Have you heard of reflexology? It’s the fake alternative medical practice where a hippie holistic practitioner rubs the bottoms of your feet and magically heals you…. because you obviously are a moron who never realized that all your vital organs are connected to the soles of your feet. Yes, people actually believe in this.
Well apparently the reflexologists have their own cartel trade organization that wants to prevent the scourge of unlicensed foot rubbers from ever harming the good people of New York.
State Sen. Martin Golden and a handful of other lawmakers got what looked suspiciously like foot massages in the cavernous lobby of the Legislative Office Building.
“They are looking for some of our brains,” Golden (R-Brooklyn) quipped as a member of the New York State Reflexology Association rubbed down his bare feet.
“We are finding out all about reflexology,” Golden added as he sat back in a reclining chair with his feet lifted above his head.
Reflexology, for those who don’t know, is defined as the “systematic application of alternating pressure by the use of the practitioner’s hands, thumbs and fingers to reflex points on an individual’s hands, feet, face or ears.” It is promoted primarily as a stress reduction technique.
The group was in Albany pushing for passage of an Assembly bill that would require licensing of reflexologists and set competence standards
And it would also be nice if legislators would be a little more skeptical when a trade organization wants to require licensing. Sorry, but they don’t want licensing because they’re oh so concerned about public safety. It’s because they want to restrict competition by increasing the barriers to entry. There is simply no logical reason to impose higher foot rubbing costs on society under the guise of public wellness.
Or as Matt Yglesias put it: “Another day, another spurious occupational licensing effort.”
The main reason Baconcat loves soccer so much is that it seems, pound for pound, to produce more heroes, villains and goats than any other sport. It also produces them on the world stage. This last world cup (and qualifiers) alone produced strange scenes like Hondurans flooding the streets of the capitol city Tegucigalpa to chant the name of an American player (Jonathan Bornstein), as well as making Luis Suarez the most loved man in Uruguay and the most hated man in Ghana for stopping a sure goal with his hand. Countries have gone to war over the outcomes of these games.
This past Saturday, as I stood in RFK stadium in Washington, DC, to watch my beloved DC United open the season against Columbus, I witnessed another great moment in soccer: the resumption of Charlie Davies’ once-great career, cut short by tragedy. After all, it was only 18 months ago that I was watching another game at RFK stadium; a world cup qualifier, no-less. It was this game that became known as ‘the Charlie Davies game’. Not because the United States striker scored a hat-trick, or had a dramatic winner, or even played, but because he had almost died the night before in a drunk-driving accident. The night before Charlie had stayed out late partying with friends (in violation of curfew), then got into a car with a drunk driver. It only took a second to ruin 2 lives and end a third. The accident was so severe that when the police arrived they originally thought it had involved two cars. It didn’t, it was just that the car had been cut in half by the impact. Charlie Davies somehow survived, but another passenger wasn’t so lucky and died at the scene. As is often the case with these kinds of accidents, the driver was the least injured.
So the game went on with out him the next day, while he was unconscious and recovering from surgery to repair his lacerated bladder, broken fibula, femur, elbow, cheekbones and bleeding brain. He would later be shown how at the 9th minute of the game he would have certainly started in, thousands of fans lifted up placards with the number 9 on them (his number) in unison.
Photo courtesy of Matt Mathai
What followed was more surgeries and agonizing physical therapy. His team, Sochaux of France’s top flight, was very patient. They wanted him back, but they didn’t want him to rush. After all, the injuries had been so severe they had to peel his face back in order to reconstruct it. But Charlie was driven. He confidently predicted he would play in the world cup, a mere 9 months away. After all, he was a crucial spark for the men’s national team. His rehab was nothing short of miraculous, but sometimes miracles aren’t enough. The world cup happened without Charlie. The injuries were just too severe. His own Sochaux, knowing how long he would be out, had gotten two new strikers as backup. The new season started and these strikers were keeping Charlie on the bench. Time passed and Charlie’s struggles disappeared from the news. Missing the world cup had been especially tough. 9 months without a game became a year. It began to seem as if his recovery, monumental as it was, might fall short of playing soccer again.
Then, in a move that caught the rumor-happy world of US soccer off guard, he was offered a trial with DC United, a team in need of it’s own redemption. The 4-time MLS champions had just finished a year that had seen the club set records for futility (lowest goals scored in a season) and suffering (lowest points total in their 16 year history). In a rare move, Sochaux allowed DC United a full week to try Davies out before agreeing to a loan. If Davies just didn’t have it anymore, DC could decline the move and pay nothing. The week passed and everyone at DC was exceptionally closed lipped about the trial. Did Davies still have it? Was the confidence there? Davies scored, but it was a practice game against a local college. The week came and went and on the day of the signing there was no news. Rumors swirled, but it looked like he had done enough to make the team. It took another week to sort out the details of the loan, but Charlie had indeed made the squad.
And so it was that last Saturday in the 50th minute of DC United’s season opener, Charlie Davies entered the game as a substitute. His first entry into a game since 2009 almost went unnoticed because the home crowd was celebrating a goal scored 30 seconds before. Most people realized he was in the game only when the announcer broadcast it over the speaker a minute later. The crowd erupted with a cheer. Ten minutes later that eruption would become volcanic. His teammate Chris Pontius took a pass and burst into the penalty box where he was cut down by a defender, a clear penalty. While Pontius was on the ground rubbing his smarting ankle, captain Dax McCarty took the ball to the penalty spot. Davies walked up and asked for the ball. “I need this.” he said. McCarty gave him the ball. Davies set it down on the spot, waited for the referee and slotted it calmly past the keeper.
He had scored. 2-0 DC United.
No matter what happened, he had scored on his first game back since the crash. That was something real, something that could not be taken away. His first meaningful touch since the accident had been a goal. Penalties are never easy. Consider what would have happened if he had missed: the doubting would start. Questions would be asked. But he didn’t miss. It wasn’t in the run of play, but it was just the kind of thing strikers need to build their confidence and lead to more goals.
Another ten minutes later that confidence paid off. United back Marc Burch played a long floating ball down field. Columbus’ standout fullback Chad Marshall (and fellow national team member) seemed to have it under control as the ball came floating in, but Davies made a quick burst to Marshall’s left, then another to the right. Marshall naturally tracked with Davies, but Davies’ motion was too fast and it seemed to fluster Marshall who over-corrected and lost his balance. As the ball sailed over the prostrate Marshall, Davies deftly stopped it with his left foot and blazed in on goal. The Columbus goalie rushed out to take it, but Davies again showed his speed and burst sideways past him. Davies then twisted his body around to get the shot off and watched with joy as it sped past a Columbus defender and into the open net. 3-0 DC United. There was no containing the joy in the stadium. Full beers flew up into the air as the stands bounced up and down and 20,000 strangers hugged each other. Davies was swarmed at the corner flag by his teammates. The comeback was complete.
Columbus managed in the late stages to pull a goal back, but they were never in the game. Davies had put the game out of reach for them with his brace. When the whistle for extra time came, a tired but happy Charlie Davies walked towards the fans, toward the section hat had held up the thousands of number 9 cards the day after his accident. He raised his hands to applaud them, a tradition in soccer. There was a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. The fans who had been there for him while he sat prostrate in a hospital bed had been there today. Together, they shared this moment. In soccer, as Liverpool fans sing, you never walk alone.
In the early days, Crasstalk was a backwater with few visits but so many great things to share. To help bring some of those early posts to light we present Crasstalk Classic. Our latest classic post goes all the way back to November 2010 when NoDebutante shared how life doesn’t always work out like the movies.
I might have mentioned once or twice that I’m going through a divorce. As of today, I am officially divorced. Given my family’s track record of marriages for life, this is a status I never thought I’d achieve. In fact, as a child, I learned most everything I knew about divorce from the film Irreconcilable Differences. I was only slightly older than Casey, the child played by Drew Barrymore, and didn’t give much thought to the story beyond halfheartedly wishing we had a Mexican housekeeper with whom I could live when I didn’t like my parents anymore. This didn’t come to pass.
I have to say, though, that my divorce didn’t quite pan out the way I thought it would, given all the cinematic depictions of marital strife and divorce I’ve seen through the years. Here, for you, is the difference between how I thought it would go and how it really went down.
I’m a military spouse. A really bad one, if all the “manuals” on this theoretical occupation are to be believed.
Sample quote:
“Some women think they’re cool by driving over the speed limit on base, dressing like prostitutes, and getting drunk at command functions…You are socializing with your husband’s bosses and colleagues, and you need to behave as such. You may be harming your service member’s career prospects- and therefore your income potential- by acting wildly. So grow up already!”
I don’t want to give you all too many good tips about being part of the “silent ranks” (seriously, that is what they call it) at once, so just digest that one for now.
In most ways, Airman Nerd’s job is like an accountant’s, in that it affects and interests me only tangentially. But in other ways, it is definitely a lifestyle we’re not used to. And here’s a little snippet of how things went when we got his first base assignment:
When he found out where we were going to live, our friends asked if we were going to live on base when we were at dinner.
“Oh, hell no!” I shrieked, liberally splashing wine on someone. “Does anyone think I’d get along with those bitches? They’d all be going, ‘Oh, that girl with the unbrushed hair and dirty yoga pants is screaming again. Look at those dogs, biting each others’ necks like vampires and digging their way to another base. This is the sixth time this week the Chinese food delivery guy has been to their house.'”
With that preconceived (and possibly judgmental) notion of military wives in my mind, Airman Nerd wisely decided I could pick where we lived. And, anyway, our very dangerous dogs would not be allowed in base housing. Tell that to the Chihuahua that bit me at work a few months ago.
So we rented a house. Actually, a cute little house, and the bonus of military life is that people assume you’re good for the rent money. We paid no security or pet deposit. This was hopeful on the part of our landlords, as the entire yard will need to be reseeded when we move out and the 25-year-old linoleum doesn’t stand up well to copious amounts of drool and water-bowl spillage. Sorry, Landlord Bruce!
I got the job I was hoping for, as we listed our base preferences in order of where I had the best chance of working in a progressive animal welfare organization. Too bad it was twenty-five miles from where we live, and we have one car.
Once, my husband got a ride home from work with one of his officers (same age, single). “You shouldn’t have to give her the car,” he told my spouse. “How much does she even make, anyway?”
My husband allegedly kept his mouth shut (even if he didn’t, he told me he did, and that’s the important half).
Continuing on, Staff Sargeant Sexist said, “I mean, she doesn’t have to work.” (Ohhh…hell…)
Airman Nerd extricated himself from this discussion and relayed it to me later.
Is rage-laughter a thing? If it is, that’s what I was doing. Rage-laughing. “HE DON’T KNOW ME! STAFF SARGEANT DOUCHEBAG, I SAY! WHAT WOULD I DO ALL DAY?”
I continued ranting at a capital-letter volume until Mr. Nerd pointed out that he wasn’t the one suggesting I stay home and take care of the house and…the dogs, I guess, since I’d rather own thousands of scorpions than even one child.
So we continued on, with his helpful boss suggesting things like, “You should get another car,” and “She should find a job that’s closer,” which we hadn’t thought of before, naturally, because Airman Nerd is an adult with a degree in his field and I’m a lady.
Still, we soldier on (get it?) with one car amongst two people who both have careers. We’re pioneers in that way; two kids just tryin’ to figure out how to have a dual-income-no-kids household.
Some wimp in Knowlton Township, NJ is suing the makers of Four Loko because he claims to now have heart arrhythmia after drinking a mere 2.5 cans of the magical elixir. It is a well known fact that Four Loko can induce visions of Leprechauns, but only a nincompoop would drink 2.5 cans without getting a complete physical first. Light weight. Try to explain to the boys down at the tire shop why you’re suing instead of manning up and having another one.
Hello Crasstalk! Hope you are having a wonderful day and are ready for more exciting happenings in our little corner of the web.
Quick announcement. Lady_E would like to pass on that she picked a winner for this weekend’s bookshelf contest. The lucky contestant was Mr. P_Mouse with this amazing description of his collection:
As with my dog, if you take issue with my choice/juxtaposition of books, you will at best be suffered in silence, at worst given the bum’s rush and never invited back.
Also, as we have something on the order of 10,000 books and no discernable capacity for logical organization, nearly every provocative grouping is purest random chance.
That said, I do occasionally amuse myself with groupings (although no one else has ever noticed, as far as I know)
For example, there’s “Elaine’s corner.”,
Elaine herself, of course, is at the so-called “Late” table now : she’s there next to Sinatra and Jackie O; nearby, Truman Capote and Bill Styron sneer and snicker at a rakishly tilted Mailer who’s trying to look up Germaine Greer’s skirt before stabbing her. (Mailer’s a nightmare: none of the other books want to be shelved anywhere near him.)
Woody’s over there (Without Feathers), and also without Soon-Yi; tonight he’s got Lolita on his arm — the real one — while Nabokov’s sardonic ghost looks on with the amused disdain of a true aristo before turning again to Candace Bushnell and Jimmy Breslin.
Tom Wolfe is making the rounds, but the others are flinching away a bit; it’s the glare of that damn jacket — these days Tom is regarded as you might a fluorescent bulb about to burn out, casting rather a harsh light that falters and flashes in the MOST annoying way, and buzzing now and then, randomly. But he’s a fixture, after all.
I am not sure what he wins besides bragging rights, but since we are talking about reading and Crasstalk, bragging rights are kind of a big deal. Thanks to everyone who shared their book habits.
Here’s a little sunshine to get you going today.
Have a great day and don’t fight the funk.
-=Message from Bens=-
Hi guys. A lot of people have said “hey, I can’t see the Amazon.com link! What is this you speak of? Well, you need to turn off Adblock Plus, for Crasstalk. We promise we won’t run cheeto ads. Please, please, turn it off. Here’s how!
1. See the red stop sign on the top right of your toolbar? It says “ABP” on it. Left click on it.
2. There’s an option that will say “disable for crasstalk.com” – check it.
3. The sign should now turn green for Crasstalk.com
ALSO! Adobe has fixed some MAJOR bugs in FlashPlayer. Unless you’re super l33t like Dogz, you’ll need to update. Easy method: go over to Browsercheck.qualys.com and let it search for updates. It works on Firefox, Safari, and Chrome. You’ll be happy when you don’t look at your credit card statement and see mysterious charges coming from a Belarussian strip club. Have a nice day!
Well hello my friends hope you are having a wonderful day. If you have a few minutes stop by this thread and give us your recommendations for the new Crasstalk Amazon Store. Since it is cold and rainy here in NYC I feel like snuggling up with some awesome cartoons. This is one opf my favorite shows ever.
Drugs make you cool! Geckos are great at law enforcement. We can win the alien apocalypse. An old Lincoln works as an office. Seth Rogen’s comedy can save a movie! Paul Giamatti will wrestle lots of money right out of your puny hands! These are all lies.
Here’s the results of some of the millions you shelled out this weekend, and some other stuff you won’t see ever.
1) Limitless — $19 Million
So Bradley Cooper and his pocket full of magic beans tops the box office this week. And that just makes total sense since it’s not everyday in a movie some mousy, drab, rumple-person goes from geek to chic. That’s not something that ever happens in movies nowadays. Why, not since Melanie Griffith chopped off all her Jersey style hair-frizz, grabbed a pair of Reeboks, starched her shoulder pads, and stole a dress from Sigourney Weaver’s bony-ass has this happened in a movie. Nope. Not ever at all. Bradley is charting new territory by taking off his glasses, undoing that uncomely bun, shaking out his lustrous mane and becoming the va,va, va, voom we all hoped he’d be. Mostly, right? Maybe Robert DeNiro packs him a lunch in a cool lunch pail at the end of this thing, right before he stumbles into a real office.
2) Rango — $15.3 Million
In some sort of greasy hair-battle, Bradley Cooper managed to beat out the original oil-follicle Johnny Depp. Not that Rango isn’t an awesome movie. It so clearly is. But in order to sustain dominance, the viewing public needs to actually see an unkempt man parading himself in front of a movie camera with the hopes that he’ll either 1) turn into a heartthrob later on, or 2) rely on past 1980’s hotness to carry him through while he dresses up in various Halloween costumes. A Hawaiian be-shirted animated Gecko can only work for so many weeks until the audience is clamoring for more ratty hobo-ness. And if Johnny Depp can’t deliver, than well, they’ll just look for the next best thing — B.Coops serving Dim Sum and working on Wall Street until Harrison Ford DeNiro saves the movie by trying to steal his magic beans and his miracle shoulder pads.
3) Battle: Los Angeles — $14.6 Million
In with a bang, out with a farty whimper. The reviews of “blockbuster for the ages,” Battle: Los Angeles have not been good. Is it this year’s over-hyped Skyline? Maybe. After a decent opening week — yup, that $36 million got punched in the face reducing it by about $22 million. That’s a whole lot of people who decided they’d rather clip their toenails, or clean their gutters, or sew button eyes on socks, than go see Lt. Vasquez and Harvey Dent play shaky-cam Stratego with a bunch of alien-borg cockroaches or whatever the alien beings are now. There’s probably just as much satisfaction popping in a VHS tape of M. Night Shamaliarlans Signs and just watch that one scene with Joaquin sitting in the closet while the alien struts in an alley i.e. the only cool part of that movie. Simplicity!
4) The Lincoln Lawyer — $13.4 Million
The actor responsible for such enigmatic greats as Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Fool’s Gold, and Failure to Launch, failed to financially outdo these less than well-received films, which obviously premiered amid a world of McConaughey hypnotism. Really. In the past he must have used one of his shirtless enchanted nipples as a beacon luring unsuspecting virgins to various palaces of cinema with promises of a sip from his sweat-filled armpit of love. There’s really no other explanation. The spell must be broken, since his lawyer doing lawyerly things from a Lincoln’s backseat riddled with Wendy’s bags and Marisa Tomei’s Oscar didn’t do the same amount of business this weekend. He may need to unleash the unencumbered pectorals yet again. No, we really don’t mean this.
5) Paul— $13.2 Million
While Seth Rogen is probably stewing in Judd Apatow’s pool surrounded by a mountain of chicken fingers, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost are having the best week ever! Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz debuted at $3.3 million and $5.8 million, respectively. So for these guys $13.2 Million is like starring in Star Wars, or Battle: LA! Perhaps they’ve finally made it. Maybe now we Yanks will see them as more than just a couple of witty blokes who’ve mastered the shock-faced close up! It’s certainly possible. We like that Ricky Gervais an awful lot don’t we? Uh, well, okay. Maybe not everyone likes Ricky Gervais, but certainly we like Pegg and Frost better than Rowan Atkinson (Stupid Mr. Bean!) or Gordon Ramsey (Evil Mr. Arseface!). That’s something to aspire to — continue being cuddly and American-friendly, and not a cunty-pisser. Good luck, gentlemen.
Honorable Mention
Win Win — $154,000
The limited release indie didn’t make a whole lot of bank, but the reviews have been strong and Amy Ryan is in it, so basically it doesn’t matter. The King’s Speech gained only marginally better reviews and look what happened there? And in a fight we think Ryan could take on Helena Bonham Hair Nest of Algae Carter. That is if she doesn’t use her crazy person super strength, and she leaves her mismatched-shoes-of-power home for the brawl. Support your local indie flick, after all, these are the things that win awards. What? You thought comedies and science-fiction did? You silly aliens.
The most popular browser on Crasstalk is Firefox 3. Today brings good news for those who have been suffering along with a browser that first came out in 2008. Firefox 4 is now available and is one day ahead of schedule. It’s not quite up on the Mozilla website but their FTP servers are offering up the latest bits. You can download them here. Just select your operating system and grab the language of your choice. Below are easier links for popular combinations:
If you’ve been running a Firefox 4 beta then you can get the new version by going to Help then About. The download will start and install automatically.
Firefox 4 brings better speed, stability, a few new usability features, hardware acceleration and a redesigned user interface. So, what are you waiting for, go download.
Minimum requirements are Windows 2000 or Mac OS 10.5. If you are on 10.4 Apple wants you to know that they haven’t published any security updates since April 2009 and that you should upgrade to 10.5 or preferably 10.6.
