2010

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“It’s All About the Fabulous Monkey Trials That Rocked America!” screamed the tag line for Inherit the Wind, the 1960 Stanley Kramer drama about the Scopes Monkey Trial of 1926. Like most people, I always assumed that Scopes was a simple battle between evolutionists and creationists. Clarence Darrow liked logic and William Jennings Bryan hated monkeys.

But according to Stephen Jay Gould’s essay, “William Jennings Bryan’s Last Campaign,” included in the late Queens-born paleontologist’s finest collection, Bully for Brontosaurus, it wasn’t quite that simple. While anyone who has even a shred of logic in their head accepts evolution, the textbook at the center of that trial was truly odious. Tennessee high-school teacher John Scopes taught from A Civic Biology by George William Hunter, which wasn’t exactly the enlightened tome. An excerpt from Gould’s essay, in which he quotes verbatim from Hunter’s disturbing writing about the poorer classes in the United States:

Hundreds of families, such as these described above exist today, spreading disease, immorality and crime to all parts of this country. The cost to society of such families is very severe. Just as certain animals or plants become parasitic on other plants and animals, these families become parasitic on society. They not only do harm to others by corrupting, stealing or spreading disease, but they are actually protected and cared for by the state out of public money. Largely for them the poorhouse and asylum exist. They take from society, but they give nothing in return. They are truly parasites.

If such people were lower animals, we would probably kill them off to prevent them from spreading. Humanity will not allow this, but we do have the remedy of separating the sexes in asylums or other places and in various ways preventing intermarriage and the possibilities of perpetuating such a low and degenerate race.•

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"The hanging of Jackson and Jarvis at Jamaica, yesterday, was made the occasion of a general holiday in the County of Queens."

The 1875 hanging of two convicts turned into a vulgar dog-and-pony show for the amusement of the locals in Jamaica, Queens. The January 16th Brooklyn Daily Eagle took everyone involved to task for the horrific spectacle. An excerpt:

“We believe murderers ought to be hanged, but we are opposed to having executions turned into raree shows or neck stretching festivals. The hanging of Jackson and Jarvis at Jamaica, yesterday, was made the occasion of a general holiday in the County of Queens, and a spectacular horror within the confines of the county jail. For this, the Sheriff, the hangman and a vulgar public sentiment are responsible. The accounts given of the proceedings recall some of the Tyburn scenes in the Seventeenth Century.

The victim driven through the streets for the amusement of a vulgar mob, the looming, ghastly form of the gallows, the ugly figures of the hangman, the loathsome rumbling of the cart over the stony street, and the hideous apparel of death of Dick Turpin‘s day were, in several respects exactly paralleled, and others vividly suggested yesterday.

With much mock solemnity, the poor devils were interrogated as to their feelings, badgered to confess their guilt, dressed in black, acquainted with the pressure of the noose, and pinioned for the satisfaction of the vulgar before they were taken out for destruction, while far beyond the jail walls rose the jeers and shouts of the less favored mob who had been excluded from actual contemplation of the spectacle. There is only one term by which such arrangements can be characterized. They are barbarous. It is disgraceful to our civilization that such things are tolerated. There is no good reason why, if a man is to be hanged, the hanging should not, in the presence of official witnesses, without unnecessary torture, be dispatched. It is a question whether exhibitions such as that of yesterday have not a more demoralizing effect upon the public mind than the crimes they are designed to suppress. They, in a coarse way, make heroes of the condemned, they awaken sympathy for them in many minds, they familiarize the mind with horror which is the next thing to making one delight in the infliction of torment, and they serve to awaken an antagonism to the rigid enforcement of the law.

No one who looked yesterday upon the body of Jarvis dangling in the air after having been drawn up and dropped twice from a rotten rope could have felt otherwise than that of the Sheriff and his executive assistant ought to have been strung up, for their bungling, on adjoining trees.”

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"Metaphysical garbage collectors at your service."

Give us your personal journals (Brooklyn)

Don’t throw your journals out! Give them to us. Your life experiences mean a lot to us.

Who is us? We are artists, performers and sustainable living enthusiasts who are seeking to recycle your memories, random thought fragments, your best, worst and mediocre moments. Et cetera.

When you throw stuff away, where is “away”? We are away! Metaphysical garbage collectors at your service.

In other words, we want your journals. Give us your journals.

“At the corner of hope and destiny, everyone can find a taxi driver.”

(Thanks Newmark’s Door.)

Michel often studies "Prince of the Pickpockets," Richard Stanton Lambert's 1930 book about 18th-century thief (and, later, cop!) George Barrington.

Franςois Truffaut famously said that Robert Bresson’s 1959 drama, Pickpocket, was the greatest date movie ever made, though he might have added that it helps if you’re dating an existential thief. The film’s anti-hero, Michel, is a Parisian intellectual who could easily earn his own way, but he believes, as if he were sprung from the pages of Camus or Nietzsche, that he needs to defy the laws of God and man and make other people’s watches and wallets his own.

Morose Michel (Martin LaSalle) lives a sluggish, threadbare existence, spending all his time perfecting his illicit technique and furthers his education when he falls in with a pack of more experienced thieves. As his obsession with the “craft” grows, Michel halfheartedly plays a cat-and-mouse game with an acquaintance who happens to be a police chief (Jean Pélégri). Equally lackadaisical is his (perhaps) budding romance with Jeanne (Marika Green), his sickly mother’s beautiful neighbor.

When the criminal tries to explain to the police inspector that some men should be allowed to transgress society’s rules for the good of society, the lawman will have none of it. “That’s the world upside down,” he points out.  “It’s already upside down,” retorts Michel. And from that moment on it’s a briskly paced race to see if Michel’s hands will end up holding Jeanne’s or in handcuffs. (Available from Netflix and other venues.)

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Pope Benedict XVI: Works blue. (Image by Rvin88.)

Many people were stunned to learn that Pope Benedict XVI justified condom use for male prostitutes with AIDS in a recent interview. It’s the first time the Vatican has ever acknowledged that there’s a circumstance when condoms are acceptable. Some pundits think this may be a sign that the Catholic Church is showing progress when it comes to sexuality, but based on some other statements he made, it seems that the Pope may have just been effed up like Charles Barkley during the Q&A. Here are some more comments from the Pope about other times it’s okay to use condoms:

When Boning Sarah Or Bristol:
“These two get pregnant if you sneeze on them. Even Octomom snickers. You might even want to double-bag it, or you could find yourself on the Levi Johnston Election Committee. And now that she’s constantly prancing around in the great outdoors pretending to like nature for the reality show cameras, Governor Snooki is especially horned up.”

When Fisting A Porn Star Outside Of Marriage:
“This is an instance where you need latex gloves instead of condoms, but we’re still talking rubber. Listen, if you marry the porn star, you can go raw fist. But if this is, say, a one-off thing at a Halloween party, you need to wrap that hand. I recommend Rubbermaid, but anything with a latex base will suffice.”

When Having Butt Sex With A Midget:
“If we’re talking, like, under four feet tall or something like that, then you need to use a lubed-up sack for comfort’s sake. I’m not suggesting that butthole size is completely determined by height, but let’s err on the side of caution in this matter.”

When Watching Tiger Woods Golf:
“You can’t be too careful. He’s like Caligula with a 3-iron.”

When Being Counseled By A Catholic Priest:
“Do you not read the papers?”

More Fake Stuff:

 

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Houdini fired a pistol in the air and--poof!--Jennie was gone.

The Hippodrome was a large-scale Manhattan entertainment venue that struggled mightily to make money in its later life, finally closing in 1939. But it had some great moments during its glory years. One such sensation was the time in 1918 when Harry Houdini made Jennie, a several-ton elephant, vanish into thin air in front of a 5,000 awed patrons. How did he do it? Mirrors. A 2007 Daily Mail article recalls the spectacular moment and its backstory. An excerpt:

“‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Houdini cried as, to the audience’s alarm, a full-grown Asian elephant, 8ft tall and weighing over 6,000lb, came running pacily into view. ‘Allow me to introduce Jennie, the world’s only vanishing elephant.’

Jennie the elephant proudly raised her trunk in greeting to the wide-eyed masses, before being led into a huge, brightly coloured box on wheels. The doors were closed behind her, there was a dramatic drum roll and the stage hands flung open the doors at both ends of the box to reveal that it was now – completely empty.

Houdini announced to rapturous applause: ‘You can plainly see, the animal is completely gone.’

The Vanishing Elephant became one of Houdini’s most famous tricks and he performed it in front of over a million people. For more than 90 years, long after his death, the tradecraft by which he made this huge beast disappear remained a secret even other magicians failed to solve.”

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Sadly, the title gives it away.

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"Know when and not to fool around."

16-year old in need of a part-time job (queens)

Hello craigslist im looking for a part-time job i would like to find something i can do after school and wont be home late i have no job experience but i am a hard worker and know when and not to fool around.

"Circulating ice water in each room."

This postcard of the legendary Hotel Taft of Times Square has no writing on the back, but it’s stamped with “July 16, 1939.” The business began its run in 1926 as the Manger Hotel (which cost more than $10 million to build) but was renamed in 1931 for President Taft. At the time this postcard was printed, the hotel offered 2,000 rooms, some for just $2.50 per night. The Grill was popular and served as the site for Vincent Lopez’s long-running radio program, Shake the Maracas.” The Hotel Taft and its surrounding area declined and the business was shuttered in the early 1980s. It was eventually revived as a mixed-use development, which includes the Hotel Michelangelo. Text about the Taft’s 1939 prices and amenities from the reverse of the postcard:

“HOTEL  TAFT
Times Square’s Largest Hotel. 2,000 rooms with bath  from $2.50. New “Direct Reception” radio, servidor, circulating ice water, in each room.

ADJACENT TO
Radio City, 100 theatres, retail and wholesale districts.
Grand Central and Pennsylvania R.R. stations 5 minutes by taxi.
B & O Motor Coach connection at door. I.R.T., B.M.T. and 8th Ave Subway stations, Capitol Bus Terminal, just around the corner
.”

William H. Taft, who died in 1930, is the only person to be both U.S. President and Chief Justice.

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"He declared that unmistakable traces of poison had been found in the stomach and other organs."

In 1892, a Chicago woman died after a period of illness and was buried. But something didn’t sit right with her brother, who had the body exhumed and examined. His instincts proved correct, as it seems foul play was involved. Her son-in-law, a physician and onetime Brooklyn resident named Dr. Henry Martyn Scudder, who had learned a good deal about poisons in India, was thought to be the culprit. As was usually the case with the Brooklyn Daily Eagle of that era, the possible culprit was eagerly tried in the press. (Three months after the publication of this article, Dr. Scudder committed suicide with a large dose of morphine in his jail cell while awaiting trial for homicide.) An excerpt:

(Chicago, Ill., March 12.) Important developments have occurred in the Scudder case within the last twenty-four hours which will throw a flood of light upon the mystery of the murder of the doctor’s mother in law.

Frank Parker, the brother of the murdered woman, had just returned from Jamesville, Wis., where Mrs. Dunton was buried, as before stated in these dispatches. Mrs. Dunton’s body was exhumed and a careful examination of the skull was made. This was shown to have been fractured in three or four places and injuries were discovered which would easily have caused her death. But there were other matters to be explained. For some time prior to the murder Mrs. Dunton had been in a strange decline, which even the fact of her having an encysted tumor could not account for. This fact was remembered at the autopsy, and Mr. Parker determined that the investigation should be a thorough one. Accordingly the stomach and intestines were examined by the Janesville physicians and chemists. It was a startling discovery that they made.

"Dr. Palmer made a thorough examination of the wounds on Mrs. Dunton’s head, and he thinks they were made with a piece of gas pipe." (Image by Bernard bill5.)

When seen by an Eagle correspondent on his return from Janesville, Mr. Parker was too much agitated to tell fully the result of the analysis, but to a friend he declared that unmistakable traces of poison had been found in the stomach and other organs. There can be no doubt of this and the fact is going to play an important part when Dr. Scudder is placed on trial.

Although not willing to tell all that he has discovered to the newspapers. Mr. Parker did say this much to a reporter who called on him: “I was in Janesville Monday and Tuesday with Drs. Palmer and Chittenden to assist me. I had the body of my sister exhumed. Dr. Palmer has gathered evidence which is incontrovertible that Mrs. Dunton was murdered.”

The excitement in Janesville is intense and if Dr. Scudder had been in that town this week there would be no need of a trial. Dr. Palmer made an examination of the intestines and found evidence there of a startling nature. I cannot tell about these things in detail, because the lawyers in the case have told me to keep still. I can say that the intestines will be brought here Monday by Dr. Palmer and used as evidence in court. The membranes of the neck where the injection was administered will also show disclosures of a startling nature. Dr. Palmer made a thorough examination of the wounds on Mrs. Dunton’s head, and he thinks they were made with a piece of gas pipe. Those wounds alone were sufficient to cause death. The lawyers say that Dr. Palmer’s evidence is sufficient to convict Dr. Scudder.

Dr. Scudder was for many years a resident of India and he has always prided himself on his knowledge of the mysterious drugs.”

In view of these facts, it is now said that the prosecution will show that a deliberate attempt was made to poison Mrs. Dunton. That while she was greatly affected by the drugs, distinct traces of which were found in the internal organs, her decline was not so rapid as was evidently expected, and that thereupon her death was brought about in a violent manner.

Dr. Scudder was for many years a resident of India and he has always prided himself on his knowledge of the mysterious drugs used by the Orientals. The name of the poison found by the Jamesville chemists is to be kept secret until the doctor is put on trial. This afternoon an important investigation into the doctor’s sanity is in progress before Judge Scales of the county court.”

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Marshall McLuhan was usually a genuinely incisive thinker and not the mountebank that some make him out to be. His writings still have a lot to teach us about the great paradigm shift we’re currently experiencing. But he was prone to sometimes wildly misread the future like anyone who constantly traffics in tea leaves. One glaring example was his prediction at the end of the 1960s that there might soon be genocide in America. In a 1969 Playboy interview, he opined that the shift from mechanical to technological culture might cause just that to occur. An excerpt:

Playboy:

What, specifically, do you think will happen to [the black man]?

Marshall McLuhan:

At best, he will have to make a painful adjustment to two conflicting cultures and technologies, the visual-mechanical and the electric world; at worst, he will be exterminated.



Playboy:

Exterminated?

Marshall McLuhan:

I seriously fear the possibility, though God knows I hope I’m proved wrong. As I’ve tried to point out, the one inexorable consequence of any identity quest generated by environmental upheaval is tremendous violence. This violence has traditionally been directed at the tribal man who challenged visual-mechanical culture, as with the genocide against the Indian and the institutionalized dehumanization of the Negro. Today, the process is reversed and the violence is being meted out, during this transitional period, to those who are nonassimilable into the new tribe. Not because of his skin color but because he is in a limbo between mechanical and electric cultures, the Negro is a threat, a rival tribe that cannot be digested by the new order. The fate of such tribes is often extermination.•

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Ahmadinejad: Making W. look bright. (Image by Daniella Zalcman.)

Some search keyphrases bringing traffic to Afflictor this week.

Afflictor: Experimenting on the people since 2009. (Image by LeaW.)

An android police officer, Ernest Borgnine and the dad from Good Times fight crime in what appears to have been one of the dumbest TV shows ever created. Great period dialogue such as: “Man, that’s the fastest white boy I ever seen.” That line was definitely not made in reference to Borgnine.

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From Stewart Brand’s prophetic December 7, 1972 “Spacewar” article in Rolling Stone, about the potential ramifications of the Internet:

One popular new feature on the Net is AI’s Associated Press service. From anywhere on the Net you can log in and get the news that’s coming live over the wire or ask for all the items on a particular subject that have come in during the last 24 hours. Project that to household terminals, and so much for newspapers (in present form). Since huge quantities of information can be computer-digitalized and transmitted, music researchers could, for example, swap records over the Net with ‘essentially perfect fidelity.’ So much for record stores (in present form).•

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"My wishes for you are not printable." (Image by Agpvtr.)

Muttontown/tag and garage sale (Muttontown)

Re the sale held on Saturday October 9th, we wish to thank all the genuine and pleasant people who turned out. However for some dealers and resellers who barged into places not open for view, my wishes for you are not printable. To the person or persons who barged in my closed office and stole my small fish Herend statuette right off a cluttered desk as well as a pair of expensive gold jewel pair of earrings, well you know what.

It is always the scum that keeps surfacing in their need for easy pickings and unearned wealth. You know who you are, if it were possible to seriously place a curse on you, consider yourselves cursed.

There was also never a need for anyone to open and glean through closets, cabinets, drawers without specific okay and direction. What were you looking for, jewels to steal?

Burstyn, who won an Oscar for her role, years later said she thought the violent scenes went too far.

One of the films that Martin Scorsese made as a hired hand, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore is the testosterone-fueled director’s surprisingly successful attempt at something resembling a feminist film, albeit one with the filmmaker’s trademark endless profanity and macho violence.

Housewife Alice Hyatt (Ellen Burstyn) lives in fear in small-town New Mexico, married to an irrational husband with a hair-trigger temper that could explode at any moment in the direction of her or her 11-year-old smartass son, Tommy (Alfred Lutter). Tragedy affords her a respite when her abusive spouse dies in an auto accident, but with little money and few skills, it’s not going to be easy to move her and her boy to Monterey, California, her childhood home which she still idealizes. She sings at piano bars and is game to wait tables, but those jobs won’t allow her to get rich quick.

Alice’s taste in men doesn’t help much, either. She hooks up almost immediately with a married psycho (Harvey Keitel), and is soon forced to flee from him to Tucson with tart-mouthed Tommy in tow. There she gets a job slinging hash at a diner and meets a nice guy (Kris Kristofferson)–or is he?–and hopes her luck may be changing. But because she was raised to be someone’s wife, Alice is always short on confidence. “I don’t know how to live without a man, that’s what it is,” she says, realizing the crux of her problem.

Because Alice dreams such small dreams, this movie feels a little dated even though it was true to its time for certain women. But there is so much richness here. Diane Ladd is just great as Alice’s foul-mouthed fellow waitress Flo, who has known as much unhappiness as Alice but treats bitter disappointment as yet another target for her big-hearted sass. Alice instinctively dislikes Flo at first, fearing that she can never carry herself with such gusto. But she comes to understand that boldness is less often something you’re born with than something you learn. (Available from Netflix and other outlets.)

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Steven Levy's next book, about Google, is to be published in 2011.

A few months ago, I excerpted a Wired article in which Steven Levy revisited some subjects profiled in his great 1984 book, Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution. That book looked at the pioneers from the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s who built the foundation of today’s interconnected technology. I’m rereading Hackers now, so I thought I’d provide a passage. This sequence is about the moment when computers passed over from institutions into the hands of Berkeley hackers. Eventually, some of the folks who cut their teeth on this XDS-940 Bay Area behemoth would help personal computing take quantum leaps forward, but initially the work was as unglamorous as it was idealistic and exciting. An excerpt:

“The first public terminal of the Community Memory project was an ugly machine in a cluttered foyer on the second floor of a beat-up building in the spaciest town in the United States of America: Berkeley, California. It was inevitable that computers would come to ‘the people’ in Berkeley. Everything else did, from gourmet food to local government. And if, in August 1973, computers were generally regarded as inhuman, unyielding, warmongering and nonorganic, the imposition of a terminal connected to one of those Orwellian monsters in a normally good-vibes zone like the foyer outside of Leopold’s Records on Durant Avenue was not necessarily a threat to anyone else’s well-being. It was yet another kind of flow to go with.

A faded photo of the Community Memory project in action in Berkeley during the 1970s.

Outrageous, in a sense. Sort of a squashed piano, the height of a Fender Rhodes, with a typewriter keyboard instead of a musical one. The computer was protected by a cardboard box casing, with a plate of glass set in its front. To touch the keys, you had to stick your hands through little holes, as if you were offering yourself for imprisonment in an electronic stockade. But the people standing by the terminal were familiar Berkeley types, with long stringy hair, jeans, and a demented gleam in their eyes that you would mistake for a drug reaction if you did not know them well. Those who did know them well realized that the group was high on technology. They were getting off like they had never gotten off before, dealing the hacker dream as if it were the most potent strain of sinsemilla in the Bay Area.

The name of the group was Community Memory, and according to a handout they distributed, the terminal was ‘a communication system which allows people to make contact with each other on the basis of mutually expressed interests, without having to cede judgements to third parties.’ The idea was to speed the flow of information in a decentralized, non-bureaucratic system. An idea born from computers, an idea executable only by computers, in this case a time-shared XDS-940 mainframe machine in the basement of a warehouse in San Francisco. By opening a hands-on computer facility to let people reach each other, a living metaphor would be created, a testament to the way computer technology could be used as guerrilla warfare for people against bureaucracies.”

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Amazing footage of Coney Island during the early stages of the Great Depression. Subways cost a nickel and rides were a dime. If you successfully threw a baseball into a circular opening, it would cause actual squealing pigs to shoot down a sliding pond. Educated horses did tricks with monkeys on their backs. Clowns bottle-fed small animals. Everyone went home happy.

"Shipwreck of the Minotaur," by J.M.W. Turner.

Three articles in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle with a Huntington, Long Island, dateline succinctly tell the story of Elvin Darling, a ship captain whose wife liked sailing with him, their tragic 1899 accident and the grim voyage’s aftermath.

___________________________________

January 31, 1898: “Mrs. Darling a Sailor.”

Captain and Mrs. Elvin Darling left here to-day for New York, where his schooner, the James E. Baylis, is making ready to go to Norfolk, Va. There he takes a cargo of coal for Vera Cruz, Mexico. For return freight he goes up the Mexican coast some miles above Vera Cruz, where he loads with mahogany. Mrs. Darling seemed as much pleased at getting aboard ship again as her husband.

February 20, 1899: “Wreck of the Baylis–News Reaches Huntington of the Loss of Captain Darling’s Schooner–Fate of the Crew in Doubt.”

A telegram received in this village this morning tells of the wreck of the schooner James E. Baylis of Port Jefferson, of whcih Captain Elvin Darling of this place was master, and Frank Conklin, second mate. Captain Darling’s wife was also on board. The telegram says that the schooner was sighted off Cape Charles, Va., Saturday, by the steamer Foyle, bound from Brazil to New York. The Baylis was bound from Tuxpan, Mexico, to New York, loaded with mahogany and cedar. When sighted her masts were gone and her decks were awash and the cargo was floating about the seas. No signs of life were visible on the craft. Relatives of the men here hope that the crew were saved by a passing vessel. The Baylis was owned by the captain and by New York and Port Jefferson parties. She was built at Port Jefferson in 1874 and registered 360 tons. Captain Darling, who is known as an able captain, has been in a number of shipwrecks, but always escaped without the loss of any of his crew.

February 24, 1900: “Captain Darling Getting Married.”

Captain Elvin H. Darling was in town this week, accompanied by Mrs. Darling. Captain Darling, it will be remembered by Eagle readers, was master of the ill fated schooner James E. Baylis of Port Jefferson, which was wrecked off the Virginia capes a little over a year ago, and whose crew suffered so intensely from exposure. The captain’s wife died from exposure on the wreck before they were rescued. The present Mrs. Darling was a Philadelphia woman and they were married in that city last Saturday.

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Also from the interview: "There are some people who are still playing beer pong in their late 20s. Do not do that." (Image by Gaelen Hadlett.)

Zach Galifianakis came oh-so-close to graduating from NC State but never quite made it. He sat for an interview with his old school and recalled the good times he had there. (Thanks Newmark’s Door.) An excerpt:

Q: What are your best memories about NC State?

Zach Galifianakis: I think one of my only A’s was in Anthropology. I think it was an ‘A’ – nevertheless, I so enjoyed that class. It opened my way of thinking to be sure. I also took a design course that kind of blew my mind and gave me a different perspective on how the eye and mind work together. Socially, I worked a lot. I worked at Amedeo’s Pizza and also Two Guys. That was my socialization. I never joined any clubs or organizations at State – I was a bit of a loner – but those were some very fond memories.”

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Buzz Aldrin walks on the moon on July 20, 1969. He is still alive--and dancing--while William Safire, H.R. Haldeman and President Nixon have all died.

The awesome Letters Of Note site has published a missive from July 18, 1969 that right-wing wordsmith William Safire sent to Nixon bagman H.R. Haldeman, in the event that Apollo 11 ran into difficulties and the astronauts were stranded to die on the moon. The following letter was to be read to the nation by President Nixon if such a tragedy occurred:

Fate has ordained that the men who went to the moon to explore in peace will stay on the moon to rest in peace.

These brave men, Neil Armstrong and Edwin Aldrin, know that there is no hope for their recovery. But they also know that there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice.

These two men are laying down their lives in mankind’s most noble goal: the search for truth and understanding.

They will be mourned by their families and friends; they will be mourned by the nation; they will be mourned by the people of the world; they will be mourned by a Mother Earth that dared send two of her sons into the unknown.

In their exploration, they stirred the people of the world to feel as one; in their sacrifice, they bind more tightly the brotherhood of man.

In ancient days, men looked at the stars and saw their heroes in the constellations. In modern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood.

Others will follow, and surely find their way home. Man’s search will not be denied. But these men were the first, and they will remain the foremost in our hearts.

For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some corner of another world that is forever mankind.”

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A how-to video in which Grandpa, who is creepy as all fuck and has smoked four million cigarettes, teaches his grandson how to shoot his first gun. Either this kid turns out to be heterosexual or he is going to be deeply closeted.

Some great graffiti artists emerged in the '80s (Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat most famously), but a lot of the taggers in the '70s were more concerned with quantity than quality. (Image by Erik Calonius.)

Thanks to bungling by elected officials, New York City started to fall apart financially in the 1960s and it all came crashing down in the ’70s. Vandalism, crime and litter were only the most obvious signs of a city in decline, one that could no longer pay for its most basic services. Two years after this photo was taken, Gerald Ford told New York to “Drop Dead” (though he never really put it quite so harshly; the Daily News did), and we were left to fix our own problems. Ed Koch was far from perfect, but he was the first Mayor to begin cleaning up the mess, instituting bold quality-of-life measures. New subway cars were made with the type of surface that allowed city workers to quickly clean off graffiti paint, “litterpigs” were threatened with fines, pooper-scooper laws were passed and the renewal of Times Square took its first baby steps.

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