The March for Science on Saturday is set to be one of the largest interdisciplinary shows of force by biologists, chemists, mathematicians, medical doctors, climatologists and other scientists.
If organizers have done their jobs right, it won’t just be white folks in lab coats.
The march will take place in more than 600 locations in the U.S. and around the world on Earth Day. Organizers said it will be “an unprecedented gathering of people standing together to acknowledge and voice the critical role that science plays in each of our lives,” according to an official website.
No doubt, science is at the center of social and racial injustice issues that have sprung up in recent years. Read more. (4/22/17, 10:31 AM)
Quick fact. Ready?
The typical person has 4 vocal chords; two are true and contain actual muscle, while two are false and are only connective tissue. The false vocal chords cannot normally contract and therefore do not contribute to one’s voice.
Your voice sounds like those goofy science professors who are like super clumsy and they mess up in an experiment and a group of kids save him or get caught in the mess. One of the kids is his nephew/niece or they sneak into the house with friends trying to see the weird old man
Could you do mtmte Ratchet, Perceptor,Tailgate, Fort Max, Rung, Ambulon, tfp Wheeljack and Bumblebee finding their cybetronian s/o somewhere alone, spaced out and unresponsive, lost in negative thoughts? (This happens to me sometimes when I'm feeling numb and nothing seems real. Cuddles always help :3)
Perceptor wraps and arm around you and guides your helm to lay on his shoulder. He talks to you in a low soothing voice about science, history, anything to keep you focused on him. He gently rubs your back.
Tailgate panics at first, but realizes that won’t help you. So he takes your servos and sings to you, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles in little circles. Between songs he gives you static kisses and nuzzles you.
Fort Max is worried as hell. He puts you in his lap and curls around you protectively. As he rocks you he whispers soothing words into your audial; he’s here, you’re safe, it’s okay.
Rung squeezes one of your servos and cups the side of your face, gently guiding you back to reality. He tells you you’re safe, this is real. Once you’re ready he guides you back to your habsuite and snuggles you. He’ll talk to you about it later, but for now he just holds you.
Ambulon picks you up and carries you to your habsuite. He dims the lights and hugs you tightly, grounding you as best he can. He tries to hide how worried he is.
Wheeljack is gentle as he pulls you to rest against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and presses his helm into the crook of your neck, whispering “I gotcha baby.” He’s not leaving until you’re better.
Bumblebee buzzes and buzzes until he gives up to the fact that he’s not getting to you. He gets Ratchet to check you out, and when he finds out you’re having a panic attack he cuddles you with all his might.
Indra Das’s The Devourers is the feminist anti-colonialist #ownvoices queer shapeshifter novel you didn’t know you were waiting for until now, and once you’ve read it, you’re gonna want more. We asked Indra to put together an #ownvoices reading list, and here’s what he suggested:
Since comics are now a focal point of the giant, assimilated Borg-esque cube of mainstream arts/media/geek culture, I thought I’d include at least one comic book in the list—Gilbert Hernandez’s multi-generational magic realist epic about a small (fictional) town in Latin America. It’s like a pop art, comic-book version of Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude, and as much as I loved the latter when I read it, it’s Palomar that sticks with me as being the more moving story. With indelible characters like no-nonsese matriarch Luba (who also has her own series) guiding the narrative, gorgeous artwork to paint its world in vivid black and white, this is a huge, rewarding book that’s weirder than it seems.
Having read Bangladeshi writer Saad Z. Hossain’s urban fantastic, satirical wartime thriller (set in Iraq after the US invasion, though ancient myths bleed into the narrative) Escape From Baghdad! this year, I can’t wait to discover more of his work. Despite excellent reviews, the novel hasn’t gotten a lot of cultural mileage out in the world, and I’d love to see that change. This is at once exciting, hilarious, and topped with a frisson of exquisite mythic resonance that further complements the song of its contemporary satire.
Oyeyemi’s elegant puzzle-box of a novel, with stories within stories and genres within genres, is the kind of novel I wished I’d written as I read it. Another glimpse at the potential for wonderment when genres cross their demarcated lines and begin to intermingle in the fallow bed of prose, poetry, and the deep waters of human myth and folklore While I read Mr. Fox after I wrote the first draft of The Devourers, it’s exactly the kind of novel I’m glad exists to give my own book company of the shelves (which is not to suggest an equivalence, of course).
An essential work of science-fiction (currently in the works for television adaptation, finally) that gets right to the labyrinthine, squirming heart of humanity’s essential strangeness by having an alien species adopt us and attempt—with great and harrowing struggles—to uplift us. Butler writes with the searing insight of someone who has been othered all her life, dissecting the grotesque anatomy of human bigotry with the assured confidence of a compassionate alien observer. Butler’s work is proof that the much vaunted ‘novel of ideas’ that sci-fi is known for can also be human, intimate, and beautifully written.
I came to Delany’s writing late (getting my first taste of his pungent prose during my MFA program), but it was a key late-period influence on my writing, and on The Devourers. Delany’s importance as a queer black writer is already well established; I needn’t explain that further. Not everything in his novels stands up; his treatment of women in his narratives is sometimes questionable, and his approach to gender sometimes dated despite his bold, and at the time revolutionary, open-ness in describing sexuality (queer, human and otherwise) in his books. But they are nonetheless spectacular in their uniqueness, and astounded me with their poetry and disregard for genre conventions, with their utterly personal exploration of the sensory, tactile, fetishistic side of humanity’s sense of wonder. It’s safe to say Delany’s work pushed The Devourers to queasy and unusual places that I might not have otherwise gone.
While Rushdie sometimes comes off as the South Asian equivalent of the Great Straight White Male Novelist, there’s no denying his impact when it comes to helping legitimize brown writers within the international monopoly of Western publishing. His Booker-winning Midnight’s Children was instrumental in my creative development—a rich, literary but unabashedly pulpy fusion of subcontinental litfic, superhero stories, political satire, and dreamy fantasy inspired by South Asian folklore, mythology and history, it made me realize books don’t belong in the boxes of genre (we just put them in there to sell them). It didn’t hurt that Rushdie was a brown writer from India (albeit British as well), telling a sprawling and engaging tale of the place I come from.