2010

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Also from the article: "Hatfill has committed $1.5 million to building a floating genetic laboratory, a futuristic-looking vessel replete with a helicopter, an operating room to treat rural indigenous peoples, and a Cordon Bleu–trained chef."

Longform has chosen its favorite articles of 2010 and one them is David Freed’s very deserving, very horrifying, “The Wrong Man,” an account in the Atlantic of how an innocent person was wrongly suspected of the Anthrax attacks that occurred in the wake of 9/11. Dr. Steven J. Hatfill was a virologist and bioweapons expert who, in Kafka-esque fashion, had been traduced by hysteria, circumstance and incompetence. An excerpt:

“On the day al-Qaeda struck the World Trade Center and the Pentagon with hijacked jetliners, Hatfill was recovering from nasal surgery in his apartment outside the gates of Fort Detrick, Maryland, where USAMRIID is housed. We’re at war, he remembers thinking as he watched the news that day—but he had no idea that it was a war in which he himself would soon become collateral damage, as the FBI came to regard him as a homegrown bioterrorist, likely responsible for some of the most unsettling multiple murders in recent American history. His story provides a cautionary tale about how federal authorities, fueled by the general panic over terrorism, embraced conjecture and coincidence as evidence, and blindly pursued one suspect while the real anthrax killer roamed free for more than six years. Hatfill’s experience is also the wrenching saga of how an American citizen who saw himself as a patriot came to be vilified and presumed guilty, as his country turned against him.

‘It’s like death by a thousand cuts,’ Hatfill, who is now 56, says today. ‘There’s a sheer feeling of hopelessness. You can’t fight back. You have to just sit there and take it, day after day, the constant drip-drip-drip of innuendo, a punching bag for the government and the press. And the thing was, I couldn’t understand why it was happening to me. I mean, I was one of the good guys.'”

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"I don't believe I have the stomach for it." (Image by Ed Fitzgerald.)

From the Letters to the Editor section of the April 21, 1972 Life magazine:

“Sirs: Richard Schickel gives The Godfather a pretty darn good review (‘The Resurrection of Don Brando,’ March 31), one that would likely send me to see this movie. But then I read another opinion in the local paper (‘Somehow I don’t find rape entertaining, murder funny or violence acceptable’). I feel sure I would see The Godfather as this critic did and I don’t believe I have the stomach for it.–Claude Ash, Havertown, PA.

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"I use an old fashioned cassette player." (Image by GottesmanJ.)

need someone to tape show for me (Midtown)

I need someone to tape the Howard Stern show for me!! My cassette player broke a month ago and I am missing all of these shows….

I use an old fashioned cassette player, so I need them taped from Satelitte Sirius on cassettes. the commercials and all, I’m not fussy, but I just want the whole show.

If you use hour cassettes which i can send you, it’s pretty easy, come back once and hour and turn the tape over….. the price is negotiable, I’ll talk to you about that.

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Uses guns to compensate for small penis. (Image by Therealbs.)

Just a couple of weeks after clubbing a fish to death on her reality TV show, Sarah Palin attempted to demonstrate her superiority over yet another species when she shot and murdered a caribou. If you’ve followed Sarah Palin closely, you can tell that she’s very insecure because the average member of the reindeer family is brighter than she is and more qualified to be President of the United States. In order to mask her fears, Sarah Palin uses firearms to demonstrate that she is a member of the superior race.

After needing just 43 shots to kill the caribou, Sarah Palin opened its chest with a bowie knife and drank some of its blood. She smeared the rest of the blood on her chest and face like war paint. Then she lowered her trousers and straddled the dead reindeer and violated it repeatedly.

In addition to her utter stupidity, another thing that bothers Sarah Palin is that she has a pretty small penis. I mean, it’s big for a woman, but it’s still not very big. While her ding-dong may be tiny, it’s still functional and worked fine as she humped the newly murdered deer. Bristol stood by and watched proudly as her mom penetrated the slaughtered animal, but she did not participate for fear that she would become pregnant with the child of a dead caribou.

Fuck you, Snowflake Jr. You’re next.

For her part, Sarah Palin tried to preempt any criticism she would receive about the episode with a post on her blog. “Unless you’ve never worn leather shoes, sat upon a leather couch or eaten a piece of meat, save your condemnation of tonight’s episode,” she wrote. “I remain proudly intolerant of the hypocrisy of those who would oppose the fucking of dead livestock.”

After she was done doing the deed with the dead deer, Sarah Palin strutted around bottomless for a while and ordered her lackeys to tell her that her cock is very gigantic. Then she waved her johnson all around and took a leak in a pond to remind nature that it is her bitch. Sarah Palin hasn’t decided what kind of animal she wants to kill and fuck next, but it will probably be a lamb. Their meat tastes good and they’re kind of plush and sexy.

More Fake Stuff:

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From a 1849 New York Herald report about that riffraff William Thompson, who ushered in the use of the term “confidence man”:

Arrest of the Confidence Man.—For the last few months a man has been traveling about the city, known as the ‘Confidence Man,’ that is, he would go up to a perfect stranger in the street, and being a man of genteel appearance, would easily command an interview. Upon this interview he would say after some little conversation, ‘have you confidence in me to trust me with your watch until to-morrow’; the stranger at this novel request, supposing him to be some old acquaintance not at that moment recollected, allows him to take the watch, thus placing ‘confidence’ in the honesty of the stranger, who walks off laughing and the other supposing it to be a joke allows him so to do.

In this way many have been duped, and the last that we recollect was a Mr. Thomas McDonald, of No. 276 Madison street, who, on the 12th of May last, was met by this ‘Confidence Man’ in William Street, who, in the manner as above described, took from him a gold lever watch valued at $110; and yesterday, singularly enough, Mr. McDonald was passing along Liberty street, when who should he meet but the ‘Confidence Man’ who had stolen his watch. Officer Swayse, of the Third Ward, being near at hand, took the accused into custody on the charge made by Mr. McDonald.

The accused at first refused to go with the officer; but after finding the officer determined to take him, he walked along for a short distance, when he showed desperate fight, and it was not until the officer had tied his hands together that he was able to convey him to the police office. On the prisoner being taken before Justice McGrath, he was recognized as an old offender by the name of Wm. Thompson, and is said to be a graduate of the college at Sing Sing. The magistrate committed him to prison for a further hearing. It will be well for all those persons who have been defrauded by the ‘Confidence Man’ to call at the police court Tombs and take a view of him.”

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Accumulating debt would never be difficult again.

Before: horrifying.

The great Letters of Note site has published 1860 correspondence between an 11-uear-olf girl and Abraham Lincoln in which the lass encourgaed the politician to grwo a beard if he ever hoped to be President. He wasn’t so sure initally but eventually took her sage advice.

••••••••••

Hon A B Lincoln

Dear Sir

My father has just home from the fair and brought home your picture and Mr. Hamlin’s. I am a little girl only 11 years old, but want you should be President of the United States very much so I hope you wont think me very bold to write to such a great man as you are. Have you any little girls about as large as I am if so give them my love and tell her to write to me if you cannot answer this letter. I have got 4 brothers and part of them will vote for you any way and if you let your whiskers grow I will try and get the rest of them to vote for you you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin. All the ladies like whiskers and they would tease their husbands to vote for you and then you would be President. My father is going to vote for you and if I was a man I would vote for you to but I will try to get every one to vote for you that I can I think that rail fence around your picture makes it look very pretty I have got a little baby sister she is nine weeks old and is just as cunning as can be. When you direct your letter direct to Grace Bedell Westfield Chautauqua County New York.

I must not write any more answer this letter right off Good bye

Grace Bedell

••••••••••

Springfield, Ill. Oct 19, 1860

Miss Grace Bedell

My dear little Miss

Your very agreeable letter of the 15th is received—

I regret the necessity of saying I have no daughters— I have three sons— one seventeen, one nine, and one seven years of age— They, with their mother, constitute my whole family—

As to the whiskers, having never worn any, do you not think people would call it a piece of silly affectation if I were to begin it now?

Your very sincere well wisher

A. Lincoln

After: hunky.

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Teresa Taylor peddling an alleged Madonna pap smear, in the film's most famous scene.

Richard Linklater’s fresh and fascinating 1991 debut, Slacker, is an action film if you consider walking slow and talking fast to be action. Using a $25K budget, a screenplay with no narrative thread and a cast of seemingly loco locals in Austin, Texas, Linklater made a movie that challenged the prevailing notion of what an independent film had to be if it aspired to commercial success.

The movie is structured as a chain reaction in which the camera eavesdrops on a conversation and then departs with people who had some contact (often glancing) with those having the conversation. Then it listens in on the new conversation, which has nothing to do with the one that preceded it, and leaves with the next subjects. And so on. The people indulging in the bull sessions are underemployed, anarchic Gen-X townies who’ve given up on society without giving in. Some of these self-styled pariahs passionately suggest violent insurrection may be the answer to the country’s woes, but they don’t seem eager to leave their apartments to partake in such a struggle. And they’re just as fixated on the ridiculous as the profound. Some questions that arise: Have astronauts been on the moon since the ’50s? Is a stolen Madonna pap smear a salable commodity? Is Elvis Presley alive and supporting himself as an Elvis impersonator?

Any of these scenes might seem slight on their own, but the movie has an overarching philosophy that belies its casual tone. As one character imparts about another matter altogether: “The underlying order is chaos.” (Available from Netflix and other outlets.)

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"She said she was Miss Pauline Chase, a member of the 'Cadet Girl' company. She went out to secure bail for the prisoner."

Wearing a disguise and pretending to be a Harvard man, a lad who had been obsessively following a troupe of chorus girls and who’d caused a disturbance at one of their performances gets arrested for “masquerading” at a Brooklyn theater. A story about the unusual crime from the December 16, 1900 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“A young man who said he was a Harvard student was arrested last night at the Amphion Theater, charged with masquerading.

At the Lee avenue police station, where he was taken by Officer Thomas Carroll, he gave his name as William Kibbey and his address as 43 West Twenty-seventh street, Manhattan. He gave his age as 21 years, and said his parents lived in Iowa.

Kibbey, it is said, has been following the ‘Cadet Girl’ company from place to place. Early in the week, it is claimed, he created a disturbance in the theater and was ejected, it is said. Last night in order to get by the doorekeeper he wore a red beard.

Soon after the young man was locked up in the Lee avenue station a young woman appeared there and asked about Kibbey. She said she was Miss Pauline Chase, a member of the ‘Cadet Girl’ company. She went out to secure bail for the prisoner.”

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Estée Lauder: "When you stop talking, you've lost a customer. When you turn your back, you've lost her." (Image by Bill Sauro.)

Estée Lauder’s cosmetics empire was built more on her makeup as a person than on the kind that’s applied to faces. Raised in Queens, Lauder simply outhustled everyone in her field and never grew complacent. She provides the personal touch for a customer in this great 1966 picture by World Journal Tribune photographer William Sauro. (Sauro had already won the George Polk Memorial Award for his amazing shot of Helen Keller “listening” to Eleanor Roosevelt with her fingertips; he would subsequently work for the New York Times for the last three decades of his career.)

An excerpt from Grace Mirabella’s 1998 Time article about Lauder, on the occasion of her being the only woman selected for the magazine’s list of 20th-century business geniuses:

“You more or less know the Estée Lauder story because it’s a chapter from the book of American business folklore. In short, Josephine Esther Mentzer, daughter of immigrants, lived above her father’s hardware store in Corona, a section of Queens in New York City. She started her enterprise by selling skin creams concocted by her uncle, a chemist, in beauty shops, beach clubs and resorts.

No doubt the potions were good–Estée Lauder was a quality fanatic–but the saleslady was better. Much better. And she simply outworked everyone else in the cosmetics industry. She stalked the bosses of New York City department stores until she got some counter space at Saks Fifth Avenue in 1948. And once in that space, she utilized a personal selling approach that proved as potent as the promise of her skin regimens and perfumes.

‘Ambition.’ Ask Leonard for one defining word about his mother, and that’s his choice.”

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A completely useless and amazing talent. (Thanks Reddit.)

Mixed-media sculpture of Manhattan.

Italian artist Franco Recchia twists discarded transistors, motherboards and other technological detritus into stunning sculptures of cityscapes. Junk is renewed and recycled into things of beauty, something actual cities need to do more and more. Look here to see additional Recchia cityscapes, which will soon be on display in New York at Agora Gallery. (Thanks Boing Boing.)

Pittsburgh, a city that wisely downsized and reimagined itself in the waning days of the Industrial Age, gets the Recchia treatment.

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Salvador Dali brings surrealism to the masses at New York's 1939 World's Fair.

Elizabeth Lowry of the Wall Street Journal has a fun article about Jessica Kerwin Jenkins’ Encyclopedia of the Exquisite, a new book that seems right up the alley of language-loving, factoid-obsessed Afflictor readers. It’s an idiosyncratic reference book in which Jenkins, a writer for Vogue, offers histories on milk baths, the word “hello,” and cloud names, among other topics. An excerpt about what Lowry considers the book’s most offbeat entry:

Salvador Dali and friend in 1939. (Image by Carl Van Vechten.)

“The most outré entry of all, however, is the one on things ‘subaquatic,’ which includes a delirious description of Salvador Dalí’s deranged installation at the New York World’s Fair in 1939. Dalí’s underwater artwork, called the Dream of Venus, was a ‘panorama of the unconscious,’ the artist explained. Inside a grotto, visitors found a topless actress lying on a vast bed of red satin strewn with lobsters and champagne bottles. Behind her in a giant aquarium, glimpsed through a window, naked women posing as mermaids with rubber tail fins, the artist’s ‘living liquid ladies,’ played a woman-shaped piano and tapped away at floating rubber typewriters.

Time magazine dubbed the performers ‘Lady Godivers.’ When World’s Fair officials insisted that Dalí get rid of an image advertising the performance—a reworking of Botticelli’s Venus with a fish-head torso—he retaliated by hiring a plane and pelting the city with copies of a manifesto called the ‘Declaration of the Independence of the Imagination and the Rights of Man to His Own Madness.’ It is a man’s right, he wrote, ‘to love women with ecstatic fish heads.'”

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"This collection includes over 1000-1200 cans."

Vintage Beer Can Collection – $400 (Lindenhurst)

I’m looking to sell my vintage beer can collection. This collection includes over 1000-1200 cans. I have no room left and need to unload some of my collectibles. Price is negotiable. Ask for Tom.

Fact: Parakeets make up 42% of Afflictor readership. (Image by Julie R.)

Some search engine keyphrases bringing traffic to Afflictor this week.

Afflictor: Helping babies who've just had makeovers sleep peacefully since 2009.

Orson Welles narrates this 1972 documentary that McGraw-Hill produced about sociologist Alvin Toffler‘s gargantuan 1970 bestseller, Future Shock. Toffler caused a sensation with his views about the human incapacity to adapt in the short term to remarkable change, in this case of the technological variety. The movie is odd and paranoid and overheated and fun.

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It’s been 17 years since Wired sent sci-fi legend William Gibson to chronicle the spotless dystopia that is modern Singapore, but it’s hard to believe much has changed. The resulting article,Disneyland with the Death Penalty,” looks at a country that’s run with the brutal efficiency of a corporate theme park, and one that has disappeared any trace of its own history. An excerpt:

“Singapore is a relentlessly G-rated experience, micromanaged by a state that has the look and feel of a very large corporation. If IBM had ever bothered to actually possess a physical country, that country might have had a lot in common with Singapore. There’s a certain white-shirted constraint, an absolute humorlessness in the way Singapore Ltd. operates; conformity here is the prime directive, and the fuzzier brands of creativity are in extremely short supply.

The physical past here has almost entirely vanished.

There is no slack in Singapore. Imagine an Asian version of Zurich operating as an offshore capsule at the foot of Malaysia; an affluent microcosm whose citizens inhabit something that feels like, well, Disneyland. Disneyland with the death penalty.

But Disneyland wasn’t built atop an equally peculiar 19th-century theme park – something constructed to meet both the romantic longings and purely mercantile needs of the British Empire. Modern Singapore was – bits of the Victorian construct, dressed in spanking-fresh paint, protrude at quaint angles from the white-flanked glitter of the neo-Gernsbackian metropolis. These few very deliberate fragments of historical texture serve as a reminder of just how deliciously odd an entrepot Singapore once was – a product of Empire kinkier even than Hong Kong.

The sensation of trying to connect psychically with the old Singapore is rather painful, as though Disneyland’s New Orleans Square had been erected on the site of the actual French Quarter, obliterating it in the process but leaving in its place a glassy simulacrum. The facades of the remaining Victorian shop-houses recall Covent Garden on some impossibly bright London day. I took several solitary, jet-lagged walks at dawn, when a city’s ghosts tend to be most visible, but there was very little to be seen of previous realities: Joss stick smouldering in an old brass holder on the white-painted column of a shop-house; a mirror positioned above the door of a supplier of electrical goods, set to snare and deflect the evil that travels in a straight line; a rusty trishaw, chained to a freshly painted iron railing. The physical past, here, has almost entirely vanished.”

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"Perhaps the Frankensteins owned it, who knows." (Image by Universal Studios.)

Cadaver stand with enamel bowls – $150 (trenton nj)

This is your every day cadaver parts holder. Would make a lovely addition to your every day ‘operations’ or sun porch garden plant holder. I am guessing this is from the 1920’s or 30’s. When I originally purchased this it was explained to me what it was used for in the medical profession. I thought it would be a nice addition to a porch as a plant holder but never got around to stripping and painting it. The top piece is removable and spins. The stand is on wheels. Construction is solid cast metal. The whole piece looks as if it comes from Austria as indicated on the bowls. Perhaps the Frankensteins owned it, who knows.

Denis Johnson was paranoid about both the government and the anti-government militia movement in 1990s America when he wrote the chilling article “The Militia in Me,” which appears in his non-fiction collection, Seek. The violence of Ruby Ridge and Waco and the horrific Oklahoma City bombing had shocked the nation into realizing the terror within, so Johnson traveled the U.S. and Canada to find out how and why militias had come to be. Sadly, the unsettling subject is as timely as ever. Three brief excerpts from the piece.

••••••••••

The people I talked with seemed to imply that the greatest threat to liberty came from a conspiracy, or several overlapping conspiracies, well known to everybody but me. As a framework for thought, this has its advantages. It’s quicker to call a thing a crime and ask Who did it? than to call it a failure and set about answering the question What happened?

••••••••••

I’m one among many, part of a disparate–sometimes better spelled “desperate”–people, self-centered, shortsighted, stubborn, sentimental, richer than anybody’s ever been, trying to get along in the most cataclysmic century in human history. Many of us are troubled that somewhere, somehow, the system meant to keep us free has experienced a failure. A few believe that someone has committed the crime of sabotaging everything.

Failures need correction. Crimes cry out for punishment. Some ask: How do we fix it? Others: Who do we kill?

••••••••••

They told me they made furniture out of antlers and drove around anywhere and everywhere, selling it. For the past month I’d been reading about the old days, missing them as if I had lived in them, and I said, “You sound like free Americans.”

“No,” the smaller man said and thereafter did all the talking, while the other, the blond driver changed my tire. “No American is free today.”

“Okay, I guess you’re right, but what do we do about that?”

“We fight till we are,” he said. “Till we’re free or we’re dead, one or the other.”

“Who’s going to do the fighting?”

“A whole lot of men. More than you’d imagine. We’ll fight till we’re dead or we’re free.”

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Not a picture of a Kansas school, but a class photo from a California grade school in 1890.

In 1895, eighth graders in Salina, Kansas, had to pass a mighty tough exam to be promoted. (The full questions from the test were posted by Morehead State and linked to by Marginal Revolution.) I wonder how many adults today could pass this exam. Sure, part of the difficulty stems from the changes in language and priorities as we’ve transitioned from an agrarian economy to the Industrial Age to the Information Age. But looking at this test is a reminder that education and intelligence don’t necessarily improve just because time marches on. Some sample questions:

  • Give nine rules for the use of Capital Letters
  • If a load of wheat weighs 3942 lbs., what is it worth at 50 cts. per bu., deducting 1050 lbs. for tare?
  • What is the cost of 40 boards 12 inches wide and 16 ft. long at $20 per m?
  • Name events connected with the following dates: 1607,  1620,  1800, 1849, 1865.
  • Give four substitutes for caret ‘u’.
  • Give two rules for spelling words with final ‘e’. Name two exceptions under each rule.
  • Mark diacritically and divide into syllables the following, and name the sign that indicates the sound: Card, ball, mercy, sir, odd,cell, rise, blood, fare, last.
  • Describe the mountains of North America.
  • Name and describe the following: Monrovia, Odessa, Denver, Manitoba, Hecla, Yukon, St. Helena, Juan Fermandez, Aspinwall and Orinoco.
  • Why is the Atlantic Coast colder than the Pacific in the same latitude?
  • Describe the movements of the earth. Give inclination of the earth.

In 1955, TWA produced this 30-minute film to promote its cross-country flights. The fictional short follows a couple of college students who travel from California to the Big Apple for sightseeing. As one of the beaming students excitedly tells her mom, “You can fly coast to coast in only eight hours!”

The kids tour Fifth Avenue, Coney Island, Central Park, etc. JFK was still, of course, called Idlewild and the Empire State Building was then the tallest edifice on the planet. The film provides a great look at period cars and clothes.

The movie was written by Agnew Fisher, who was also a photographer and cinematographer. Fisher was an avid sailor who chronicled the America’s Cup races with his camera for a couple of decades.

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"We have nothing to say, but we hope you will be lenient."

It wasn’t so easy being a judge in Brooklyn back in the day. The accused could use aliases and there was no way to check on them. But a pair of convicted lady shoplifters couldn’t escape their criminal past after being pinched while trying to steal a camel’s hair shawl at a Flatbush Avenue shop. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle ran a story about their sentencing on December 23, 1876. An excerpt:

“The two female shoplifters who stole the camel’s hair shawl from Journeay & Burnham’s, and who were convicted last Thursday, were sentenced in the Court of Sessions this morning. Quite a crowd were in waiting to see what Judge Moore would do with them. Another woman said to be a sister was with them.

Deputy Clerk York opened the Court of Sessions and the prisoners, Mary Martin and Catharine Martin, were called to the bar. Mary is tall and skinny with sallow skin and dark eyes. She was dressed in a cotton velvet cloak trimmed with beads and a dark dress. The other is short and fleshy, with round face, fat chin and wore a woolen shawl around her shoulders.

They were sworn and the tall one gave her name as Mary Martin, said she was thirty-seven years old, born in Germany and a dressmaker by trade. The other woman said her name was Catherine Martin, thirty-three years old, born in Pennsylvania and a dressmaker by trade. Both denied they had ever been in State Prison. It is not known what their real names are.

These preliminaries settled, the clerk asked them whether they had anything to say why the judgement of the Court should not be pronounced. Catherine, the younger woman replied, ‘We have nothing to say, but we hope you will be lenient.’

Camel: String 'em up. (Image MaddiyK.)

In passing the sentence Judge Moore said: ‘If it were not for the fact that you two women have been for years past known to the police authorities as two of the most expert professional shoplifters in the country, the plea of leniency would have a good deal of force, but when we know the fact that for years past you have been engaged in the commission of crimes, as professional criminals, that you are notorious from one end of the country to the other, in your case we cannot abate much of the extreme penalty prescribed by the law for your offense. One of you, at least, has been in the State Prison and I think both of you.

‘This attempt to steal their goods from merchants in this city and to deprive them of their property was a bold attempt, but was fortunately frustrated. Considering your character and the character of your offense, we have concluded that the sentence should be this: That each of your shall be imprisoned in the Penitentiary of this county for four years and six months.’

The prisoners received the sentence without emotion, save wiping their eyes with their handkerchiefs, and were removed in the custody of the officers. They won’t trouble the shopkeepers of Fulton street for some time to come.

On the eve of the trial, after recess, two children were brought into Court, ostensibly as the children of the older woman, and she received them very pathetically. It had a curious effect on the jury. One juryman said afterward that he didn’t believe the children were her’s, as they had blue eyes, and another juryman said he knew them, they were thieves, for the children were dressed too well.”

Judge Judy: I once found an avocado guilty of being too succulent. (Image by Susan Roberts.)

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Too dumb to drive on their own, but very friendly.

Cnet has a Q&A with Atari co-founder Nolan Bushnell, who has returned to the board of the once-storied, long-struggling gaming company. In addition to comparing Atari to a successful child that graduated to drug addiction and jail as an adult, Bushnell waxes enthusiastic about auto-cars, the kind of vehicles that use software to do the driving. Google acknowledged recently that it has self-steering cars tooling around busy California streets and highways, monitoring traffic and god knows what else.

I know planes routinely use auto-pilot, but I think Bushnell is a little too sanguine about auto-cars in the near term, since a major psychological aspect of car ownership (in America at least) has to do with control and autonomy. (Thanks Newmark.) An excerpt:

Nolan Bushnell: But the biggest thing for the near future is auto-cars, which will change everything.

Cnet: Tell me about that. Why do you think they’ll change everything, and how so?

Nolan Bushnell: It’ll be within five years, somewhere. The costs are there right now. The Google car actually was cost-effective. Think of no traffic congestion, highways that can hold 30 times as much traffic. Half the energy costs. It just goes on and on. The only issue is how powerful will be the Luddites.

Cnet: What do you imagine would be the chief objection of the Luddites?

Nolan Bushnell: The Schumpeterian creative destruction of entrenched interests. For example. every Teamster, cab driver, UPS driver, all these drivers will need to be retrained. Insurance will drop to a fraction of what it costs now. People don’t understand how horrible the average driver is. The number of body shops will be 20 percent of today. It’ll be disruptive, and they will not go away without a fight. Of course, bars will do a great business because drunk driving will be OK.”

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The modern version of Bingo was created in 1929. The origins of the game date back to 1530. (Image by Abbey Hendrickson.)

I missed this smart November 28 article about the last Brooklyn bingo parlors that N. R. Kleinfield wrote for the New York Times, but thankfully Longform pointed me to it. Fun fact from the piece: New York State law requires bingo games to be run for charitable purposes. An excerpt about veteran bingo devotee Cynthia Klivan:

“Ms. Klivan, a companionable retired parole-board clerical supervisor, usually comes to Nostrand Bingo Hall in the Midwood section of Brooklyn six days a week. Nostrand is one of the enduring relics of a fading game long cherished by those long done working. Play happens twice a day — at 11:30 a.m. and 7 p.m. — but not on Sunday mornings.

Ms. Klivan is a day player. Bingo is her fixation, her delight, the center around which her 74-year-old life rotates, as is true of thousands of believers who gravitate to the remaining commercial halls in the city in pursuit of human interaction and a little extra money.

Bingo has been a rite for Ms. Klivan for 30 years. To understand its galvanic pull, one need only rewind a few years, to the day her sister picked her up from the hospital after cancer surgery and asked, ‘Where do you want to eat?’ Ms. Klivan told her she didn’t want to eat. And her sister, looking hard at her, said, ‘You’re not thinking the bingo hall?’

Oh yes, she was.

And when she shambled in the door, surgical drains still in place, everyone had to chuckle. They told her: ‘Cynthia, you’re pale as a ghost. What are you doing here?’

Ignoring them, Ms. Klivan bought her cards and began marking the numbers.”

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