Blogging on Meds

I haven’t posted in a long ass time, but Mauritania — one of the strangest, hottest and most desolate places I’ve ever been — is in the midst of overthrowing their elected government. Oh, how I love coups.

Turns out the president canned the presidential guard leader, General Mohamed al-Abdul Aziz, and he in turn arrested the president, the prime minister and the minister of the interior. Now the prez guard is running the show from the prez palace. Oh, and guess what? They have a shitload of oil. And the longest train in the world that carries iron ore from one remote place to another even more remote place. And there are bad guys running around who like to kidnap and kill whitey. It’s on the north west coast of Africa, below Western Sahara and Morocco and above Senegal.

I was there in 2006 with my girlfriend and it was pretty damn boring. We slept in huge tents, saw the 7th holiest site in Islam and basically wandered around in the Sahara Desert for a while — sweating a lot and getting chapped lips and eating really, really bad food. Not exactly a romantic getaway but it beat going to Cancun with a bunch of orange frat boys.

Not all NPR Bags hang from hipster shoulders lacking muscle tone or definition bearing intellectual ephemera. This week’s bag, property of Owen Black is possibly the Yin to last weeks bag’s Yang (property of Ethan Snell). While Ethan’s virgin bag was a gift, flaunting his girl’s crafty vision and Gocco print handiwork, Owen’s bag was acquired by one of the oldest traditions in history, predating currency; he boosted that shit :

” I got this bag at Nike Town on 57th in Manhattan. I went there to buy one thing, and one thing only: white XL tennis shorts. For me, its a summer staple. But I noticed these racks with dozens of shopping bags ‘For your in-store use’. I took one look at my old NPR bag (not even going to mention the make) and knew it was time to upgrade. Took one off the rack from near the center, because many of them were battered from regular use. I ducked into the fitting room and stashed my new bag inside my old one, and I was good.”

Ray Cappo was wrong, photographs don’t lie amigo because in plain sight we see the following in vivid digital camera color translated from ones and zeros

L to R, in rows (As told by Mr.Black):
-pad of paper
-transparent document wallet (for leases, resumes, contracts, and other “important papers”)
-postcard advertising the peter beste True Norwegian Black Metal book release/kasher gallery opening
-ralph lauren private sale notice
-various work papers
-package containing birthday present for my sister which i finally gave to her this weekend, a little late though (March 1)
-the art of worldly wisdom by Baltasar Gracián that my friend Josh let me borrow. He is teaching english in Indonesia right now, and from time to time, requests a passage by number, which I then scan and email to him. its important to share wisdom.
-business cards paperclipped together. always important to have these on hand.
-pencil
-$50 AMEX gift check
-$5 watch
-my mother’s potato latke recipe as transcribed from a telephone conversation
-sketches from a class I took at NYU
-magazines
-umbrella
-key card
-license plate return receipt (not sure why this is still kicking around my bag, or why it isn’t in my document wallet)
-Tide stain erasing pen. If you carry any kind of bag and one of these isn’t in it, you aren’t batman.

Unlike Ethan’s happy-go-lucky, Obama-Pint-Glass-Half-Full enthusiastic tote, Black’s bag has a Jim Jones swagger, and Billy Idol sneer mixed with wisdom and foresight, much greater than the average man of his years. Amongst some playful decoys we see that Owen is prepared for the pitfalls of a loosely wrapped burrito (stain pen), a new chick dinner date (Mom’s recipe), and the printed credentials to quiet the fastest cocaine tongue (business card and key card), fuck he’s even prepared for an unplanned rainy walk of shame with the umbrella too. A true New Yorker. The only thing lacking is a little sun-block to avoid a cocaine sunburn on an all too bright walk of shame. The bridges to the boroughs can do a number on your nose and forehead without proper protection.

Lastly, Owen silences any whispers that his bag was an impulse steal, as he rattles off a calculated manifesto detailing why this carbon loaded tote accompanies him through his daily motions :

“I love my bag because when i hang it over my shoulder, it feels natural for me to loop my right thumb around the handles, which allows me to show off my rings and knuckle tattoo, but thats just me. The combination of ink and bling really catches a lot of women’s eyes on the subway. Their staring trail goes something like this: Me, elsewhere, me, my right hand, my right hand, my face, my right hand, my shoes, elsewhere, my bag, my jeans. I can tell by the way they look at me that they are liking what they see. I always wear sunglasses on the trains, so that I can stare at them back. I also love how large my bag is. Its so big that sometimes I lose my umbrella inside of it. If you’re a dude, certain things you own you want to be small, and some have to be big. Carrying a tiny bag around is not cool. Too easily construed as a purse. I am pretty sure I could fit like three babies in my bag. And its made out of synthetic woven thread, so even the one on the bottom could breathe right through the side of my bag. The only weakness it has is that it’s not waterproof, but, oh yeah, my bag contains an umbrella, and thats backup for if I forget to wear my rain jacket. My bag, my nuts, my umbrella, I’m covered.”

Owen is a true Duffel Bag Boy like Weezy, or at least a NPR Bag Boy. Look at all those fucking Weezy covers in the background for fuck’s sake. Someone kick Ethan Snell’s ass immediately. Game over.

Being fired has a startling impact on us, because for the most part, we aren’t fired regularly. Although one can usually “feel it coming,” just like the sputtering dreidel whirring its death rattle at the end of any relationship, you can see it right in front of you. And like any relationship, there’s surely more to come, but for the time being you’re free, free (and you should make sure any activities done during this period echo the same mantra).

On a culture centered on ineffable aspirations, we all want to be a rockstar, we think we can dance, we’re the young idols as we continue to respect our aging ones. We all are married to our work, it comes before any and all other obsessions, (with the exception of substance and alcohol dependency). So when we’re at the end of our ropes that we’ve hung ourselves on working, working it comes as a euphoric relief every time it’s over.

The mysterious part of “being fired” usually come from the fire-ee. They almost always insist that this unexpected abortion of your daily routine wasn’t for anything “personal” about you. They really _like_ you, they just don’t want to see you ever again. And whether or not your work was sub-par, or something you struggled with, the fire-ee always seems to have a much harder time with this firing conversation. It’s way more work than they intended, and it’s usually a much longer meeting than necessary. For some companies, if you decide to quit your job, you find yourself in a scheduled “exit interview,” where you get to tell them everything that happened to you at the job that helped you come to your decision to get the hell out. That has to be cathartic, but only to the quitter.

And failure is “never an option.” But one can’t help feeling like a failure, if you are so awful personally, or in your ability to do your job, that you have to be fired. So in effect, failure is always an option, just not one that you’ve chosen. You’re left to embrace the freedom of your job-less life suddenly, just as you’ve got the compulsion to simultaneously embrace your fire-ee.

In the category of police brutality, comes this familiar story of cops abusing these “non-lethal” devices with reckless abandon. After false reports from the cops about the suspect being high on crack and pcp and resisting arrest by not gettting up quickly enough, the autopsy reveals the truth.

From Alternet:

So he deserved multiple taserings because he didn’t stand up fast enough, and then after each taser shock he was unable to get up off the ground fast enough to please this Officer Nugent? Wow. That’s one dangerous man, lying on the ground writhing in pain, literally begging Officer Nugent to stop tasering him. I can certainly see why Officer Nugent was forced to taser Mr. Pikes, again and again, in order to subdue him. What else could he have done? I mean, it’s not like Officer Nugent likes to use his taser on criminal suspects. I’m sure he only uses it when he absolutely has to according to proper police protocols. Or does he?

Oh yea, it gets worse:

[Coroner] Williams said police records showed Nugent administered nine Taser shocks to Pikes over a 14-minute period. The last two jolts, delivered as police pulled Pikes from a patrol car at the police station, elicited no reaction because the suspect was unconscious, Williams said. [...]

In less than two years on Winnfield’s 20-officer police force, police records show, Nugent ranked as the department’s most aggressive Taser user. Among the recipients were a 15-year-old African-American runaway who was not charged with any crime and Pikes’ father, currently serving a prison sentence for a drug offense, who was Tasered by Nugent last year, according to Kayshon Collins.

A British court awarded Max Mosley, the head of Formula One, £60,000 (about $120,000) in his privacy case against the News of the World paper. Mosley, who paid 5 prostitutes £500 each for a 5-hour sadomasochistic sex session, was secretly videotaped by one of the domintraices. NOW paid “Woman E” £12,000 to film Mosley’s spanking session, and then splashed photos of him on its cover, proclaiming that he was involved in a “sick nazi orgy.” Their basis for this claim was that he and the women reenacted a concentration camp scene where he played guard and victim. He also spoke German at times, and one of the women said “We are the Aryan race - blondes!” The judge’s ruling:

I found that there was no evidence that the gathering on March 28 2008 was intended to be an enactment of Nazi behaviour or adoption of any of its attitudes. Nor was it in fact. I see no genuine basis at all for the suggestion that the participants mocked the victims of the Holocaust.

There was bondage, beating and domination which seem to be typical of S&M behaviour. But there was no public interest or other justification for the clandestine recording, for the publication of the resulting information and still photographs, or for the placing of the video extracts on the News of the World website – all of this on a massive scale.

Of course, I accept that such behaviour is viewed by some people with distaste and moral disapproval, but in the light of modern rights-based jurisprudence that does not provide any justification for the intrusion on the personal privacy of the claimant.

So, the NOW invaded his privacy, but the judge ruled that the paper held an honest belief that the session had Nazi elements, so it didn’t award Mosley “exemplary damages.”

All in all, a good day for s&m lovers everywhere.

Welcome to the first installment of What’s In Your NPR Bag?, a weekly column where we ask the fashionably green what the fuck they are carrying around in their canvas bag.

Fellow Mediciner Rachel Elder brought it to my attention that the proper name for this phenomena sweeping the nation and specifically Brooklyn was the NPR bag. I’ve noticed a massive spike in men carrying these bags, this can be attributed to several factors :

1. Perfect size for record shopping.

2. Says that you care about the environment but not in a hippie way, unless you have a yoga mat poking out.

3. Less “faggy” than a really corporate Murse® aimed at the metro / Details mag set but still nothing that a jock would carry chewing tobacco or energy drinks in.

4. Another surface to communicate your likes and dislikes, you’re a walking beacon for whatever you choose to promote or disrespect.

I hate even carrying a wallet or keys so I was more interested in what could be in a dude’s NPR bag. Call it coincidence but I ran into long time friend of Meds, Ethan Snell at small party in Brooklyn and picked his brain.

“My NPR bag? Ohhh my tote, yeah man fuck this one is brand new, my girlfriend screenprinted these for an indie craft fair and I just started carrying it a few days ago, it’s so convenient and of course I’m a huge fan of her design work so that’s a perk!”

Though the bag was brand new there was a dusting of Drum tobacco already lining the bottom where some pens, lighters and keys rested next to some freshly signed paperwork for a brand spanking new Condo on the park (co-signed by Dad, I peeked sorry!) Congrats though Ethan, a copy of the New Yorker, a few of those nasty free subway condoms, a Luna bar wrapper and an empty Kombucha bottle.

“Yeah I guess I’m ready for anything with bag” Ethan remarked “though I still need to get a few bare essentials in there, gum, iPod, The Believer and my journal, I’m a designer and I’m constantly inspired by my surroundings, you see so many interesting images and graphics in Brooklyn, in a bodega, a tag on a wall or even just some of the interesting looks you see in Williamsburg, it’s like a constant living breathing reference book so it’s essential to make notes in between brunch and happy hour!”

Thanks to Mr. Snell for letting me snoop around your NPR bag.

This is rich. Apparently, Bjork’s music might cause a revolution:

Foreign entertainers who have taken part in activities that China deems a threat to its sovereignty will not be allowed to perform here, according to new rules posted Thursday on the Web site of the Ministry of Culture.

…

The rules on performers may have come about after an outburst in March by Bjork, the popular Icelandic singer. She used a concert in Shanghai to advocate Tibetan independence. She shouted “Tibet! Tibet!” after performing “Declare Independence,” a song from her 2007 album, “Volta.” The outcry drew sharp criticism from Chinese Internet users and praise from international supporters of an independent Tibet.

AP

I’m not going to condone felony hit-and-run on the 55 in a monster truck. Nor am I going to make light of driving said monster truck (complete with a giant picture decal of yourself) down the wrong way of a crowded Balboa street “causing pedestrians to flee in terror.” Running red lights, crashing into cars, driving on the median and almost killing innocent people in Newport Beach… none of these things constitute normal behavior. I can’t even begin to speculate on what caused the UFC and PRIDE fighter, Quinton “Rampage” Jackson to freak out like this last Tuesday, but I sincerely feel for him.

It’s easy for even the most compassionate people to dismiss a guy like this. He beats people up for a living, he’s testosterone personified, a giant ego with a giant truck to match… I get it. They attribute his actions to steroids and/or drugs and claim it was his choice but don’t bother ask if there could be a bigger, more complex problem that not only made this possible but even probable.

I met Quinton after I moved to Huntington Beach, California around early 2000. I was running my gear company, called Next Level – designing and marketing merchandise and starting to sponsor fighters. I was also training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu almost full-time and backstage at a lot of fights. A bunch of gyms at the time were either in location limbo or wrapped up in partner politics, so I was a constant visitor to several simultaneously around Orange County and LA. Quinton had moved to HB recently as well, his goal was to become a professional fighter but he was basically living in his car he was so broke. But he was always a nice guy that never complained, he was never too good to learn from anybody smaller or less experienced than him, never too prideful to ask for help, never too egotistical to see his own flaws and never too tired to work. He got hyped when you caught him in a knee-bar and was quick to congratulate you, but he would only let it happen once (true story). When it became pretty obvious that all the pros were buzzing about him and those top pros that visited were starting to get their asses kicked by him in training, he still talked humbly about his aspirations and his kids. He later beat almost all of those pros in Pride and UFC rising quickly to the top.

It’s fair to ask if steroids or drugs were involved when it pertains to the mixed martial arts world - steroids are fairly common throughout the professional social ranks and the in-crowd of hobbyist fighters in the United States and even more in countries like Brazil and Japan where the sport is absolutely huge and winners are national heroes. Up until somewhat recently, MMA was considered an outlaw’s sport in the U.S. with ex-military fighters from fallen third-world countries (where drugs and roids are plentiful) and old-school juicers dominating the top international levels of the sport. Sympathizers of Baseball’s (or cycling’s) steroid problem take notice - all excuses apply, ie: the pressure is too much, everybody’s doing it, can’t be competitive without it, we’ve got hungry mouths to feed, etc. The most serious painkillers are around too; you just have to ask anybody on the mat if they know a good sports medicine doctor and you’ll soon be drugged up enough to giggle through arm-lock training with your torn rotator cuff.

See Mark Kerr shooting up opiates in the HBO documentary “The Smashing Machine” or Rico Rodriguez’s first episode on Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew for good examples.

A couple of weeks ago, Quinton lost the UFC Light Heavyweight Championship to Forrest Griffin. Then Tuesday something we don’t yet understand obviously triggered Rampage to freak out. We don’t know if it was drugs, roids, depression or some other serious problem but in time we will find out the truth. If you’re so quick to judge Rampage as guilty of his own vices and condemn him to bad karma, you should have your “compassionate” card pulled.

Dana White, President of the company that owns the UFC was on a plane reportedly in 17 minutes to help. To the best of my knowledge, companies don’t usually show that kind of love for their employees and that might just be what this industry and many others need. After being released on $25,000 bail on Tuesday, Quinton was 5150’ed (committed to a mental hospital) for a three-day mental evaluation on Wednesday. White mentioned that Quinton been fasting - drinking only energy drinks and effectively not sleeping for a few days straight.

Before we move on to labeling Quinton “crazy” let’s just slow down and compare this to other famous freak-outs. If Quinton were a comedian, where would your prejudices lean? After Dave Chappelle walked away from like $50 million with Comedy Central and went to Africa, the press and the public called him crazy only when they weren’t alleging hard drug abuse. After the dust settled, Dave came back for an interview on Inside The Actor’s Studio where he used the example of Martin Lawrence to put this subject into perspective. “The worst thing to call somebody is crazy, it’s dismissive,” Chappelle said. Dave asked how Martin Lawrence, having survived great success and a stroke with a smile ended up screaming on the street waving a gun? Seems like a valid question to me.

“These people are not crazy. They are strong people. Maybe the environment is a little sick.” Chappelle said

Aww how cute Ms. Feist was on Sesame Street to share her death chant with all the earth’s annoying little children. The Pixar loving little shits that ruin my brunch by spazzing around and throwing shit while their passive aggro parents have a defeated look on their faces and just sigh. Said parents might even mumble and inaudible “Don’t do that Belle” or “Sebastian please sit down” but the indie-babies / children don’t give a fuck, from the moment they dawned a Motorhead onesie they knew they had the upperhand.

I don’t like children, specifically your children. The ones that crash into me while I’m on a mission to buy alcohol, records or clothes. The ones wizzing by with a cocky smirk spinning the wheels of their fucking Heelys. The one’s who have parents that just pretend you aren’t there rather than reprimanding their children or apologizing for them.

If you have a child and make me interact with it I’ll be polite. I might even enjoy it in small does but if I am trying to go about my adult or semi-adult life and have to be around throngs of children after I’ve tried so hard to hide from them (I can count the minutes I’ve spent in Park Slope BKLYN) I am going to start taking action. The cute stories and pictures you share with me about your child are actually amusing, I like cute things but they have a shelf life. My cell phone is actually a digital tribute to the wacky hi-jinx my cat Raleigh gets into. He sleeps on top of the oven, he poses for pictures, has a piercing meow which is captured on video and he’s cute. The difference is that since he’s a cat it’s all he’ll ever do. When he does something remotely smart it’s always entertaining because he’s a fucking cat, he’s stupid as shit, he’s not going to grow up, learn how to talk and become a politician. I don’t need to see every shitty thing your sucky kid does because at some point you’ll hate that kid and not want to show me shit about them. You aren’t going to show me a picture of the bong in their dorm or the chick they had Bud Light Sex with but I will never tire of my cat, he’s a perpetual kitten. He’ll be talking to me in Siamese when you’re bailing Britt out of jail for possession.

Your children are cute and funny but they don’t need to be little versions of you. They don’t need to wear Ramones shirts, your babies and little adults don’t even like the fucking Ramones. If they are such Ramones fans can they even name the members, hint they are on the fucking shirt…whoops they can’t read. They are reacting to noise, they would do the fucking baby dance (see video then continue) to Skrewdriver, GG Allin or Raffi and they should be doing it to Raffi.

Children shouldn’t be cool. The only tattooed arms pushing strollers should be owned by Bikers not Graphic Designers. They should be breaking shit in the woods not in a hipster park where dudes have hangovers or just shot Ron. They should be named after Michael Jordan not Conor Oberst, they should be wearing Sponge Bob the Builder gear not Baby BAPE and BABY/DC shirts. If you try to make your children cool you have a big surprise coming. These kids are used to not being scolded, not respecting anything and having semi-business hippie post-hipster green parents. Bingo dipshit, picture American Psycho crossed with Alex P Keaton on the best cocaine money can buy and that is who is going to push you around in a carriage, I mean wheelchair long after your Wilco CDRs have stopped spinning.

Lastly, if you’re going to bring your child to a musical event cover his or her fucking ears. There are ear plugs made specifically for your shitty kid. It sucks watching your kid baby mosh to music but at least ensure they won’t have hearing loss before they can tie their shoes. Maybe these kids don’t listen because your dumb ass made them deaf with a steady diet of Arcade Fire while you changed their shitty diapers and loud free outdoor concerts. If you are somewhere that the baby mosh/dance is happening you have to access the situation quickly and react.

Are you in the wrong place or is the baby in the wrong place?

Example  - Baby spotted dancing at My Morning Jacket show while you and your bud pull out a device used for smoking marijuana.

Verdict : What did you expect you fucking indie hippie? Go somewhere away from the baby get high and shame on you for being at the concert in the first place you deserve to be there. Your second option is to leave the venue and leave that life behind, in this case you are getting your head right and I owe you a beer.

Example - Baby doing the baby mosh in a club to High on Fire with Nigel Hipster Parents.

Verdict : You are legally* allowed to put a cigarette out on the father’s forehead and douse the wound out with PBR. You should get security and have the baby taken into child custody. High on Fire are boring and not good anymore but you did nothing wrong other than liking Sleep and trying to pretend HOF are “pretty damn good!”.

*This is only legal by my rules which the United States doesn’t recognize as actual law.

Lure: best happy hour scene in NYC. 

Some people like to get cheap drinks after work. But cheap drinks and cheap oysters? That’s the good life. New York Magazine offers this guide to oyster happy hours. But they forget the city’s premier oyster happy hour scene, Lure Fish Bar below Prada Soho, where sex columnists mingle with Roman filmmakers, fashion publicists, pot dealers, and Long Island moms in a mock yacht setting. At about 7-7:30pm sunlight streaks the whole space; a perfect visual to go with one’s summery white wine or champagne buzz.   

Oyster-Shooter Hour

Happy hour doesn’t have to mean just beer and well drinks anymore. Here’s where (and when) to get cheap mollusks to go with your bubbly this summer.

• By Alexandra Vallis 
• Published Jul 1, 2008

Ed’s Lobster Bar (View Menu)
222 Lafayette St., nr. Spring St.; 212-343-3236
Fri.–Sat., 11 p.m.–midnight

East Coast oysters, including Peconics and Beau Soleil, are $2, but for pre- (or post-) trysts we like deal No. 2: a dozen oysters and two flutes of house Champagne for $40.

Lelabar

422 Hudson St., at Leroy St.; 212-206-0594
Wed. and Sat., 5 p.m.-7:30 p.m.
This cozy wine bar hawks its market oysters for a buck a pop.

Five Points (View Menu)

31 Great Jones St., nr. Lafayette St.; 212-253-5700
Daily, 5 p.m.–6 p.m.
The day’s batch is cut from $3.50 to $2 apiece, but the martinis are half-price at $5.

Fish (View Menu)

280 Bleecker St., at Jones St.; 212-727-2879
Daily
This combo is apparently what they’re known for: six Blue Point oysters or six clams with a glass of wine or beer for $8.

 Essex (View Menu)
120 Essex St., at Rivington St.; 212-533-9616
Mon. and Thurs.
Drinks are half off only between 6 and 9 p.m., but oysters are $1 all night long.

Well, since we’re on the subject, let’s look at what actor Rip Torn has to say about oysters:

Rip Torn is a gentleman…He said he doesn’t eat much other than that [bacon and eggs], except for oysters, of course. He’ll eat oysters anytime, and always eats at least a dozen before a performance. “Low calories, tremendous energy,” he said. “At the oyster bar over in west California, there was a sign that says, `Eat fish, live longer; eat oysters, love longer!’”

The strange tale of Max Mosley, the head of Formula One, who was caught on video in a Nazi-themed sex orgy with five prostitutes, gets stranger. He’s suing the News of the World, which secretly videotaped the orgy, for an invasion of privacy. Mosley claimed that he was doing something in private with five consenting women, and the only reason he’s under fire is because his father was the leader of the British Union of Fascists and Hitler’s friend.

Mr Mosley was caught on video by the News of the World with five women in an underground “torture chamber” in Chelsea, where he spent several hours allegedly indulging in sado-masochistic sex. The Oxford-educated former barrister, who is president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), reenacted a concentration camp scene in which he played the role of both guard and inmate. Speaking in German and brandishing a leather whip, he beat the women after allowing himself to be subjected to a humiliating inspection for lice and an interrogation in chains.

In his defense, Mosley said that he could think of “few things more unerotic than Nazi roleplay.” Clearly, he’s never heard of stalags.

For a longer history of the removal of the Cherokee, see here:

“No better symbol exists of the pain and suffering of the Trail Where They Cried than the Cherokee Rose (pictured at top of page). The mothers of the Cherokee grieved so much that the chiefs prayed for a sign to lift the mother’s spirits and give them strength to care for their children. From that day forward, a beautiful new flower, a rose, grew wherever a mother’s tear fell to the ground. The rose is white, for the mother’s tears. It has a gold center, for the gold taken from the Cherokee lands, and seven leaves on each stem that represent the seven Cherokee clans that made the journey. To this day, the Cherokee Rose prospers along the route of the “Trail of Tears”. The Cherokee Rose is now the official flower of the State of Georgia.“

Everyone sort of loves Canada, or at the very least has very few bad things to say about Canuck Nation. Her people are all pretty friendly, intelligent, make some mean maple syrup, and they rule the sport of hockey. I lived there for 4 years, and it’s a lovely place. However, Canada’s got a dark side as well. I was completely ignorant of Canada’s history with the Native Canadian population (and pretty much its history in general), so it was shocking to read that the Canadian government in the 1920s forced Native children between the ages of 7-16 to attend residential schools that were “dedicated to eradicating the languages, traditions and cultural practices of Native Canadians…“ It gets worse, though: “Children were forced to leave their parents and were harshly punished for speaking their own languages or practicing their religions.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, the Canadian government “has admitted that sexual and phsyical abuse in the schools was widespread.” The schools were opened in 1920 and only began shutting down in the 1970s, so we’re talking about 50 years of the children of an entire race being forcibly assimilated, harrassed, punished, and abused. Not surprisingly, the schools have been linked to “the widespread incidence of alcoholism, suicide and family violence in many native communities.” Canada’s Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, apologized to Native Canadians last week, and the government took other steps, including a C$1.85 billion payout to surviving students, to start to make amends.

I guess I shouldn’t be shocked considering that Presidents Andrew Jackson and Martin Van Buren forcibly removed thousands of Native Americans from the South in the 1830s following the passage of the Indian Removal Act in 1830. The Choctaw, Seminole, Creek, Chicasaw, and Cherokee tribes were all relocated to the West, mainly to Oklahoma. The Choctaw were the first to go, after being coerced into signing a treaty giving up their land. One of the Choctaw leaders remarked:

“We as Choctaws rather chose to suffer and be free, than live under the degrading influence of laws, which our voice could not be heard in their formation.”

A Choctaw Chief said that the removal had been “a trail of tears and death.” Out of the 15,000 members of the tribe who were removed, approximately 5,000 died on the long journey, which was undertaken in the winter and for which the US Army did not bring enough food or supplies. The Cherokee were removed in 1838, and out of 17,000 who were forced West, about 4,000 died. The Cherokee called their route “Nunna daul Tsuny” or “The Trail Where They Cried.”

I don’t know why I thought that Canada would be any different. I guess people are just bastards everywhere.

Upon seeing the Choctaw removal, Alexis de Tocqueville said:

“In the whole scene there was an air of ruin and destruction, something which betrayed a final and irrevocable adieu; one couldn’t watch without feeling one’s heart wrung. The Indians were tranquil, but sombre and taciturn. There was one who could speak English and of whom I asked why the Chactas were leaving their country. “To be free,” he answered, could never get any other reason out of him. We … watch the expulsion … of one of the most celebrated and ancient American peoples.”

Staying with the same-sex theme, The Guardian notes that:

“Scans reveal homosexual men and heterosexual women have symmetrical brains, with the right and left hemispheres almost exactly the same size. Conversely, lesbians and straight men have asymmetrical brains, with the right hemisphere significantly larger than the left.”

Same-Sex marriages started in California, and the first couple to get married was a lesbian couple ages 87 and 84. Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon are gay rights activists in San Francisco and have been together for over 50 years. Mazzeltov!

Of course, the law will be challenged on the November ballot, and in 2000, 61% of voters approved prop 22, which defined marriage as the union between a man and a woman. Although a recent poll found that 51% supported same-sex marriages, there’s a lot of work to be done between now and November.

Martin and Lyon with San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom.

Weird…two stories in two days on Muslim women who’ve had premarital sex trying to get a hymenoplasty, where a doctor uses “stitches to repair the broken membrane so that it partially covers the opening of the vagina.” Why would women do this? Because in many Muslim countries, women are expected to be virgins when they’re married, so some are opting for the surgery to magically become virgins again. The WSJ did a story two days ago about the uproar in France (subscription needed) following a court’s ruling annuling a marriage because the man discovered that his wife wasn’t a virgin on their wedding night. The court said that it was a breach of contract, and now people are calling for the Justice Minister to resign! Then, the NYT did a story about Muslim women and virginity.

Personally, chalk me down as someone who’s a bit torn on this issue. On the one hand, I can understand critics’ arguments that the procedure perpetuates the repression of women in Muslim countries and stifles attempts to advance womens’ rights in those nations. You can’t become a virgin again, no matter how hard you try…not to mention that you’re lying to your prospective husband and presumably your family, and his. At the same time, shouldn’t this at least be an option for Muslim women, or any woman for that matter, who chooses to do it? One of the arguments in favor of abortion is that women who are desperate enough to avoid having a child will turn to dangerous methods, including underground abortions, that could lead to death. Indeed, around 70,000 women die each year from unsafe abortions. Part of the reason some women get an abortion is cultural (i.e. it’s taboo to have a child out of wedlock and can lead to the woman and her family being ostracized), and that’s true whether you’re Muslim or Catholic. Now, I’m not sure if there is some sort of underground hymenoplasty, and there certainly doesn’t seem to be any way to do it yourself, so maybe this argument is a stretch. But, some women may think that they’ll be severely ostracized and may even be put in physical danger unless they prove that they are virgins, so shouldn’t they at least have an outlet to have this procedure done by a trained doctor in a safe environment? Thoughts?

Now that she’s a virgin again, she only wears white…

Ok, you’re the chief judge of the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals in California and one of the highest-ranking judges in the land. People say you have a brilliant legal mind, and some people think that you’ll one day be sitting on the Supreme Court. So, what do you do in your spare time?

(a) Pore over legal briefs

(b) Give lectures at bar associations or at university law schools

(c) Post sexually explicit material on your website, including pictures of women on all fours painted like cows, a half-naked man “cavorting” with a farm animal, masturbation, and scenes of public sex.

Judge Alex Kozinski chose (c). When the LA Times inquired about the pictures, he responded that some of them were “funny”, and he said that he’d placed them on the website, because he thought that the public couldn’t access it. Then, the next day, Judge Kozinski told the Times that his son, Yale, called and said that he’d uploaded most of the photos, and that sounded right “because I sure don’t remember putting some of that stuff there.” All of this happened a couple of days before Kozinski was scheduled to hear arguments in a case against Ira Issacs, who is accused of distributing sexual fetish videos that include beastiality! Did Issacs luck out or what?! Overseeing his trial is a guy who’s into bestiality, or at least into viewing it. Of course, the trial was suspended for 48 hours, and Kozinski has now called for the ethics panel to investigate his conduct.

Now, when I first read this story yesterday, I thought…how could this guy have been dumb enough to post that kind of stuff on a publicly accessible website? Naturally, he was under the impression that it was totally private. The LA Times confirmed his son’s claim that it’s on his private server and the domain name is registered to Yale Kozinski. Basically, his son said that he didn’t configure the site properly and didn’t know that it could be accessed by the public. He said that only family and friends had access to the site. Still, it seems like maybe one of those family members or friends sold him out. According to the LA Times,

“Before the site was blocked, visitors to http://alex.kozinski.com saw a message: “Ain’t nothin’ here. Y’all best be movin’ on, compadre.” Only those who knew to type in the name of a subdirectory could see the content on the site, which also included some of Kozinski’s essays and legal writings as well as music files and personal photos.”

How else would a reporter get the name of the subfolder unless someone who knew it sold Kozinski out? Scott Glover, the LA Times journalist, hasn’t said (to the best of my knowledge).

Naturally, people are all upset. To me, the only issue here is that he should recuse himself from this case. That much seems pretty obvious. Should he get in trouble for viewing bestiality? Hell no. The guy can do whatever he wants in his spare time, assuming it is legal, since he’s a judge and all. This is all pretty embarrassing for the Kozinskis, and unfortunately for him, this is going to kill any chance of him ever getting to the Supreme Court. Still, as the LA Times noted, only Congress can fire federal judges, although maybe his fellow judges will censure him (seems unlikely given that it’s California).

The only pic I could find of the L platform, but it sort of works.

I ran across an interesting story from the New York City News Service a while ago. Basically it says what most New Yorkers could easily guess; the Bedford Ave. stop off of the L Train is the number one spot in the city for Missed Connections postings on Craigslist. These things are my new favorite reads, (as a spectator only, I’ve not fallen to those depths of desperation yet). Sometimes the shit on them is too good:

“You were tall, dark and handsome - plain and simple - in a blue cowboy-style shirt, short running shorts and flip-flops…

“I was scruffy, blue cap, green shirt, jeans, reading some steinbeck.”

“You had a beard , thin and kinda tall, great clothes, and talking on your phone…”

These posts really narrow it down for Williamsburg, eh?

I knew a dude who used to basically search every spot he’d visited the day before on there every day at work. He definitely found himself alot and would actually date chicks off of it. Shit boggles my mind.

That trend will go great with this one, from AFP:

“One in four adults living in New York City has the virus that causes genital herpes.”

Yup.

“It takes a lot of money to look this cheap” Dolly Parton

Is anyone else creeped out by Mariah Carey? She gives me that uncomfortable feeling when she speaks in public or poses for a camera and it’s eerily similar to a pap smear, no, worse, to the way I once felt when Anna Nicole Smith would talk
Here are some other similarities I’ve noticed…
They both have at one point or another removed clothes on various TV appearances. Mariah on TRL and Anna Nicole on an awards show.

They both dress, or did dress in Anna Nicole’s case, like South Beach or Jersey Shore (no offense Rick V.) mall employees from the nineties.

They both love, loved to say or sing “Touch my body” as in Mariah’s new hit single and like in Anna Nicole’s infamous speech “ Like my body”.  What we need to do now is take away that poor baby Daniel Lyn and give her to her rightful born-again Mommy Mariah! Furthermore, the butt load of monetary compensation that comes with that kid will surely make Nick Cannon’s sacrifice worth it.  I wonder if this explains the whirlwind wedding! Maybe he knew something we didn’t. Hummm….

The sports theme today is going strong, here’s a new one you haven’t seen yet… barefoot surfing in ancient irrigation channels in Yemen.