so josh hutcherson went to a kentucky basketball game yeah
and the crowd blOODY MOCKINGJAY-SALUTED HIM
“I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep.”
So for those unfamiliar with the situation: Grace Helbig is a brilliant online video creator and could until recently be found at the DailyGrace channel.
But that channel, and all the videos on it, were not owned by Grace. They were owned by a company, My Damn Channel.
Now, in order to have ownership and control over her stuff, she has to leave the channel that she built up to 2.5 million subscribers and start over on YouTube.
Meanwhile, the DailyGrace channel, which will now feature reruns of old Grace videos for which she will be (I assume) paid nothing, has lost more than 100,000 subscribers in the past week. This is Tim’s corporate entity sister.
Here’s the lesson: Many corporations think that by owning YouTube channels, they’ll have something valuable. But the value is not in the channel or in the number of subscribers. On YouTube, despite the corporatization of everything, the value is in people.
I’m not a DailyGrace fan. I’m a Grace Helbig fan. And at least on YouTube, the individual still has more power than the corporation.
That’s worth celebrating.
p.s. Subscribe to Grace! (The person, not the corporate entity.)
if u say “ive officially lost all faith in humanity” in response to pop music im just wondering like do u even experience fun?????????????
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says ‘No, you are beautiful.’
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me
My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.
On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls’ phone numbers.
When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks —
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.
Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.
He tells me he loves me with the lights on.
I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.
The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.
The phrase “Big girls need love too” can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.
I say, ‘I am fat.’
He says, ‘No. You are so much more’,
and kisses me
“There is a place. Like no place on Earth. A land full of wonder, mystery, and danger!”
The Last Bookstore
Los Angeles, California