like okay I agree with the message but this is an edit. that is NOT what the boy is saying in this scene
The average age in Boston in the early 1770s was 14. More than half the population of Boston was under 21 in the events leading up to the American Revolution.
It really puts everything into a completely different context, doesn’t it?
Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.
It used to be a problem.
There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.
So I got frogs. It happens.
“You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”
I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.
Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.
Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.
I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening. I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.
Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.
Toads are masters of it.
I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.
When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.
I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.
I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.
But I can make more.
I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.
Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.
It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.
I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)
The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.
My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.
I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.
Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…
You know how if you go through years and years of “best science fiction short stories”, every so often you find some short story you’ve never heard of before, but it’s just amazing and brilliant and leaves you wondering why you never read stories with that plot before? This is one of those.
this made me smile.
i’m still smiling.
I was able to fit the whole thing into one gif!
It doesn’t seem dated, your attitude is dated. This is the 21st century.
Women deserve to be in STEM programs just as much as men. I’d wager they deserve to succeed in the Sciences even more than men because of the sexism and misogyny they experience.
They struggle to get in because they’re the minority, and a lot of people who could admit them are sexist (regardless of gender) because of the society they grew up in. Its not through any intellectual weakness. These women are amazing and just as smart as the men in their fields.
You have no right to say these things to these amazing women, many of whom I consider to be friends.
Wow. That seems like really fucking wrong. And offensive.
And I would love to take some more time out of my day to be pissed about it.
It seems that I have a lot of fucking science to do.
So, uh, screw that.
If anybody needs me, me and my lady bits will be getting some fucking science done.
I’m oddly excited to have been name checked by this shitty anon. Because it means that the very fact that I got into an Ivy League, top 15 science PhD program (where I fucking belong) is a giant fuck you to shitty anon. Also, shitty anons make Lewis sad. Because Lewis is a feminists science hippo.
Best way for me to deal with shitty nonnies who think women can’t do science? DO MORE SCIENCE!!!! MWAHAHAHA
Crap, I’m a woman biologist. I’d go get another career but I have a groundbreaking thesis on rapid evolution of reproductive isolation between seed beetle populations to finish.
I’m not a well-known tumblr scientist…but I am a scientist all the same. And while I could probably obtain a more gender-appropriate occupation… I’m pretty content with the fact I’m an atmospheric chemist Additionally, I am also one of the few women who have managed to be selected to intern at NASA’s airborne research program.
Do I not deserve a place in the STEM fields, anon?
Hey ladies! Mind if some physicists join in?
At the CERN visiting the CMS part of the LHC where were were working for 8 months on both computational and experimental work:
Presenting our research at a conference on Physics of Living Systems:
And visiting the Wind Tunnel experiment after presenting our research at Max Planck Institute at a Advances in Cardiac Dynamics Workshop
Yo, I haven’t posted for a while, but I’m doing a PhD in isotope geochemistry and this made me mad enough to come out of the Pb isotope lab and take this ‘selfie’ to make damn sure no-one thinks that girls can’t do science. I do what I do because I love it, and you know what? I kick ass at it. So jog on hateful anon, we’ve got science to do.
I have studied nearly every single branch of math and science including but not limited to; geology, astrophysics, mathematics, chemistry, geochemistry, geochronology, nuclear physics, micropaleontology, microbiology, astronomy, logic, physics, biology, oceanography, paleontology, and so many more. The fact that ANYONE has the fucking gall to say that women don’t belong in those subjects is absolutely ludicrous. I work harder than most people I know, and seeing someone tell me that I don’t belong in the field I have decided to dedicate my life to is beyond me. Go fuck yourself if you think that a woman doesn’t belong in STEM programs. Go. Fuck. Yourself. Let me show you how much I actually do, how much work it actually is, and how little of it some uneducated anonymous fuck would actually understand.
These are microfossils that I study. They help with finding oil that allows you to live your life in the comfort you are used to.
The tedious work of extracting mineral grains that are no larger than a speck of dust. One slip of the hand, and your data is lost.
Using laser ablation inductively coupled mass spectrometry to measure radioactive decay in microscopic mineral grains. p.s. that single grain on the screen is over a billion years old.
Did I mention countless hours of field work which includes hiking with loads over 30 pounds and elevation gains of more than 1000 feet in the scorching heat of the desert or pouring rain in the mountains to collect data? Most of which would push the physical limits of most people, yet this requires constant physical and mental work for 8 hours straight. every. single. day.
Or how about presenting research?
I know I am a successful person, and I am exactly where I belong. If you think otherwise, well, you have a lot of waking up to do.This anon makes me really sad. Lady scientists, you most certainly belong here! I love you all!
This post is so inspiring… it’s great to actually SEE ladies doing their thing in whatever STEM niche they occupy. I support all my female peers in science! (I’m a biochemistry major with a focus on pharmacology, and damn it I WILL be a doctor one day.)
We love this! Keep it up, ladies!
Do you think every president goes through a awkward first few weeks in office when they’re not sure when’s the right time to ask if aliens are real or not?
|—||it means no memories, for the rest of the night (via bigfan0fbullshit)|
#they hurt him for knowing Steve #so of course he won’t admit to knowing Steve again #he can’t #it’s not allowed (via caughtinanocean)
a list of sounds
- high heels clacking on the marble tiles of a church
- a soda can being opened
- a plastic-covered library book being pressed flat, crunching the binding
- a marble rolling on a wooden floor
- wood popping and crackling as it burns
- an eggshell cracking
- rain on the car roof
- that tiiiny squeaky sound you get when you rub two pickles together
WHY DOES THIS PICTURE EXIST?
Because misha collins renewed his vows in a wedding dress in the middle of a grocery store with a bouquet made of veggies
on december 21st we all should just agree on a time to drop to the ground and pretend to be dead
I’m pretty sure that world ending doesn’t work like that
i’m sorry how many apocalypses have you experienced???
No you’re not. That gif has never served a better purpose.
Come on. That is not a coincedence anymore, this is fate.
it bothers me that Kansas and Arkansas are not pronounced the same
I’m from the UK and I have been pronouncing Arkansas as Ar-Kansas my whole life
For all my non-american friends, Arkansas is pronounced ark-an-saw
when McGonagall finds out that Ginny is pregnant, and that the Weasley and Potter bloodlines will converge, she marks on her calender the day the child will turn 11 and that is the day she retires
HALF CINEMA CHEERED AND THE OTHER HALF WERE REALLY CONFUSED WHY WE WERE CHEERING