This is why I love doing this. I thought that it would be next to impossible to find out which Golden Age creators were queer or women of color, but I’ve now found one lesbian, one black creator who probably worked during the Golden Age (Joan Cooper Bacchus Maynard), and one probably-Asian letterer who worked for Fawcett (Helen Chou). But that information is out there, you just need to look for it!
this is so cool! I love this project, and you’re an amazing person for thinking of it and putting in so much effort :D
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
“So they wanna cut everything from family care to prenatal care to child nutrition. It’s like the Republican Congress is saying ‘You can’t prevent an unwanted child; you can’t get care if you do get pregnant; and we won’t give you any help feeding the kid after it’s born. But that two minutes when that skull is crowning? Your baby is the most precious thing on Earth.’”—JON STEWART, on the GOP’s wholesale attack on women, women’s health programs, reproductive rights and, again, women, on The Daily Show (via inothernews)
You can be with someone for an entire year and have it feel like a one-night stand. For 365 days, you can watch the sun rise while lying in bed with someone and want to slip out the door every time. You’d write them a note saying, “Had fun!” or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d just run like hell.
It’s hard to understand why our feelings can be so ephemeral and betray us so often. You’d like to think you could love a certain someone just because they’re nice and cook you spaghetti and play the right Miles Davis song when you’re ready to have sex, but it’s never that simple. You know this now, but you didn’t know it then.
You’ll meet this person at a party, on the street, through a friend when you’ll be starving for affection. It’s been awhile since you’ve been shown any love, since you’ve been fed, and this person will seem right for the job. Fine. You’re hired. Love me.
In the beginning, everything about them will excite you. Their opinions on Woody Allen (GIVE ME MORE!), their upbringing, their aspirations: it will all be riveting. Study them like an archaeologist would study bones. Look through their history, look for cracks, look to see if they have a problem you aren’t willing to inherit.
Spend the entire weekend together and experience 48 hours of important lovely moments. You’re in your sheets intertwined and losing track of time, going out for a late dinner and maybe getting drunk off beer. You feel alive for the entire weekend. Everything you were doing before this? You were dead.
You sleep together quickly because everyone rushes into bed these days. You like what you see, feel, hear, and you like the idea of their body belonging to yours indefinitely. Yes! You’ll take it. Give me that body, babe.
Two months go by. You go to work, you go to your lover, and you go to dinner with your friends to talk about your lover. “It just feels nice to have somebody, you know? Whatever we have, it’s normal. It’s refreshing.” Say these words over and over even if you don’t know what they exactly mean. Your friend will nod and be happy for you and then there’ll be a pregnant pause, and you’ll have to say, “Enough about me! How’s working at the eating disorder unit at Beth Israel?!” This will be the natural flow of things. This is your life now. These are your dinners, these are your friends. This is it.
After five months, your relationship hit its apex at a noodle bar on Carmine and Bleecker on a Saturday afternoon. Across from you and your significant other, there was a woman by herself reading a book and gingerly eating her soup. She looked sad and frumpy and it made you clutch your lover’s hand that much tighter. You never felt more safe being in a relationship and vowed to never go back to dining at noodle bars alone or going grocery shopping to buy two cups of yogurt, three bananas, noodles and tomato sauce. Actually, you’re not sure if you ever did those things. You always eat out with your friends and you use FreshDirect for your groceries. Whatever. The point is that you never felt more secure in being with someone than you did that day.
And then things begin to dissolve into crumpled wrapping paper. You start to get annoyed at them for things that would’ve made you smile two months earlier. You bring your lover on an outing with your friends and they get too drunk. Your face turns red with embarrassment and you apologize profusely saying, “I don’t even know this person right now.” One night, while making dinner in your kitchen, they tell you a joke that makes you angry instead of laugh. “Do you know that you just ruined dinner? ‘Cause you did.”
They didn’t return your Netflix video. They need to shave. They need a new face for when they orgasm because the one they have now sucks. These things all add up and get put in a box labeled, “Over it.”
Think about who your lover really is. Know every little detail of their life, about their strained relationship with their mother, about the time they cried in front of a convenience store. Know it all and begin to understand that it doesn’t mean shit.
Come to the shocking conclusion that you have nothing in common with this person. Realize you’re the best at tricking yourself, at creating tender moments to avoid being the lonely woman in the noodle bar. You can laugh, smile, get turned on and orchestrate a perfect relationship. That’s not to say all of it is fake. That would be…scary. You did look at your lover and feel warm inside and care for their well-being. You took them to the ER when they had stomach pains and you were happy to do it. That was all real. You were hoping it would eventually become less exhausting and more natural though. It never did. Your happiest moment together had nothing to do with them, it had to do with you no longer being alone.
They know you’re gone. You’re here lying in bed with them, but you’re actually at the beach, you’re shopping for boots, you’re busy at work and not loving them.
You’ll tell them in your apartment right before your anniversary and they’ll grow silent. Finally, they’ll develop an edge in their voice and say, “You’re incapable of loving. You’re broken. Damaged goods. Good luck with that.”
Their anger will turn you on and you’ll respond, “I’m not incapable of loving. I’m just incapable of loving you.”
And that’s a wrap on a one-year stand. They are ctrl+alt+deleted from your life that moment forward. You’ll miss them sometimes, but mostly you’ll just be scared that they were right about you being damaged. Know that there’s only one way to find out.
whoa. i kind of love it when writing makes you hurt.