pop culture
Epic love stories and relationships as depicted in pop culture, though it rarely turns out like that in real life.
All You Really Need Is Empathy
Mercy is having a sarcasmgasm on Facebook. She read an opinion piece in The New York Times and thought it was "full of bullshit" so she posted about it, laying on the sarcasm. Mercy often uses the quote: “I’d give up sarcasm but that would leave interpretive dancing as my only way of communicating.” She adds: “And you don’t want to see that.”
By Marie Wilson2 years ago in Humans
The Singing Lesson
With despair--cold, sharp despair--buried deep in her heart like a wicked knife, Miss Meadows, in cap and gown and carrying a little baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall. Girls of all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning, hurried, skipped, fluttered by; from the hollow class-rooms came a quick drumming of voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, "Muriel." And then there came from the staircase a tremendous knock-knock-knocking. Some one had dropped her dumbbells. The Science Mistress stopped Miss Meadows. "Good mor-ning," she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. "Isn't it cold? It might be win-ter." Miss Meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the Science Mistress. Everything about her was sweet, pale, like honey. You wold not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair. "It is rather sharp," said Miss Meadows, grimly. The other smiled her sugary smile. "You look fro-zen," said she. Her blue eyes opened wide; there came a mocking light in them. (Had she noticed anything?) "Oh, not quite as bad as that," said Miss Meadows, and she gave the Science Mistress, in exchange for her smile, a quick grimace and passed on... Forms Four, Five, and Six were assembled in the music hall. The noise was deafening. On the platform, by the piano, stood Mary Beazley, Miss Meadows' favourite, who played accompaniments. She was turning the music stool. When she saw Miss Meadows she gave a loud, warning "Shsh! girls!" and Miss Meadows, her hands thrust in her sleeves, the baton under her arm, strode down the centre aisle, mounted the steps, turned sharply, seized the brass music stand, planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with her baton for silence. "Silence, please! Immediately!" and, looking at nobody, her glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with bobbing pink faces and hands, quivering butterfly hair-bows, and music-books outspread. She knew perfectly well what they were thinking. "Meady is in a wax." Well, let them think it! Her eyelids quivered; she tossed her head, defying them. What could the thoughts of those creatures matter to some one who stood there bleeding to death, pierced to the heart, to the heart, by such a letter-- ..."I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake. Not that I do not love you. I love you as much as it is possible for me to love any woman, but, truth to tell, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a marrying man, and the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but--" and the word "disgust" was scratched out lightly and "regret" written over the top. Basil! Miss Meadows stalked over to the piano. And Mary Beazley, who was waiting for this moment, bent forward; her curls fell over her cheeks while she breathed, "Good morning, Miss Meadows," and she motioned towards rather than handed to her mistress a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum. This little ritual of the flower had been gone through for ages and ages, quite a term and a half. It was as much part of the lesson as opening the piano. But this morning, instead of taking it up, instead of tucking it into her belt while she leant over Mary and said, "Thank you, Mary. How very nice! Turn to page thirty-two," what was Mary's horror when Miss Meadows totally ignored the chrysanthemum, made no reply to her greeting, but said in a voice of ice, "Page fourteen, please, and mark the accents well." Staggering moment! Mary blushed until the tears stood in her eyes, but Miss Meadows was gone back to the music stand; her voice rang through the music hall. "Page fourteen. We will begin with page fourteen. 'A Lament.' Now, girls, you ought to know it by this time. We shall take it all together; not in parts, all together. And without expression. Sing it, though, quite simply, beating time with the left hand." She raised the baton; she tapped the music stand twice. Down came Mary on the opening chord; down came all those left hands, beating the air, and in chimed those young, mournful voices:-- "Fast! Ah, too Fast Fade the Ro-o-ses of Pleasure; Soon Autumn yields unto Wi-i-nter Drear. Fleetly! Ah, Fleetly Mu-u-sic's Gay Measure Passes away from the Listening Ear." Good Heavens, what could be more tragic than that lament! Every note was a sigh, a sob, a groan of awful mournfulness. Miss Meadows lifted her arms in the wide gown and began conducting with both hands. "...I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake..." she beat. And the voices cried: "Fleetly! Ah, Fleetly." What could have possessed him to write such a letter! What could have led up to it! It came out of nothing. His last letter had been all about a fumed-oak bookcase he had bought for "our" books, and a "natty little hall-stand" he had seen, "a very neat affair with a carved owl on a bracket, holding three hat-brushes in its claws." How she had smiled at that! So like a man to think one needed three hat-brushes! "From the Listening Ear," sang the voices. "Once again," said Miss Meadows. "But this time in parts. Still without expression." "Fast! Ah, too Fast." With the gloom of the contraltos added, one could scarcely help shuddering. "Fade the Roses of Pleasure." Last time he had come to see her, Basil had worn a rose in his buttonhole. How handsome he had looked in that bright blue suit, with that dark red rose! And he knew it, too. He couldn't help knowing it. First he stroked his hair, then his moustache; his teeth gleamed when he smiled. "The headmaster's wife keeps on asking me to dinner. It's a perfect nuisance. I never get an evening to myself in that place.
By Mintoo kumar Yadav2 years ago in Humans
Breaking the (Autistic) Love Code: David and Sarah from Keep the Change (2018)
Disclaimer: I am not a licensed medical professional and this series is not about diagnosing the character(s) with Autism Spectrum Disorder. This series is a personal examination of the film/TV show's plot, the character's traits and personality and how they relate to me as an Autistic woman. I will also examine canonically Autistic Characters, so take my personal opinions as just that, a personal opinion. I would encourage my readers to seek out different perspectives on disability representation especially from BIPOC disabled creators who are often ignored in the disability discourse. I will also try to avoid giving away any spoilers for those who have not seen the film/TV show but if I have to give context for my arguments, this will be a likely occurrence so please be forewarned.
By Kelsey O'Malley2 years ago in Humans
Political Reformation in the Arab World
In the last few decades, most countries around the world have experienced major political revolts, all in a bid to oust tyrannical rulers, who have sunk their countries into havens of corruption, nepotism and other ills associated with bad governance. The revolts chiefly originated in Eastern Europe, where angry activists toiled hard, to uproot these autocratic rulers, and their regime of corruption and non-democracy.
By EBONY MOORE2 years ago in Humans
Mr. M. K. Williams
I had not known much about the man behind the long scar across his face. All that was known was the fact he acted exceptionally well on the latest T.V. series. The first time I was made familiar with Mr. Williams was on The Wire. His performance immediately gathered my attention. Instantly I had become a fan of Michael K. Williams. His portrayal of his character was gripping and real. I'd bet the Producers saw the effect he had on the audience and instantly saw gold. I'd bet his mere presence was electrifying. You probably couldn't look the man in his eyes without being drug to wherever he demanded. I never got a chance to fully study the man I admired from a distance. As fate would have it, life remains too short! How could someone who possesses such a needed voice, be snatched away so suddenly? The unexpected loss of genuine artistry cuts deep. Now I must search through the list of movies starring Mr. Williams, or find the interviews or commentaries that were graced by his beautiful soul. The last thing by this humanitarian that I was able to find, was the documentary BLACK MARKET. A Subject so many prominent figures don't speak on, or do not relate, consider or understand. Black Market dives into the underworld of the popularity of drug use in today's social environments. I commend Michael on his courage to attack this problematic, misunderstood topic.
By D.C.@UN-BrokenGRAMMAR2 years ago in Humans
SIMPLY NOT SIMONE
To triumph, to overcome impossibilities are a few things admired in such loveliness. Not only physical beauty but inner confidence and resilience are even more of an attraction. Unsettling for nothing less than greatness is something I see beyond the face of courage. I can only imagine how many times you've fallen and immediately gotten back up. The hr.'s upon hr.'s of dedication is I'm sure unmeasurable. Your many accomplishments only prepare for the next challenge. And your accolades continue to command recognition. The appreciation of this woman's value continues to soar, just as high as her performances.
By D.C.@UN-BrokenGRAMMAR2 years ago in Humans
THE VALUE OF SERVICE
If there is anything that 2021 has taught us it is the need for service. Our society has become a more service-oriented world than ever before. Today, we order food, and someone brings it. We order gifts online and a person drops it at our door. We pull up in the pickup line, and soon an overworked employee hauls our groceries to the car. Even as more and more workers have opted to work from home, we learn the value of meeting deadlines and serving up content. Those of us who work in these areas have had to swallow a lot of pride, reminding ourselves each day that even simple acts of service make the world go around.
By James McMechan2 years ago in Humans