The Flipped Switch

just-shower-thoughts:

Urban Dictionary will probably be a useful tool for future historians so they can actually figure out what we’re saying.

“America has an illusion of choice,” says the man living on disability checks from the government. “I’ve done a lot of research. The big banks – all those things candidates say, then they get in office and are told, this is how it’s going to be. All the big banks only pass bills in their favor. The last president who tried to do the right thing got a bullet in the head. So I don’t vote.”

And yet … the big banks probably aren’t a fan of the taxes that fund your disability checks. If such a conspiracy is true, they’re probably thrilled you’re not voting, because it’s easier to keep corruption in office when people who value integrity don’t vote – or don’t vote their conscience.

blackjack-15:

or, how Disney completely missed the mark in their latest adaptation (such as it is).

Disney’s Frozen (set to premiere Nov 2013) has all of the shiny trimmings of a surefire Disney hit–based off a faerie tale, featuring a plucky heroine and an antagonist with complex motivations and a tie to the protagonist, complete with attractive male and hilarious (though probably silent) animal sidekick(s). It’s the same formula Disney’s been using for years, with better-than-moderate success–look at Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella, or (more recently) Tangled. Take a faerie tale, make it less gruesome than the original (seriously, I’m not even gonna touch the original version of Rapunzel; it gave me nightmares as a kid), box it up with an award-bait song (Tale as Old as Time, A Dream is a Wish, and At Last I See the Light, respectively), make millions, repeat.

My problem with Frozen is not that it’s a formula. My problem is not even that it’s an adaptation; no, my problem stems from the eensy little issue of Disney having the balls to bastardize the source material and then sell it as an “adaptation” of the amazing, kick-butt, all-girl (mostly) faerie tale of The Snow Queen.

More below the cut, because the damage must be seen to be believed. It gets long. Sorry.

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The Snow Queen > Frozen

dennys:

thedanksideofthepepe:

So Denny’s how’s your first ever establishment on the moon going? dennys

the pancakes keep floating off the plates - do you understand the gravity of this situation?

(via dennys)

You and me will never be “we”

will never be “us”

will never be the graying couple holding hands as

they help each other cross the street.

You and me will never be

him and her

he and she

Mr. and Mrs.

man and wife.

We will never share a bed in

the morning

noon or night.

We will never take turns

changing diapers and

tying tykes’ laces and

reading bedtime stories

saying nighttime prayers.

You and me will never come

home from a long day of work and

find the other cooking dinner.

You and me will never do dinner or even

lunch or coffee because

you and me are not an “us” or a “we” or

the couple bound by wedding vows

golden bands and

matching twinkles in our eyes.

We never will be because

you and me are just

you and me.

And I’m here and

you’re there with

five hundred-plus miles stretched between us and

no reason to

close that distance

between you and your sparkling towers

your glistening dreams and

me and my big skies

my twinkling stars.

You and me,

that’s all we are and it’s all we’ll ever be.

I had to walk away. I had to leave, probably forever, and you weren’t around, so I couldn’t say goodbye.

I wanted you to come in, sneak in that door and wait until I was free to step up and order your hot mint tea. I wanted to look in your eyes one last time and I wanted you to look in mine and I wanted to fumble with your change or your credit receipt as I handed it back with a pen, and I wanted to tell you, “I’m leaving. Tomorrow. The City and all its lights, cameras, actions, broken dreams and drifting dreamers. The homeless and their cardboard signs, this restaurant, the espresso machine. I’m leaving, and you’re staying, and these five sightings (because if you’d come in again, it would have been the fifth time I’d seen you) will be all we have of each other. What’s your name? Please tell me so I can know it legitimately and not just through crazy Google stalking where I took everything I knew about you and learned it myself.”

That’s how I learned your name. And that’s how I learned you played football for Middlebury, you’re from Philly, you have a bearded brother, you are lactose intolerant, you have some sort of thing for public restrooms, you were in Connecticut for two months because of a Shakespeare show, your head shots make your face look long and your forehead huge, but I think you’re beautiful and I wish I could see your face again and look into your sparkling blue eyes and hear your voice asking me, well, anything, because your voice was nice, too, and you had a way of listening that made me feel not only heard and understood, but valued and appreciated and seen. That doesn’t happen a lot for me. In fact, it hasn’t happened for something like six years.

I would have told you all this – maybe more, maybe less – but you weren’t around. Those two days in a row – they were it. And that last time, I didn’t even get a word in. So no goodbyes for us. Not even a final nod and certainly no chance for a “see you later.” Because I’m already gone. I haven’t been in the City for eight full days, and if I ever go back, there’s little chance I’ll find you in a sea of eight million faces.