Back-to-school often means back-to-sports. It’s a time to reconnect with old friends and meet new ones while engaging and challenging the body and mind. We play sports for the challenge, for fun, to stay fit, and/or because we couldn’t imagine doing anything else. However, not all women feel comfortable enough with their own bodies to get moving.
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To continue our conversation about anonymous online professor rating systems, here’s a study on the massive sexist bias female academics must contend with. From the article “Female Academics Face Huge Sexist Bias – No Wonder There are So Few of Them” by Laura Bates: “Reviews of male professors are more likely to include the words ‘brilliant,’ ‘intelligent’ or ‘smart,’ and far more likely to contain the word ‘genius.’ Meanwhile, women are more likely to be described as ‘mean,’ ‘harsh,’ ‘unfair’ or ‘strict,’ and a lot more likely to be called ‘annoying’.”
Shaindel Beers shares a story much too common for female faculty members. Her essay, “Hundreds of Dollars,” covers the uncomfortable manipulation of men in power who feel entitled to women’s bodies in exchange for doing them a favor.
About two-thirds through the calendar year, the month of August saunters in and hails the transition from carefree, sprawling days of summer’s grassy fields and sandy shores to the madness that is back-to-school season. We’ve all been there.
by Tia Jensen. “I was hungry. Ramen noodles were not available in Kentucky until I was in high school. Daddy would boil them for an hour, ’til they softened, expanded, swelled. He’d toss the water out, add spice last. Shared with four people, one packet never enough.”
By Karen Lynch. “I know how to shoot to kill, but I can’t shoot a gun out of a man’s hand. Civilians always think cops can do that, but only Annie Oakley could have pulled off that sort of trick. I know how to stay married, but I don’t how to keep passion burning in a long marriage, and maybe I also view those who say they can as I do Annie, rare, unlikely, and highly skilled.”
My fiancé arrives home from a twelve hour shift. He left in the pre-dawn darkness, and has arrived after winter’s dusk.
“Who died?” I ask when I greet him at the door, motioning to the black band across his badge. A thin blue line on the band serves as a marker for his profession.
“The deputy in Leon Country,” he says, leaving his boots by the door. “You didn’t hear?”
“No,” I say. “What happened?”
He tells me about the fire and the ambushed deputies, and I’m reminded of the nickname firefighters have given cops–blue canaries.
From reddit user scaredthrowingaway: Little Thing: I can feel you in there. I’ve got twice the appetite and half the energy. It breaks my heart that I don’t feel the enchantment that […]
Reblogged from The Other 98%.