first published article


Early on Thursday, The Daily Beast published an article by London editor Nico Hines in which he “reported” on his use of Grindr at the 2016 Rio Olympics. Hines is a straight man, and the article is an unethical mess.

Hines, who is married with children, included the heights, weights and countries of origin of several athletes whom he arranged dates with. That he saw this as no big deal is a huge problem and shows that he is blind to his own privilege by writing the piece. Since it was first published, the article has been altered but not removed.


Luke: Who’s Cecelia, Ocean?

Ocean: Why should I know? It’s me who should ask you who’s Cecelia and do you love her?? With whom did you spend all these nights when you’re “working”?

Luke: With a dude named Harry, that is about to publish his first article about grilled cheese overdose. You know I have some experience with that, and it’s pretty unique because the disease itself is pretty unique so I’m consulting.

Ocean: Are you telling me Harry isn’t gorgeous young woman with raven hair and big tits?

Luke: Well… Harry is quite a big guy, so he has tits, but you know I only interested in guys with great hair and Harry’s bald. Not my cuppa.

a five year retrospective

I was looking at my archives this morning and the realization came to me that I have been posting and showing my photographs on Tumblr for over 5 years! Since December of 2011 to be exact. 

I am not shooting very much right now as I have been mired in inertia for the past 3 months. The good news is I am heading out on a road trip to Saline Valley in less than two weeks. Unlike the last time I was there in October, when I did nothing except to soak naked in a hot tub for 3 days (seriously it was both liberating and relaxing), I do plan to practice some photography, hike, explore and maybe travel off road to the Devil’s Racetrack Playa on one of the days.

Why then a Retrospective of my work?

Personally, I think every photographer should look back at their work regularly and frequently. My belief in this was formed and founded in a quote from Annie Leibovitz that was first published in an article about her that appeared in Fast Company Magazine:

“Those who want to be serious photographers, you’re really going to have to edit your work. You’re going to have to understand what you’re doing. You’re going to have to not just shoot, shoot, shoot. To stop and look at your work is the most important thing you can do.” -Annie Leibovitz

This quote has stuck with me for years and I do regularly look back at some of my older work as part of a critical self exam. Am I growing or stagnant? Is my style changing? Is this good or is it total crap? Am I over processing the photograph? Is it still real? Each and every photographer will have his or her own criteria and questions.

The difference this time is I will be looking back at my older work with you my followers. Let’s face it nobody looks back at anyone’s archives for more than a few minutes at a time on Tumblr and maybe this will bore everyone and all my followers will dump me and run for cover. Or maybe you will enjoy the ride and others may follow.

As part of the exercise I will make a comment or two on each photograph and maybe give you some personal insight as to what I was thinking when I took the photo, edited it and whether I still like it…or not. 

Please feel free to comment?


Noam Chomsky: Seeing Donald Trump win reminded me of listening to Hitler’s rallies as a boy

Linguist also says he believes a ‘militant labour movement’ could unseat the magnate in 2020

Noam Chomsky has spoken of how watching the results come in on the night of Donald Trump’s US election victory dredged up memories of his feelings after listening to Hitler’s Nuremberg rallies as a boy.

The linguist was speaking during the 20th anniversary party for online news channel Democracy Now. He told audience members that spending November 8 in Barcelona had a “special personal resonance” because his first published article was about the city’s fall to dictator Francisco Franco’s forces during the Spanish Civil War.

He had written about “the apparently inexorable spread of fascism over Europe and maybe the whole world”, he said.

He added: “I’m old enough to have been able to listen to Hitler’s speeches, the Nuremberg rallies, not understanding the words, but the tone and the reaction of the crowd was enough to leave indelible memories.

"And watching those results come in did arouse some pretty unpleasant memories, along with what is happening in Europe now, which, in many ways, is pretty frightening, as well.”

Mr Chomsky also said he believed Donald Trump supporters could be enticed to vote Democrat again if the Bernie Sanders movement offered a real program for “hope and change”.

On the same evening  Vice President Joe Biden said he might run for president in 2020, Mr Chomsky told the audience that reigniting a “militant labour movement” could swing the next election.

He said American workers have been beaten down for decades with weakened labour unions and stagnant wage growth since neo-liberal policies were instituted in 1979. President Obama’s supporters in 2008 and 2012 were voting for his slogan of “hope and change”, but were disappointed.

Ten Plants, Herbs, and Roots Common in Medieval Dalraida

Published January 1, 1749

Well, it is finally upon us. The Year 1748 has passed, and a new tewlve Months has arrived! With this new Year, I have decided to publish my first Article, the long-awaited Dissertation of ten herbs, plants, and roots you did not know were in common use during Medieval Dalraida! Please relax and enjoy, dear Readers, as I have slaved and toiled many Moons on this special List. Perhaps you may learn something!

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anonymous asked:

'from ashes you still rise' - fic title thing

Five years ago Frank Castle died. After being chased by police, a car he’d stolen was found in a ravine, the body inside charred beyond recognition. No one went to the funeral.

Five years after the worst year of her life, Karen Page has moved on. Now a reporter for a major national newspaper, she stumbles onto the story of a lifetime, a scandal reaching to the highest levels of New York politics. After Karen’s first article is published, her informant is found dead, his body left laying on the same park bench where they used to meet. That night she starts receiving threatening phone calls and text messages from unknown numbers. Attacked outside her apartment building, Karen wakes in the hospital and finds a face in the shadows she never thought she’d never see again. Five years after his death, Frank Castle is back to the protect the one person who believed in him, the one person left in the world he would die for. Again.

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

George McJunkin was a remarkable man whose discovery re-wrote the books on early man in North America.  His intellectual curiosity and determination continue to inspire a new generation of archaeologists.  

George McJunkin was born a slave near Midway, Texas in 1851.  George was freed at the age of 14 after the Civil War ended.  Although he was fluent in Spanish, experienced with horses, and used to helping his father in his blacksmith shop, he never had the opportunity to learn to read.  He left home to join a cattle drive, ended up in northeastern New Mexico, and never returned to Texas.  Along the way he stopped to help a man dig a well.  He earned a handful of quarters, the first money he had ever been paid for his work.  He used it to buy the first footwear he had ever worn– a used pair of cowboy boots.  

His skills increased with each new job he took on, and eventually word got around that he was one of the best horse breakers and cowboys in New Mexico.  He traded lessons in breaking horses for lessons in reading, and soon began reading anything he could get his hands on.  He had always been curious about the natural world around him, and was particularly interested in science.

George McJunkin was the foreman of the Crowfoot Ranch when the great flood of 1908 hit Folsom.  At least 15 people were killed in the flood, including the telephone operator, who died at her switchboard trying to warn people of the flood.  After the flood, George was out riding, assessing the damage and saw something eroding out some 13 feet below the ground surface.  He recognized them as bison bones, but they were much larger than modern bison, and were partially mineralized.  George realized that the find was significant and tried to get an expert to look at his discovery, but it did not happen until after his death in 1922.  Eventually scientists did study the Folsom Site, and it rocked the scientific world.  Previously it had been thought that no humans inhabited North America much before the birth of Christ, and this discovery made scientific history, establishing a human presence some 7,000 years earlier.

In 1926, archaeologists studied the site, and the first scientific article was published in 1927 in the Natural History Magazine.  Eventually George was given credit for his find.  His hunger for knowledge and his persistence eventually earned George McJunkin a place in history, but he didn’t live to see it.

For those who would like to learn more, The Life and Legend of George McJunkin by Franklin Folsom is an inspiring book geared to older children or young teens, but it is an enjoyable read for adults too.

Story by Brenda Wilkinson, Archaeologist. Photos by Historic Photo, Photo courtesy Georgia and Bill Lockridge, former owners of the Crowfoot Ranch.


Here’s a personal heroine of ours and one of the bravest women ever: Dolores Ibárruri “La Pasionaria” (1895-1989).

Dolores was born in Gallarta in 1895 in a traditional family of miners so she knew since she was a child how hard the mine workers’ life was. She was raised as a devoted Catholic and wanted to be a teacher, but had to drop her studies out due to the financial problems of her family. Who would pay for my travels, books, food, tuition? (…) I was prepared to serve as a maid or to marry and become a miner’s wife, the long history of my family.”, she wrote.

In 1916 she married a mining union socialist leader, Julián Ruiz, and she became interested in marxism. So much, in fact, that she began to question her traditional and Catholic education. Along with her husband, she began to fight for the rights of miners and workers in general and helped to found the Spanish Communist Party.

She educated herself in politics and in 1918 she started writing some articles in several working class publications. Since her first article was published during the Holy Week, she adopted the nickname “Pasionaria” (literally “passionflower”) refering to the Passion of Christ. The inflammatory tone of her writings and speechs led her to jail several times but, during the II Spanish Republic, she was elected MP (1936).

However, it was during the Spanish Civil War when La Pasionaria would become a myth for the “red” faction. Her harangues to the Republican army and voluntaries were always inspiring and let some unforgettable quotes such as “It is better to be the widow of a hero than the wife of a coward”. The phrase she pronounced during the Madrid siege, “They shall not pass!”, became the motto of the Republic defenders.

When the war finished, she took up exile in the USSR and became the president of the then banned Spanish Communist Party. By the way, one of her sons, Rubén, died as a lieutenant of the Red Army in the Battle of Stalingrad.

She returned to Spain after Franco’s death and was again elected MP in the first election after the dictatorship. Dolores died in Madrid in 1989 and was proclaimed Perpetual Honorary President of the Spanish Communist Party.

Pic below: statue of La Pasionaria in Glasgow, Scotland. Thanks for remembering her, Scots!

External image

i submitted a personal essay of mine to a flurry of places starting a year ago and it got rejected dozens of times, enough times that when i opened up an email a few minutes ago from one of the places I’d submitted to, one of my favorite websites, i was naturally braced to read a rejection, something like “Thank you for the submission, but due to the volume of ….” and i was expecting those words with such certainty that i stumbled over what it truly said a few times until I was absolutely certain I was reading “Thank you for the submission. We’d love to publish your essay.”

Rand Paul announced he is running for president in 2016 today. I woke up to what felt like endless coverage of nepotism and white supremacy.

Just last Thursday, Garissa University in Kenya was stormed by Al-Shabaab extremists from nearby Somalia. The gunmen killed 147 people because they were Christians. #AfricanLivesMatter on Twitter was where I found the most information about the attacks, and the only news sources that kept up with breaking news on the massacre were international (the BBC, Al-Jazeera, and the Guardian, to my knowledge).

I order the New York Times to my doorstep every Sunday because it was a requirement for my ‘Magazine Writing’ course last semester. I grew used to getting excited on Sunday mornings: Eager to consume the most important of that previous week’s news.

I also enjoy(ed) reading the Times Magazine (which accompanies the Sunday paper), but following recent changes it’s become less engaging for me as a reader. I’m not sure “pessimistic 22-year-old anti-capitalist who knows socialism and communism are problematic but also knows our current economic system is the root of all of society’s current evils and thus must be fixed immediately” is really the Times’ target audience.

Back to my point: Every news station in the U.S. is covering Rand Paul’s (unsurprising) bid for presidency as if it’s important enough to garner 24/7 coverage. It’s instances like this where I wish I was in a newsroom to say, “Hey assholes, let’s talk about something other than the son of a previous presidential candidate using his dad’s political prowess to announce a yawn-inducing bid for presidency.”

I can’t decide if I’m more upset that the media is covering him so intensely because I hate his politics, or if I’m upset because his presidential announcement is just so meaningless in comparison to what else is going on in the world.

I told a friend yesterday, who is a news-savvy journalism major like myself, about how disappointed I was when I picked up my Sunday Times this past weekend to find only a small square discussing Kenya on the bottom left corner of the front page. I tried to brush it off as I flipped to the page the cover said the Kenya story would be on, assuming it would at least get the front page of the International Times section.

It did not. It was two pages into the International Times section. The Kenyan story didn’t even get a whole page to itself.

My friend, the one who reads news just like me and majors in journalism just like me, didn’t know the extent of the Kenyan killings. My offhand complaint about the Times is when she first heard about how bad it was.

If journalism majors can’t find (or sometimes, be bothered to find) accessible and credible news sources that cover important issues, how can we expect anyone who isn’t a journalism major to?

One hundred and forty-seven innocent people were shot while at school.

That leaves at least 294 parents in mourning; not to mention the countless friends and family members who are devastated and shocked by the murder of their innocent loved ones.

If gunmen or terrorists (interchangeable terms, in my opinion) were to shoot even one student in the U.S., there would be coverage for days. People would be outraged and heartbroken—especially if the event went ignored by gatekeepers in charge of spreading messages (also known as the American news media).

I don’t understand why Rand Paul’s presidential announcement is more important than the mass killings of innocent people. I don’t understand why the countries in Africa don’t matter to news organizations in the U.S. I don’t understand how the Times can spend weeks beating the dead horse that is Charlie Hebdo coverage, but forget about the murders of 147 people in fewer than five days.

My journalism degree feels tainted with the muted cries of those who expected their messages to be delivered. How can I be proud of my field when Rand Paul gets hours of facetime on C.N.N., but people whose job it is to read the news can’t even find credible sources on an incredibly devastating terrorist attack in Kenya?

Who is the news actually produced for?

I thought it was for the people like my grandma who doesn’t yet quite trust the internet and believes the 10 p.m. newscasters more than is reasonable; my journalism professors who have hope in what many call a dying industry; my mom who framed my first article published in my local newspaper because she was so proud that I’d “made it” in the journalism world. 

I was taught in my journalism courses that the news is for anyone who wants to take part in an active democracy. In theory, that’s pretty much damn near everyone.

But I’m starting to worry the news is becoming just another form of propaganda. Where does that leave me as someone who is only trained to work in the media?

I feel naive and betrayed for having so much faith in an industry that seems to be headed in a direction completely opposite of what I am prepared for.

It’s time for a time-tested Trilobite Tuesday. It was all the way back in 1698 that Rev. Edward Lhwyd of England published the first article that referenced trilobites. Back then, nobody really understood what these strange creatures in stone were, nor could they fathom the antiquity of these ancient arthropods. The trilobite cited, and drawn, in Lhywd’s work was an Ordovician age Ogygiocarella, a genus found throughout England, which he described as “the skeleton of some flat fish.” Here is an actual Ogygiocarella on the left, along with Lhywd’s 300-year-old drawing. 

Click here for much more Trilobite Tuesday. 

I can see the future, too.

Barry was there when Iris got her job offer. 

Barry was there to see her first official question as a reporter during a press conference. 

Barry will be there when she gets her first article published. 

Barry will be there when she gets on the front page. 

Barry will be there when she wins her own Pulitzer. 

itsjhope  asked:

I see that you've been doing a lot of polls lately on this blog. Did you finally get a job at BuzzFeed??? (well deserved tbh)

omg yeah i got hired like last week gurl u late on this news??? thanks boo i got my first article published :’)

its even trending!!!!

anonymous asked:

The last time Lottie posted the middle finger, TMZ published the first article about the custody battle. I'm ready, TMZ!

It would be lovely if they ended it today, but we’ll see if we get anything.

anonymous asked:

I really need to get this out of my chest Emma. There's no doubt what happened in IG yesterday is gross, manipulative& disappointing. But some pple in the fandom re more dissapointed than others because of their ideal image abt NT (1)

(2)Bcz they see NT as a group of angels who will save the boys from the evil OT. Which s not the case, NT is also here for business, they don t care about what we think rn, they are focused on destroying ot and gaining sympathy for L (+)

(3) for future plans. They are manipulating us for now too, but the only difference is that they have a plan and it will be worth it at the end of the day. Or at least, that s what I hope. That s all. Have a day as nice as you Emma :) xx

Yeah, I think it’s difficult because as much as we all say “wait and see,” once TMZ published those first paternity articles, we had a rough idea of how this would go down. And we have definitely been thrown for a loop, and on days like yesterday, it honestly feels like we’re being hit from all sides with bullshit. And it isn’t just Louis putting a car seat in the car anymore, it’s Louis’ family members having to take pictures with babies. I think things have gone further than we all expected (I guess we’ve had to say that about every month since this began) and we’re all really tired.

I do agree that people had too high of expectations for the team behind Louis right now, and maybe we should have known how things were going to happen when the bears deleted. I think Harry and Louis have still done what they can (warning selfies, preaching to the convinced), but their hands could really be tied right now. We have no idea how things are behind-the-scenes.

This stunt is growing more ugly and manipulative by the day, but I think (and hope and pray) that they have a plan that will make at least most of it worth it. Their new team is definitely not a group of saviors, but if they’re playing a revenge game against Simon Cowell, it was bound to get uglier than we anticipated. All we can really do is hope that it will end soon.

You & I Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“Bee, I feel really underdressed.” Chris said. They had just left their hotel and were now on their way to meet Billie’s father and his wife for brunch.

He was surprised that Billie was dressed to the nines in a dark blue wiggle dress and heels, while he chose to wear his favorite dark blue cardigan, a t-shirt, and jeans. She swore that he looked fine, and even said that she loved that sweater on him. But he knew that she was lying because she always made fun of him for wearing it, and said that it made him look like an old man.

“But I thought this was just a simple brunch. Yet here you are all dolled up.”

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A Short History Of Being Hated By Smart Men On The Internet

When I published my first real article ever, I was 21 years old, going to school part-time and living in a 100-square-foot studio with a bathroom in the common hall. My life was, in many ways, very small, and the idea of having my words public enough that eventually 1500 people could leave a comment on them was thrilling to me. 1500 people seemed enormous, and each one had its own life behind it, its own real person at the other end of the keyboard. I remember hitting “refresh” hundreds of times, watching the social shares on that first piece tick upwards, watching new comments appear, one after the other. I remember being devastated by each negative one, but still filled with adrenaline and purpose – people were talking about me. People felt something about me.

Four years and hundreds (if not thousands) of articles later, I don’t read comments much anymore. Part of this is, to be honest, out of laziness, but part of it is because little good tends to come from it. You will have the nice commenters who stop by to leave an encouraging word, or the people who genuinely engage with your ideas in a thoughtful way, but ultimately they are not worth having to wade through several cruel barbs about my nose, or my weight, or how much of a trivial cunt I am. While I used to find some sort of noble purpose in combating those anonymous, angry comments, I now find them exhausting. My life is better when I don’t read the comments, and the less I engage with them, the less they seem to appear.

And recently, there has been a lot of discussion about this kind of thing: what it means to be a woman on the internet. We talk about the kind of attention you will receive, the threats and harassment to which you expose yourself merely by existing, the endless battle to get your work observed on its own terms. And these women’s stories are devastating, and leave me feeling empty in much the same way reading some of my own fervent, violent hate does. I feel exhausted at the thought of it; unable to muster a coherent defense for myself in the face of “being told you are a fat sow who should be mutilated is the price of entry for discourse on the internet.” If the “debate” here is my own dignity, or my right to exist in my own profession, then I am not interested in engaging it.

But somehow, more than these disgusting, hateful trolls who fill our inboxes and our comments sections with cracks about our bodies or threats of violence, I am saddened by all of the men who have – in a more intelligent, measured way – fixed upon me with a strange, almost luxuriant kind of hate. The men who lurk on Reddit and plot ways to drive us out of our homes or our jobs seem beyond repair, sick in a way that would warrant pity if it weren’t so incredibly hostile. But the men who have lingered on the periphery of my career, the ones who have peppered me with a more measured, sustained hate, seem to be, in all other respects, perfectly normal. I have had conversations with female writers every now and again, and the conclusion is often the same: every so often, we find ourselves with a dedicated Smart Man – either in the comments section, or in our own industry – who feels indignant at the very idea of us. We do not measure up to his standards of Smartness, or of Importance, and on some level; represent a frivolity, femininity, and injustice that he can’t abide.

Over the years, I have had several men who have found their way back to my comments sections again and again, condescendingly addressing me about my work or making strangely personal remarks about my relationship, and my boyfriend’s imagined profession. (One of the Smart Men’s recurring complaints seems to be that I do not earn my own money, and live off the unlimited resources of my affluent boyfriend. This is untrue, of course, but even if it were, plenty of Important Male Writers have come from unearned wealth.)

I have had several who message me strange things on all manner of social media, from passive-aggressive barbs to outright attacks on my character. I’ve had men drunkenly send me messages about what a frivolous writer (and, sometimes, person) I was, only to apologize to me the next morning in the sober light of day. I’ve had men who have, over the course of years – YEARS – mocked me and my silly lists about makeup or dating, palpably offended that I was allowed to exist in the same world as them. I’ve even had Smart Men who try to initiate inappropriately sexual conversations with me, and quickly turn bitter when reminded that I was (aside from incredibly put off by the whole scenario) in a committed relationship.

Of course, women have made their cracks here and there. I’ve received angry or judgmental messages from women, no doubt – my stuff is not for everyone. But no woman has ever sustained any kind of campaign of disdain, or even dislike – and certainly never let it spill over into weird, obsessive assumptions about my personal life. That insanity has been the unique domain of men, both the overt trolls and the more dignified, discreet misogynists, while women have found more healthy, normal ways of voicing their disagreement.

And I do not feel that I should be exempt from criticism because I am a woman, as if such a ridiculous scenario could exist. I understand that a lot of what I write is geared towards a young, female-skewing audience, and therefore far from being everyone’s taste. I’m sure that sometimes my jokes are silly, or my metaphors clunky, or my online personality grating. And I dream of living in a world in which the criticism I receive – and the degree to which is it given – is appropriate to my writing. I would love to wake up and read the negative comments that my male colleagues receive: simple, dismissive barbs like “this article sucked,” or “not funny.” I would love to interact with someone once or twice in a critical, even unpleasant way (as I have with women), and then have it be over. I would love to never again wake up to nasty comments left to me in response to me going about my life.  I would love to know that reviews of my work – unlike the reviews of so many women in my industry – could be about the work itself, and not about who I am, or who some Smart Man assumed I blew to get the job.

It is easy to paint the disproportionate and hateful criticism that women face on the internet as the unique domain of feral trolls on message boards. It is easy to act as though, outside of the barrage of hate threats or ugly comments about our appearance, we are playing a fair game. But the truth is that many men – many Smart Men, with big ideas about what women should and should not be creating – are just as infuriated at our continued existence. And “playing the game” for women is much more than “doing our work to the best of our ability.” It means constantly defending ourselves, correcting rumors, or pre-empting ugly stereotypes. It means that I have to even clarify to some gross, presumptuous audience that I do not live off a man’s salary, because that was even a question in the first place, in the context of some harmless article about makeup.

I don’t think I will ever be a comment reader again, at least not for a long time. At least not until I have amassed the confidence – and I don’t have it yet, but I am closer than I was before – to not care what ugliness will be lurking in them. Until I no longer care about any man’s grossly inappropriate opinion, no matter how well they are able to articulate it.