“Rancho: That day I understood that this heart scares easily. You have to trick it, however big the problem is. Tell your heart, ‘Pal, aal izz well. Aal iz well.’
Raju: Does that solve the problem?
Rancho: No, but you gain courage to face it.”—(via crybird)
[A] thing that’s really unique about The Wizard of Oz to me is that all of the most heroic and wise and even villainous characters are female.
Now I started to notice this when I actually showed Star Wars to my daughter … At that point I also had a son. He was only three at the time. He was not invited to the screening. He was too young for that. But he was the second child, and the level of supervision had plummeted. So he wandered in, and it imprinted on him like a mommy duck does to its duckling, and I don’t think he understands what’s going on, but he is sure soaking in it.
And I wonder what he’s soaking in. Is he picking up on the themes of courage and perseverance and loyalty? Is he picking up on the fact that Luke joins an army to overthrow the government? Is he picking up on the fact that there are only boys in the universe except for Aunt Beru, and of course this princess, who’s really cool, but who kind of waits around through most of the movie so that she can award the hero with a medal and a wink to thank him for saving the universe, which he does by the magic that he was born with?
Compare this to 1939 with The Wizard of Oz. How does Dorothy win her movie? By making friends with everybody and being a leader. That’s kind of the world I’d rather raise my kids in — Oz, right? — and not the world of dudes fighting, which is where we kind of have to be. Why is there so much Force — capital F, Force — in the movies we have for our kids, and so little yellow brick road?
“The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult. The day the child forgives himself, he becomes wise.”—Alden Nowlan (via life-itself-is-a-quote)
life hack: get a tattoo. if the people at the job interview notice it and look concerned, laugh a little and explain “it’s just temporary.” months later if your boss asks why you lied and said it was a temporary tattoo, stare off into the distance and whisper with a tremulous voice the poor excuse for truth your subconscious has been fighting for its entire insignificant existence: “everything is temporary.”