I’m not sure what I imagined my adult life would be, but I’m currently drinking red wine from the bottle and reading Didion, so if my child self wanted anything else she was dead wrong.


army of snoots 



Remember that epic Joan Didion hatchet job of Manhattan? Why did no one mention that she also had the best response to mansplaining ever?


In 1951, an African-American woman named Henrietta Lacks was diagnosed with terminal cervical cancer. She was treated at Johns Hopkins University, where a doctor named George Gey snipped cells from her cervix without telling her. Gey discovered that Lacks’ cells could not only be kept alive, but would also grow indefinitely.

For the past 60 years Lacks’ cells have been cultured and used in experiments ranging from determining the long-term effects of radiation to testing the live polio vaccine. Her cells were commercialized and have generated millions of dollars in profit for the medical researchers who patented her tissue.

Lacks’ family, however, didn’t know the cell cultures existed until more than 20 years after her death.

In 2010 we spoke to Medical writer Rebecca Skloot who examines the legacy of Lacks’ contribution to science — and effect that has had on her family — in her bestselling book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,

Now, 62 years later the Lacks family has given consent to this controversial medical contribution. Researchers who wish to use “HeLa” cells now have to submit a request and proposal that will be reviewed by the Lacks family. This new agreement is in the interest of respecting the family’s privacy, though, they still will not profit financially from any medical study.

This is a remarkable story, both medically and ethically, about the rights we have to our bodies, even beyond the grave.

image via NPR

Tagged by my girl carltonpeppers, y’all.

Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you. Tag friends, including me, so I’ll see your list. Make sure you let your friends know you’ve tagged them:

1. I was at the party and you were reading from your latest poetry chapbook (this was the time in my life when I loved boys who regularly produced chapbooks). I was at the party drinking an entire bottle of white wine and your girlfriend was there, and I remember that she looked happy, I remember her skirt slipping up her thighs when she sat in your lap. I was high enough to look away, and when you threw a stack of chapbook copies on the kitchen table I grabbed one and stuffed it in my purse without opening it. A year later I got drunk in Paris and threw it, still unread, into the Seine. Some Pretentious Fucking Title I’ve Forgotten, Thank God - Adrian S. 

2. The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula LeGuin

3. The second copy I have of that book. Not the one with the gilded cover, the one with your handwriting cramped through the margins. “SO GAY,” you wrote, “WHY DON’T THEY JUST MAKE OUT,” which was also a thing I thought about you and me, most of the time. Interview with the Vampire - Anne Rice

4. Swordspoint - ellenkushner

5.”You remember too much, / my mother said to me recently. / Why hold onto all that? And I said, / Where can I put it down?” Glass, Irony, and God - Anne Carson

6. Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency - Douglas Adams

7. One morning my mom dropped dead of cardiac arrest in front of me. They resuscitated her eight minutes later, loudly and violently on the living room floor, and when I came home from the hospital the next day there were still tubes and bulbs and sterile plastic wrappers sprayed across the carpet like wrapping paper at Christmas. The Year of Magical Thinking - Joan Didion

8. CivilWarLand in Bad Decline - George Saunders

9. A Wind in the Door - Madeleine L’Engle

10. Kneeling next to your childhood bed in L.A., folding clothes into my duffel (black and black and nobody wears all-black in L.A., even your dad said something about it when we came upstairs for breakfast all matching, heads snapping up in unison, the way my friends thought that picture of you was just me making a weird face), and the stack of author copies on the dresser. You told me you didn’t want anyone to read it ever again, but you also made me take the American edition because “they had to cut some pieces out of the UK one because of copyrights and that was some of our best shit, man.” I stuffed it into my duffel without opening it. Eight months later it sits, still unread, hidden in the stack on my desk. I Can’t Give You The Name Of This Book Because It Was Published By A Major Press And You Could Google It- The Writer

Slim darling, you came along and into my arms and into my heart and all the real true love I have is yours – and now I’m afraid you won’t understand and that you’ll become impatient and that I’ll lose you – but even if that happened, I wouldn’t stop loving you for you are my last love and all the rest of my life I shall love you and watch you and be ready to help you should you ever need help.

All the nice things I do each day would be so much sweeter and so much gayer if you were with me. I find myself saying a hundred times a day, ‘If Slim could only see that’ or ‘I wish Slim could hear this.’ I want to make a new life with you – I want all the friends I’ve lost to meet you and know you and love you as I do – and live again with you, for the past years have been terribly tough, damn near drove me crazy. You’ll soon be here, Baby, and when you come you’ll bring everything that’s important to me in this world with you.

— Humphrey Bogart’s letter to Lauren Bacall



*reads foucault*

*nods while not understanding*

*rereads foucault*
*realizes that in nodding in agreement to a text upheld by the academy and your peers as an informative text you’ve internalized a power relation from a specific assemblage of knowledge and ideas, so while you didn’t understand foucault the first time you understood power and its effect on the body intuitively*