2011

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My Sister’s Tiny Hands

we came in this world together
legs wrapped around each other
my cheek against my sister’s
we were born like tangled vine

we lived along the river
where the black clouds never lingered
the sunlight spread like honey
in my sister’s tiny hands

but while picking sour apples
in the wild waving grasses
sister stumbled in the briar
and was bitten by a snake

every creature casts a shadow under the sun’s golden finger
but when the sun sinks past the waving grass
some shadows are dragged along

alone, I took to drinking bottles of cheap whiskey
and staggering through the back woods
killing snakes with a sharpened stick

but still I heard her laughing
in those wild waving grasses
still her tiny hands went splashing at the river’s sparkling shore

so I took my rusty gas can
and an old iron shovel
I set the woods to burning
and choked the river up with stones

every creature casts a shadow under the sun’s golden finger
but when the sun sinks past the waving grass
some shadows are dragged along

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The artist downs colored milk and makes herself puke on a canvas. At least she didn’t ruin the bidet. (Thanks Vulture.)

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""A boy stowaway 3 years old arrived to-day on the steamship Citti di Milano from Naples."

People were always desperate to come to America, so desperate in fact that they would routinely stow away aboard ships back in the day. The following are a quintet of stowaway stories from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

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“Three Year Old Stowaway” (December 23, 1902): “A boy stowaway 3 years old arrived to-day on the steamship Citti di Milano from Naples. He refused to talk about himself, but it was believed his mother would claim him when she landed at Ellis Island. The boy was classified as clandestine.”

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“Will Be Sent Home” (March 15, 1888): “Mrs. Lette Fendre, the stowaway, will be returned to Germany by the steamer Lahn, which sails this morning. Collector Magione would not allow her to land until he had got some assurance that she would not be a charge on the county. When the woman arrived she said that a sister named Mrs. Cook, living at 435 Carroll street, Brooklyn, would pay her fare for the passage in coming from Germany. This was not satisfactory to the Collector, however. Yesterday a young man visited Customs Officer Judd. He offered $27, the passage money, to have the old lady released. He was told to see the Collector, but has not since put in an appearance. Mrs. Fendre said: ‘I don’t know who he was. My niece in Brooklyn got married while I was in Germany, but I guess that isn’t her husband. It doesn’t look like the young man who was sparkin’ her when I was here before.’ Repeated explanations were ineffectual to make Mrs. Fendre comprehend her position.”

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"She was not discovered until the vessel was far out to the sea."

“Stowaway Girl a Bride” (September 25, 1899): “Olivette Nielson, the girl stowaway, who managed to get from her home in Copenhagen to New York by secreting herself on the Norge of Thingvalla line, was married yesterday at the Barge Office to Andrew Guttormansen of 215 Twenty-seventh street, Brooklyn. Olivette and Andrew were lovers in their native city and Andrew came over about ten weeks ago to prepare the way for his sweetheart. Two weeks or so ago he wrote that he was ready for her, but he forgot to send her the money for her passage. Olivette was not put out by this little detail, however. She proceeded to conceal herself on board the Norge just as it was about to sail from Copenhagen. She was not discovered until the vessel was far out to the sea.”

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“Beck Fully Recovered” (December 9. 1902): “Johann Beck, who arrived in this country last week after having been shipped as a ‘model’ in a packing case in the hold of the Hamburg-American steamship Palatia was discharged as recovered from the effects of his exhaustion and starvation to-day at St. Mary’s Hospital Hoboken. He has been taken to Ellis Island, where he will await examination before the board of special inquiry as a stowaway.

He is still pale, but is able to walk about and is hopeful of being allowed to land. He says that he was not seeking notoriety, but was genuinely anxious to come to this country and took chances to do so. He adds that he is willing to work and expects to get work if allowed to land. The agents of the Hamburg-American Company have offered to pay his fine of $10 if his health stands the test and he is permitted to land.”

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"Two policemen saw the chase and stepping aside allowed Dreher to run into their arms."

“Objected to Going Back” (September 5, 1900): “Battery Park was the scene of an exciting chase after an immigrant about to be deported this morning escaped. The fugitive was Jacob Dreher, 23 years old, who arrived from Antwerp on August 28 as a stowaway on the Red Line steamer Southwark. Dreher was taken to the Barge Office and ordered returned to Belgium. With a number of other persons this morning he was in a wagon in front of the Barge Office awaiting transportation to the Southwark pier. Watching his chance Dreher leaped from his place, and before Professor Smith could realize what was happening the young fellow was halfway across the park. Smith and Policeman Grogi started in pursuit, and they were joined by several hundred men. A man who had been sitting on a bench endeavored to stop the immigrant and received a blow on the point of the jaw that knocked him over into the grass. Another man undertook the task a short distance away and received almost as violent treatment. Two policemen saw the chase and stepping aside allowed Dreher to run into their arms. He was taken back and manacled to the wagon. All the way back he fought, and it was all the policemen could do to restrain him.

‘Hurrah for liberty! Hurrah for liberty!’ shouted the immigrant, shaking his manacled hands at the crowd. The young fellow was finally put aboard the ship.”

This, my friends, is an elegant way to take a dump. Even their toilet is a reflection of their runaway narcissism. (Thanks Reddit.)

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"It’s gonna be huge. Support us. The Cosmos are back."

The Cosmos, the New York soccer team that Steve Ross and Warner Communications built into a jet-setting, championship-getting phenomenon more than three decades ago, with the the aid of aging international stars like Pelé. Franz Beckenbauer and that ball hog Giorgio Chinaglia, are back–well, possibly. A British entrepreneur named Paul Kemsley is reviving the brand and hoping to coax lightning to strike twice, something the skies generally do rarely and at their own caprice. David Segal of the New York Times reports:

“’Thanks so much for coming,’ [Paul Kemsley] said, turning serious. ‘We hope you get it. It’s gonna be huge. Support us. The Cosmos are back.’

Hang on — the team that gave Americans their first taste of soccermania, once packing Giants Stadium with more than 77,000 fans? That rum band of night prowlers with their own table at Studio 54 and Hollywood hangers-on? The franchise that vanished not long after Steve Ross, the head of Warner Communications, decided that pro soccer had no future? Those Cosmos are back?

Certainly the brand is back. Amid all the team memorabilia on display at that February party were plenty of crisp new Cosmos shirts, shorts and warm-ups, part of a recently unveiled line of clothing from Umbro, the English company that co-sponsored the shindig.

But Kemsley’s ambitions far exceed retro sportswear. A former real estate mogul who flamed out spectacularly in England when the recession struck, he is now chairman of the Cosmos, whose rights he bought recently. Since then, the team has been his all-consuming passion; he talks about building a stadium as well as Cosmos-related restaurants and hotels in New York City. He predicts that he and Umbro will sell a fortune’s worth of shirts in Europe and Asia. He has a staff of 16 already (including an executive named Terry Byrne, a close friend and former manager of David Beckham’s). He is touring the world to spread news of a second coming.”

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The trailer for the Cosmos documentary, Once in a Lifetime:

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"Five million USA dollars." (Image by DirkvdM.)

CAMEL SKELETON (Upper West Side)

CAMEL SKELETON! $5,000,000.00 (FIVE MILLION USA DOLLARS)

DO YOU HAVE IT ALL? BUY THIS CAMEL SKELETON AS A CENTER PIECE OR SOCIALLY AWE YOUR GUESTS.

REAL CAMEL SKELETON ENCASED IN A WOOD FRAME, VISIABLE FROM ALL SIDES.

SIZE 6 1/2FT wide X 9FT long

LOCATED IN CALIFORNIA

PHOTO ON REQUEST (THIS IS NOT A JOKE NOR A SCAM! )

I AM ADVERTISING IN NEW YORK AND OTHER AREAS. I LIVE IN CA & THE CAMEL SKELETON IS ALSO LOCATED IN CALIFORNIA

Behind-the-scenes look at a pizza commercial.

"Robert Earl fell into a muddy ditch and had to be pulled out with a tractor and belts by the town’s men."

Robert Earl Hughes was large of mind, heart and, unfortunately, body. Born in 1926, Hughes was a sweet-tempered Illinois country boy with uncanny mnemonic skills, who suffered from a malfunctioning pituitary gland, which caused him to grow larger and larger. As his weight gradually rose above the half-ton mark, he worked intermittently as a carnival attractiom, before dying at the young age of 32. Persistent rumors that he was buried in a piano case were unfounded. In “Heavy,” a Chicago magazine article, Robert Kurson recalls the man who became a prisoner to his ever-expanding flesh. An excerpt:

“Most Saturdays, the Hughes family would travel to the general store, where they would trade their farm goods for life’s essentials. When he was ten, Robert Earl stepped for the first time on the store’s platform scale, where the owner, Gerald Kurfman, added counterweights, then more counterweights, before announcing a reading of 378 pounds. Word spread to neighboring counties about the heavy lad in Fishhook. A doctor who came to examine Robert Earl told his parents that the boy would likely die by 15—that no heart could stand such stress. After that, Robert Earl avoided doctors whenever possible; he thought they were interested only in experimenting on him. While the Hughes family continued to visit the store, no one remembers Georgia watching Robert Earl’s calories or scolding him for coveting marshmallows or treating him differently in any way than she treated his brothers.

At school, Robert Earl leapfrogged his peers in reading and writing, and startled teachers with a memory that bordered on eerie. ‘If he read something or met someone, he would remember it forever,’ says Harry Manley, 77, who worked for a couple of years in the general store. ‘He only needed one time.’ Robert Earl sat in a specially constructed chair reinforced with wires. Every month that chair got tighter and tighter, and every month the boy seemed to get smarter and smarter, to know more about the world and its odd places with strange names. By 12, Kurfman had weighed him at 500 pounds, and Robert Earl had taken to carrying a gallon of milk and two loaves of bread to school every day for lunch. In the fifth grade, while walking home from school, Robert Earl fell into a muddy ditch and had to be pulled out with a tractor and belts by the town’s men. ‘It scared us all so terribly,’ recalls Gladys Still, a childhood friend who watched the rescue. Though the boy never spoke of dying, kids knew he wasn’t supposed to live long, and they remember that day as the first time they were scared for the life of their friend.” (Thanks Longform.)

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Robert Earl Hughes’ relations recall him:

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Where to start? Crappy 1973 sexploitation film with Chuck Norris (that’s him at the 43-second mark) and an evil clown. Holy smokes.

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"Sounds like Bullshit? It sure does."

ABSOLUTELY BILLIANT! (World Wide)

I posses the knowledge, of an absolutely brilliant affiliate marketing program literally worth BILLIONS (hence: my term Billiant) that can be distributed world wide, have perpetual and unlimited residual income, massive social appeal, while at the same time, providing compassionate support for animal rights and prevention of cruelty to animals.
Here’s the deal.
I have the vision, the foresight, and the plan, man.
However, I don’t have the funds and technical support (at this moment) to make this happen quickly enough for my ambition.
I can do it alone over the next 6 to 12 months.
However, I’d rather not wait that long.
I am willing to share this highly exclusive opportunity with the right person or persons.
Think… “Groupon, Facebook, Google”.
Think… “Getting in on the ground floor”
Think… ”Global”
Think…”Billions$$$”
Sounds like Bullshit?
It sure does.
Then go away.
But if this interests you in any way, shape, or form, this is how it needs to work.
I don’t have time to waste with “tire kickers” and under funded opportunists looking for the next “get rich quick” scheme.
This is not a “get rich quick” scheme“.
No indeed!
This is a “get FILTHY rich quick” scheme.
And by scheme, I mean a visionary, life altering opportunity to create a tremendous amount of good in the world, with substantial, mutually rewarding, financial benefits.
Utilizing the vast potential of mobile social media, and the human compassion to help alleviate animal suffering, I have created a win-win-win situation for all concerned.
And I don’t want someone who’s just looking to get rich, I want someone who is already very wealthy, and just wants to do the right thing, the fun and rewarding thing, the “add some meaning to my life” kind of thing.
Someone who would think nothing about throwing a few thousand dollars (the cost of a good dinner in NYC) at an intriguing opportunity for my time and transportation to meet and discuss our future calling.
I can prove who I am, what I do, and where I intend to lead.
If you have the resources, are legitimate, respectable, and worthy of my attention and this opportunity, let’s get together.

 

Some search-engine keyphrases bringing traffic to Afflictor this week:

Afflictor: The target of Mr. Banjo's ire since 2009. (Image by J.M. Garg.)

  • Strange, Small & Forgotten Films: Two Lovers (2008).
  • Jim MacLaren recovered from two devastating accidents during his life.
  • Martin Kemp has the power to turn worthless art into treasures.

At the very beginning, in 1914, in “Making a Living.”

From a 1972 Candice Bergen article in Life magazine, on the occasion of Chaplin nervously returning to America to receive an honorary Oscar 20 years after he was denied entry into the country: “He boarded the plane to Los Angeles with great ambivalence. After agreeing in January to come for the Academy Awards, he felt–as the time grew closer–that he could not go through with it. The memories of what he was put through there were too painful. The thought of returning terrified him.

During the flight, he crossed to the other side of the plane to see the Grand Canyon. His face lit up. ‘Oh yes, this is the place where Douglas Fairbanks did a handstand on the precipice. He told me about it.’

As they got nearer Los Angeles, he grew more and more nervous, sure he shouldn’t have come.”

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According to a Telegraph report, Brazilian police will be outfitted with eyeglasses that can scan 400 faces per second, identifying persons of interest with speed and ease. An excerpt:

“Military Police officials from Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, which will both host key games in the World Cup, have been given demonstrations of how the device works.

Major Leandro Pavani Agostini, of Sao Paulo’s Military Police, said: ‘It’s something discreet because you do not question the person or ask for documents. The computer does it.

“To the naked eye two people may appear identical but with 46,000 points compared, the data will not be beaten.”

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"Angell is the grand master of the first-hand observation, which is why his baseball writing in T"he New Yorker" is so original and lively and has been for 50 years." (Image by George Grantham Bain.)

The opening of “Still at the Top of His Game,” Michael Bamberger’s excellent new Sports Illustrated appreciation of nonagenarian New Yorker legend Roger Angell, who continues to write some of the most eloquent and incredibly visual sentences you could ever hope to read:

“Roger Angell’s memories of Babe Ruth at Yankee Stadium are moving pictures in his head, deposited there when he was a boy absorbed by the pastime and the world around him. The Babe’s big bat, his heavy flannel uniform, the men in fedoras watching him: You and I, way late to the party, have been fed these black-and-white snaps by PBS specials and Hall of Fame exhibits, but that’s not the case for Angell. For him, they’re in color. Angell is the grand master of the first-hand observation, which is why his baseball writing inThe New Yorkeris so original and lively and has been for 50 years.

They say if you watch baseball long enough you’ll see something you’ve never seen before. Maybe that’s what has kept Roger—he’d invite you to call him that—so young, the promise of what the next game might bring. Reading him, you’d never guess his age. He’s 90.

Whatever he wrote in hisNew Yorkerblog last week, you won’t see anywhere else. His pieces get published, on the magazine’s website and in its pages, with no predictable pattern, and every time you come across one, it’s a delight. If you want a traditional ode to the new season, don’t read Angell. Only once, in 1963, did he compare the return of newspaper box scores in April to spring flowers. Only once, in 1988, did he call Bart Giamatti, then the president of the National League, a ‘career .400 talker.’ Only once did Angell compare Tim Lincecum’s stride to ‘a January commuter arching over six feet of slush.’ That was last year.

In his little 20th-floor office in the sleek Condé Nast building in Times Square, Angell—trim and fit in the tweedy uniform of the gentleman farmer—has a pile of Mead spiral-bound notebooks.”

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Great find by Brendan Koerner (via Longform) in digging up “The Boys in the Bank,” the September 1972 Life magazine article about the unusual Brooklyn heist that inspired Dog Day Afternoon, the amazing 1975 film by the recently deceased Sidney Lumet.

From Life: “By now, John Wojtowicz wants to talk to the police. He wants to talk about negotiations, about hostages, about producing a plane which will carry him to distant places. But more than this, he wants to talk to the person who matters most of all. As worried married men will do, he asks to be allowed to talk to his ‘wife.’ The police send a squad car to the mental ward of a nearby hospital and pick up a 26-year-old male named Ernest Aron.

There was nothing in John Wojtowicz’s early years to suggest that he would ever find himself holding off police at the doors of a bank and haggling with them for a meeting with a homosexual spouse. For most of his 27 years his life seemed pointed to nothing more than a routine job, a faithful female wife, and someday a move to the suburbs.

His mother, Theresa, remembers a good boy who didn’t smoke, rarely drank. He played softball, collected stamps, and carefully clipped out newspaper stories about politics. He finished Erasmus High School with a 97% average, shining in math and mechanical drawing. His favorite extracurricular activity was Monopoly.

Only an occasional flare-up of temperamental rage marred an otherwise studious and pedestrian mind. It seemed right to his moth- er that her son should take a job in a bank directly after high school and that he should find a girl friend-and an eventual wife -who was also a bank employee. The first Mrs. John Wojtowiez was loud, jolly Carmen Bifulco, a typist at the Chase Manhattan Bank. She playfully called her husband a dingbat. He dubbed her in return a ‘mouth.’ The couple met on a bank-sponsored ski trip to Massachusetts, were engaged as Wojtowicz was drafted and shipped to Vietnam, and were finally married just as soon as he got back to Brooklyn, safe and sound, one year later. And then the trouble began.”

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Even someone like myself who isn’t very fond of animation can be awed by the nightmarish creations in this video. (Thanks Singularity Hub.)

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Advertising legend David Ogilvy (of Ogilvy & Mather, of course) shares trade secrets with David Susskind in 1974. For better or worse, Ogilvy introduced market research to the movie business, which began way back in the days of Gary Cooper and Betty Grable.

From a Time magazine article about advertising in 1962: “Advertising is salesmanship—it is not fine art, literature or entertainment,’ insists David Mackenzie Ogilvy, 51, chairman of Manhattan’s Ogilvy, Benson & Mather. Yet it is Ogilvy’s flair for creating ads that are literate and entertaining while tugging at the purse strings that has made him the most sought-after wizard in today’s advertising industry. It was Ogilvy who immortalized Hathaway shirts with Baron Wrangel’s eyepatch and bearded Commander Whitehead for Schweppes. Cultivated, charming and handsome enough to model occasionally in his own ads, British-born David Ogilvy studied history at Oxford, served a Depression stint as a chef in a Paris hotel, and sold stoves door to door in Scotland before coming to the U.S. to work for Pollster George Gallup. When he set up his agency in 1948, Ogilvy made a private list of the five clients he wanted most: General Foods, Bristol-Myers, Campbell Soup, Lever Bros, and Shell. Today he has some business from all five, and his agency’s billings ($47.5 million last year) are almost eight times greater than a decade ago. Recently he was selected by Washington to sing the charms of the U.S. to prospective tourists from Britain, France and West Germany. ‘Every advertisement I write for the U.S. Travel Service,’ he muses, ‘is a bread-and-butter letter from a grateful immigrant.'”

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From the January 24, 1900 Brooklyn Daily Eagle:

“Elizabeth Lahr, 38 years old, of 266 Johnson avenue, was sent to jail for sixty days this morning by Magistrate Teale, in the Manhattan avenue court, on the charge of being an habitual drunkard. John Lahr, the woman’s husband, was the complainant.

Lahr produced forty pawn tickets in court and stated that they represented articles pawned by his wife. Mrs. Lahr carried the ten weeks’ old infant in her arms when brought before the bar. She was permitted to take the infant to jail with her.”

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"He never greeted the judges when he passed them on the street – everyone looked similarly blank to him – and he developed a reputation for arrogance.," (Image by Przykuta.)

The opening of “Face Blind,” a 2007 Wired article by Joshua Davis about a neurological disorder that makes face recognition difficult–a confusing condition I myself have, though not quite as severely as the people in this article:

BILL CHOISSER WAS 48 when he first recognized himself. He was standing in his bathroom, looking in the mirror when it happened. A strand of hair fell down – he had been growing it out for the first time. The strand draped toward a nose. He understood that it was a nose, but then it hit him forcefully that it was his nose. He looked a little higher, stared into his own eyes, and saw … himself.

For most of his childhood, Choisser thought he was normal. He just assumed that nobody saw faces. But slowly, it dawned on him that he was different. Other people recognized their mothers on the street. He did not. During the 1970s, as a small-town lawyer in the Illinois Ozarks, he struggled to convince clients that he was competent even though he couldn’t find them in court. He never greeted the judges when he passed them on the street – everyone looked similarly blank to him – and he developed a reputation for arrogance. His father, also a lawyer, told him to pay more attention. His mother grew distant from him. He felt like he lived in a ghost world. Not being able to see his own face left him feeling hollow.

One day in 1979, he quit, left town, and set out to find a better way of being in the world. At 32, he headed west and landed a job as a number cruncher at a construction firm in San Francisco. The job isolated him – he spent his days staring at formulas – but that was a good thing: He didn’t have to talk to people much. With 1,500 miles between him and southern Illinois, he felt a measure of freedom. He started to wear colorful bandannas, and he let his hair grow. When it got long enough, he found that it helped him see himself. Before that, he’d had to deduce his presence: I’m the only one in the room, so that must be me in the mirror. Now that he had long hair and a wild-looking scarf on his head, he could recognize his image. He felt the beginnings of an identity.

It gave him the confidence to start seeing doctors. He wanted to know if there was something wrong with his brain. His vision was fine, they told him – 20/20. One doctor suggested he might have emotional problems and referred him to a psychiatrist. In the medical literature, there were a few reports of head-injury and stroke victims who’d lost their ability to recognize faces. No one, as far as the doctors knew, had ever been born with the condition.

Conventional medicine, in other words, got him nowhere. So Choisser posted a message about his experiences on a Usenet group devoted to people with neurological problems. His subject line was ‘Trouble Recognizing Faces.’ After a few months, in late 1996, he received a solitary reply. ‘Hello, Bill,’ the email began, ‘I read what you wrote, and I think I have what you have.'” (Thanks Longreads.)

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Squatter punks in London in 1983 are the focus of this smirking Aussie doc.

"It belongs to a species of gigantic lizards supposed to have been extinct many thousand years." (Image by Arthur Weasley.)

Iowa was overrun by giant, hog-eating lizards in 1885, and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle was only too happy to reprint ridiculous stories about them. An excerpt from a January 10 article of that year:

“A monster animal was killed near Oskaloosa, in this state recently. It measured from one end of tail to tip of nose eighty-one feet. Its heart weighed eight pounds and had four cavities. After being hunted for a long while it was finally killed with a twelve pound cannon loaded with railroad spikes. It required a team of twelve strong men to pull the monster to the river bank after its death.

It was skinned and a taxidermist is stuffing it, when it will be sent to the Academy of Natural Sciences at Philadelphia. The flesh is being carefully removed from the bones, and the skeleton will be properly wired and kept for the present on exhibition at Oskaloosa. Dr. Peck, of Davenport, calls it the Cardiff Giant, and says it belongs to a species of gigantic lizards supposed to have been extinct many thousand years.

The monster had been swallowing farmers’ hogs weighing 300 to 400 pounds each at one gulp. Thousands of people have been gunning for the monster, but it was proof against everything until the cannon brought it down.–Newton (Ia.) Herald

"It has to be an eye sore." (Image by Philip Kromer.)

want to buy crapiest looking car-no joke (almost any where)

My town is screwing with my perfectly good car that needs work for an inspection, but they want me to get rid of it instead. So I am fighting back. I want a car that can pass a NY inspection and have it sit in my driveway. It has to be an eye sore. These people have so much money and they are trying to push me out of my home. I work for the government and they gave me a 2 year salary freeze. So please help me. As long as the car can be registered and inspected they can’t do anything to the car.

 

From Japan, of course. (Thanks Singularity Hub.)

Werner Herzog, profilin'. (Image by erinc salor.)

Physicist Lawrence Krauss probes the nexus between art and science in a conversation with one of my favorite novelists, Cormac McCarthy, and one of my favorite filmmakers, Werner Herzog. Listen here. (Thanks Open Culture.)

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From Herzog’s look at the dark side of revolution, Even Dwarfs Started Small:

 

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