Good morning my little birds and Happy Tuesday! You know, we’ve been feeling like this thing has been going in the wrong direction. More crass than sass, if you get the gist, so on today’s program, we’re going back to basics. Now, that’s a very broad statement, so we must ask ourselves, what do we mean by that? We don’t want to rehash past glories and we certainly don’t want to offend anyone with our blatant inaccuracies, poor judgments and crude jokes (this is, after all, the column that once quipped ‘Remember that group of anti-Nazi protesters whose members were arrested last week, The White Rose? Yeah, they were executed.’), but, honestly, we think there’s too much hot boy. It’s distracting! That’s not to say that we are discontinuing the Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™, but we will be taking a break from the male models for a hot second and going back to that boy we all know and love. That’s right, birds, he’s back:
violence
22 posts
Author’s Note:
I’ve added some links throughout this post to bring a little levity to a serious subject.
There has been much in the news in recent times regarding the increase in bullying in schools. My heart goes out to the children of this generation, because with text messages, Photoshop, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube (among many others), the possibilities for being tormented have drastically increased since I was in high school. This is my recollection of being harassed and intimidated in a time before technology made life utterly unbearable for the bullied.
When I was fourteen, I attended a progressive high school in New York City for my freshman year. While I loved the unusual format and variety of the classes, I was something of a social outcast and a hermit. When I did interact, I usually hung out with other socially inept nerds who were also good students. But mostly, I ensconced myself in self-imposed isolation.
Unbeknownst to me, I had a stalker, a girl in my grade who would follow me around and try to make friends with me. My intuition said to avoid her, but I quickly learned that this was not appeasing her at all. Stacey got progressively more aggressive as a result of my ignoring her, to the point where she scrawled “Witch! 666!” all over my hall and gym lockers. She repeatedly tried to take pictures of me undressing in the locker room. I received several late-night phone calls from her where she would whisper in sinister tones that I, the “stuck-up bitch” was going to “get what I deserved.” Things came to a head in gym class, when she hurled a basketball at my stomach with such force that I spent the rest of the day under observation in the nurse’s office.
Fortunately for me, my mother became aware of what was going on. (I was too mortified to tell anyone.) She made an appointment with the Assistant Principal and calmly informed her that she was going to sue the school system if my tormentor was not expelled. My mother’s ire was effective, and Stacey was indeed expelled. I later learned that her entire motivation for trying to get my attention – including her extreme tactics – was because she had an unrequited crush on me. I had been completely clueless that this was even a possibility.
As a result of the trauma I’d endured at my Brooklyn high school, I moved in with my grandparents to their house in Sullivan County (roughly 75 miles north of NYC). For my sophomore year, I enrolled at the local school, which — given the much smaller population — was a combination of junior and senior high school, which encompassed grades 7 through 12. Given the lack of stimulation of the rural area, many of the students entertained themselves with drugs and promiscuous sex. It was tremendous culture shock to be around so many decidedly non-serious students. One of my 10th grade classmates, a charmer named Butch, was eighteen years old at the start of the school year. He would routinely serenade the class by pounding on his desk and singing the chorus of “White Lines”, a cautionary song about cocaine abuse. (Butch had clearly missed the cautionary part.) His disparaging nickname for me was “Goody Two Shoes.”
I befriended my teachers and a couple other nerdy/smart kids in my class, and I thought I was doing fine. In fact, I was doing fine, until I encountered the wrath of a classmate who appropriately shared a name with the killer car in the Stephen King novel. Christine was a pretty and popular but less-than-bright girl who hated me on sight. She scorned my big city background, my large vocabulary, my comparative innocence — I didn’t drink, smoke, do drugs or have sex — and my fondness for the lone Asian kid in our class (who was one of only a handful of minorities in the entire school). In addition, Christine openly mocked my favorite light pink hooded sweatsuit that I wore to gym class. This quickly earned me my second nickname: “The Pink Panther.”
One day, in the soccer field during practice, she kicked the ball and deliberately hit me in the face, resulting in a déjà vu visit to the nurse’s office. The gym teacher chalked it up as an accident, but I knew it definitely hadn’t been one. It wasn’t until Christine pushed me down a flight of stairs that the administrators finally acknowledged there was a problem. (Thankfully, they were stairs with a landing in between floors, so I was bruised but not seriously hurt.)
My grandparents took me out of school, since expelling Christine only solved part of my problems with the school. My teachers helped me out by arranging a home-school program for me to finish out the school year. In the summer, I returned to Brooklyn, and I nearly kissed the ground there when I arrived. The experience taught me that it was far better for me to live in a challenging but intellectually thriving place than to try to retreat to rural isolation. After that point, I was fortunate in that I never had another problem with bullies or mean girls.
I have tremendous compassion and empathy for all the kids who have to deal with unprovoked attacks on a regular basis just to get through the school year. I hope that some of these children are fortunate enough (as I was) to have parents and family members who are advocates and supporters. To any of you who’ve dealt with similar difficult circumstances, I hope that it’s helped you and in some way made you a stronger person. As always, you are welcome to share your experiences and thoughts in the comments.
In closing, the following clip is a beautiful, gently cathartic song designed to raise your self-esteem. (You may be crying by the end of it.)
“How could anyone ever tell you
you were anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you
you were less than whole?”
Memories fade, minds decay, and still we go on with the recording of history. We don’t remember much though. Hell, we forget more about ourselves as we grow old than we do the facts that we’re taught, that we learn and absorb. The episodic memory is faulty because it causes us to add and remove details as we see fit, but what is deemed important enough for history is written down so that we will never forget, even if we almost always forget. Will we know who, say, Madonna is in a hundred years? It’s possible, but we know we can’t name a singer from 1911, nor do we really care. Cher, of course, will be remembered forever because she will never die. We believe she’s strong enough.
From WCRS in Detroit, it’s Life, Death and Violence brought to you by coffee. Coffee, it’s damn good! Join us and Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™ Janice Fronimakis as we delve into Wikipedia and discover the people that we’ve forgotten about. It’s your day in the sun, April 12.
LIFE!
(You think someone’s going to care about you when you’re dead? Ha!)
1705: William Cookworthy: Cookworthy? Not according to his wife! He did, however, kill scurvy by telling those saucy seamen to make sure to eat their fruits! The seamen, naturally, misinterpreted his dietary suggestion and continued to succumb to the disease until sometime later. Always carry Trojans and a bottle of orange juice, boys!- He also discovered kaolinite in Cornwall and figured out how to turn it into porcelain, thus allowing the English to make fine bone china. Bilking the Chinese out of their profits? How dare you Cookworthy! In this case, Bill’s surname is apt as he did know how to operate a kiln.
- Wikipedia has a whole section dedicated to Cookworthy’s friends. His dinner party guests included James Cook (couldn’t even scramble an egg), John Jervis (there’s no pun here), Doctor Solander (who?) and Joe Banks who is a god in our book for giving us mimosa. Oh wait, upon further review, he found the plant, not the drink. There’s a mimosa plant? Wow, we guess you really do learn something new every day. Maybe the seamen Cookworthy advised invented the mimosa. Hell, maybe that explains all the orange juice. Prevent scurvy! Go to brunch!
1705: William Cookworthy: Cookworthy? Not according to his wife! He did, however, kill scurvy by telling those saucy seamen to make sure to eat their fruits! The seamen, naturally, misinterpreted his dietary suggestion and continued to succumb to the disease until sometime later. Always carry Trojans and a bottle of orange juice, boys!
- You snooze, you lose! English bone china? More like English bone China! Hey-Oh!
DEATH!
(In memoriam: Forever or for thirty days, whichever comes first)
- 1684: Nicolò Amati: Amati made violins, but no one can name a single luthier (that’s violin-maker) other than Antoni Stradivari, so, better luck next time Nick! Still, Nick’s violins are generally agreed to be the best in his family, at least for modern violinists and who can afford a Stradivarius anyways? Those things cost more than a one bedroom apartment in Chelsea. We’d rather have the apartment and use the savings on an Amati if we played violin. However, we don’t. We started taking lessons briefly after hearing Neon Bible but we didn’t really take it seriously and quit after a month or so.
- But wait, there’s more! It seems that Antoni Stradivari was an apprentice of Nick Amati! This isn’t confirmed, but it’s on one of the guy’s violins, so it might be true. He at least liked Nick’s fiddles. Nick Amati: Historical footnote, overshadowed by a student. Isn’t that what we all worry about?
- He also taught Andrea Guarneri, but, once again, we must ask, does anyone outside the music world know these names other than Stradivarius? Maybe that’s the key to history. No one is really forgotten, just by those outside their field.
Amati made violins, but no one can name a single luthier (that’s violin-maker) other than Antoni Stradivari, so, better luck next time Nick! Still, Nick’s violins are generally agreed to be the best in his family, at least for modern violinists and who can afford a Stradivarius anyways? Those things cost more than a one bedroom apartment in Chelsea. We’d rather have the apartment and use the savings on an Amati if we played violin. However, we don’t. We started taking lessons briefly after hearing Neon Bible but we didn’t really take it seriously and quit after a month or so.Aw shucks, now we’re starting to get it and so is Janice, who’s so excited about unraveling the threads of time that he’s hopped on a horse and is preparing for war!
- Giddyup!
VIOLENCE!
(The blood no one remembers)
- 238: The Battle of Carthage: Led by the father/son empiric duo of Gordian the First and Gordian the Second, the Romans fell to the Numidians (modern-day Libya). Gordian the Second was killed in battle, and upon hearing the news, Gordian the First, who was 80 at the time, killed himself.
- Interestingly enough, the Gordians were only emperor for twenty days and presided over Rome in what is now termed “The Year of Six Emperors” so don’t feel bad about losing that battle Gordie Sr. and Gordie Jr. Everyone had a bad year. At least the Roman Senate made you gods!
- Seriously though, even though the blood was shed in vain since we no longer remember you, take solace in the fact that the modern world has exalted another Gordie to the pedestal of divinity. Gordie “Mr. Everything” Howe. Go Wings!
238: The Battle of Carthage: Led by the father/son empiric duo of Gordian the First and Gordian the Second, the Romans fell to the Numidians (modern-day Libya). Gordian the Second was killed in battle, and upon hearing the news, Gordian the First, who was 80 at the time, killed himself.
- That battle, man. I’m exhausted.
OTHER NEAT STUFF THAT HAPPENED!
(This stuff’s notable)
After that battle, Janice is tired of talking about things that no one remembers anymore. Frankly, we’re tired of it too, so we thought we’d let you guys know that:
- In 1606 the Union Jack became the official flag of Great Britain.
- Unfortunately, that didn’t help Galileo. Italy’s formal inquest into his heretical science stuff began in 1633. Oh, the Inquisition!
- In 1861, the Confederacy fired on Fort Sumter, sparking the Civil War.
- And in 1917, Canada took some German land during World War One. Wait, Canada has an army?
- 1955: The polio vaccine is certified safe!
- Too bad it came too late for FDR who died exactly ten years earlier in 1945.
- 1961: Bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon! Or, well, at least to orbit as Yuri Gagarin becomes the first man in space. No one will ever remember a single other Russian cosmonaut.
- 1992: EURODISNEY!
- Bill Clinton is cited for contempt of court for not knowing what the meaning of ‘is’ is in 1999
- And last, but not least, Zimbabwe abandoned their money in 2009! It’s not like it was worth anything anyways. We’re quattuordecillionaires by their standards.
That’s all folks! Until next time: Don’t worry, you’ll forget everything bad in twenty years! Drink up. We’re going to go take a nap outside with Janice now. Bye!
From WCRS Detroit and Public Snark International, this is Life, Death and Violence. Every week on our program we choose a theme and research a number of people and events that fit that theme. Today on Life, Death and Violence: Paradise. Imagine, for a moment, if you will, that paradise is exactly where you are right now, only much, much better. This is the land in which we will be traveling to today. Paradise though, is merely a dream, a hope, and, naturally we’ll be discussing the very nature of hopes and dreams today as well. I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was about to be murdered in old Tiger Stadium, but, at the last minute, I was saved by this week’s Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™, Diana Rigg.
Diana entered from the visiting dugout, dressed, obviously, as Mrs. Emma Peel in a bright orange jumpsuit. She shot my attacker’s knife out of his hand and proceeded to dispatch him in a brief battle in hand to hand combat. Diana and I then rode out of Old Tiger Stadium on a beautiful white stallion which we rode across the pond and into Paris. 
It seemed like an instant, that ride, and I found myself transported from urban decay to a quiet little cafe in Montmarte drinking coffee delivered by our waiter, a centaur. The centaur began to tell a long story, which I will summarize in brief. His utopian home had been ravaged by humanoid goats and all the centaurs were forced into exile by the king of the goats, a potbellied pig named Phillip. Our waiter, Brian, then took my name and number when I asked if there was anything I could do to help and Diana and I each received a letter shortly after enlisting us as Generals in the Centaur Army. We went to Centauristan, kicked some goat butt, made delicious bacon out of Phillip and returned the land to the centaurs. Brian, for enlisting us who saved the nation, was named King and we all had a champagne toast in their golden palace. I woke up just as my gift from the centaurs, Joseph Gordon Levitt, leaned in to kiss me. I hate dreams. They always shatter.
Our show today, in four acts.
Act One: Trouble in Paradise: She was on top of the world, but found herself ready to snap.
Act Two: The Fulfillment of Dreams: The story of a writer who hit the big time and stayed there.
Act Three: The Death of Dreams: A disastrous failure shocks the nation.
Act Four: The Birth of Dreams: How one nation’s discovery changed the world, but was it for the worse?
Act One: Trouble in Paradise
The Carpenters: Top of the World
I remember, being a little kid in Metro Detroit, when I heard my first Carpenters song. I was, maybe, four, and having trouble going to sleep. I’d gone to sleep for a little bit, but had had a nightmare and was too afraid to try again. I called out for my mother around 1AM. She got me a glass of water and sang me “Close to You,” which calmed me down enough to fall back into the land of good dreams, where the impossible becomes possible and everything is made of rainbows. The next morning, I asked my mother to sing the song for me again, but, instead, she pulled out a vinyl copy of the Close to You album and played it for me while she got ready for work. At the time, she was working the afternoon shift at the local hospital, so my sister and I got to see her in the morning as our days were starting, which I really liked. I wasn’t in preschool at the time. I’d dropped out because the other kids were being mean to me and I had massive separation anxiety. Karen Carpenter’s voice reminded me of my mother, even though my mother didn’t sing nearly as well, so I played that record over and over and over again. We got rid of it a few years later when my parents switched from vinyl and tape over to compact disc, but it was fairly well worn anyways. Who knows how much longer it would have lasted.
The devastation felt when I found out Karen Carpenter had died before I was born was heartwrenching. I wasn’t blind. I understood from the copyright on the album that the record was released in 1970, but the girl on it looked so young. She couldn’t possibly be dead. People only die when they’re old. Such is the naivete of youth, I suppose. And when I found out she died because, as I understood it, her heart stopped, I was even more confused and all my mother would say was that Karen stopped eating. My mother doesn’t eat a lot, so I didn’t really understand that. Why had she stopped eating? Was she on a diet? Why would she be on a diet? She looked pretty. I was too young to understand media blitzkrieg, so I just sat there for years questioning what happened to Karen Carpenter.
Karen left my thoughts and my music collection for about a decade, until I found myself in New York City. It was big, scary, unknown. I felt alone. I didn’t know anybody. I was living with strangers I’d met on Craigslist and had planned to get an apartment with since they were moving out of theirs. After that plan fell through (which I find to be the worst thing to happen to me: a true 3br with a fireplace and a big kitchen, lots of light and in a pre-war building for 1400/month fully furnished was lost because one of the girls I was going to live with decided Bed Stuy was too dangerous for her and she’d find another apartment for 450/month elsewhere. As if, woman. I was too weak and insecure to find two other people to take the apartment with me and I ended up in a bedbug ridden hellhole in Sunset Park before moving into the dorms at Pratt Institute), Karen came back into my life. I was depressed and lonely, feeling the peak of my suicidal wishes. Rainy Days and Mondays, I decided, was what I’d kill myself to. It wasn’t a very happy time, until, I started re-listening to the happier music, going out and feeling better about myself. I can’t say that Karen Carpenter saved my life, but she did play a part in making me feel sane again, even if that sanity is still frequently challenged. I’m grateful for that, and I’m grateful that even though I didn’t get the chance to ever see her live since she died before my birth, that at least there’s a recording of her voice in every record store across America. The voice of an angel ready to change another person’s life, ready to make the world seem full of hopes, dreams and possibilities yet again, even in our darkest hour.
The Carpenters: Close to You
Act Two: The Fulfillment of Dreams
Today is the deathday of famed comic book artist Hergé. I first wanted to start writing watching the adventures of his famed Parisian journalist, Tin Tin and his dog, snowy. Let’s watch some of it together.
That Tin-Tin! Always getting into some sort of misadventure. This must be what it’s like to work for the New York Times! Right?
Act Three: The Death of Dreams
I wasn’t born during the Challenger Incident. It predated me by three years, but I did feel a closeness to the incident once I’d found out that our middle school principal, the only principal I’ve ever liked, whose name was, and if I’m lying about this may the Flying Spaghetti Monster strike me dead, Dr. Freeze, was one of the runner-ups for the Teacher in Space program. Someone I knew could have been killed in a massive space-oriented explosion, which horrified me as a space-obsessed tween who’d gone to Space Camp a few years earlier. This event was revisited shortly after the attacks on 9/11, which, naturally, my awful middle school neglected to tell us about causing me to come home all happy-go-lucky because soccer practice was cancelled and I really didn’t want to go to soccer practice that day. My sister, in response, snarled at me viciously and directed my attention to the television. It felt weird to watch an explosion over and over and over again and I got the sense that this is what my parents were doing in ’86, not knowing that someone they would soon know was almost on that shuttle. This week wasn’t the 25th Anniversary of the explosion, that was a few months ago. Instead it contains an even sadder bit of emotional violence: The discovery of the crew cabin in the Atlantic Ocean.
These “what if” fascinations haunted me for quite some time, especially once the Columbia shuttle exploded on reentry. I kept thinking to myself. What would I do if someone I knew died in an explosion that was plastered all over national television? How would I react? I never came up with an answer, simply because I understood that I couldn’t empathize with anyone involved in such an incident if it didn’t happen to me. I could sympathize. I could say “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m here if you need me,” but I couldn’t say “I understand. It’s going to be okay,” because I didn’t understand, I didn’t know if it would be okay. Months later, I experienced my first death, that of my grandfather/puzzle partner. Even then, I still felt I couldn’t empathize with a death so sudden. My grandfather had been ill for months from lung cancer and we weren’t surprised when he finally passed. I think that, as crushed as she was, it was a bit of a relief for my grandmother. That year was very stressful in my family because of my grandfather’s rapidly deteriorating health, but if he had died in, say, a car crash, things would have been a lot different. The mourning would have lasted much longer, just as I’m certain that Christa McAuliffe’s family is still morning her loss, after that fireball in the sky, and having a record of her exact moment of death on hand has to be a surefire way to make it impossible to move on. For that reason, as easy as it may be to post, I’m opting to not post a video of the Challenger Disaster. I’m not going to promote the fetishization of death. All those disasters and space misadventures though did nothing to halt my love of space and desire to be an astronaut. That’s the responsibility of my complete hatred of Algebra 2 which led to my complete hate of Chemistry which led me into the arts.
S Club 7: Reach For the Stars
Act Four: The Birth of Dreams
In 1938, Saudi Arabia discovered oil in its borders, launching the 20th Century Mideastern Oil Boom and creating a dependence on the region that, nearly a decade ago, led to war, yet again, over the black, golden syrup. I’m not an expert on Mideastern Affairs and I’m not going to pretend to be. We all know that our over-reliance on oil is bad for the future of the planet. I’m going to leave Act Four up for discussion in the comments. Would the world be any different if that level of oil was, say, discovered in Western Europe, or would we just be at war with the French instead (oh what an easy war that would be!?) Can tension ever be resolved so as to lighten the stress on our ever dwindling oil reserves? What is there to be done? Let’s talk oil.
Salt n Pepa: Let’s Talk About Oil Sex
There’s been a debate in the art community for quite some time now regarding a work by Duccio, known as the Stroganoff Madonna and features a baby Jesus Christ playfully tugging at his mother’s hood, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s a small piece, about 8.5 by 11 inches, in egg tempera and with a gold leaf background. The Museum asserts its authenticity, but others, notably the late art historian James Beck, disagree. It is highly unlikely that the work, which has been analyzed over and over again by the Met’s crack team of forensic artists, will be declared illegitimate, but if it had, it would be devastating to the Met’s credibility, especially since they paid an undisclosed sum that has been rumored to be as high as 45 million USD, the highest sum they have ever paid for a work of art. For now, since Professor Beck is dead, the matter is certain to now be a moot point, but it does give us the opportunity to debate about pigment qualities and, more importantly, the importance of the artist in regards to the work. Would it have sold for 45 million USD had the work not been a Duccio, but had been attributed to a lesser artist of the proto-renaissance, even if it had been identical to the piece currently housed in the museum and preserved to the exact same condition?
From WCRS Detroit and Public Snark International this is This American Life, Death and Violence. Each day on our program, we choose a theme and incorporate a series of people and stories that fit that into theme. Today: Idolatry. Why does name matter and what happens when we go too far in our idolatry? Our program today, in four acts. Act One: Life (Never Say Never), Act Two: Death (Model for Success), Act Three: Violence (Bombs in the Men’s Room) and Act Four: Other Neat Things That Happened (Yahoo? Yahoo. Yahoo! You?), but before we begin, we must pay our respects to Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™ Sufjan Stevens:
LIFE!
(Never Say Never)
- 1449: Lorenzo de’Medici: Lorenzo, whom Wikipedia says was born January 1, but is technically born on March 1 as he was born before the advent of the Gregorian Calendar (the Julian Calendar started its year in the month of March), was not only worthy of idolatry, he essentially created the idols that we know and love today, notably Life, Death and Violence Obsession™ Michelangelo Buonarotti, who sculpted the visage of the intellectual Italian statesman to your right.
- The peasants referred to him as Lorenzo the Magnificent, which is just majorly cool and total idolatry, and many scholars mark his death as the end of the Golden Age of Firenze (that’s Florence) and with Lorenzo the Magnificent no longer around, the fractured Italian states began fighting with each other, once again. The loss of an idol can be a tragic event, indeed.
- 1886: Oskar Kokoschka: When I was in art school, we had a thing wherein we’d go behind someone, push them lightly on the shoulders, not enough to make them fall down, but enough to scare them, and scream Oskar Kokoschka’s name. It was an act of absurdism in the name of the master of German Expressionism and the idol of myself and several of my friends. The painter, poet and playwright was originally told that he was mentally unstable after being injured in World War One, but aren’t all the greats? I know that I’m pretty mentally unstable. Who wants to be stable? Perhaps its my idolatry of Kokoschka that has led to my allowing myself this instability. Anyways, the Nazis deemed him and his work degenerative, so he escaped to Prague, until the Czech began to mobilize for an invasion from Germany and he escaped to the United Kingom. His style was very nervous, but filled with great motion and intrigue and his play is considered the first Expressionist drama. The individualism displayed by himself and Max Beckmann created one of the greatest offshoots of the Modern Art movement, though Kokoschka saw himself as a footnote in the annals of art history towards the end of his life which made him bitter. Here’s an example of his work: The Red Egg, 1941, currently in Prague’s Narodni Gallery:
1886: Oskar Kokoschka: When I was in art school, we had a thing wherein we’d go behind someone, push them lightly on the shoulders, not enough to make them fall down, but enough to scare them, and scream Oskar Kokoschka’s name. It was an act of absurdism in the name of the master of German Expressionism and the idol of myself and several of my friends. The painter, poet and playwright was originally told that he was mentally unstable after being injured in World War One, but aren’t all the greats? I know that I’m pretty mentally unstable. Who wants to be stable? Perhaps its my idolatry of Kokoschka that has led to my allowing myself this instability. Anyways, the Nazis deemed him and his work degenerative, so he escaped to Prague, until the Czech began to mobilize for an invasion from Germany and he escaped to the United Kingom. His style was very nervous, but filled with great motion and intrigue and his play is considered the first Expressionist drama. The individualism displayed by himself and Max Beckmann created one of the greatest offshoots of the Modern Art movement, though Kokoschka saw himself as a footnote in the annals of art history towards the end of his life which made him bitter. Here’s an example of his work: The Red Egg, 1941, currently in Prague’s Narodni Gallery:
- 1987: Ke¢ha: That girl who always looks really dirty and sings about brushing her teeth in the morning with a bottle of Jack Daniels because she’s a complete alcoholic turns 24 today! Ke¢ha is a terrible idol, mainly because while she’s had great success, she’s not particularly talented. I like Ke¢ha when I’m driving and not wanting to listen to WRCJ or WOMC, but that’s about it. There’s no substance. Still, she has more money than we could dream of, but hey, I like her better than Gaga so there’s that.
- Seriously though, girl, take a shower and go to AA. I don’t know if you actually have a problem, but from your lyrics and from your hair, it definitely seems to me like you need to just take a chill pill before the tabloids start turning you into the next Lindsay Lohan and we wouldn’t want that because then who else would we dance and sing to in our car, besides Katy Perry whom I totally do a solo performance for an audience of myself of Fireworks in the style of Ann Liv Young every time that stupid song comes on. You guys are catchy!
1987: Ke¢ha: That girl who always looks really dirty and sings about brushing her teeth in the morning with a bottle of Jack Daniels because she’s a complete alcoholic turns 24 today! Ke¢ha is a terrible idol, mainly because while she’s had great success, she’s not particularly talented. I like Ke¢ha when I’m driving and not wanting to listen to WRCJ or WOMC, but that’s about it. There’s no substance. Still, she has more money than we could dream of, but hey, I like her better than Gaga so there’s that.[slideshow id=3]
- 1994: Justin Bieber; Are you a belieber? This teen idol wants you to know that its his world (2.0) and to never say never. With his luscious locks and girlish face, this little lesbian (can you spot which is the real Bieber in the slideshow to your left? Can you?!) took the world by storm last year after being discovered in 2009 on that site that all the young people love called “The YouTubular Video Sharing Website” or something like that. Anyways, the Biebs, the ultimate in idolatry, turns 17 today which makes him legal in New York. Get on that Beliebers! But, remember, you may have to fight off Selena Gomez. He never said never, and now he’s an international Canadian pop star.
DEATH!
(Model for Success)
- 1244: Gryffydd ap Llywelyn Fawr: Ashlee Simpson’s baby naming idol was kidnapped as a kid by the King of England as a pledge for the continued good faith of Gryffydd’s father Llywelyn the Great. Griffid. Gryefehd. Gryffindor.
- Gryffydd’s brother Daffyd imprisoned Gryffydd until King Henry III invaded Wales and made Daffyd give him Gryffydd and so Gryffydd became imprisoned in the Tower of London where he remained until he died trying to escape in 1244. He was fat and the rope he was using to escape snapped. Looks like he shouldn’t have used Blondin’s rope supplier! What I’m saying here is that the Welsh have weird names.
Ashlee Simpson’s baby naming idol was kidnapped as a kid by the King of England as a pledge for the continued good faith of Gryffydd’s father Llywelyn the Great. Griffid. Gryefehd. Gryffindor. - 1980: Wilhelmina Cooper: An icon amongst models and the idol of every aspiring girl, Wilhelmina Cooper, founder of Wilhelmina Models, and the woman with the most Vogue covers: 28. She appeared on 255 covers during her career, launched Naomi Sims, the first black supermodel and was portrayed by Faye Dunaway in the movie Gia about another model Wilhelmina’s agency launched to stardom, Gia Carangi who later died of AIDS.
- She died of lung cancer at the age of 40, which, for the second day in a row, marks yet another death from cigarettes. I’m glad I quit when they were fourteen bucks a pack because now that I can get them for about seven, I don’t really care to because it’s just not something I need anymore. Wilhelmina Cooper is great and all, but here’s a photo of my favorite model:
1980: Wilhelmina Cooper: An icon amongst models and the idol of every aspiring girl, Wilhelmina Cooper, founder of Wilhelmina Models, and the woman with the most Vogue covers: 28. She appeared on 255 covers during her career, launched Naomi Sims, the first black supermodel and was portrayed by Faye Dunaway in the movie Gia about another model Wilhelmina’s agency launched to stardom, Gia Carangi who later died of AIDS.
- 1984: Jackie Coogan: A comedic idol! Jackie Coogan was a stah! A child stah! With all the child stah problems like having his parents steal his earnings. Naturally, he sued them, got very little of the money he earned and got a bill named after him that requires 15% of child star earnings to be placed into a trust. He’s best known as Uncle Fester on The Addams Family, but he was also Oliver Twist.
- Storytime! Here’s what happens when you mess with your idols: In 1933, just after Coogan turned 18, one of his friends was kidnapped and the kidnappers demanded 40k. The police got involved, arrested the two men who admitted to killing Coogan’s friend Brooke Hart the night of the kidnapping and threw them in the clink. Shortly after, a mob, rumored to have been organized by Coogan, broke into the prison, snagged the kidnappers and lynched them in the park across the street. Don’t mess with Uncle Fester.
1984: Jackie Coogan: A comedic idol! Jackie Coogan was a stah! A child stah! With all the child stah problems like having his parents steal his earnings. Naturally, he sued them, got very little of the money he earned and got a bill named after him that requires 15% of child star earnings to be placed into a trust. He’s best known as Uncle Fester on The Addams Family, but he was also Oliver Twist.
VIOLENCE!
(Bombs in the Men’s Room)
- 1847: Michigan bans capital punishment. Go Blue!
- 1910: AVALANCHE! Train buried in Washington State, killing 96 people. Sufjan! You get your butt in here right now, mister. This is your fault, isn’t it!?
- 1971: BOOM! BANG! POW! Weather Underground explodes a bomb in the men’s room at the US Capitol Building. Bad weather, indeed!
- 2008: POP! POP! SHOOT EM UP! 10 people peacefully protesting the allegedly fraudulent elections in Armenia are killed by Armenian police.
OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED
(Yahoo? Yahoo. Yahoo! You.)
- 1565: Rio de Janeiro is founded, paving the way for the ultimate in beach watching for years to come.
- 1803: Ohio becomes the 17th state, paving the way for the ultimate in corn fed Midwestern guys and roller coasters for years to come.
- 1867: Nebraska becomes a state, paving the way for the ultimate in farmer’s tans for years to come.
- 1936: The Hoover Dam is finished, paving the way for the ultimate in ‘kids getting away with saying damn’ situations for years to come.
- 1962: American Airlines 1 crashes upon takeoff, paving the way for the ultimate in last minute plane crash avoidance for years to come.
- 1995: Yahoo! is founded, paving the way for the ultimate in search engines for years to come. Oh wait: Google. Sorry, Yahoo!
That’s it for today’s program my little birds. This American Life, Death and Violence will be back tomorrow, for yet another look into the past through this Vaseline coated lens of ours. Remember, idolatry is all fun and games until someone’s lynched in a park. Have a great day.
Each day on This American Life, Death and Violence we choose a different theme and come up with people and stories that fit that theme. Today: People who have good intentions. Stories of people trying to help, but end up causing a lot of trouble. For instance, we always try to have good intentions, but it tends to backfire which has led to us getting called manipulative bastards by ex-boyfriends, which, well, isn’t fun, but, you know, we had good intentions! Anyways, let’s get to the fun!
Oh yeah. Before we begin, we’d like to make an announcement. In order to avoid overexposure, Joseph Gordon Levitt will no longer be mentioned in this blog. Every other Monday we will introduce a new crush object to alleviate weariness and this fortnight’s crush/mascot is Sufjan Stevens. We’re also debuting our fancy new logo! Get it on a mug!*
LIFE!
(When we put on our wings and soar towards success)
- 1824: Blondin: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again. This French tightrope walker didn’t die from a fall, but he did have a fall that ended with the death of two people. It’s such a shame when the good intentions of entertainment lead to death. In 1861, while performing 50 feet above the ground, the rope he was on broke, causing the scaffolding to fall. Blondin was not injured, but two workers who were on the scaffolding fell to their deaths. An investigation occurred in which no fault was put onto Blondin or his manager. However, the judge said the rope maker had a lot to answer for. The man who ran the venue where the incident occurred vowed never to have a spectacle of that sort ever again, yet, Blondin was back the next year doing a tightrope walk 100 feet above the ground even though there was a bench warrant against him and his manager for not appearing at a trial in regards to the earlier, deadly incident as they were touring in America at that particular time. Blondin enjoyed a successful career until his death some thirty years later.
1824: Blondin: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty together again. This French tightrope walker didn’t die from a fall, but he did have a fall that ended with the death of two people. It’s such a shame when the good intentions of entertainment lead to death. In 1861, while performing 50 feet above the ground, the rope he was on broke, causing the scaffolding to fall. Blondin was not injured, but two workers who were on the scaffolding fell to their deaths. An investigation occurred in which no fault was put onto Blondin or his manager. However, the judge said the rope maker had a lot to answer for. The man who ran the venue where the incident occurred vowed never to have a spectacle of that sort ever again, yet, Blondin was back the next year doing a tightrope walk 100 feet above the ground even though there was a bench warrant against him and his manager for not appearing at a trial in regards to the earlier, deadly incident as they were touring in America at that particular time. Blondin enjoyed a successful career until his death some thirty years later.
- 1903: Vincente Minnelli: The famed director had the good intentions of love on his mind when he started courting Judy Garland on the set of “Meet Me in St. Louis,” but then he gave us Liza. Just kidding! We love Liza!
- Back to Vincente, who was born as Lester. If we were born with a name like Lester, we would definitely change it to something cooler. We were almost named Jared according to our mother and thank god that didn’t happen. Anyways, Vincente’s famous flicks include An American in Paris, Brigadoon, Gigi, Father of the Bride and Madame Bovary.
- He married four times (four!) and ended up dying from emphysema and pneumonia. Smoking is bad kids, but smoking in the snow in a t-shirt and a pair of jorts? That’s fatal. Remember that.
- 1912: Clara Petacci: It’s hard to say what Clara’s intentions were when she teamed up with Mussolini, if they were good, if they were bad, but her continued support of the regime lead to further turmoil of the Italian people and when Benito and the Jets were captured by the Russians, she was shot with them, even though rumour has it that she was given the option to break up with the Italian dictator and escape with her life. She stayed with the band and Benito and the Jets ended up hanging upside down at a gas station.
- Clara died at the age of 33, the same age as Jesus. We’re not saying she’s the messiah and that the Russians killed her and did a World War 2 crucifixion (shot in the head and strung up upside down so people can pelt your dead body with rocks). We’re just saying she was 33 is all and was hanged for vandalism in The Garden of Gasthemene Petrol Station. Honest.
DEATH!
(Where we go when our good intentions take us too close to the sun)
- 1525: Cuauhtemoc: Cuauhtemoc (say that ten times fast) became the ruler of Tenochtitlan at 18 while the Spanish were taking over and everyone was dying of smallpox. This was like if the Secretary of Agriculture became President because no one else was able to do it, so yeah. In 1521, all the good intentions of saving the Aztecs failed, as he was captured by Cortes while fleeing Tenochtitlan in disguise. He asked to be killed, but Cortes had the royal treasurer torture Cuauhtemoc by burning his feet until he gave up that darned Aztec gold (which was essentially nonexistent) and, fearing an insurrection, Cortes had Cuauhtemoc (we just love typing that name! Cuauhtemoc Cuauhtemoc Cuauhtemoc!) hanged, but not before Cuauhtemoc placed a curse on Cortes and made him feel guilty about hanging him! Oh Cuauhtemoc! You so smart! WE LOVE YOU AND YOUR GOOD INTENTIONS!
- 1891: George Hearst: Georgie Boy had good intentions. He wanted the American Dream™ and he lived the American Dream™. He became a successful miner and investor and became a United States senator: The American Dream™. He more than provided for his family including, and this is where his good intentions took a turn for the worse, his son William Randolph who became a newspaperman and championed yellow journalism and that’s why we have stuff like the NY Post. Ugh. Hate you George, but mainly because we blame you for bad puns in headlines. You yourself are pretty awesome and a good role model for all us prospectors headed towards California, which would be us! Announcement: We’re moving to California to find gold!
- George Hearst had the most amazing beard known to hipster. They’d be mad jealous of him on Kent. And by they, we mean both sides of the culture wars: The Hipsters and The Hasids. It truly is amazing and we’re typing in awe as we look at it. Typing. In. Awe.
1891: George Hearst: Georgie Boy had good intentions. He wanted the American Dream™ and he lived the American Dream™. He became a successful miner and investor and became a United States senator: The American Dream™. He more than provided for his family including, and this is where his good intentions took a turn for the worse, his son William Randolph who became a newspaperman and championed yellow journalism and that’s why we have stuff like the NY Post. Ugh. Hate you George, but mainly because we blame you for bad puns in headlines. You yourself are pretty awesome and a good role model for all us prospectors headed towards California, which would be us! Announcement: We’re moving to California to find gold!- 1965: Emile Buisson: The French! Always surrendering! Well, this one had terrible intentions and he didn’t so much surrender as he was caught, but, then again, he didn’t kill them all when they closed in. He surrendered himself. Just like the French are wont to do. Anyways, Emily was a French gangster who killed a lot of people, and by a lot of people, we mean a lot of people. Like, more than thirty people. That’s a lot of people! What bad things can happen from good, we mean, bad intentions.
- He was first captured in 1941, but was considered criminally insane and sent to the looney bin where he escaped in 1947. He was finally caught and executed in 1965. At least the French police never surrendered!
1965: Emile Buisson: The French! Always surrendering! Well, this one had terrible intentions and he didn’t so much surrender as he was caught, but, then again, he didn’t kill them all when they closed in. He surrendered himself. Just like the French are wont to do. Anyways, Emily was a French gangster who killed a lot of people, and by a lot of people, we mean a lot of people. Like, more than thirty people. That’s a lot of people! What bad things can happen from good, we mean, bad intentions.
VIOLENCE!
(What happens when we exert force upon others)
- 1710: Denmark vs Sweden! MONDAY! MONDAY! MONDAY! Be there! Be there! Be there! Only at The Silverdooome! 14,000 Swedes beat up 14,000 Danes and all the Danes got as consolation was a vicious plague and complete ruin of a few cities until the mid 19th century. Sweden won with superior design.
- 1958: Crash! Boom! A bus full of children hits a wrecker truck and falls into a river killing 26 kids and the bus driver. Wait a sec. Isn’t this Simon Birch? (leaves to look up) Nope, that was filmed in Canada. Here’s a pic of the bus driver:
Seriously though. Sad.
- 1991: George Bush wins the first Gulf War! You go, girl!
OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED TODAY!
(How we thought it was a good idea to fly close to the sun with wings of wax is beyond us. Who do we think we are?)
- 1883: The first vaudeville theater opens! Hello mah baby, hello mah honey, hello mah ragtime gaaaal! We’re gonna be a stah! A stah!
- 1993: Invasion of David Koresh’s compound in Waco, Texas.
- 2004: More than a million Taiwanese persons hold hands to commemorate the 228 Incident in which ten to thirty thousand protesters were killed by their government. The 228 Incident is now known within Taiwan as Peace Memorial Day and the ring a bell to remember the victims.
Our intention today was to wow you, little birds, with another treasure trove of historical facts and whimsical words. We hope nothing bad comes of those good intentions and we leave you, until tomorrow, with another glorious photo of Life, Death and Violence Crush Object™ Sufjan Stevens:
*Life, Death and Violence logo not actually available on a mug.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What the hell is going on? This is what you’re saying. We know it’s what you’re saying because we can read your minds here at Life, Death and Violence, your #1 source for poor research and bad jokes about Joseph Gordon Levitt:
Joseph Gordon Levitt walked into a bar. He woke up a week later in the hospital.
#Cracktalk has returned, but we lost a day, so we must make it up. We must avenge Friday by talking about Saturday and its holier than thou sister Sunday. Are you ready for the weekend? It’s basically over already, so, whatever. Who cares. Let’s get to it, little birds. Welcome to Video Weekends.
LIFE!
(If it was warmer, we’d take you to the zoo because that’s a weekend thing to do)
- 272: Constantine the Great: He had a city named after him. Let’s hear about it:
- 1926: HM: He had amnesia and could learn new skills but not remember learning them. That’s weird. Here’s a skill we all can learn:
- 1928: Anatoli Filipchenko: Cosmonaut. Let’s learn about Apollo/Soyuz:
- 1932: Johnny Cash: He sang songs. Let’s listen:
DEATH!
(If it was summer, we’d go to the beach. It’s winter though and that’s a bummer)
- 1892: Louis Vuitton: This dead guy’s stuff is liked by this living guy:
- 1993: Lillian Gish: Roll the tapes:
- 1998: Ted Schultz: Economist. Let’s learn about the economy:
- 2008: Dick Fletcher: We always preferred Weather Girls to Weathermen:
VIOLENCE!
(If it was spring, we’d probably be cleaning)
- You want violence? Boom. Bang. Here:
OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED!
(Let’s just go to the arcade and play Dance Dance Revolution, okay? Meet you in 20)
- 1815: Napoleon escapes Elba. Here’s why he was there:
- 1919: It’s official. The Grand Canyon is a national park. Here it is:
- 1974: People Magazine is published. Here’s our favorite People from 1974:
- 1986: The Senate starts televising debates. Here’s some early Senate footage:
We have an Oscar party to get ready for. Bye. See you on Monday for a real one of these.
Today on Life, Death and Violence: Men! And the manliest man thing of all? Sports! Yes, little birds, today we’re covering sports history. Throw that baseball into the endzone and make sure you don’t go offsides so you can get that service ace! Touchdown! These are sports things, right? Our sports memory has been hazy ever since that time in the fourth grade when our father made us go to Little League practice and we told him we didn’t want to do it anymore, but we went and got hit in the eye. We had to get stitches and then perform as Young Cain in Children of Eden that very night. Sports! The glory of victory and the suffering of defeat or something like that. Come running with us and Joseph as we explore this mystical world.
LIFE! (Ten hut, hike, yooouuu’rrreee OUT!)
- 1970: Niecy Nash: Gold Medalist in the 2008 Olympic Sport of Cleaning and Negotiation (it wasn’t an aired event. NBC evidently didn’t think that it was worth their airtime), Niecy Nash knows how to werk it and get what she wants for the people she’s helping. She also looks fantastic with her signature flower. Unfortunately for the sport of Cleaning and Negotiations, Ms. Nash retired in 2010 and has since disappeared from the highly televised sport, except, of course, on Style Classic, which showcases her stunning feats and most amazing victories. Ms. Nash supplemented her income as a Cleaning and Negotiations champion by being a police officer in the city of Reno, Nevada from 2003-2009.
- One possible theory for her tragic and early departure from Cleaning and Negotiations is that Ms. Nash became so emotionally shattered after only managing 5th place in the 2010 edition of Dancing With the Stars, a ballroom dancing competition and a sport that she so heavily wanted to succeed in. We eagerly await the return of Ms. Nash to our airwaves in the sport of her choosing, but until then, we can only watch her victories.
- 1983: Mirco Bergamasco: We guess he plays rugby and we’re not really sure how that’s played, but we eagerly look forward to learning if it’s solely played by guys like the Italian Bergamasco.
- 1994: Dakota Fanning: Ms. Fanning, seen just prior to her 2004 Gold Medal at the Athens Olympics in Adorability (another unaired sport), also scored a silver in the 2008 Beijing Olympics after a narrow, crushing defeat to a little Chinese girl.
- Next year’s London Olympics are set to be her last as by the time 2016 rolls bye, she’ll be 22 and aged out of the event.
- Dakota, on the side, films many movies and is considered a Respected Female Starlet, though many are eagerly waiting for when she finally Lohans, but we don’t think that’ll happen. Dakota seems like a nice girl even if we’ve never seen any of her work, including the seminal 2003 film, Uptown Girls which co-starred now-deceased actress Brittany Murphy whom we just loved in Clueless.
DEATH! (We almost died playing Muggle Quidditch once. No, really*)
- 1961: Davey Crockett: Davey played for the Detroit Tigers (put yo hands up for Detroit!) during their 1901 season and has his name carved into some stone at Comerica Park, but we haven’t seen it, mainly because we’re too busy looking at bronze sculptures of real players like Ty Cobb and Al Kaline. He did not wear a coonskin cap and that photo is not of him as we could not locate a photo of Davey Crockett the Baseball Player. Instead, we present to you, our dear readers, the above photo of former Pittsburgh Pirate Dale Long looking mighty fine while eating a sandwich.
- 2000: Sir Stanley Matthews: Sir Stanley ate no meat. Sir Stanley drank no booze. Sir Stanley was boring, but he did play soccer, or, as you European pansies call it, football, and is considered to be one of the best players that the English have ever produced.
- He has a stupid nickname: “The Wizard of the Dribble.” That’s really stupid. Also, he played for Stoke City and Blackpool, whatever that means and was also an inaugural inductee into the English Footballers Hall of Fame in 2002. Too bad he died before the ceremony. We don’t really get soccer. It’s just a lot of passing and the field seems way to big. Give us hockey any day.
- He retired when he was 70 and was able to play at the top level until he was 50, which we guess is pretty impressive given the average lifespan of a sports person’s career. Maybe it has something to do with all the not-drinking and the not-eating meat. We don’t believe that. Then again, we aren’t star ‘footballers.’
- 2008: Paul Frere: Italians drive fast and make lots of left turns like nobody else. VROOM! He also wrote about racing.
VIOLENCE! (War is a sport that some nations are good at and some nations are bad at, just like real sports)
- 1836: Shoot em up! BANG! BANG! ZOOM! The Battle of the Alamo began and, by the end, Davy Crockett
the Baseball Playerthe Folk Hero would be dead. - 1847: Yesterday’s Battle of Buena Vista continued!
- 1941: Glenn Seaborg creates and isolates plutonium paving the way for nuclear weapons.
- 1997: Fire on Mir! ABORT ABORT!
OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED TODAY (We’re good at bowling, but is bowling a sport?)
- 632: The Prophet Mohammed retires from the sport of Public Speaking.
- 1903: Cuba leased Guantanamo Bay to the Americans forever, one of the worst plays in the history of the sport of Foreign Affairs, at least from the Cuban perspective.
- 1954: The Sport of Hunting Diseases begins a major match as man starts to inject kids with anti-polio vaccines.
- 2005: The French pass a law requiring teacher’s to speak positively about colonialism. The law is repealed the next year. The Sport of Colonialism is dead! Long live Colonialism!
Now if you’ll excuse us, friends, we’re going to learn how to play rugby while practicing our favorite sport: Drinking.
*This did not happen.
Have you got a case of the Mondays, little birds? So early? Well, pour yourself a cup of coffee, pull up a chair, play that sad, sad tune and get ready for your favorite dose of bad comedy and poorly researched history: Life, Death and Violence! We feel really good today, because there are no thirteen year olds with Wikipedia pages today. In fact, everyone that was born and has a Wikipedia page is older than us! So we only have to feel like we’re complete failures when compared to people who are 22 or older. That’s right. Those people are 22. When we’re 22, we’ll have a Wikipedia page. This is what we tell ourselves even though we turn 22 one month from today exactly (mark your calendars!). Honestly, we don’t know why we don’t already when we’ve appeared in four seconds of television over the span of two episodes of a C-List MTV show. I mean, come on. Well, let’s get to it. We’ve got our press coffee and probably didn’t read Jailbird in time for the book club yesterday. By the way, there are 313 days left in the year. MiNombreEsChris and Splendorinda, PUT YO HANDS UP FOR DETROIT! The 3-1-3. The D. The Dirty!
Detroit Rock City, yo. Take that Bushwick.
LIFE! (None of these people are from the new Brooklyn)
- 1728: Peter the III: He was emperor of Russia until he was assassinated on the orders of his wife Catherine (who would become Catherine the Great and one of the world’s greatest art collectors). He was also the heir to the Swedish throne, but turned it down to lead Russia instead (easy access to booze is always an incentive to a minor becoming a monarch).
- He also has the distinction of being named the King of Finland for a short while and not being told so (our parents never told us anything at 14, either, so don’t feel bad about that Peter). He was a drunken, pro-Prussian idiot with smallpox that made him way ugly, too, so it’s no wonder his wife had him offed so that she could become the most celebrated Tsarina in all of Russia and amass a legendary art collection. Thems the breaks, Petey! Better luck next time! Okay, okay, we’re being mean. He wasn’t all bad. He abolished the Secret Police and proclaimed religious freedom, something that was revolutionary at the time and that not even those liberal pansies in Western Europe did.
He made a lot of statues for a lot of people, notably John Cory and his wife and was granted a correspondence membership to the French Institute, a Prominent French Place for Prominent French People that sometimes lets Prominent Outsiders into their Prominent French Place so that everyone can feel Prominent and Important because they are, to steal a line from NYMag, The Most Important People in the World.
William Goscombe John is one of these Important People because of the French Institute and he better not forget it!
You hear that, Bill? Don’t forget it or the French will cut you. They. Will. Cut you.
- 1927: Count Hubert James Marcel Taffin de Givenchy: One of the most famed couturiers of the Twentieth Century, Givenchy was responsible for the majority of Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe and what a name! Sorry Will Jahcombover, you’ve been topped. Anyways, his daddy was the Marquis de Givenchy and he named his label Givenchy and his brother became in charge of the family perfume business which was eventually sold to Veuve Cliquot before moving over to Louis Vuitton Moet Hennesy (LVMH) to be with the womenswear line.
- He idolized Cristobal Balenciaga (who of us doesn’t?) and had a slew of celebrity clients including Jackie O., Grace Kelly and the Guinness Girls (the 60s ones. Not Daphne) before finally retiring in 1995. His selection for who would succeed him was rejected by LVMH in favor of the more well known John Galliano. Today the label is run by Ricardo Tisci who we think does a good job.
- He never married.
- 1989: Corbin Bleu: The High School Musical star and lovechild of Corbin Fisher and Randy Blue’s French cousin (Justin Guarini was the surrogate) turns 22 today. Happy Birthday!
DEATH! (But what do I wear to a funeral in the new Brooklyn?)
Let’s ask Goofus and Gallant.
Gallant: Aubrey is dressed properly for a funeral. Solemn, but seductive in case she meets an attractive bachelor at the service.
Goofus: Tuck in that shirt, young man! And straighten that tie! It’s a funeral, not a frat party.
He had his iconic, rockin beard for less than a year. He grew it in mourning for the loss of the city of Bologna to outside forces under General Oscar Mayer, breaking the rules of canon law. You know what? Pope Julius II don’t care. Why? Because Pope Julius II is the honey badger who ever did pape the papacy. That’s why he’s also called “The Fearless Pope.”
The Vatican thought “The Honey Badger Pope” sounded too cool and that people would start worshiping the honey badger because honey badger don’t give a shit. Honey badger don’t care if he’s Divinity. He’s too busy passing out from cobra venom, but look, he’s gotten right back up. Honey badger.
1974: Tim Horton: We’re at a loss for words, dear friends. This wasn’t just a man. This wasn’t just a hockey player. This was the man who created Tim Horton’s Coffee and Donut. We owe such a debt to this man. We wouldn’t have functioned in high school if it weren’t for the combination Wendy’s/Tim Horton’s across the street. We even went as a Canadian robot one year for Halloween. Its name? Tim-Bot 3000. Yeah, we named him after TimBits. We’re going to go get an iced capp right now in his honor and we think you all should too, assuming of course, you’re near a Tim Horton’s. We know that LeZig is because she’s in Toronto, that most Canadian of all Canadian cities. We bet there’s even two that are across the street from each other like there used to be for Starbucks in New York until The Dark Times. You be safe up there Timmy Ho! We’re pourin a little coffee on the ground in your honor. Don’t worry, we’re doin’ it over a sewer so as not to cause a mess, eh. Wouldn’t want to not be polite. Peace, Timmy. Peace. You’re a golden man and we’ll love you forever.
VIOLENCE! (You think Bed-Stuy is dangerous. Honey, get to Crack Mile)
- 1952: Students in East Pakistan were shot while protesting for the establishment of Bengali as the national language. Bengali became the national language, but we ask ourselves, was it worth dying for? We’re not sure, but we live in a country without a national language.
- 1953: Gerald Holtom designs the peace sign for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Peace out, bros!
OTHER NEAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED TODAY (Besides, of course, our declaration that Detroit is the new Brooklyn)
- 1848: Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels publish the Communist Manifesto, thus screwing up the world for the rest of eternity because people can’t separate Communism from Leninism or Maoism, let alone Socialism
- 1878: The first phone book is published, thus killing trees for the next 133 years.
- 1918: The last Carolina Parakeet died in the Cincinnati Zoo. Pretty sad. They’re really colorful and pretty, but now they’re extinct.
- 1925: The New Yorker publishes their first issue and begins tickling our funny bone with their cartoons.
- 1947: Polaroid introduces the first instant camera paving way for New Age Fun with a Vintage Feel from the good folks at Hipstamatic™ or, if you have a Droid, Retro Camera.
- 1948: VROOOOOOOOOOOOooooomommmmmmmmm. NASCAR starts.
- 1975: The Watergate guys are sentenced
- 1995: Steve Fossett lands in Saskatchewan after crossing the Pacific Ocean. In a hot air balloon. This guy is the honey badger of people and we here at Life, Death and Violence, your #1 source for poorly thought out research have actually procured the only known photograph of Mr. Fossett during his crossing of the Pacific.
Until next time, friends! Here’s a little happy to get you outta those ruddy, Monday blues.
Somehow, the most prominent aspect of the attack on Lara Logan that has caused forthright people to desire intense social isolation has been the opportunity it has allowed people to, apropos of nothing, display a total lack of forethought and respect where sexual violence is concerned. The news cycle being what it is, you would think educated, otherwise sensible people were falling over themselves to go out of bounds with judgments over this they have no real connection to. They have been publicly shamed, some of their careers have been disrupted, and yet it seems like the open season for blithe pontification on the Logan case seems to still be in effect.
The latest to tread dangerous waters appears to be Ward Harkavy over at the Village Voice’s Runnin’ Scared blog. The title of his first thought piece? “Lara Logan: Was She Actually Raped? It Makes A Difference”, which anyone for whom sexual violence is salient will be taken aback by. Wading into the text mixes the initial shock with a dose of healthy confusion, as Harkavy is pushing to clarify whether the attack on Logan was “actual rape” because he feels that there isn’t enough outrage over it. Harkavy’s follow-up post (“Lara Logan: The Rape Question, and a Scandalous NYPD Connection”) elaborates a bit further on this point – he argues that “sexual assault” is a sort of soft word, used to defang and discredit cases of rape (he cites a pretty heinous NYPD case to illustrate this).
I have to admit that when I started to write this post, when I was initially shown the “It Makes A Difference” editorial, I was aghast enough to make it about how the Village Voice royally fucked up and embarrassed themselves, but even as I think the particulars here are still really messed, the concerns Harkavy’s justifications raise are worth considering to some degree. “Sexual assault” as a term is meant to eliminate the sort of hierarchal stratification of violence that puts penetrative rape at the very top, to the exclusion of all else, but it stands to reason that the intentionally generic nature of the term lends it to use as a sort of desensitizer.
But there are more pressing problems with the argument, beyond that it’s a, uh, novel way to approach the issue, and could just as easily be a thin veil to cover the harrassment of survivors (I take Harkavy’s apparent concern for justice in his posts at face value). The first problem is that this isn’t an abstract, hypothetical thought experiment, it’s a real horrific thing that happened to a real person, and seizing on her case to make a wider point does her a grave disservice, to put it mildly. Harkavy’s argument that the public interest trumps Logan’s right to privacy is not just a tad unsettling. The second problem is that the question being asked accepts in its premises the idea that non-penetrative assaults are less worthy of concern than (to use Whoopi’s unfortunate phrase) “rape rape”. It’s a gamble that Harkavy is cavalierly taking on Logan’s behalf – if penetrative rape did in fact occur, he can then forcefully argue for greater media salience and activism, but if it didn’t he’s painted himself into a corner from which he can only admit that it isn’t as big of a deal as it’s made out to be. There are several possible scenarios that could prove to be just as traumatic as penetrative assault (and if it doesn’t really matter, why would you ask in the first place?)
But even as Harkavy’s posts are, at best, woefully misguided and essentially counterproductive to efforts to recast dialogs around violence, I don’t think it’s appropriate that this guy should be pilloried, as he probably will be (in some corners at least) in the near future. From the looks of his post history, the guy is the Village Voice’s crime beat reporter, and I imagine (though I could very well be wrong) that his perspective is akin to many of those in law enforcement: Simpatico in many respects with the desires of citizens against sexual violence, but at least partially tone-deaf when it comes to matters of structural and social injustice. The dude is not John Boehner, and as disrespectful and callous as his posts come across, I would disagree with the calls to fire his ass that are surely on their way. Who knows if a clarification or begrudging apology is appropriate, but the very least to be done is an immediate moratorium on the pursuit of this “clarification”.
Ultimately, the brunt of the blame for this embarrassment likely lays with the Voice’s editorial staff. With his history of covering rape cases for the paper and hammering out alerts regarding wanted suspects and missing children, it’s possible that the editors felt Harkavy was a good fit for an editorial series on the Logan attack. It’s disappointing that no one was willing or able to point out the severe problems that naturally followed from the series’ line of questioning. I expected more from a decent rag like the Voice.*
As for the possibility that the Village Voice used the headlines it did to cynically court outrage and the pageviews it brings? The idea is so preposterous as to be beyond consideration.
* I was halfway through a complaint to Foster Kamer before I realized he doesn’t work there anymore.