really sick of seeing so much hate directed towards the police on here. look, we get it, you prefer sting’s solo work, i like it too alright? that doesnt mean ‘every little thing she does is magic’ and ‘can’t stand losing you’ arent awesome jams. ‘roxanne’ and ‘don’t stand so close to me’ are classic, don’t even get me started on ‘spirits in the material world’. just stop ok?
Lisa Simpson at Stuff-n-Hug
This really says a LOT
simpsons is so next level
I took my girls shopping for some summer clothes Saturday. T-shirts, jeans, shorts. They both love Marvel and superheroes and transformers and Hogwarts and stuff like that. Not so much pink and pretty stuff. They’ve both grown so much that this was the first time we were shopping in the grown up women’s section. Boring selections when it comes to t-shirts. Flowers and zebras and butterflies.
But what was making it near impossible was that all the t-shirts, the few they kinda-sorta liked, had either low/wide cut necklines or were extremely tailored for nipped in waists with little cap sleeves and short hemlines. Showing way too much skin for their ages as far as we all were concerned. So we headed over to the men’s section. A whole WALL full of properly cut tees with great designs on them!
They ran over and started hunting up things they liked. Two women were stocking shelves.
"You know these are MEN’S shirts."
"The girl’s section is over there."
"There’s not gonna be any Princesses over here, darlin’."
"These shirts are for the boys."
"This isn’t going to fit you right, honey."
I ignored the first time one of them said anything. Just told the girls what sizes they needed to look for and that they could each pick five shirts. But the women kept interrupting me. I tried to stay polite. “Yes, I know this is the men’s department.” But they kept making comments.
Finally I was getting mad. I told them we didn’t need any help. My girls were allowed to wear whatever they liked and they didn’t like the shirt designs in the women’s section and I didn’t like how low the necklines were.
Instead of just noticing that I was getting fed up with their “help”, they started arguing with me! One of them told my oldest, who is conventionally cute and skinny and starting to fill out (but still only 12), that “Oh that’s just because he’s your daddy. He doesn’t understand that a girl wants to show off for the boys!”
That was the last straw. I’m afraid I totally lost my temper. I told them (amongst a few other choice words) that they’d better walk away and come back to finish restocking the shelves once we’d left the area or I’d get the manager.
I try hard not to be rude to sales people and people in the service industry. That’s a difficult and thankless job. But for fuck’s sake! The first few comments were bad enough, but trying to undermine my moral authority with my kids? All in the name of gender and sexuality policing. They couldn’t get past the idea that my girls might prefer t-shirts that had “boy” designs on them and that didn’t hyper-sexualize them. The idea was abhorrent to them and they had to interfere and then KEEP interfering.
Once our sales “help” was gone, the girls found a bunch of shirts. Captain America, Minecraft, Doctor Who, Batman, Avengers. All the stuff they’re into. I mean, they also like MLP and Littlest Pet Shop and soft fluffy stuffed animals and Monster High dolls. We hit the toy section too for some of that stuff cos they brought their saved-up allowances with them.
At least we didn’t get any “help” in the shoe section. They’d’ve had a cow again cos while the youngest found a cute pair of pink and purple sneakers, I ‘let’ the oldest go to the men’s section and find a cool pair of dark blue and grey ones. (and omg their feet are huge! youngest wears a women’s size 9.5 and oldest wars a men’s 8. FFS, I wear a men’s 8.5. Their feet are almost as big as mine! How’d that happen?)
I hate this gender policing shit and won’t put up with it at all. I always feel for kids whose parents enforce this shit. I see it at stores when a girl or boy strays outside the lines, too often the parents are the one who pull them back into their place and it makes me sad.
Like, their friends who are boys, when they’re over at our house, they sit there and play with the girl toys as much as the boy toys. One of the boys loves playing LPS with my youngest, making up stories and stuff. The first time I walked out into the playroom and saw, he got so nervous and tried to say that he was just doing it to be nice to her. I told him that it was fine. He could play with whatever he wanted to and I wouldn’t tell anyone. Word got around to the other boys I guess cos now they all play whatever and don’t stop if I “catch” them.
I get shit from my mom about it too. I’m trying to make them into little boys. I shouldn’t have bought them trucks and toy swords when they were little. The oldest needs to learn to start wearing dresses now not just blue jeans. Why did I ‘let’ her get her hair cut short? I need to put the youngest on a diet and make her wear training bras. Why do I let them play with boys? etc etc etc.
I just find it so hard to believe that it’s the 21st century and people are still getting their knickers in a twist over this kind of thing.
^^^^ This man deserves a dad of the year award. ^^^^
This is one of the best posts on tumblr
- White people: You have to wait for the facts before you talk about Ferguson!
- Eyewitnesses: He was on his knees with his hands up.
- Medical examiner: There was no gunpowder residue on Mike Brown, no sign of struggle, and there were entry wounds on the inside of his arms and the top of his head, implying he was on his knees with his hands up.
- Convenience store owner and clerk: There was no robbery and we didn't call the cops.
- Ferguson PD: Okay, we admit it, Wilson didn't know anything happened at the convenience store and we determined no crime was committed.
- White people: Nobody can say what happened! We still have to wait for the facts to come in!
ok so heres the deal and man i really didnt want to make this post but it’s lookin like i absolutely have to: i was 100% under the impression i had another paycheck coming before rent this month but that is VERY not the case and depending on how big this weeks pay is i might be just about $30 under which isnt awful except we dont really have any food in the house and im not exactly keen on living off one frozen pizza and a jar of peanut butter for the next 10 days? now im not asking for donations here bc im not comfortable with that but if you would consider checking out my shop i’d be really grateful? any money i get is goin straight to rent and food and i literally only need like $50 to be 100% fine? i’ve been working extra hours and extra days for the past few weeks but im just not sure how this weeks pay is going to look and i’d wait until friday to make this post but paypal (where the money from my storenvy goes) takes 3-4 days to go into my bank account and thats not enough time before rent. this sucks and i feel pretty helpless and ridiculous about the whole thing but uh im going to work way harder on reading calendars correctly from now on :-/ so yea idk if you wanna do me kind of a major solid and have me in your debt forever consider buying something from my shop or idk i have a lot of books and video games im willing to sell too so im gonna work on finding Cool Stuff to add into the shop and if you see something you like in my store but think the price is unfair just ask me to knock it down a couple $$! thanks for reading this sad ass post sorry if i bummed you out at all
Dear STFU-Moffat and associates,
From now on, I insist you describe Steven Moffat as “Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat.” Just to make sure you’re being fair.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat is a queerbaiting hack
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat’s writing features sexism and overly complicated plots that don’t really make any sense.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat has characters needlessly tell the viewer information that he should be showing them.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat is incapable of creating real emotional stakes in his stories.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat calls teenage mother a ‘slut’ in DVD commentary
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat says bisexuals are too busy having sex to watch television, and therefore don’t need representing.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat thinks asexuals are too boring to write about.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat thinks that rather than having a female Doctor, it’s about time a man played the Queen despite the fact that men had all the roles of any kind for over 400 years.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat hasn’t had a woman writer for doctor who since Russell T. Davies
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat won an award from an entertainment industry that is to its bones highly racist, sexist, homophobic, amongst a host of other things, including being extremely resistant to change, and as a result, Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat is rewarded for being less than mediocre, incomprehensible, and offensive as fuck.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat encourages and participates in rape culture by blaming women when men ogle them and making light of sexual assault.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat uses every Orientalist trope under the sun and constantly dehumanises, shames and dismisses women of colour.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat glorifies abusive and manipulative relationships in his writing, to whit: twice having [Character A] trick [Character B] into believe [Character B] is going to die, as some sort of test of faith/loyalty.
Emmy-award winning writer Steven Moffat portrays the stalking of a woman by a man as romantic.
This town in Russia is called Zheleznogorsk.
Their flag and coat of arms is a bear splitting the atom.
That is all.
*kicks down door, knocks over end table, vase crashes to the floor*
No that is NOT all, because Zheleznogorsk is really interesting.
It was a secret city, established in 1950 in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia for the purpose of researching nuclear weaponry and producing massive quantities of plutonium, the facilities for which were hidden inside a hollowed-out mountain. It appeared on no maps, and had no census data. Although more than 100,000 people lived there at one point, satellite imagery would have shown only a fairly small mining town. The mountain complex contained 3,500 rooms and three plutonium reactors, which were kept cool by one of the mightiest river in Siberia. The space had been excavated by tens of thousands of gulag slave laborers, who removed more rock from inside the mountain than was used to build the Great Pyramids. Protected under the granite peak of the mountain, these facilities would survive a direct nuclear attack.
No one called it “Zheleznogorsk.” Officially, it was “Krasnoyarsk-26,” which is something like naming a city ‘Arizona-17.’ Residents traveling outside the city called it Iron Town, if they had to refer to it at all. They were under strict instructions never to reveal to anyone the actual business of Krasnoyarsk-26.
And life there was fantastic. People living and working in the secret city received some of the best wages in the Soviet Union. There were sports stadiums, public gardens, a movie theater, and the shortages notorious in the rest of the USSR were unknown. The best nuclear scientists in Russia lived in a sealed-off utopia.
A third of all the nuclear weapons produced in Russia during the Cold War were powered by fuel from Zheleznogorsk. At the time, the image of the great Russian bear ripping an atom apart wouldn’t have seemed very funny at all.
I love the history side of Tumblr
UM, SO. MY GRANDFATHER ACTUALLY BUILT THIS TOWN, AND HELPED RUN IT FOR MANY YEARS.
He was a (Jewish) university student with a degree in electrical engineering (he volunteered for military service after his dad was killed in WWII and served during wartime even though he was underage and medically prohibited from serving in the military. He faked his papers and went to “avenge his dad” at 17.)
Anyway, after the war he started uni and graduated with a Master’s in engineering 5 years later, in the early 50s. He was then due to receive his mandatory 3 year assignment (as all Soviet uni students did - higher education was free, but you spent your first three years working wherever they sent you), except instead he was tapped by the KGB, for reasons he wasn’t clear on until his death (he has several relatives declared Enemies of the State during Stalin’s purges, and he was Jewish, so not exactly a prime candidate for top secret work.)
Anyway, they sent him to the middle of nowhere, Siberia, where he lived in a tent in the wilderness with a few other guys, and was in charge of building a city. It took over a year before any of his immediate superiors even moved out there, because it was literally in the middle of a snowy forest. My grandfather was in charge of making a city plan, laying roads, building houses, building the nuclear facilities, all of it. Eventually he and tent-mates moved into temporary houses, and then eventually real houses.
He wasn’t a nuclear scientist, he worked on the logistical side of the city, but he continued to run it until he left. They were in charge of all the infrastructure, including work inside the nuclear reactors. He was involved in an accident once, where a “minor” bomb exploded and knocked down a bunch of protective walls and he was in the hospital for a while, with radiation poisoning among other things.
Some of the most gruesome stories my grandfather used to tell were about supervising the prisoners who were extracting rock from the mountain. It was not only slave labor, it was also a death sentence. They were not given safety equipment and the rock dust would quickly settle in their lungs. Since they had nothing to lose the prisoners did everything to prolong or fuck up the process of carving the mountain. They’d set clever traps that would only be discovered months later and delayed construction. To be clear, tampering with this system, or with the fates of the prisoners, was considered treason, punishable by death. Similarly, any serious fuck up in constructing the town and facilities my grandfather was in charge of, would have similarly meant a conviction for treason and a potential execution for my grandfather.
Eventually on one of his vacations back home my grandfather met my grandma, they wanted to get married but she had to get security clearance before they let her move to a secure zone. This was actually a huge problem, and my grandparents lived apart for months when my grandpa had to go back to work and my grandma wasn’t allowed to join him. You see, my grandmother, who was 11 when WWII broke out, had to account for every single day during the war to prove she had actually been in a concentration camp the whole time and hadn’t been aiding the Germans and their allies (my grandmother was Jewish). If even one day was unaccounted for she’d be considered too risky to let into a place like Krasnoyarsk-26. She had to produce documents, witnesses, etc.
Eventually my grandparents were reunited, and life in Krasnoyarsk-26 was indeed pretty awesome. They had everything, no expense was spared. My grandmother, who had a teaching degree, became the teacher of the small school they eventually established for the children of the residents.
Probably my favorite story is how my uncle was born. My grandmother’s relatives obviously didn’t know anything about where she was, but she did write letters and tell them she was pregnant with her first child (she was also the firstborn, so it was the first grandchild for the family). Her mother, my great-grandmother, insisted on coming over to help her during and after the birth, as otherwise it was just my grandparents living on their own in their little apartment, and my grandfather would obviously not get any paternity leave.
This was strictly forbidden, no unathorized people were allowed into the town, and my grandfather wrote to his mother-in-law telling her as such. This did not even slightly deter my great-grandmother, who, among other things, managed to pull 5 little girls through Nazi concentration camps all on her own. She completely ignored my grandfather, packed her bags, went to Krasnoyarsk (the actual, non-secret city) and started asking questions about this mysterious Krasnoyarsk-26 and where she might find it. Eventually she actually managed to figure it out and showed up at the gates of Krasnoyarsk-26 asking for my grandfather. Since he was well known and well liked my grandfather was alerted to deal with the problem, and my great-grandmother made it clear to him that she wasn’t leaving. He had to sneak her in through a secret passage, basically making a long journey in the snow, and eventually illegally brought her into the city. This is probably my favorite story about my great-grandmother.
Eventually my mom was born, and as a child started having health issues. She got sick a LOT and the doctors told my grandparents that she wouldn’t survive another Siberian winter. My grandmother took her back to the south of Ukraine, to live with family, and my grandfather had to find a way to quit his job and join them. You have to understand you didn’t just quita top secret nuclear facility in the Soviet Union. No rules applied here, there were no workers’ unions. You worked there until your services were no longer needed.
My grandfather explained the situation to his superior, and his superior literally pulled out a map of the Soviet Union and said “point to any place on this map and I will find a sanatorium for your wife and children where they can live as long as they like, at the state’s expense, and enjoy every comfort and top notch medical treatment. We can do that for you, but you have to stay here.”
My grandfather refused and said he wouldn’t stay without his family, and his family couldn’t live here anymore, so. They actually eventually did let him go! He counted himself exceptionally lucky.
And then of course when he came home to Ukraine and was reunited with my grandmother he found that because the work had been top secret, it was like his record didn’t exist, and antisemitism in the real world was so severe that no one would give him a job as even a lowest level engineer. He spent months going to interviews, sending his paperwork everywhere and trying to cash in every favor he could just to get any kind of work. Eventually a friend from uni set him up somewhere, with a lower wage and a lower level position than he deserved going purely by his years of experience, nevermind the kind of work he actually did.
I only found out about all this in bits and pieces, and the majority of it started making sense in my head when my grandfather started sharing more, closer to when he died. I actually had no idea about any of this until I joined the military and became an intelligence officer. My family always used to laugh or not get why I couldn’t tell them things, but my grandfather suddenly started displaying a lot of sympathy and understanding for my position.
"There are secrets I signed my name to that I’ll never tell anyone," he used to say. And i’d say "but grandpa, it’s been 60 years! It’s all been declassified, besides!" And he’d say "that doesn’t matter. I signed my name and I gave my word. I can talk about what daily life was like, but I’ll never talk about happened in the classified facilities. Not even when they make shows about it on television. I’ll never betray the promises I made."
One part that was super fun/surreal though was comparing classification and information security protocols with my grandpa. “Oh did you do that as well? How interesting!”
This is the greatest thing I have read today and it is only noon.
This was incredible. Having lived and worked at Los Alamos, NM for a stint, it’s amazing to be able to read an account of the Soviet/Russian side of things.