Sometimes I wish I could just be a nice, normal girl.
Other times, I think I'm just that.
After reading this article from Jezebel, which links to several other related articles, I feel so super duper normal that I could just ... give myself a gold star.
Showing posts with label strange news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strange news. Show all posts
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Extracurricular Activities
When I was in high school, I avoided the police like it was my job. Vincent Richardson, however, loves popo so much that common sense can't keep him away from the cop shop. The strangest thing is reports say this wasn't the first time he's done this--he's done it twice before. I'm going to keep my ear to the ground on this one. Way to call into question whether they're worthy of the name Chicago's Finest, Vincent.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
How to Start Your Career as a Prostitute
by Natalie Dylan
I am sure her parents are proud of her. I bet her sister thinks she's a bitch for one-upping her, though.
I am sure her parents are proud of her. I bet her sister thinks she's a bitch for one-upping her, though.
Marcus Shrenker: How Can Such A Coward Have Such Balls?
The story of Marcus Shrenker is fascinating. Staging your own death to try to slip out the back door and try on a new life when you've fucked up the one you've got isn't a new idea. Lots of people have tried, and I'm sure plenty have pulled a fast one. But it's 2009. Hijinks like that aren't likely to succeed, what with everything being traced, tracked and recorded.
Faking your death to avoid legal, financial, social and personal troubles may not be an original solution, but Shrenker gets credit for a ballsy attempt. The whole thing makes me wonder, though, what kind of asshole does that? What was his plan? What was he going to do, mosey out to the wild west and put his stakes down on a homestead? Take a wife and work the land under an assumed name? Forge a new identity? How exactly was he going to pull it off?
While perhaps attractive to those who are as delusional as they are dedicated to their own survival, faking your own death looks like a bureaucratic nightmare. The people who go that route probably spent inordinate amounts of time and energy cheating on tests or plagiarizing term papers when they were in school. While it always seemed like more effort than it was worth, constructing elaborate schemes to cheat on homework and tests, cheating certainly doesn't require the nerve or the crazy it takes to jump out of a plane, ask the 5-0 for assistance a few hundred miles away from your crash site, go on the lam and slice up your wrists at the local KOA all in a pathetic attempt to avoid being a man and facing consequences.
What a fucking tool.
Faking your death to avoid legal, financial, social and personal troubles may not be an original solution, but Shrenker gets credit for a ballsy attempt. The whole thing makes me wonder, though, what kind of asshole does that? What was his plan? What was he going to do, mosey out to the wild west and put his stakes down on a homestead? Take a wife and work the land under an assumed name? Forge a new identity? How exactly was he going to pull it off?
While perhaps attractive to those who are as delusional as they are dedicated to their own survival, faking your own death looks like a bureaucratic nightmare. The people who go that route probably spent inordinate amounts of time and energy cheating on tests or plagiarizing term papers when they were in school. While it always seemed like more effort than it was worth, constructing elaborate schemes to cheat on homework and tests, cheating certainly doesn't require the nerve or the crazy it takes to jump out of a plane, ask the 5-0 for assistance a few hundred miles away from your crash site, go on the lam and slice up your wrists at the local KOA all in a pathetic attempt to avoid being a man and facing consequences.
What a fucking tool.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Why Contemplate Your Belly-button...
...when you can contemplate your fingers?
I want a job that requires me to research stuff like this.
I want a job that requires me to research stuff like this.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Apocalypse Draws Near
I am currently employed on a part-time basis. That surely is a sign that the sky is falling. It's just a little writing and editing over at Slippy University twice a week. When she asked me if I'd be interested in doing some part-time freelance work, I told her I would be. Nepotism rules.
My first day was fun. I got to wield a red pen, thrash at some articles, proof some items and such. I sit in a cute office with a nice view of a busy city street and Slippy is right on the floor below me. Smoke breaks and lunch twice a week with Slippy--how lucky am I? It's like Take Nora To Work Day every Tuesday and Thursday!
So, while I'm playing the role of freelance writer twice a week, my little Baby Cakes is living it up at my pre-school alma mater. His first day was great. When the Mister and I dropped him off on Tuesday, he barely spared us a backward glance. He was off and running. When I picked him up, he kind of looked up at me like, "Oh, you're here, too? Cool. Here, hold this block for me, wouldja?" He totally charmed the staff and got good reports for his first day--of course!
Anyway, I imagine this new chapter in my life might yield interesting stories to share. Or not. Depending on who might be reading ...
My first day was fun. I got to wield a red pen, thrash at some articles, proof some items and such. I sit in a cute office with a nice view of a busy city street and Slippy is right on the floor below me. Smoke breaks and lunch twice a week with Slippy--how lucky am I? It's like Take Nora To Work Day every Tuesday and Thursday!
So, while I'm playing the role of freelance writer twice a week, my little Baby Cakes is living it up at my pre-school alma mater. His first day was great. When the Mister and I dropped him off on Tuesday, he barely spared us a backward glance. He was off and running. When I picked him up, he kind of looked up at me like, "Oh, you're here, too? Cool. Here, hold this block for me, wouldja?" He totally charmed the staff and got good reports for his first day--of course!
Anyway, I imagine this new chapter in my life might yield interesting stories to share. Or not. Depending on who might be reading ...
Friday, August 15, 2008
He Really DOES Exist!
Bigfoot is real. If CNN says it, it must be true. No need for critical thinking, people. Let's go on an expedition, everyone!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
David Murphy Is The Coolest
I never put much thought into what a bus-driver's day might be like. I can clearly imagine the driver filling the gas tank and, you know, taking care business. Pick-ups, drop-offs. Stop back at the garage, clean the bus, shoot the shit with some colleagues. But in those imaginings, I don't see the driver yelling over his shoulder, "Hey, kids, stay cool. I gotta gas up real quick. I'm gonna drop a deuce and get some coffee, too. Anyone need anything?"
It defies reason that a bus-driver (who isn't named Otto) would think it was a good idea to stop for gas while 27 children sat there waiting for him. That demonstrates a lack of judgment, seeing as how it's a violation of not only the law, but common sense. Might as well go all the way and leave the vehicle in idle, too, huh? In Cleveland last week, an event illustrated why that's an all around bad call when that bus started rolling downhill.
The gas station manager watched as some students jumped from the moving bus. He pounded on the bathroom door to alert Bus Driver of the Year, Micheal Weir, that his bus, and his charges, were taking off without him. Instead of being paralyzed by the surreality of the situation, eleven year-old David Murphy saw a an approaching truck and got busy. He first tried the emergency brake and then grabbed the wheel, steering the bus into a pillar supporting an Interstate 90 overpass.
David's twelve year-old brother Patrick was on board, and calls his little brother a hero, of course. I wonder if Patrick was the one that taught his little bro how to drive? Nah. Their mother, Patricia, says God made him do it. Well, whatever the case is, David Murphy is officially the coolest kid in Cleveland until otherwise informed. Congratulations, David: your quick thinking and application of what you learned from watching the movie Speed saved lives. You're awesome.
It defies reason that a bus-driver (who isn't named Otto) would think it was a good idea to stop for gas while 27 children sat there waiting for him. That demonstrates a lack of judgment, seeing as how it's a violation of not only the law, but common sense. Might as well go all the way and leave the vehicle in idle, too, huh? In Cleveland last week, an event illustrated why that's an all around bad call when that bus started rolling downhill.
The gas station manager watched as some students jumped from the moving bus. He pounded on the bathroom door to alert Bus Driver of the Year, Micheal Weir, that his bus, and his charges, were taking off without him. Instead of being paralyzed by the surreality of the situation, eleven year-old David Murphy saw a an approaching truck and got busy. He first tried the emergency brake and then grabbed the wheel, steering the bus into a pillar supporting an Interstate 90 overpass.
David's twelve year-old brother Patrick was on board, and calls his little brother a hero, of course. I wonder if Patrick was the one that taught his little bro how to drive? Nah. Their mother, Patricia, says God made him do it. Well, whatever the case is, David Murphy is officially the coolest kid in Cleveland until otherwise informed. Congratulations, David: your quick thinking and application of what you learned from watching the movie Speed saved lives. You're awesome.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
"Friends" Like These Are Even Worse
It's no longer news that police in Florida apprehended a gang of rabid cheerleaders after they beat down one of their own. It defies all reason that these girls would be not only so vicious, but so stupid. They were conscious enough to premeditate an ambush, videotape the assault and upload the beating for all to see on the Internet. How could they think there would be no consequences for their behavior?
The world is looking toward Lakeland, Florida in horror, fascination, amusement. I Googled "cheerleader beatdown" and the first link is the video listed like so:
Humor. Comedy. Hot chicks and pictures for guys? I'm sure that's an accident.
The cheerleader beat down is but a symptom. Violence isn't new or special, but understanding what it's born of is crucial. How could this group of even reasonably educated teen-agers possibly say they had no idea what they were doing was not just terribly wrong, but illegal? They had two scrawny punks on look-out detail--they knew. But what? They didn't want to get caught until they dropped their new video on MySpace and You Tube?
What was their motivation? How did not even one of them feel even a stirring of empathy or even common sense through the whole process? If they were hoping to send a message, the message I got is: "Yes. It really has come to this."
The victim of the beating had apparently been talking smack about some people, and this is the way they chose to deal with it. That's heartbreaking and all, but the complete lack of awareness of the consequences of their actions is what terrifies me. Even while being hauled in by the sheriff, one of the girls asked if she'd be sprung in time for cheerleading practice the next day. There is a total dissociation there, a fundamental lack of understanding and remorse. It's terrifying.
That story is newsworthy: a bunch of brain-dead cheerleaders (you want a copy-selling archetype, that's it right there) turn on one of their own. Story at eleven. But it's happening all over, and it's not just the kids.
About a year ago, a woman I know was in the bathroom at a local bar, just a quiet place attached to a family restaurant--hardly Roadhouse material. She overheard some girls talking shit on one of their friends. One of them discussed the possibility of having casual sex with the other girl's boyfriend just to, you know, stick it to her.
When my friend left her stall, she piped up with, "sisters before misters," thinking to remind these other women that we should stick together. She got jumped by three of the four girls for her trouble. They got her on the floor and started kicking her, whaling on her. Finally when she cried out that she just wanted to go home to her baby, the fourth girl awakened to the reality of the situation. She tried to get the other girls to lay off while my friend crawled off trying to assess the physical damage.
Pack mentality isn't new and it's amazing how little it takes to spark not only a violent reaction, but a contagious one. It makes me sick to think how easy it is to forget what we owe each other as fellow human beings, how detached from love or even basic human decency we are becoming. Better not mouth off, ladies--a bunch of your fellow women might ambush and beat the shit out of you.
No, it's not us; it's them, right? They're the ones who are all fucked up. Right? Not so much. These isolated events are not isolated at all; this type of blatant antisocial behavior is just one manifestation of how far away from psychologically okay people are becoming overall. Even the once-innocent image of an American cheerleader has been reduced to violent and criminal.
There is no they. We're all together and responsible for the breakdown of society. These girls serve as the opposite end of the angry teenager spectrum. Isolated, marginalized, "antisocial" males who take out their victims in public places with guns have their female counterpart: packs of girls who couldn't be more in the fold, socially speaking, who draw another girl into a private place and beat her with their bare hands. Or, my friend who got beaten in a women's bathroom, another place that's symbolic of privacy.
Looking at the continuum like that seems just like a twisting up and perverting of all my traditional associations of gender and society. And it reminds me of something Mitchell said in regards to what "fucked up" means to him. He said, "When everyone is fucked up, fucked up just shifts a level down. It's relative. [What used to be] fucked up becomes normal."
It seems that the relativity of fucked up formula applies to this situation. If the Cheerleader Beat-Down is the new standard bearer for how dissociated from reality and humanity people are becoming, the next generation is certain to bring the level of fucked up down to unthinkable levels. And my bet is you're sure to see it on the internet. But look around: it's happening all around us.
The world is looking toward Lakeland, Florida in horror, fascination, amusement. I Googled "cheerleader beatdown" and the first link is the video listed like so:
Myspace Cheerleaders Beat-Down Video
Free videos, humor, comedy, hot chicks & pictures for guys.
www.break.com/index/myspace-girl-beaten-by-cheerleaders_1.html - 64k - Cached - Similar pages - Note this
www.break.com/index/
Humor. Comedy. Hot chicks and pictures for guys? I'm sure that's an accident.
The cheerleader beat down is but a symptom. Violence isn't new or special, but understanding what it's born of is crucial. How could this group of even reasonably educated teen-agers possibly say they had no idea what they were doing was not just terribly wrong, but illegal? They had two scrawny punks on look-out detail--they knew. But what? They didn't want to get caught until they dropped their new video on MySpace and You Tube?
What was their motivation? How did not even one of them feel even a stirring of empathy or even common sense through the whole process? If they were hoping to send a message, the message I got is: "Yes. It really has come to this."
The victim of the beating had apparently been talking smack about some people, and this is the way they chose to deal with it. That's heartbreaking and all, but the complete lack of awareness of the consequences of their actions is what terrifies me. Even while being hauled in by the sheriff, one of the girls asked if she'd be sprung in time for cheerleading practice the next day. There is a total dissociation there, a fundamental lack of understanding and remorse. It's terrifying.
That story is newsworthy: a bunch of brain-dead cheerleaders (you want a copy-selling archetype, that's it right there) turn on one of their own. Story at eleven. But it's happening all over, and it's not just the kids.
About a year ago, a woman I know was in the bathroom at a local bar, just a quiet place attached to a family restaurant--hardly Roadhouse material. She overheard some girls talking shit on one of their friends. One of them discussed the possibility of having casual sex with the other girl's boyfriend just to, you know, stick it to her.
When my friend left her stall, she piped up with, "sisters before misters," thinking to remind these other women that we should stick together. She got jumped by three of the four girls for her trouble. They got her on the floor and started kicking her, whaling on her. Finally when she cried out that she just wanted to go home to her baby, the fourth girl awakened to the reality of the situation. She tried to get the other girls to lay off while my friend crawled off trying to assess the physical damage.
Pack mentality isn't new and it's amazing how little it takes to spark not only a violent reaction, but a contagious one. It makes me sick to think how easy it is to forget what we owe each other as fellow human beings, how detached from love or even basic human decency we are becoming. Better not mouth off, ladies--a bunch of your fellow women might ambush and beat the shit out of you.
No, it's not us; it's them, right? They're the ones who are all fucked up. Right? Not so much. These isolated events are not isolated at all; this type of blatant antisocial behavior is just one manifestation of how far away from psychologically okay people are becoming overall. Even the once-innocent image of an American cheerleader has been reduced to violent and criminal.
There is no they. We're all together and responsible for the breakdown of society. These girls serve as the opposite end of the angry teenager spectrum. Isolated, marginalized, "antisocial" males who take out their victims in public places with guns have their female counterpart: packs of girls who couldn't be more in the fold, socially speaking, who draw another girl into a private place and beat her with their bare hands. Or, my friend who got beaten in a women's bathroom, another place that's symbolic of privacy.
Looking at the continuum like that seems just like a twisting up and perverting of all my traditional associations of gender and society. And it reminds me of something Mitchell said in regards to what "fucked up" means to him. He said, "When everyone is fucked up, fucked up just shifts a level down. It's relative. [What used to be] fucked up becomes normal."
It seems that the relativity of fucked up formula applies to this situation. If the Cheerleader Beat-Down is the new standard bearer for how dissociated from reality and humanity people are becoming, the next generation is certain to bring the level of fucked up down to unthinkable levels. And my bet is you're sure to see it on the internet. But look around: it's happening all around us.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Will His Heart Go On?
The notion of cellular memory, or the idea that an individual's personality traits might be stored within the body's tissues, has captured the imaginations of many. Even Hollywood's gotten into the act with the movie, The Eye (which was a remake of a 2002 Asian film--catch up, Hollywood!)
Academics and the scientific community in general regard the very idea that donated tissues and organs can influence recipients' personality as ridiculous. Urban myths and even some research suggest the possibility of a relationship between a recipient's personality changing after a transplant, but available research does not definitively indicate a link.
I love the scientific method. After all, nothing wins an argument better than a stack of reliable, valid clinical studies. But I also believe that some things aren't easy to prove with or without the scientific method. Yet there is so much science doesn't know about ... well, everything.
I wonder how many doctors laugh at the idea of cellular memory, yet secretly believe in the slightest possibility that it might exist. I wonder how many secretly believe the chemicals that allow our brains to store and apply knowledge, preferences and memories might exist in other tissues, and might influence a recipient's fundamental chemistry.
Apparently, entertaining possibilities and admitting that we really don't know anything about the human body's potential isn't very scientific. I can accept that. But I can entertain all the possibilities I want. I'm not a scientist. I'm a blogger!
Today I was reading Skippy Stalin. He wrote about a Georgia man named Sonny Graham who received a heart transplant twelve years ago from one Terry Cottle, who died after he killed himself with a shotgun blast. But Sonny didn't just receive Terry's heart, he also married his wife, Cheryl. Twelve years after receiving the heart transplant, Sonny also killed himself with a shot-gun blast. Yeah, that's right. Let's all say it together: What the fuck?
Read Skippy Stalin's take on the story here:
http://enjoyeverysandwich.blogspot.com/2008/04/telltale-heart-lets-say-that-you-got.html
Anyway, the story begs many questions--you know, after what the fuck?--and that is, which came first? The suicidal tendency or wanting to stick it to the wife? What if Sonny had met Cheryl after Terry had died under different circumstances, like at the American Legion or at the Piggly Wiggly? What if they'd hit it off and gotten married under a whole other set of circumstances? Would Sonny still be alive? That's assuming, of course, that he'd gotten his heart transplant from another donor.
Once again, I'll be the first to admit that the research supporting cellular memory is spotty at best. Nevertheless, a situation such as this does make me wonder if there might be something beyond the power of suggestion. The following link is the same story coming out of most of the big media outlets. I'm still going to poke around and see what else I can find out about this strange situation. Here's the article I found in the Chicago Tribune:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/sns-ap-transplant-suicide,0,3704921.story
I know it's morbid and rude as hell of me, but now I really want to know more about what transpired over the last twelve years of Sonny Graham's life. I want to know more about Terry Cottle. And I'm really curious to know how Cheryl Cottle-Graham is doing. The obvious joke here is that Cheryl Cottle-Graham is impossible to live with, but that just seems way too easy. At first, when I read about the situation, I laughed at the absurdity. But now I'm really curious to understand if there are any possible links, or if it's all just a bunch of crazy pseudo-scientific nonsense making the news.
Academics and the scientific community in general regard the very idea that donated tissues and organs can influence recipients' personality as ridiculous. Urban myths and even some research suggest the possibility of a relationship between a recipient's personality changing after a transplant, but available research does not definitively indicate a link.
I love the scientific method. After all, nothing wins an argument better than a stack of reliable, valid clinical studies. But I also believe that some things aren't easy to prove with or without the scientific method. Yet there is so much science doesn't know about ... well, everything.
I wonder how many doctors laugh at the idea of cellular memory, yet secretly believe in the slightest possibility that it might exist. I wonder how many secretly believe the chemicals that allow our brains to store and apply knowledge, preferences and memories might exist in other tissues, and might influence a recipient's fundamental chemistry.
Apparently, entertaining possibilities and admitting that we really don't know anything about the human body's potential isn't very scientific. I can accept that. But I can entertain all the possibilities I want. I'm not a scientist. I'm a blogger!
Today I was reading Skippy Stalin. He wrote about a Georgia man named Sonny Graham who received a heart transplant twelve years ago from one Terry Cottle, who died after he killed himself with a shotgun blast. But Sonny didn't just receive Terry's heart, he also married his wife, Cheryl. Twelve years after receiving the heart transplant, Sonny also killed himself with a shot-gun blast. Yeah, that's right. Let's all say it together: What the fuck?
Read Skippy Stalin's take on the story here:
http://enjoyeverysandwich.blogspot.com/2008/04/telltale-heart-lets-say-that-you-got.html
Anyway, the story begs many questions--you know, after what the fuck?--and that is, which came first? The suicidal tendency or wanting to stick it to the wife? What if Sonny had met Cheryl after Terry had died under different circumstances, like at the American Legion or at the Piggly Wiggly? What if they'd hit it off and gotten married under a whole other set of circumstances? Would Sonny still be alive? That's assuming, of course, that he'd gotten his heart transplant from another donor.
Once again, I'll be the first to admit that the research supporting cellular memory is spotty at best. Nevertheless, a situation such as this does make me wonder if there might be something beyond the power of suggestion. The following link is the same story coming out of most of the big media outlets. I'm still going to poke around and see what else I can find out about this strange situation. Here's the article I found in the Chicago Tribune:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/sns-ap-transplant-suicide,0,3704921.story
I know it's morbid and rude as hell of me, but now I really want to know more about what transpired over the last twelve years of Sonny Graham's life. I want to know more about Terry Cottle. And I'm really curious to know how Cheryl Cottle-Graham is doing. The obvious joke here is that Cheryl Cottle-Graham is impossible to live with, but that just seems way too easy. At first, when I read about the situation, I laughed at the absurdity. But now I'm really curious to understand if there are any possible links, or if it's all just a bunch of crazy pseudo-scientific nonsense making the news.
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