mascotte wrote:Some of you guys might be interested in this
https://longreads.com/2018/11/19/an-oral-history-of-detroit-punk-rock/
shark week wrote:crying for the first time in three years reading this
https://highline.huffingtonpost.com/articles/en/how-to-help-someone-who-is-suicidal/
We report the results of a retrospective observational study assessing the impact of bots and trolls on online vaccine discourse on Twitter. Using a set of 1 793 690 tweets collected from July 14, 2014, through September 26, 2017, we quantified the impact of known and suspected Twitter bots and trolls on amplifying polarizing and antivaccine messages. This analysis is supplemented by a qualitative study of #VaccinateUS—a Twitter hashtag designed to promote discord using vaccination as a political wedge issue. #VaccinateUS tweets were uniquely identified with Russian troll accounts linked to the Internet Research Agency—a company backed by the Russian government specializing in online influence operations.20 Thus, health communications have become “weaponized”: public health issues, such as vaccination, are included in attempts to spread misinformation and disinformation by foreign powers. In addition, Twitter bots distributing malware and commercial content (i.e., spam) masquerade as human users to distribute antivaccine messages. A full 93% of tweets about vaccines are generated by accounts whose provenance can be verified as neither bots nor human users yet who exhibit malicious behaviors. These unidentified accounts preferentially tweet antivaccine misinformation.
"let's get psychic not blacked out. Let's get wild without getting sick. Let's get turnt while staying woke."
blurst of times wrote:jeez, i duno if i can read that.
this is (slightly) more upbeat and v good/interesting: https://www.thrillist.com/eat/portland/stanichs-closed-will-it-reopen-burger-quest#. covers a lot of ground about food(ie) culture, media responsibilities, and #content production
VHGisdead wrote:speaking of deemster vape pens
coop wrote:blurst of times wrote:jeez, i duno if i can read that.
this is (slightly) more upbeat and v good/interesting: https://www.thrillist.com/eat/portland/stanichs-closed-will-it-reopen-burger-quest#. covers a lot of ground about food(ie) culture, media responsibilities, and #content production
incoherent grunting wrote:This is weird and good
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/201 ... .html#ch-4
Part I: Zooming Out
Recently, one of my students at Stanford told me a strange story. His parents, who live in Palo Alto, Calif., had been receiving mysterious packages at their house. The packages were all different shapes and sizes but each was addressed to “Returns Department, Valley Fountain LLC.”
I looked into it and found that a company called Valley Fountain LLC was indeed listed at his parents’ address. But it also appeared to be listed at 235 Montgomery Street, Suite 350, in downtown San Francisco. So were 140 other LLCs, most of which were registered in 2015. The names of many of these other companies were baffling and surreal. They included Bropastures, Dreamlish and Your Friend Bart LLC.
blurst of times wrote:gross that he would gloss over the owner strangling his wife (among other things). i should've been more critical about something so navel-gaze-y to begin with tbh!
shark week wrote:crying for the first time in three years reading this
https://highline.huffingtonpost.com/articles/en/how-to-help-someone-who-is-suicidal/
shizaam wrote:odell is so good. check out her instagram watch piece: https://www.topic.com/there-s-no-such-t ... free-watch
The strength and depth of this sex worker-militant network surprised me and many terrorism experts in the West I spoke with, but it’s an open secret among Nairobi residents. My first interview subject didn’t understand why I wanted more details — surely everyone knew about it? Many of my interviewees were neighbors of, or otherwise friendly with, the sex workers involved. They described an arrangement in which al-Shabaab offered money to women who picked up interesting information in the course of their regular sex work — pillow talk from politicians, police officers, and businessmen. One local memorably opined: “Of course! Half the reason these men go to [sex workers] is to complain about their lives. Why not get paid for listening?”
The co-option of sex workers as intelligence officers suggests that al-Shabaab is a rational actor willing to circumvent its highly public ideological stances when there is significant operational benefit to be gained. This calculating, bottom-line mentality runs counter to much of the international narrative about the group. The “Mata Hari” network also shows that al-Shabaab is an innovative organization that looks for unconventional solutions and is actively seeking to survive and expand, despite the long-running efforts by the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM) and its international military partners.
I made a rough calculation chart to see where your hourly earnings might be in about six months of consistent work. This is extremely general and no guarantee and sometimes random chance just makes everything go crazy, but if you’re trying to make a decision about whether this is worth it, then this might help.
Rate your business acumen potential (sales, reading people, general intelligence, marketing, emotional labor capacity) on a scale of 1-10. Multiply this number by two, and add to the number of hours you plan on camming per week. We’ll call this number X.
If, on the traditional 1-10 beauty scale, you’re:
1-2, multiply X by 0.3
3-4, multiply X by 0.8
5-6, multiply X by 2.5
7-8, multiply X by 4.5
9-10, multiply X by 8
So, for example – if you consider yourself about a 6/10 businessperson, and if you plan on camming 25 hours a week, then 6*2 + 25 = 37.
If you’re 6/10 attractive, multiply 37 by 2.5, and you get a $92.5/hr estimate within 6 months, on MFC. This is the take-home amount after the MFC 50% fee.
None of this applies if you appear male. If you appear male, god help you.
For 10 years, I worked as a cable tech in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, D.C. Those 10 years, the apartments, the McMansions, the customers, the bugs and snakes, the telephone poles, the traffic, the cold and heat and rain, have blurred together in my mind. Even then, I wouldn’t remember a job from the day before unless there was something remarkable about it. Remarkable is subjective and changes with every day spent witnessing what people who work in offices will never see — their co-workers at home during the weekday, the American id in its underpants, wondering if it remembered to delete the browsing history.
[...]
I was filling out the work orders and emailing my supervisor to give him a heads-up on a possible call from a member of every cable tech’s favorite rage cult, when his wife knocked on my van window. She stepped back and called me “ma’am.” Which was nice. Her husband with the tucked-in polo shirt had asked my name and I told him Lauren. He heard Lawrence because it fit what he saw and asked if he could call me Larry. Guys like that use your name as a weapon. “Larry, explain to me why I had to sit around here from 1 to 3 waiting on you and you show up at 3:17. Does that seem like good customer service to you, Larry? And now you’re telling 7 to 10 days? Larry, I’m getting really tired of hearing this shit.” Guys like that, it was safer to just let them think I was a man.
She said she was sorry about him. I said, “It’s fine.” I said there really wasn’t anything I could do. She blinked back the flood of tears she’d been holding since God knows when. She said, “It’s just, when he has Fox, he has Obama to hate. If he doesn’t have that ...” She kept looking over her shoulder. She was terrified of him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just need him to have Fox.” I got out of my van.
I got my first pubic hair when I was 2 years old.
I couldn’t talk, I could barely walk, but I started growing a bush. Or so they tell me. I have no recollection of a time before puberty, before the carnal cravings, the impulses, the angst and anger and violence. There was no prelapsarian age of innocence for me; I was born, I took a huge bite of the apple, and, by 2 years old, I was pretty much ready to get busy with Eve.
Bioterrorism and the Fermi Paradox
We proffer a contemporary solution to the so-called Fermi Paradox, which is concerned with conflict between Copernicanism and the apparent paucity of evidence for intelligent alien civilizations. In particular, we argue that every community of organisms that reaches its space-faring age will (1) almost immediately use its rocket-building computers to reverse-engineer its genetic chemistry and (2) self-destruct when some individual uses said technology to design an omnicidal pathogen. We discuss some of the possible approaches to prevention with regard to Homo sapiens' vulnerability to bioterrorism, particularly on a short-term basis.
I met Scott while taste-testing sourdough pancakes during the first meeting. I’d planned to approach the elderly hosts, self-described “off-grid geeks” Al and Arn, who seemed, by nature of their more advanced position on the road to self-sufficiency, to be the group’s natural leaders. (If the Fayetteville Preppers had a graph to illustrate their value system, “Knowledge” and “Execution” would be on the x and y axes.) But before the first session had even begun, Scott, who turned out to be the garrulous teacher’s pet, and Chuck, the mustachioed class clown, had already discovered that in the event of an emergency, I could not make fire.
“Got a lighter?” asked Scott.
“Nope,” I said.
“Zippo?” asked Chuck.
“I don’t smoke.”
“I don’t care,” said Scott. “You at least need a pocket flint, or you could get stuck in a really bad situation.” He pulled out his flint, part of a hip-mounted multi-tool, which looked like an old Blackberry stylus. I nodded, like I’d go right out and get one.
“Better yet—ever go to Sonic?” he asked.
“Love Sonic,” said Chuck, nodding along.
“Sure, I guess.” I really didn’t go to Sonic that often, but I hated to keep disappointing them.
“Okay, so next time, ask for extra straws.”
I nodded along, took notes.
“Then you go home, roll some cotton balls in Vaseline—”
“Get ’em real saturated,” interrupts Chuck.
“And then you stuff the cotton-jelly down into the straws.”
“Like with a knitting needle,” interrupted Chuck.
“Anything long and narrow,” Scott nodded. “Just cut them up and seal the ends with the lighter you’re going to buy. And poof—instant fire starters.”
Chuck patted his front shirt pocket. “Then you keep ’em on your person. Just in case.”
“Just in case” becomes a familiar refrain, but when I push—“In case of what?”—I’m consistently rebuffed. The group spends between eight and twelve hours each month sharing skills on sustainable, off-grid living—how to can meat, how to store seeds, how to stock emergency medical kits—but no one seems all that keen on talking about why.
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