Everyone who's seen Katie Dellamaggiore's acclaimed 2012 documentary Brooklyn Castle falls in love with the I.S. 318 chess team and everything it represents. Which makes sense. As an example of everything that can go right with after-school programs (and also as a nationally competing chess team), they're pretty unbeatable.
So administrators, team members, and fans alike are understandably rattled at a new round of budget cuts that could either diminish or entirely eliminate funding for the program, as well as other public after-school programs citywide.
Earlier this week, census data confirmed what we all suspected to be true: New Yorkers tend to have longer commutes than almost anyone else in the country. Terrible.
So, you won't be getting your $8 a month back for the unlimited card you likely need in order to get to your job and make a living every day and have no choice but to buy, regardless of swift, crazily steep MTA fare hikes. That seems like a lost cause at this point.
Crass subway ads are nothing new. Just off the top of my head, there's the one with the fat being poured into a glass, Pamela Gellar's horrible campaign against Islam, and those crazy posters trying to convince you that smoking makes your fingers fall off (I still do not think this is a real medical thing, or at least not the principal reason to scare people away from smoking). Even the "before" acne pictures in Dr. Zizmor's spots are pretty rough.
So it's not really that surprising that when the city decided to put up PSA's in the subway about the downsides of teen pregnancy, they uh, really went for it.
It's tough to consider any takedown of the food delivery system so many New Yorkers, from Midtown office grunts to Brooklyn flea-market goers, hold dear. Our own Dear Leader Health Commissioner Thomas Farley declared New York 'the capital of mobile food vending' (SEXY, no?). But there are some very real, under-considered issues in play, and they don't all favor the meals-on-wheels model.
Ok, so that was a little sneaky, this actually took place in Brooklyn, Ohio. But I wanted an excuse to write about this mystical bird turd and by God, I found it. Really, it's quite a story.
It's a sort of sad truth that we are all so conditioned to ignoring the crazy people on the subway (lest they push us in front of an oncoming train or something) that we usually ignore them. I mean, once, I was on the 2 train and it was summer and hot and everything smelled like death and rats and shit and the world felt terrible but what made it even worse was that there was an awful woman on my car who was yelling at all the girls in their summer clothes as they got on the train. At first it was kind of funny because she was just yelling the word "boobs" really loudly and "boobs" is a very funny word. But then one young girl wearing a very pretty sundress was yelled at and she looked like she was going to cry and nobody said anything to the crazy woman because nobody wanted to get stabbed and have the last word they hear be "boobs." So, it was basically an awful experience.
Everybody in America loves President's Day. Or, at least, everyone with a full-time job that actually observes this national holiday loves it. Everyone else is probably indifferent. But a day off, for vague, no-strings-attached reasons? Pretty hard to argue with.
This week has been unexpectedly seminal one, at least for people that very specifically care about our outgoing mayor's thoughts on weed smokin' (other than "You bet I did. And I enjoyed it.").
We hid inside a mask yesterday. We climbed up inside of the smooth wood interior and each of us curled up in one of the eye sockets. We both stuck an arm—one left and one right—out of the holes and held hands together across the bridge of the nose. And when our hands grew hot, so hot we couldn't hold on anymore, we climbed out of the mask and woke up Läps and told him what the stars had said to us. He kept his eyes open the whole time we were talking and then closed them the moment we stopped. "Write it down for me," he said. "I'm not ready to wake up yet." And so we did.
Läps Trinity is our father. Our brother. Our father. Läps Trinity is everything. But, no, we are not related. Maybe we are. Maybe by blood. We don't know. We haven't checked. Some things are better when they remain a mystery. We met Läps hitchhiking on a winter's day on the border of New York and Vermont. We had been staying with a man in an abandoned summer camp on the shore of Lake George. We would eat dinner in the mess hall and talk to each other through megaphones left behind by the camp director. We were unhappy. So we left. We were on the side of a road, staring at the sun, when we saw a man stumble right out of that cold white hole in the sky. One hand held a half empty bottle of acquavit, the other was tucked inside his jacket, resting on—holding—his heart. "Has that been to the Equator and back?" we asked, meaning the acquavit. "Has that?" he asked, meaning the megaphone we were dragging around. "Do you want to help me with something?" he asked. "Yes." We didn't need to know what it was. We just knew we had to do it. So until the acquavit runs out and we need to make another trip across the Equator, we will be here to help.
Back in December, there were a lot of (mostly unverified) reports of a series of attacks on women in Bushwick, mainly focused on a single attacker who "grabs the women in the dark from behind and slams them against a building wall." This, of course, led to a lot of concern among neighborhood residents, but not much clear follow-up.
Like always, I was just minding my own business at the office today, when a weird new banner ad plopped into my lap, advertising the life-changing services of a footstool-looking device called the Squatty Potty. "Enjoy freedom from being toiled bound," they said. They also offered the opportunity to tweet the ad with the trending topic "#amazingdump" and a link. What fresh joy is this? Am I really about to change the way I poop (or "eliminate," per their terminology)... forever? Is it worth it to shell out the extra $20 for the "Tao Bamboo" model instead of the "Classic," or is this all an elaborate poop ruse?
Well, to be fair, who doesn't still feel cheated by Milli Vanilli? Oh, no one at all? Says you. Per a seemingly irrelevant and useless new poll of New York Post readers to determine the top 10 "Biggest Liars in History," some people out there a still pretty T.O.'d about the whole thing, and ranked the Vanilli boys at number 9. Lance Armstrong — the reason this poll exists in the first place — clocked in at number 3. Richard Nixon, Bernie Madoff and Pinocchio made the cut as well.
The study involved growing malignant breast epithelial cells within a gel injected into flexible silicone chambers. This allowed the scientists to apply compression during the first stages of cell growth, effectively squashing the cells.
Over time, the squeezed malignant cells began to grow in a more normal and organised way.
Once the breast tissue structure was formed the cells stopped growing, even when the compressive force was removed. Non-compressed cells continued to display the haphazard and uncontrolled growth that leads to cancer.
"Malignant cells have not completely forgotten how to be healthy; they just need the right cues to guide them back to a healthy growth pattern," said Mr Venugopalan, a doctoral student. [MSN]
Red Hook Tattoo Benefit
It’s been a long year. With a lot of news. But do you remember all of it? I mean, a year is a pretty long time. I barely remember what happened earlier this week. But I drink to excess. So, maybe you do remember? If not, don’t worry, because what follows is a comprehensive list of the biggest news stories that happened in Brooklyn in 2012.
This just convinces me even further how repellent BDSM is. You must be mentally ill…
elvis costello perfomance link (the published one here is not working) http://videos.mediaite.com/video/Elvis-Costello-Radio-Radio-1977
I need a sweet baby