100 square metres

Headline of the year.

(via nedhepburn) 

This gawker article is brilliant.

Never before has an event been so public. It used to be that names of victims were withheld until family members released them. Now, family members are identifying their wounded from photos that go viral within hours after an event. And then that becomes a scoop. Reddit and 4chan have their “own investigations” on the event. People weren’t just calling their loved ones to see if they were ok, they were tweeting it, they were posting it on tumblr, they were posting messages on Facebook for everyone to see. 

And I can’t help but think that the events that are following today/tonight in Boston are a result of all this. Notoriety is being achieved easier than ever thanks to the mass proliferation of information. And its this kind of information that people consume quickly and readily. Suddenly, we all need to know what is happening, and the news organisations are just doing what they can to keep up, to keep feeding a machine that is feeding itself. 

And that’s how the New York Post happens. 

Recently, however, I’ve begun to consider whether the unintended outcomes of maintaining my privacy outweigh personal and professional principle. It’s become clear to me that by remaining silent on certain aspects of my personal life for so long, I have given some the mistaken impression that I am trying to hide something - something that makes me uncomfortable, ashamed or even afraid. This is distressing because it is simply not true.

I’ve also been reminded recently that while as a society we are moving toward greater inclusion and equality for all people, the tide of history only advances when people make themselves fully visible. There continue to be far too many incidences of bullying of young people, as well as discrimination and violence against people of all ages, based on their sexual orientation, and I believe there is value in making clear where I stand.

The fact is, I’m gay, always have been, always will be, and I couldn’t be any more happy, comfortable with myself, and proud.

(via bg5000)

Here’s a puzzle. A video calling for international action to capture Joseph Kony, a Ugandan guerilla who commands a couple hundred men and has killed 151 civilians during the past year, has been viewed by a whopping 76 million people on Youtube. Meanwhile, Syrian President Bashar al-Assad — who boasts 600,000 men under arms, along with almost 5,000 battle tanks, and who often kills over 100 people a day, according to activists — generates exponentially less outrage. The imbalance is particularly striking on Twitter. According to al-Jazeera social media head Riyaad Minty, the #Syria hashtag has been used around 6.6 million times over the last three months. By comparison, the #Kony hashtag has been used 11.5 million times — in the past seven days. 

You can read more over at Foreign Policy Passport. 

Barf, People, barf. This should read: What almost 50 in Hollywood looks like. She looks puffy and shiny and plastic.

When I was a teenager, the concern was that teen girls were comparing themselves with Kate Moss. Starving themselves to get that heroin chic look. It’s an illness. One that continues to persist.

As I, and other women in my generation age, I worry that this is the next thing. Hiding from our age, as though years that we have survived are a bad thing. That making it to 50 and looking it is a dishonourable thing. I look at women in Hollywood who are aging. Madonna is 52. Nicole Kidman and Halle Berry are 44. Demi Moore is 48. Brooke Shields is 46. And for all these women, the hair changes but the face stays the same.

It’s frightening. It’s frightening that they don’t age. It’s frightening that they expect us to believe that this is just what aging looks like now. And it’s frightening the lengths that women — young women getting botox in their 20s to deal with “wrinkles” — will go to in hopes that they achieve this “look” when they hit menopause.

I’m all for looking your best. I’m all for taking care of yourself, getting dressed to leave the house, eating well and being healthy. I wear make up and put on clothes that flatter. I get the desire to look nice, but I will always look like me and never expect the same me to face myself in the mirror, year after year.