Dudes. Imagine life here in the US — or indeed, pretty much anywhere in the Western world — is a massive role playing game, like World of Warcraft except appallingly mundane, where most quests involve the acquisition of money, cell phones and donuts, although not always at the same time. Let’s call it The Real World. You have installed The Real World on your computer and are about to start playing, but first you go to the settings tab to bind your keys, fiddle with your defaults, and choose the difficulty setting for the game. Got it?
Okay: In the role playing game known as The Real World, “Straight White Male” is the lowest difficulty setting there is.
This means that the default behaviors for almost all the non-player characters in the game are easier on you than they would be otherwise. The default barriers for completions of quests are lower. Your leveling-up thresholds come more quickly. You automatically gain entry to some parts of the map that others have to work for. The game is easier to play, automatically, and when you need help, by default it’s easier to get.
Now, once you’ve selected the “Straight White Male” difficulty setting, you still have to create a character, and how many points you get to start — and how they are apportioned — will make a difference. Initially the computer will tell you how many points you get and how they are divided up. If you start with 25 points, and your dump stat is wealth, well, then you may be kind of screwed. If you start with 250 points and your dump stat is charisma, well, then you’re probably fine. Be aware the computer makes it difficult to start with more than 30 points; people on higher difficulty settings generally start with even fewer than that.
As the game progresses, your goal is to gain points, apportion them wisely, and level up. If you start with fewer points and fewer of them in critical stat categories, or choose poorly regarding the skills you decide to level up on, then the game will still be difficult for you. But because you’re playing on the “Straight White Male” setting, gaining points and leveling up will still by default be easier, all other things being equal, than for another player using a higher difficulty setting.
Likewise, it’s certainly possible someone playing at a higher difficulty setting is progressing more quickly than you are, because they had more points initially given to them by the computer and/or their highest stats are wealth, intelligence and constitution and/or simply because they play the game better than you do. It doesn’t change the fact you are still playing on the lowest difficulty setting.
You can lose playing on the lowest difficulty setting. The lowest difficulty setting is still the easiest setting to win on. The player who plays on the “Gay Minority Female” setting? Hardcore.
John Scalzi tells it like it is. (Go and read the whole essay, then read the comments.)
Reblogged from Penguin_Watson

erosum:

Vice President Joe Biden became the highest-ranking official in the Obama administration to signal support for same-sex marriage on Sunday during an interview with “Meet The Press.”

Reblogged from erosum

erosum:

Newark Mayor Cory Booker Responds to a Question about the NJ Marriage Equality Referendum

Reblogged from erosum
secondlina:

A comic about the different types of attraction one might feel. I saw these floating around on tumblr. These were originally taken from a website about asexuality. Although, I think people who are not asexual feel these regularly too. There’s all kinds of attractions for all kinds of people. Enjoy.

secondlina:

A comic about the different types of attraction one might feel. I saw these floating around on tumblr. These were originally taken from a website about asexuality. Although, I think people who are not asexual feel these regularly too. There’s all kinds of attractions for all kinds of people. Enjoy.

Reblogged from Secondlina's Panels

[TW for trangst] Being trans makes you apologetic.

cocksucking-accent:

(AKA “I should be doing homework but this really needs to be said and I didn’t stick it in my proposal because it felt like whining and I couldn’t find a proper place to put it but this has got to be out there somewhere.”)

It does. It really does.

It starts the very first time you realize you aren’t “normal,” and you turn to your first person and tell then that maybe, you know, if it’d be ok… Maybe they wouldn’t mind calling you Sam instead of Samantha? Or Joan instead of Joe? Or could they just use your initials, maybe? If it’s not too much trouble? And this person (whoever they are) thinks it’s a game. And they laugh, or they snicker, or they ask you why you would do such a thing. Because Joan is a girl name, and you’re not a girl. Why would you want to be one? So you apologize and laugh it off, but inside you’re not smiling.

And it happens again a couple of years later, when you find your way to the internet and make yourself an account in a kiddy forum and say you’re a boy. Your little display picture is a male anime character or another. And you grow to really like this community, until one day someone finds you out for one way or another. Maybe you were careless and let a friend see the site over your shoulder, and they joined. Maybe you started IMing with someone from the forum and they saw your display photo on your IM system, and it’s of a girl. Maybe you decided to go to a meet-up and everyone realizes you were lying. Because of course you are not who you say you are. So you apologize and laugh it off, and say you were just roleplaying. Or it was a joint account with a friend, and they left. Or you clicked the wrong gender when signing up and didn’t realize until people thought you were that gender and you kept it going because it was funny. But of course you can’t go back to the site now.

Again when you start dressing more androgynous, and when someone genders you the way you feel inside, your friends laugh and assure these people that you are not what you look like. That you really do have a dick. Would this stranger want to see it? ‘Cause they’ll pull it out for you if they have to. Hahaha, isn’t it funny that this person thought you were a girl? And you laugh and you apologize to this other person for looking misleading, but inside you are kicking yourself.

And then you come out. Hesitantly at first. You come out to a couple of close friends, and you say you may be genderqueer, and you don’t really know where you stand, but would they mind calling you “they?” And could they just call you Alex, or Cory, or Logan, which are all gender-neutral? And they say that maybe, I mean, it’s really hard, they’ve always known you as Alice and it’s going to be so super-hard to keep those pronouns straight. Hahahaha get it? Straight? Because you’re not straight if you want to be called Alex. You’re obviously gay or bi or something because straight people don’t switch genders. And you say it’s ok and you know it will take time and you don’t correct them even when they misgender you through the years and they call you the wrong thing in front of new friends or in front of your partners. And you apologize for picking such difficult pronouns and for putting them through this and asking them to switch over.

You apologize when you throw the gender ratios off in class and if only you were a girl you could be divided by gender and both groups would have the same amount of people. But, I mean. You don’t mind being with the girls, right? You understand them! Here, ehm, Rob. We promise we still think of you as a guy. But it will be so much easier if you just do us this favor and let us put you in the girls’ group. And you apologize for putting them through this.

You apologize for holding up the line at a gay club because the bouncers are convinced that your ID is a fake. And when you get out at the end of the night and they’re still there, you ask them why they thought it was fake, since it’s brand-spanking-new and you just got it, with the right name and gender, this past month. And they ask you if you’re trans. Oh, you are? Well, that explains it. It just didn’t look right, you know. The font is too thin.

You apologize when you wear a dress and grow your hair out and wear make-up and they still call you Andrew because it’s so hard for them because you will always be “he” to them.

You apologize for going into the right bathroom.

You apologize for mentioning that not all men have deep voices.

You apologize for knowing about periods.

You apologize for having a period.

You apologize for not having a period.

You apologize for being tall.

You apologize for being short.

You apologize for passing.

You apologize for being read.

You apologize for fucking existing and taking up space that you have no right to because you’re a filthy trans person and should just let cis people go ahead and walk all over you.

You apologize for wanting the same rights everybody else has.

And then? Then you have to apologize for not speaking up, because it’s not like cis people could have guessed that you were having issues with housing, or with pronouns, or with the bathroom, or with surgery, or with anything at all. Because you should be both unnoticed and a banner child. Because you should let everybody know you are here in case you make them uncomfortable, or in case they do something that’s fucked up and that screws you over. Because it’s not like you were supposed to see that. If they had only known you were there, they wouldn’t have done it. But oh my gods stop talking you’re always talking about how hard you have it why aren’t you just thankful about the stuff we’ve given you.

So you apologize for being.

Reblogged from road to (know)here
Obama fielded a facetious question from then-CEO Eric Schmidt: “What is the most efficient way to sort a million 32-bit integers?” Schmidt was having a bit of fun, but before he could move on to a real question, Obama stopped him. “Well, I think the bubble sort would be the wrong way to go,” he said—correctly. Schmidt put his hand to his forehead in disbelief, and the room erupted in raucous applause.
Reblogged from Polly Guo
fuckyeahfeminists:

What women and their families could afford annually and over a 40-year career if the gender pay gap did not exist. What could you do with an extra $10,784 per year, or an extra $431,360 over 40 years?

fuckyeahfeminists:

What women and their families could afford annually and over a 40-year career if the gender pay gap did not exist. What could you do with an extra $10,784 per year, or an extra $431,360 over 40 years?

Reblogged from Kaxen Rambles
lacedtight:

sistercrow:
{previous comments snipped}
TW: Description of depression and suicide
So, one day you are walking along, minding your own business, when suddenly you trip and fall into this enormously deep pit sitting right in the middle of the path.  No clue how it got there or how you failed to notice it until you had fallen in.  You struggle and try to get out of the pit but the wall are too steep and crumbly and the ground under you is wet and muddy and you make no progress at all to get out.
So there you are.  Sitting at the bottom of a dark pit, miserable, with no foreseeable way out.  And then you hear a voice from above.
“Hey there stranger, you seem to have fallen into a pit, eh?”
“Help!  Help I’m stuck and can’t get out!  Please help!”
“Listen, what you need to do now is buck up and see the good things in life.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, everything is just grand.  Smile!”
And off they go, leaving you in the pit to contemplate how muddy the mud is and how little sunlight actually reaches you, and when you can faintly hear birds signing it is only a reminder of how far down and stuck you are.  Then another voice.
“My good friend, how nice to see you down there!”
“Help!  For the love of god I am stuck!  Help!”
“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go hang at the mall today.  We could catch a movie or something.”
“I’m stuck down here!  I need help!  Get a rope or something, please!”
“Dude, come on.  Don’t be so down all the time.  If you don’t want to come you could just tell me instead of making excuses.  Way to not care about my feelings.”
And off they go.  Shit.  Now you are in a hole and you hurt your friend’s feelings and you kinda did want to go to the mall.  And the mud is really cold.  Your feet are starting to sink in and you start spending a lot of energy just to keep from sinking in so far they you can’t move anymore.  It is exhausting.  But then a voice that you know so well.
“Hey love!  How are you today?  I bought your favorite food for supper tonight <3”
“Oh thank god!  Help please!  I fell down here and can’t get out and I am sinking into the mud and I’m so scared that I might sink too far in and never be able to get out!”
“You know, you don’t have to get upset with me.”
“I’m not!  I just need help.  I love you.”
“Well you certainly have a funny way of showing, moping about down there in that hole.  If you really loved me maybe you would climb out so we can go home.”
“I’ve tried!  Really I have.  The walls are too steep.  I can’t do it.  I need a ladder or something.  Call the fire department!”
“Ugh.  You aren’t the only one with problems, you know.  Just earlier today I stumble in a small dip in the sidewalk and stepped in a shallow puddle but you don’t see me using it as an excuse to be all self centered.  You know what, fine.  I’ll just go home and eat by myself.  I hope you enjoy your little pity party down there.”
And off they go.
You are desperate and alone even though you can hear and even occasionally see people walking past the opening of the hole.  You call out over and over but nobody seems to care or notice.  And those that do give you trite little nothings.
“You should have waited till you were older to fall into a hole.  Why didn’t you think before you fell in?”
“Kids these days, leaping into holes without any consideration for the rest of us.  Grow up already.”
“You know, if I was in a hole, I would have a grand time of it.  No rules or concerns to hold me back.  I would make mud pies all day long.  You are in such a great position.”
“Cheer up!  If you smiled more and had some fun you would be out of that hole in no time!”
“Stop crying so much.  You’re making the rest of us feel bad.”
At some point somebody hears you and actually listens as you cry for help.  They run off and return later with a large crowd of strangers who stand around the rim of your hole shouting down more pointless little nothings and encouraging you.  More than a few say things like “think about your family! Being stuck in a hole is so selfish when there are so many people who love you!”
And eventually they all clear out and you are still in the hole and the sun is setting and it genuinely feel likes there is no hope at all.
The end.  No, this story doesn’t have a happy ending.  It doesn’t have a cheerful humorous joke to sum up the moral.  You sit in the hole until you get tired of trying.  You stop calling for help.  You let yourself sink into the mud up to your knees and waist and chest.  Your friends stop coming by.  Your partner leaves you because it is too much trouble putting up with you.  Your family stops by to admonish you for being down there and embarrassing them so much.  And someday you do the only thing that would end your existence in the hole and pile the mud up over your face and suffocate, because as scary and awful as death is, it seems to be a better option than living the rest of your life miserable and cold and in pain stuck at the bottom of a hole unable to enjoy anything or feel anything.  And that is the end of my little story.

Reblogging for comment ^

lacedtight:

sistercrow:

{previous comments snipped}

TW: Description of depression and suicide

So, one day you are walking along, minding your own business, when suddenly you trip and fall into this enormously deep pit sitting right in the middle of the path.  No clue how it got there or how you failed to notice it until you had fallen in.  You struggle and try to get out of the pit but the wall are too steep and crumbly and the ground under you is wet and muddy and you make no progress at all to get out.

So there you are.  Sitting at the bottom of a dark pit, miserable, with no foreseeable way out.  And then you hear a voice from above.

“Hey there stranger, you seem to have fallen into a pit, eh?”

“Help!  Help I’m stuck and can’t get out!  Please help!”

“Listen, what you need to do now is buck up and see the good things in life.  The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, everything is just grand.  Smile!”

And off they go, leaving you in the pit to contemplate how muddy the mud is and how little sunlight actually reaches you, and when you can faintly hear birds signing it is only a reminder of how far down and stuck you are.  Then another voice.

“My good friend, how nice to see you down there!”

“Help!  For the love of god I am stuck!  Help!”

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go hang at the mall today.  We could catch a movie or something.”

“I’m stuck down here!  I need help!  Get a rope or something, please!”

“Dude, come on.  Don’t be so down all the time.  If you don’t want to come you could just tell me instead of making excuses.  Way to not care about my feelings.”

And off they go.  Shit.  Now you are in a hole and you hurt your friend’s feelings and you kinda did want to go to the mall.  And the mud is really cold.  Your feet are starting to sink in and you start spending a lot of energy just to keep from sinking in so far they you can’t move anymore.  It is exhausting.  But then a voice that you know so well.

“Hey love!  How are you today?  I bought your favorite food for supper tonight <3”

“Oh thank god!  Help please!  I fell down here and can’t get out and I am sinking into the mud and I’m so scared that I might sink too far in and never be able to get out!”

“You know, you don’t have to get upset with me.”

“I’m not!  I just need help.  I love you.”

“Well you certainly have a funny way of showing, moping about down there in that hole.  If you really loved me maybe you would climb out so we can go home.”

“I’ve tried!  Really I have.  The walls are too steep.  I can’t do it.  I need a ladder or something.  Call the fire department!”

“Ugh.  You aren’t the only one with problems, you know.  Just earlier today I stumble in a small dip in the sidewalk and stepped in a shallow puddle but you don’t see me using it as an excuse to be all self centered.  You know what, fine.  I’ll just go home and eat by myself.  I hope you enjoy your little pity party down there.”

And off they go.

You are desperate and alone even though you can hear and even occasionally see people walking past the opening of the hole.  You call out over and over but nobody seems to care or notice.  And those that do give you trite little nothings.

“You should have waited till you were older to fall into a hole.  Why didn’t you think before you fell in?”

“Kids these days, leaping into holes without any consideration for the rest of us.  Grow up already.”

“You know, if I was in a hole, I would have a grand time of it.  No rules or concerns to hold me back.  I would make mud pies all day long.  You are in such a great position.”

“Cheer up!  If you smiled more and had some fun you would be out of that hole in no time!”

“Stop crying so much.  You’re making the rest of us feel bad.”

At some point somebody hears you and actually listens as you cry for help.  They run off and return later with a large crowd of strangers who stand around the rim of your hole shouting down more pointless little nothings and encouraging you.  More than a few say things like “think about your family! Being stuck in a hole is so selfish when there are so many people who love you!”

And eventually they all clear out and you are still in the hole and the sun is setting and it genuinely feel likes there is no hope at all.

The end.  No, this story doesn’t have a happy ending.  It doesn’t have a cheerful humorous joke to sum up the moral.  You sit in the hole until you get tired of trying.  You stop calling for help.  You let yourself sink into the mud up to your knees and waist and chest.  Your friends stop coming by.  Your partner leaves you because it is too much trouble putting up with you.  Your family stops by to admonish you for being down there and embarrassing them so much.  And someday you do the only thing that would end your existence in the hole and pile the mud up over your face and suffocate, because as scary and awful as death is, it seems to be a better option than living the rest of your life miserable and cold and in pain stuck at the bottom of a hole unable to enjoy anything or feel anything.  And that is the end of my little story.

Reblogging for comment ^