James T Kirk explained in 3 sentences, ladies and gentlemen.
THIS WILL ALWAYS BE ONE OF MY FAVOURITE SUPERNATURAL SCENES AND NO ONE WILL EVER TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME
This scene is reason #8739789789897 to LOVE Bobby Singer
After some meandering around in the last few episodes (and a Coven-less Wednesday last week), American Horror Story returned this week with a stellar episode that begins the process of weaving together the show’s disparate plot threads. Last episode, Cordelia learned the truth about her mother’s homicidal ways, Fiona was romanced by the re-corporealized Axeman, Zoe and Madison decided that there was enough undead Kyle for the both of them, Queenie was convinced by LaVeau that she belonged with the Voodoo practitioners (and that LaLaurie belonged to LaVeau), Zoe out Spalding down like a dog, and Nan was absent some more. A lot happened this week, so let’s get to it.
This week, my review includes a recap of the episode (in the vein of Television Without Pity, at least in the days when that site was worth visiting) before getting to the analysis. If you want to get straight to the analysis, scroll down past the gratuitous .gif of Luke.
How could any man not expect backlash for misogyny from a queer space pirate. Really.
holy shit dude
If you don’t know Alex, I suggest you read up on him. Because yeah, sure, any parrot can mimic, but Alex was one of the first to prove on many occasions that he understood the meaning behind the words he said.
With that in mind, just think about what he said for a sec. Alex had to understand on some level that death means leaving. That’s fucking mindblowing.
Alex also was shown to have the intelligence of a young child, anywhere from 3 to 5 years old. He could do basic addition and subtraction, and independently taught himself the concept of zero (something that most CIVILIZATIONS couldn’t do!) He had a vocabulary of thousands of words, some of which he made up himself, and had deep interpersonal bonds with many scientists and trainers, as well as other parrots.
Alex the parrot is basically the coolest bird ever.
animals are often smarter than you think. There is/was a gorilla they taught sign language to. And one day she asked for a kitten. they gave her a stuffed animal but she signed sad. She wanted a real one. She was allowed to choose one from a litter.
She named it All Ball and she loved it.
Except one day All Ball escaped from the cage and was hit by a car. And this shows you just how much animals can understand. They signed what had happened but didn’t think the gorilla would understand. But she started making weeping, howling/crying sounds and the signs for bad, sad, etc.
And then “Sleep, cat”. She understood death.
She’s had two kittens since then.
Animals understand more than you think. Depends on the animal, yes.
Kathy Nightingale goes back to 1920 where she meets a man, marries him, and has three children, including a little girl named Sally, a beautiful little girl with dark hair, like her mother’s.
Billy Shipton goes back to 1960 where he meets and marries a beautiful, dark haired girl named Sally.
I’ll just leave you to ponder that for a moment.
"too vague" writes my English teacher on my essay
kind of like the instructions you gave us you piece of shit
Your instructor is not a “piece of shit.” Your instructor is a human being, a human being who went to school to learn skills specifically to be able to teach you, for which you are obviously not grateful.
Is your instructor abusive? Does your instructor yell? Does your instructor mock you in front of the class? Does your instructor single out a particular student for their performance? No? Then you have no right to be a prick about honest feedback like “too vague.”
Teaching is a thankless, tiresome, brow-beating occupation. I have had dozens of jobs since I turned 16: being a teacher’s aide, doing construction, working in a cafeteria, being a hotel houseman, working a hotel front desk, being a barista, working fast food, delivering flowers, being a DJ (for three different radio stations over eight years), working as a tutor in a Writing Center, conducting relay phone calls for the deaf, waiting tables at a country club, working in the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant, taking calls at three different answering services, selling books at Barnes & Noble, selling regurgitated high-price low-quality hipster crap at the New Orleans Urban Outfitters, waiting tables at a John Besh restaurant, waiting tables at a cafe, being a barista (again), loading FedEx trucks, freelancing for a magazine, delivering flowers, being a liaison for distance learning students at a state university, and teaching composition. Teaching composition is, far and away, the most exhausting, stressful, and unrewarding.
When I was eighteen, I was the houseman of a hotel in a small city. The dumpster for the hotel was in the back of the parking lot, and there was a fence-like partition to “beautify” it. The housekeepers of the hotel would fill one side of the dumpster (the easy side), and then just put their bags next to the dumpster when it got too full (rather than opening the second gate, due to laziness I suppose). On Monday, the truck would come and lift the dumpster, and all of the trash bags stacked to the side would fall. When the dumpster was lowered, the bags would tear and the trash would spill onto the concrete. Now, bear in mind that this was hotel trash, not office trash; food, rotten dairy, takeout containers—you name it. It was a nasty, malodorous mess; every Monday, it was my job to take a shovel and scoop this maggoty trash into the dumpster.
This is just one of a nigh-endless list of terrible things that I have had to do for money while I was in college, because I was born into abject poverty and was raised in a trailer. I started working when I was 15, cleaning yards and collecting aluminum cans from ditches to turn in for a nickel apiece (“luckily,” living in white trashdom meant there was never a shortage of Miller and Dr. Pepper cans lining the road). In the 11 years that followed, I have never been without at least one job, save for an eleven day period in January 2008 when I was fired from the Louisiana Relay for the Deaf for political reasons. Every job that I have had has borne some element of humiliation, exposure, mistreatment, or general nastiness (please see above, re: shoveling maggots).
I am not unintelligent. I was a National Merit Semi-Finalist. I got a 32 on the ACT. My composite SAT was 1420. When I went to college, I could have chosen any of hundreds of fields.
I became a teacher.
Because the world is full of people like me: people who want to rise above the circumstance of their birth; people who want to build a better life than living in a trailer on the side of a road littered with beer cans; people whose greatest desire is to know more, to achieve more, to be more. I was lucky. I was invited to attend Louisiana School for Math, Science, and the Arts in 2003 based upon my score on the PLAN (ACT prep) test. I was gripped tight and raised from perdition.
Not everyone gets to be so lucky. And instead of being one of those assholes who thinks “I pulled myself up by my bootstraps alone; privilege had nothing to do with it, and if I can do it, you can, too,” I recognized that I had been given a rare gift, and it was my responsibility to share that gift with others.
What do you think inspired your teacher?
Your teacher is charged with trying to take a pack of not-quite-adults who are so full of hormones that they can hardly think straight. Your classmates are people who are entering the rebellious age where they are starting to have ideas that are diametrically opposed to those of their parents and believe that they are the first person to have true, clear, iconoclastic ideals—and who want to broadcast their perceived uniqueness constantly, without regard for decorum or appropriateness. Every single person in your peer group considers themselves a martyr in some way.
Now, think about everything that you know about how little teachers are paid. The pay is lower than that. Just as an example, the Louisiana Community College system pays adjunct instructors $2000 per course per semester, and limits them to three courses per semester. That’s $12,000 a year, unless you work the summer semester (Yeah, that fairy tale that you believe about teachers having free summers? It’s not true, and doesn’t take into account that teachers work during the summer making lesson plans, attending conferences to stay up-to-date on course information, etc.). That may sound like a lot of money if you’re still living at home and aren’t responsible for paying a mortgage/rent, cell phone bill, car insurance, electricity and other utilities, and your student loan, but trust me—that’s not a good salary. It doesn’t even qualify as a bad salary, to be honest. The Taco Bell down the street from my house pays $8.50 an hour; working 30 hours a week all year, that comes to an annual salary of $13,260 (not that this is a living wage, either, just making a point).
Now, think about all of the other bullshit that teachers have to put up with. The bureaucracy. The red tape. The endless meetings about meeting some kind of vague goal that filters down from a politician who hasn’t set foot in a classroom since 1965 (and his sons go to private prep schools, so he has no real clue what a modern classroom that isn’t 100% white and upper class looks like).
Composition is important. Being able to express yourself in writing is a vital skill, and being able to organize a rational argument and present it in a coherent manner with as much supporting evidence as possible isn’t an academic skill—it’s a life skill. You may not think so now, but trust me. I’m a teacher.
Newsflash: no one becomes a teacher because it’s easy. No one becomes a teacher because it will make them rich. No one becomes a teacher because they want to ruin lives. People become teachers despite the low pay and despite the difficulty, because they want to make people’s lives better. They want to help. They want to teach. They want to enlighten.
Now, I’m not saying there aren’t bad teachers; there most definitely are. I’ve encountered them as both student and peer. There are teachers who are bitter, teachers who are mean, teachers who are monsters. When I close my eyes and imagine the face of evil, I don’t see the woman at the relay who fired me for political reasons, or the landlord of the slum apartment I used to live in who deprived us of heat all winter long because he was too cheap, or the roommate who stole money and medication from me. When I imagine the face of evil, the person that I see is the Residential Life Supervisor at the boarding school I went to, who was also my teacher. There are abusive teachers, and if you are forced to deal with one, tell someone.
For the most part, however, teachers are just people who are trying to make it through the year making less money than a fast food worker. They want nothing more than to give you, the student, the best of all possible opportunities. Every day, they go to a classroom filled with students who think their lives are so unique that their epiphanies are unassailable, who would rather play Angry Birds and SnapChat throughout the class period (and think their teacher doesn’t notice) and then blame someone else for their problems when the end of the semester comes, who are about to face the very real problems of adulthood in our backwards society without any concept of how shitty adult life is. They aren’t trying to make your life miserable; they are trying to prepare you for capital-L Life, trying to give you the tools and skills to face Life and stand victorious, trying to help you be more.
So if your first response to feedback like “too vague” is to think your teacher is a “piece of shit,” then I have news for you. The problem isn’t your teacher. It’s you.
Hello? Little human? Okay I kiss you now.
Cats do this while you’re sleeping to see if you’re still breathing.
If you are not breathing, they assume you are dead and will begin to eat you immediately. If, for instance, you die in the night, your cat will begin to eat your body within the hour (dogs will wait until they are starving, but cats give no fucks and love fresh meat).
Sometimes I catch Murderface doing this in the night. Once time, he looked like this:
So now every night, before bed, I whisper: "You’re going to die first."
( ._.)./ an explanation:
The dog has an issue where his esophagus doesn’t work right; it doesn’t get food in there right because it’s all stretched out and stuff. So what dog owners (and cat owners and I guarantee you the cat ones look goofier) do is make a highchair and feed them upright so gravity can be a hero. It’s also really cute.
The disorder is called Megaesophagus.
Here is a cat with the same disorder in his eatin’ sock.
The first female African-American to reach outer space, Mae Jemison, would specifically cite Nichols’ influence upon her career choice (Jemison appeared in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation in 1993, a year after she became the first African-American woman in space) (x)
Doctor? It’s Martha and I’m bringing you back to earth.
AND HIS ASS CAME BACK ON THE DOUBLE TOO
HIS OWN FUCKIN WIFE HAD TO CARVE INTO A DAMN MOUNTAIN TO GET HIS ATTENTION
MARTHA FUCKIN JONES MADE ONE PHONE CALL
CUZ MARTHA FUCKIN JONES AIN’T THE ONE TO FUCK WITH
Rory & Amy had to deface a field with their car.
Donna had to go on solo mystery adventures to maybe run into him.
And Jack had to set up an alarm system designed around the Doctor’s detached hand.
Even Winston Churchill can’t just ring up the TARDIS any old day, he gets forwarded to River.
Martha HBIC Jones is the only person who’s got a direct line to the Doctor.
You go Martha
"Well, when I was nine years old, Star Trek came on, I looked at it and I went screaming through the house, 'Come here, mum, everybody, come quick, come quick, there's a black lady on television and she ain't no maid!' I knew right then and there I could be anything I wanted to be.”
— Whoopi Goldberg
Women of Color in TOS (without Brownface) Appreciation Pic Spam: Yeoman Zahra, as played by Maurishka
ZAHRA: Captain, it doesn’t even look real.
SPOCK: It is not life as we know or understand it.
Trivia: As a successful model in the 1960s, Maurishka was (allegedly) the first Star Trek fan to use their fame to snag an appearance in the series.