While I do know EXACTLY how much money I have available to me at all times, tangible and intangible, every second of every day, money has never felt numerable or even finite to me. It just feels like access. The balance in my checking account is nothing more than an indirect display of how much power and influence I will ever be able to have on the world. I’ve been out of the projects for over a decade now but the relentless grind of poverty, only getting to live like a normal person in those brief moments when other folks felt like being charitable? That still informs my every waking thought.

I watch how my wealthy friends navigate in the world and it is just so fucking foreign to me — they can literally afford to make their lives easier. It runs the gamut from being able to hire people to assist them with basic tasks and purchasing items whose sole purpose is to minimize stress and hassle to being able to spend lavishly on high-quality personal accoutrements that last for years and indicate to the world at large that you are monied enough to be thoughtful and patient with your purchasing decisions. This stands in stark opposition to poor folks who have to shell out for the very first barely-affordable apartment/car/jacket/pair of shoes that comes along without having the luxury of worrying about whether it’s going to completely fall apart on you a few months or even weeks later.

One of the many tiny wisdoms that have occurred to me as I’ve gotten older is that money greases the very gears of life. When I was a kid, I used to think that the way you could tell a poor person and a rich person apart is that the rich person would have more and better stuff. As an adult, I know that the way you can tell poor and rich folks apart is that the rich folks are just less worried about everything. They are so secure in their belief that they will wake up each day housed, clothed, and fed that it doesn’t even register on their radar screen. It creates this impenetrable, invisible insouciance that is at once overwhelmingly enviable and goddamned infuriating. I honestly can’t imagine what that must feel like.”
mapstostockton:

Between El Dorado and Center Street, March 2012.

It’s hard to be certain, but I think I tagged along with my parents to this office not too long after we first moved to Stockton. It was close to Valentine’s Day and I stared out the window of our car at the advertisements for heart-shaped boxes of chocolate that seemed to be plastered all over the city.
I had to ask what insurance was, and I didn’t understand the answer. I wondered what it was like to be the kind of person who actually got a heart-shaped box of chocolate for Valentine’s Day, because I could imagine my dad saying “That kind of thing is expensive" in a voice that also meant, "Such frivolity is beneath us”, and I’d never be allowed to eat that much chocolate. 

mapstostockton:

Between El Dorado and Center Street, March 2012.

It’s hard to be certain, but I think I tagged along with my parents to this office not too long after we first moved to Stockton. It was close to Valentine’s Day and I stared out the window of our car at the advertisements for heart-shaped boxes of chocolate that seemed to be plastered all over the city.

I had to ask what insurance was, and I didn’t understand the answer. I wondered what it was like to be the kind of person who actually got a heart-shaped box of chocolate for Valentine’s Day, because I could imagine my dad saying “That kind of thing is expensive" in a voice that also meant, "Such frivolity is beneath us”, and I’d never be allowed to eat that much chocolate. 

“I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.”
Maya Angelou (via createandcurate)

refinedmind:

Just before nightfall I decided to take a walk outside. The sky was low, enveloping any object in its reach. It formed a dull, purplish haze - like nothing I’d seen before. The streets were empty. Not a single soul was out. It was oddly peaceful - imagining I was the only one left.

“She woke up like she did every day: slowly pulling her motorcycle helmet off, then shaking her head slowly back and forth to reveal a long, blonde ponytail. Everyone gasped. “That’s right,” she said, kicking the winning football goal before sliding into a sheer, sexy camisole under a blazer and playing as hard as she worked, “I’ve been a girl this whole time.” One of the guys, the real sexy one, shook his head in slow motion, as if to say “wh-wh-wh-whaaat?” You know the kind. His mouth was kind of open while he did it. He was totally blown away.

She walked off the field, and she knew everyone was looking at her butt, and she totally loved it. “Sorry, boys,” she called out over her super-sexy shoulder. She always called men boys, because she knew what gender was. Now she was carrying a briefcase and wearing a pencil skirt and sex glasses. She was at law.

“Your Honor,” she said, and the Honor paid attention, “I’d like to win this case,” and she totally did, she totally beat that busted-looking male lawyer who had the mushy face and wore suits that didn’t fit. She gave a little fist-pump, because even though she’s tough, she’s still relatable. “Girl power,” she said, high-fiving her curly-haired friend, who had just appeared behind her.

“Girl, you need a drink,” her curly-haired friend said, “and I need a man.” She laughed because her curly-haired friend didn’t really get it yet, but she was getting there…”

A Day in the Life of an Empowered Female Character  by Mallory Ortberg

(continue reading here)

has mallory ortberg ever done anything wrong

(via lafindesiecle)

(Source: polyverse)

badassbitchfit:

Noomi Rapace / Lisbeth Salander appreciation post! Fucking perfect.

(Inspired by previous anon <3)

(Source: thedragonflywarrior)

Fuck, he thought, then shit. Also he thought the word cunt. Because he could think whatever he wanted, and what he wanted to think about was swears.”

A Day in the Life of a Troubled Male Antihero (via bbc03isstillhere)

He woke up ambiguously. “Hmm,” he seemed to say as he looked warily around him. Time for another day of swords or drugs or making business, whatever his job was.

(via stayinbedgrowyrhair)

He lit seventeen cigarettes, because who the fuck cared. “I’m a man,” he announced to the room. “I’m a goddamn man and sometimes I have to make the tough decisions that no one asked me to make and my jaw looks like a shovel and I have an important job, so fuck you,” just in case someone was listening.

(via buxombibliophile)

He lit a cigarette, and then turned into a cigarette himself, so he was a cigarette smoking a cigarette, and it totally blew her fucking mind.

Shit.

(via face-down-asgard-up)

tomboyfemme:

classic tomboy femme

tomboyfemme:

classic tomboy femme

(Source: duncadelic)