“Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breath in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.”—
On 9th March 2008, historians have found what they believe is the first recording of a human voice. Predating Thomas Edison’s first phonograph recording of 1877. The “phonautograph”, created by etching soot-covered paper by Parisian inventor Edouard-Leon Scott de Martinville, was played by US scientists using a “virtual stylus” to read the lines. The recording was initially believed to be the voice of a woman or adolescent, but further research in 2009 suggested the playback speed had been too high and that it was actually the voice of Scott himself. This is the original recording.
Glenn Broadnax, a 35-year-old black man from Brooklyn, was unarmed on the night of September 14 when NYPD officers shot at him in the middle of Times Square, striking two bystanders.
Instead of apologizing, the New York Timesreports that the city has charged Broadnax ”with assault, on the theory that he was responsible for bullet wounds suffered by two bystanders.”
Broadnax was emotionally disturbed and dodging cars in the middle of the street when officers say he reached into his pocket to grab what they believed was a weapon, prompting them to open fire. His lawyers says he was reaching for his wallet.
So, because the NYPD is made up of trigger happy, crappy marksmen who fire at unarmed black people with impunity, Broadnax might spend up to 25 years in prison on trumped up assault charges, which the Manhattan district attorney insisted on.
… Meanwhile, the two cops who did the shooting are on desk duty pending an investigation. If the past is any indication, that means they will be back on the streets in no time.
If the mean people in our lives were crappy 100% of the time, it would be easy to leave them. We would shrink from becoming friends with them or jump aboard the nope rocket in the early stages of trouble, and we would feel only relief when they are gone from our lives.
The problem is that very few people are evil all the time. They don’t wear villain costumes purchased at ForeverEvil. They don’t laugh maniacally and stroke their evil goatees while monologuing about their evil plans. They appear in our lives as People-Who-Would-Be-Awesome-Except-For-That-One-Glaring-Problem. They have potential to be awesome, and sometimes they are awesome, and they make us feel awesome, so we relax and let out that breath we’ve been holding in, and then BAM! They show their mean side, and we do a ton of mental work trying to reconcile the mean stuff with the awesome stuff.
Breaking up brings relief, as you lose the constant mental labor of managing the relationship AND the stress of being constantly disappointed and hurt, but it also brings grief. Shitty people who forget your birthday and give little backhanded compliments and gossip about your secrets sometimes give really good hugs, or presents, or are your favorite people to get drunk and watch figure-skating with, or were the sole witness to an important time in your life. The good times were real.