What do Twilight and Star Wars have in Common?

So, for those of you who haven’t heard, Star Wars VII is a thing going on now. Let’s just do a quick recap of the happenings, shall we?

George Lucas sold Star Wars to Disney, who is making another trilogy of the series. It’s an all new plot line, I heard supposedly 200 years in the future, with new plot lines and characters and even new planets to explore. Episodes 7,8, and 9 were supposedly written when the other six movies  were written. It’s not coming out of the blue. Doesn’t sound too bad right? Well, that’s what I thought too. Until yesterday.

Now, in your general musings about the day, you might be wondering (along with how is a raven like a writing desk) what Twlight and Star Wars have in common. The quick answer is nothing. They have nothing in common.

You, sir, are wrong.

Robert Pattinson is the answer here. R-Patz, after just being released from the Twilight franchise, has signed on with Star Wars. Now, I’m no Twilight fan, but Robert isn’t that bad an actor. I’ve seen his other stuff. I think the whole constipated-high acting thing was designed specially for sparkly vampire man. But now, something’s gone too far. He’s signed onto Star Wars… to play to voice of Jar Jar Binks.

Jar Jar Binks.

What the hell?

How in the world does that make sense? We are keeping Jar Jar Binks? Damn you, Lucas for creating this monster! And now it’s continuing? Wait, wait, how can Jar Jar Binks be in the movies if they’re 200 years into the future? He wasn’t even around for 4, 5, & 6. Where is the timeline of the movie?

And that’s not all I’ve heard. Darth Vader may be coming back.

What?

Yeah.

Are you sure?

That’s what I’ve heard.

But… but he’s dead.

I know.

He died.

I know.

Luke burned his body, for Christ sake!

I know, I know, I don’t understand it either. Why, Disney, why are you doing this to us? What? Did his magical suit somehow protect him from the flames and then bring him back from the grave? Or are these new movies somehow interjected in the period between when Luke was growing up and Vader ruled? Or… Or are you just insane?? Gah!

Oh no, don’t tell me, more information? Alright, bring it on.

The movies might feature Luke, Leia, Han, and Lando. I don’t understand how that’s going to work either, unless you have a time machine. Or they’re all really old, in which case, no. No. *Flips table*

I’m just going to treat this as if it were the apocalypse and prepare for the very, very worst. I’m going to crawl into my bunker, lock the door, and watch the good Star Wars movies with my space blanket and canned food. Hold onto your butts, because this one looks like it’s going to be a doozy.

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Is Pink Really a Girl Color?

I Google Imaged “pink” just to see what I’d get. The first picture?


I can’t say I’m disappointed. I am a huge fan of P!nk, but that wasn’t quite what I was going for.

So I switched over to just regular Google. The first two links were for Victoria Secret something-or-other, and then P!nk, the singer.

Then I Googled “color pink” and these are my results:
 
 

I was thinking about this because as I sat on my bed I noticed that there is a lot of pink on it. Pink bedspread complete with pictures of sparkling pink diamonds, a pink Hello Kitty sheet, and then a pink blanket on top. (Yes, I’m in college. The sheet and bedspread are from my little sister. Her bed was roughly the size of my dorm bed so we used these sheets, and my Grandma made the blanket.) I looked at it and thought to myself, What a girly bed. If a random person was to walk into my room, without knowing who lived there, the only reason they would think a girl lived there was from the pink bed. Everything else is Nightmare Before Christmas, Firefly, books, and pirates (Why hello, Johnny Depp. You’re looking quite well this evening). Well, maybe they could tell by how many bottles of shampoo I have. man alive, I have a few.

Now, why is pink a girl color? It just is, right? It’s only natural to see pink and think: girl! Why is that? Oh, right. I remember. It’s because when we’re born, girls are born in pink and boys are born in blue. No… wait. We wrap girls and pink, and boys in blue. Then maybe it’s because all girls like to play with pink toys, and all boys like to play with blue toys! No, no, that’s not right either. We make girl toys pink and boy toys blue. (And then we separate the toys into princess and superhero.)

Then how come pink? Well, I did a little bit of research trying to figure this out. Apparently, it’s been argued that way back in ancient times, when humans were hunters and gatherers, women were attracted to the red berries, and that sort of reddish tone became associated with women. Whereas men were associated with blue because they were always watching the sky for the weather; good weather, good hunt, or something like that. It’s also been suggested that women prefer pink because of the red tones, which women can see better because our sex chromosomes apparently affects our eyesight.

None of this is true. I already know why. It’s the market. Pink isn’t natural to girls just as blue isn’t natural to boys. We’ve just created it that way, and then we replicate it , over and over again buying pink dresses and hats for our little girls, because it seems “natural” to us. In fact, it’s not. In the early twentieth century, boys wore pink and red while girls were dressed in blue. (They thought that since pink was the stronger color, it was more suited for boys. And blue was a more delicate color, meant for girls.) And now for some reason they’ve switched.

Which is why I think it’s so hilarious when I get these “real men wear pink” things. As if a color could somehow negate your testosterone. This Real Men Wear Pink is a struggle not for manhood, not even from gender roles, but basically from the media and the market. The market has decided that pink is for girls, and we abide by this idea. We’re fighting ourselves. Ourselves, I say!

The market–Walmart, Target, Toys R Us, Kohls–has a sort of control over our lives. It affects us. We can see it in the clothes we wear, in the goods we buy, in the things we use. Remember back at the beginning when I mentioned all my shampoo? Why is that a girl thing? Because women are expected to have nice hair. Shiny hair. Bouncy hair. It’s supposed to smell good and look great, and when we tie it in knots it should hold strong. How many shampoo or conditioner commercials do we see a day? How many of those hair commercials are for women? Most of them. I’ve seen a few for men, but only a few.

What needs to change is not the markets, however. Because the markets are dependent upon something: us. For the markets to change, our attitude has to change. Pink was for boys, so the market sold pink boy shirts. Then, pink was for girls, so the market changed. Now I’m seeing more and more guys wear pink, and the stores are selling more pink boy shirts once more. Gone are the days when pink was only, just for, and specifically for girls. To change the world, we much only change ourselves, and the world will follow.

Star Wars: Episode VII. Meesa hopes we’re not all Screwed!

So, if you’re a nerd/geek like me, or you don’t live under a CGI’d rock, you’ve probably heard that there’s going to be another Star Wars movie. Episode VII. And if you haven’t heard, for shame. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?

Now, I read an article entitled something along the lines of: New Star Wars Movie, Sci-Fi Fans Everywhere Rejoice!

And perhaps the sci-fi fans are rejoicing. Perhaps they are all shaking in their boots with excitement for the new CGI effects and lightsaber battle scenes. They are probably jumping up and down, or fist-pumping the air, delighted to see what new magic Disney comes out with next galaxy far, far away.

I, on the other hand, being a Star Wars fan, am in fear.

Lucas already destroying his own legacy, my own childhood, Vader’s masculinity, and the mythology of that Universe, as one last kick
in the nads to his fandom, Lucas sold the rights to Disney. My only hope is that Lucas is really retiring and doesn’t have the authority to conjure up another Jar Jar Binks.

From what I understand, it’s not going to be shoot off movies, like they did in the Avengers, focusing on separate story lines. No, it’s going to be a whole new movie trilogy, a whole new story line, with whole new characters, on whole new planets, 200 years into a whole new future, on and on and on (which is the safest way for Disney to relaunch a series and make many moolahs ).

And sadly, Joss Whedon will not be available to direct.

So, here I must only tremble with fingers and toes crossed that Disney actually knows what it’s doing. (Or at least, knows what it’s doing more than Lucas did before he felt the need to add random rocks to the movie. Because what does that add? Honestly, Lucas. Honestly.) But behind all this sweaty-palmed trepidation is… well, more trepidation. But behind that lives a tiny part of my soul that wants to wait in line at midnight to see what new world awaits. Evidently, the movies were written out to be a nine-part series (and naturally the way to make those movies is 4,5,6,1,2,3,7,8,9), and these last ones are pretty damn good. And they were written back in the 80’s, so that’s good news. Things are looking up already.

Aim for the throat, Mickey! For the throat!

Ehem..

The best we can hope for is that, even if these movies bomb, like dark-hole-of-insanity, tricked-into-murdering-our-fathers, facing-the-Emperor-and-dropped-my-lightsaber sucks, we still have the old ones to replay until the residue of Disney Star Wars washes away into a bad memory we can block out of our minds and then burn the blue rays. No matter what these films are, they’re not going to wreck the old ones.

Hopefully.

Cathy and the Bullies feat. a Samoan

 Today, my friend, we’ll call her Cathy, sat next these two girls, we’ll call them Prissy Girls, in one of her classes. (Cathy actually didn’t mean to sit next to them, the Prissy Girls were forced upon her. Perhaps not unlike how the Ring was forced upon Frodo, which was a great and terrible burden, but it taught us all something we can take to heart.)

While sitting next to Prissy Girls, Cathy could not help but overhear their conversation… because they were right next to her and talking not-so-quietly. They would comment on every girl that walked into class. Such as: “She is not cute” and “Look at her hair!” and “She’s not pretty at all”. Mind you, I’m in college. Let me repeat that: I am in college.

First of all, when I was watching Mean Girls, I didn’t realize that real human beings actually acted like that, because no where during high school did I ever come into contact with that. I thought that the drama in that movie was in fact dramatized for dramatic affect. But apparently, someone went down to a high school under cover with a video camera and hid behind lockers and chemistry books to capture real-life footage of high school girls and then made it into a movie.

Second, oh my god, what the hell? Seriously, who does that? I find it absolutely terrifying that while I am walking around campus all day there are people purposefully looking for people to judge.

Third, I have a letter for these girls… *clears throat* :

Dear Prissy Girls,
Grow up. You are in college now. Act like god-damn adults.
Sincerely,
Everyone

Apparently, we need to have a little talk on how to treat people. You should treat other human beings as if they were human beings. Always. Why is does that seem so hard for some people?

For example: One time in high school, a HUGE Samoan football player (he was like three times my size) was running backwards down the hall (trying to catch a football his friend was about to throw. Where the hell is the administration in this school?). He ran into me, and I’m telling you, it was like a bowling ball hit a pin. I went flying; my papers, notebooks, pencils were up in the air, my English book was permanently lodged sideways into the wall. This guy gave me one look, and then kept running for the football. Maybe he thought I had just fallen because he didn’t feel it when my body bounced off of his, I don’t know. Either way, not fun. Was catching the fake hog-skin really more important than helping someone?

But Prissy Girls, I forgive you, because I know the only reason you pass such serious judgment on others is because you’re sad inside. I understand that it is because you are so irredeemably damaged that you have to tear down others in order to build yourself up. And I can only hope that one day you too can blossom into a healthy, productive member of society and stop being such villainous, abominable misleaders of youth.

Let us pray and hope that the high school instinct in people can be sucked out of them using leeches or time. Hopefully leeches. Does anyone know where I can find leeches? I’m sure Prissy Girls will be much kinder without all that pesky blood in them…

No! Time is the answer. Time and patience. Anger, fear, aggression; the dark side of the Force are they. Down the dark path, go I must not. Lied about the cookies, did they.

I am a Nerd, Thank You Very Much

I am socially awkward. I am introverted. Rather than going out with my friends, partying, or patrolling for cute guys, I like to stay in and read, or write, or watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I love Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, Firefly, Narnia, Legend of the Seeker, X-Men, Primeval, Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Portal, the list goes on. I am a nerd. A nerd I say!

However, my sister says I’m not a nerd. She says I’m not cool enough to be a nerd.

So in recent events, the “nerd” has grown in popularity. Except not really. Things that used to be looked down upon have suddenly sprung up as not only being socially acceptable, but endorsed. But these supposed “nerds” are not actually nerds. The popular people are still the popular people on the top of the food pyramid, and the socially awkward people are still on the bottom. As one of my favorite memes would say:

 Image

It took me a long time to accept my identity as a nerd. People made fun of me, called me weird, and teased me, hissing out nerd like Basilisk venom. I used to lie awake at bed at night wishing as hard as anyone ever could to be anyone else but myself, wishing not to be a nerd.

It took years, and the vlogbrothers, to accept that part of myself. But I did accept it. And not only that, I learned to love that part of myself. And now, all of the sudden, the same people who cursed me with the name have now stolen it from me. They’ve stolen it from us. They’ve stolen our identity.

Well, who am I now? Where the hell do I belong? I can’t be a nerd, I’m still not “popular”, so where does that leave me?

It leaves me in the desert on a horse with no name.

It leaves me standing on a beach with naught but a name and your word it’s the one I need.

And I don’t care if Shakespeare thinks that a name doesn’t matter, and that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Name does matter. And I have lost mine.

No. No I have not. I am not just going to sit idly by, blooming on the walls, while something so important to me is stripped away like hair on Michael Phelps. No can do. I reclaim my nerdom, clamping it close to my heart with white-knuckled fists. You cannot take away my name.

Dear people who think they can just put on a pair of glasses and call themselves a nerd, GTFO. This is my territory, and I intend to keep it. I plan to defend my title as vigorously as Dr. McCoy defends his. I intend to keep it like Smeagol keeps the Ring. I mean to fight for it like Peter does for Narnia. And for Aslan! And I shall treasure it like Snape does Lily. Always.

Best Wishes,

thenerdfightingfeminist

Learn from the Giant Hamster Ball

Today, I was in a giant inflatable ball, rather like a hamster wheel. Here, let me show you a picture of one: Image

The Biological Engineering club had one on campus today. My friend somehow talked me into going inside of it. I can’t remember how she did it, I remember explicitly saying ‘no’ about a thousand times, and yet, somehow, I ended up in that giant hamster wheel. She must be a level twenty-seven word wizard!

My friend and I got in it together. It was exactly how I pictured it: my friend deviously throwing herself against the transparent walls, and me oh-so-gracefully flopping around inside. We acquired quite an audience, I’m told. I wouldn’t know, I was on my back most of the time. The rest of the time I was on my front, and just a few times I was on my face.

What does this have to do with anything? Good question. I will tell you. Always take opportunities. Even though I really, really wanted not to run around in the giant hamster wheel, I did. And even though it was humiliating, exhausting, confusing, topsy-turvy, backwards, strange, and slightly painful, it was the most fun I had in the past two weeks and something I will definitely never forget.

It seems as though in today’s world, whether it be business or home, women tend not to take all the opportunities they could. Women think “I’m not ready”, “I need more experience”, or “I don’t have enough education”. Whereas men tend to not worry so much about those kinds of things, and jump into opportunities like they jump into the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated.

I didn’t feel I was coordinated enough for that ball. I figured I’d look the fool, the awkward, the weirdo. As soon as I stepped into that sphere though, it didn’t matter. I had to learn on the spot. I had to make sure my friend didn’t jump on my head (which she almost did. She must have Force-jumped over me or something, Good Lord!). Who cares if you’re not ready? Is anyone really “ready”? No. Life happens. Opportunities present themselves like fireflies in the night. You have to catch them when you see them, or you may never see them again.

Best Wishes,

thenerdfightingfeminist