someone: youre so racist why do you hate white people thats not helping anyone

me: i dont hate white people! *whistles* cosmo! cosmo come here! tell them i love your people

  • me: some recent cartoon characters have over-saturated, clashing color palettes and making the characters PoC could help because it's harder to make darker skin tones look bad, plus as added bonus of representation
  • people in my replies: that's r ACIS T why do you hate white people!!!!!!!!
I am perplexed.

So for years I’ve seen those “This is what’s in my white coat” pictures and posts and now that I’m 5 weeks from the end of MS3 I just have one question…

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

I avoid wearing my white coat at all times. Especially when I’m rounding in the hospital. Sometimes I have to wear it for clinic, but not usually when I’m in scrubs, so not on the surgery rotations that most students post about.

The black fleece is where it’s at, people. You’re already pre-rounding on your patients. Just go grab the stuff you need to change their dressings from the supply closet and leave it in their room. Why are you carrying around a white coat that is 15lbs? It’s uncomfortable. Throw your stethoscope and a pen in your back pocket, some snacks and a pack of 4x4′s in your fleece, MAYBE a suture removal kit, your phone to look up stuff you don’t know, and GO! Write your notes on the back of the patient list. You don’t really need an extra notebook.

simplify your life.

Your shoulders will thank you. And nurses will actually do what you ask them to do when you wear the black fleece. The fleece has power.

So I have been checking up discussions from last year about Santa Claus being Black and how much of an unnecessary controversy it caused and it got me thinking, does the public even know if Batman was white or do people just assume he is? cuz lets be real, the man is covered from head to toe and only appear at nights, that’s not enough to know someone ethnicity so what if every kid in Gotham believe that Batman is the same race as them and will not allow someone to tell them otherwise?


White kid: But why do you think Batman is black?!

Black kid: Why do you think he isn’t?

White kid: Why? have you see his chin skin? its white so how can he be black?

Black kid: Heelloo, black people with vitiligo exist so….

White kid: Bu- thats-….that’s just an unlikely to thing to be. Thats all. 

Korean kid: Well if you’re so hang up on skin color then Batman might be Korean? we have fair skin too.

White kid: What?? how can he be Korean if he doesn’t have Asian eyes??

Korean kid: Ah, well not all of us have “Asian Eyes” and even if we do, Batman has his mask on him at all time, so how do you know he doesn’t have “asian eyes” under there?

White kid: Because I’m being logical and going by facts unlike you.

Arab kid: Well if you really wanna be “logical” wouldn’t it make the most sense if Batman was middle-eastern?

White kid: And how does THAT make any sense?!?

Arab kid: Well I mean the current Robin is obviously Arab and unlike all the other Robins he refer to Batman as “father” which would mean Batman is his father so it would make sense if Batman too was the same ethnicity as his son.

White kid: Okay all of you really need to stop attacking me right now because Batman is white just like Jesus is >:(

Arab kid: Oh boy if you think Jesus was white then I got some news for you…

  • James: [to sirius] if your last name is black, why are you white?
  • Remus: oh my god, prongs, you can't just ask people why they're white
things to say before it’s too late / clay jensen

title: things to say before it’s too late

warnings: depression, suicide, lowkey angst

word count: 1022

note: first writing?? i think hell yeah.

Hannah’s suicide. It hung in the air like rain clouds that refused to let down the torrential water, dark and looming and huge. Her sudden death hit the town like a hurricane; nothing like that ever happened in their small world. Many had been shaken in the impact, only few had been injured by the shrapnel that splintered from her bomb.

Clay scowled mournfully at the incredibly fake memorial in the hall for his late friend. If anyone was a true friend of Hannah, they’d know she hated roses, Mrs. Baker had told Courtney Crimson. She thought they were a cliche. The one flower that stood out amongst the various shades of red roses was a delicate bouquet of baby’s breath, white and fragile.

Everyone had known you were a friend of Hannah, close enough and nice enough to have never done anything to hurt her, intentionally or not. Clay knew that you were such a way that it hadn’t warranted you a place in the girl’s thirteen tapes and it surprised him; practically anyone who had ever come into any contact with her at school had been given a side of a tape.

The boy’s gaze turned away from the table of flowers and candles when a locker slammed uncharacteristically shut. You stood, tears welling up in your eyes as you examined the monument from your own place across the hall. These students didn’t care; they hadn’t cared when she was alive, so why would they care now? Clay couldn’t tell if your tears were from your anger at the student body of Liberty High or your sadness over one of your only friends taking her life. He decided that it was both when you stormed away, allowing the doors to slam behind you.

The two of you had met through Hannah. You had shown up at the Crestmont to surprise her at work and see the movie you had been wanting to see before it was out of theaters. The girl introduced you to Clay and you hit it off. You three talked in the halls, exchanged answers on homework for classes you shared, had a stupid group chat where Clay talked shit about low budget sci-fi movies he had seen on TV and you and Hannah laughed at his rants.

He was close enough to you to know that you weren’t okay. This was taking a toll on you just as it had done with Olivia Baker. He had realized his mistake with Hannah and, at the end of the day, knew that it was just as much his fault as anyone else’s. He needed to reach out this time, stop somebody from doing something to themselves that they couldn’t reverse, so he followed after you.

He wasn’t surprised to find your car parked out at Eisenhower Park, your eyes staring blankly across the playground. You jumped when he knocked on your window, but nodded and gave him permission to join you. The space was silent aside from the harsh blow of the air conditioner and the radio playing some slow ballad. It seemed like twenty years before Clay spoke any words.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice quiet and unintentionally wavering.

“I’m… okay,” you replied, tensing. He knew you weren’t, everyone knew you weren’t, so why were you telling such a white lie in front of the only person who knew you better than Hannah.


You turned your head sharply, so much so that Clay was worried he’d given you whiplash or something. Your eyes blazed, though he couldn’t determine an exact emotion.

“Stop what?”

He squared his jaw and narrowed his eyes. You couldn’t tell if this was his way of showing his anger at you or building up the courage to say something.

“Stop telling me you’re okay.”

That’s what took you aback; those five words made your eyes widen, blink in rapid succession, trying to analyze what his motives were behind his sentence.


“Every time I ask you how you are, you say that you’re okay, that you’re fine when it’s obvious that you’re not. A-And I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s worrying me,” he started. “I refuse to sit here and watch another person I love unravel themselves and do something they’ll regret because I was too afraid to reach out and help them. If-If I had said something to Hannah, let her know that I was here for her, maybe I could have stopped her, but I didn’t because I was scared. I’m not going to let you do that to yourself, too.”

More blinks. Clay was smart, intelligent, attentive. He knew how to read emotions, facial expressions, body language. He knew that you were hurting, that this whole situation was breaking down your mental health and sending it into a spiral of depression. You sat there bugged-eyed, not knowing how to respond.

“Clay, I…”

He was blinking away his own tears, sad and angry and melancholy. Here the two of you were, breaking down in the crisp cold air of your car’s AC unit, tearing up and wanting to reach out to each other.

“[Name], if I would have just let her know-”

He was choking on nothing, his throat was closing up; you leaned across the console, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“It’s okay.”

He was sobbing, his wet hitting and soaking through your shirt sleeve.

“I can’t lose you, too. I’m here and I want to be here for you. Just don’t leave like she did.”

You were both crying now, holding each other tightly and trying to soothe each other through your own wet eyes. It was some consolation, some sort of reckoning force that brought you back from those thoughts. Seeing what Hannah’s departure had done to her family and the friends she had left behind was heartbreaking, it wasn’t something that you could ever do now that you thought about it.

Your fingers curled and gripped onto Clay’s jacket, bringing his warmth and comforting scent closer to yourself. “I won’t. Don’t let me go please.”

“Never. Never in a million years.”

When liberals ask “Well why don’t you debate white nationalists/the alt-right/neo-Nazis and prove to them their ideas aren’t true and show them the logical reasons why?” The reason is threefold:

1.) We already tried that they don’t listen

2.) They’ve proven time and time again that their propaganda and talking points aren’t about what’s necessarily true but purveying a message.

3.) They aren’t debating in good faith and have no care for the general rules of discourse.

Tell me, what other black child created about a dozen white ocs?  

What other black child was eventually asked at school or home, ‘do you ever draw black people?’ or, ‘why do you only draw white people?’ to which you couldn’t really explain why.

What other black child had a hard time creating black characters because you either found people of your own color somehow hard to relate to or, find lovable? Or cute enough to other people to praise?

Or. What other kid had a hard time creating black characters and concepts because you had white as default drilled into your mind.

Who, at best, could create black female ocs but have more of a struggle – or outright avoidance, making black men??

What other black-twenty something feels so proud of themselves as their number of white ocs decreases. What other black-twenty something feels so satisfied as you revamp old ocs and make them look more like you and the people in your life?

nmeskel  asked:

I know you get a lot of hate, but have you ever had constructive debates with people who genuinely disagreed with you?

a few weeks ago I had a 2 hour skype with a YouTube “skeptic” that I found really productive. but I wouldn’t call it a debate, it was a genuine conversation with the intention of understanding each other. While there’s a lot we still don’t agree on, I got a lot of insight into why there’s such a surge of “anti-SJW” content on YouTube (which is why I reached out to him) and he gave me lots to think about in terms of content creation. We’re trying to find another time to talk and have even discussed the possibility of making a video together. Both of us walked away pleasantly surprised by how the conversation went and I think there’s a lot of value in sharing what lead us to talk offline that others could potentially gain something from. Prior to that I’ve spoken offline to another person who’s made response videos about me after I made a copyright claim against him and he respectfully asked if we could settle the dispute amongst ourselves. We talked for a few hours over Skype and have since kept in touch online via Twitter and Facebook, even though we regularly disagree (he’s a fan of playing devil’s advocate which I hate.)

Aside from that, sure I’ve had a number of conversations with people who disagree with me in my personal and professional life that could be described as “constructive” in the sense that while it ended in an impasse we’ve moved on because life goes on. The thing is it’s impossible to agree with anyone 100%, Heck, my husband and I disagree all the time. But I think everyone has to decide what their personal line is. There are some “disagreements” that boil down to “I don’t think X deserves the same rights as Y” and I don’t see that as up for debate.

For me, my biggest issue is people using “i disagree with you” as an excuse to accuse me of saying things I haven’t said and make personal attacks. Those are people I’m not interested in engaging with. I don’t think name calling or false accusations (i.e. “why do you hate all white people?”) are productive, so I prefer not to waste my time on those. Sadly, those are the folks who almost CONSTANTLY hit me up on social media “wanting to debate” when in reality they aren’t interested in a constructive conversation, they just want to bait me into going onto their channel and driving traffic to their videos, which I’m also not interested in doing. Hope that answers your question.

The NASA Village

Today in the NASA Village… A Hand in Everything.

Our spacesuits are built up from various piece parts, torso, arms with sizing rings, legs with sizing rings, boots, helmet, and gloves. The variation of the different pieces allows the engineers to construct a suit from generic hardware that fits, or at least come as close as they can make it. One of the most important elements of a spacesuit are our gloves. They are the only piece tailored specifically for us. Spacewalking is a bit of a misnomer on the International Space Station, since we don’t do any walking. We are floating and have to use our hands as the means for moving ourselves from place to place. This sped up example of one of my pool runs demonstrates this form of space “walking.”

With the increased pressure of the suit (to protect our bodies from the vacuum of space) and all the operations with our hands, it can be very fatiguing. Hence, the custom gloves allow us to work for longer periods of time, with much more dexterity for repairs.  

How do you make custom gloves?

Bobby Jones literally had a hand in everything, because his work included making my space suit gloves. He noted that “as part of the process, we traveled to Houston to make casts of the astronaut’s hands for use in the design process. The hand casts are very life like.  When I had these hands all over my office it looked like a zombie movie, where the dead are coming back to life and digging their way out of the ground.”

This scary looking hand looks familiar! Using the hand molds, the engineers make the design requirements for each aspect of the glove. They determine the EXACT dimensions that are required in order to have the knuckles bend in just the right places, with just enough spacing to allow the hands to flex more easily, but snug enough to provide the needed dexterity.

Then with those very precise patterns, the fingers and palm are hand-sewn within tenths of millimeters of margin!

Olga Bustos is shown sewing the fingers of a glove. She has been sewing gloves since the Apollo days and even participated in the construction of Apollo era space suits.  

The space suit has to be pressure-tight. In other words, while working in the vacuum of space, we don’t want any leaks! The inner lining of the suit is cut according to a very specific pattern and then the pieces are heat sealed together to form the barrier that protects us from the vacuum. You can see the yellow inner bladder being heat sealed by Whitney Lowery. You might be surprised that her degree is in fashion design!

There are other layers of protective material over the inner bladder, which is why you see the white fabric on the outer surface.

Fun facts you may not have known about spacesuits: The space suit weights 250 lbs with the backpack. 

The suit components come in sizes like medium, large and extra-large. (Females have to work that much harder in a spacesuit because of all the extra room).

The suits are all hand sewn on old sewing machines.

The gloves take 14 months to design and build.

Engineering is a good start, but they don’t teach space suit design in college. Get exposed to as many things as possible if you want to work on spacesuits someday.

Do you want more stories? Find our NASA Villagers here!