On Sun, Oct 12, 2014 at 1:37 PM, Angela Marie Glass <email@example.com> wrote:
Hey and don’t you think this photo of Eilon and I could make us relatives? 🙂 I think it’s the nose?
In other news, I finally told the truth about why I left Microsoft. The CEO made some stupid comment about women—at a conference celebrating women in technology, no less—and I lost it. I feel better. Lighter.
I’m telling you because you know Eilon and I are tight as blood but keep up like we have eternity. So he’ll hear somehow I’m guessing, but I’m sharing with you as my kind of dad.
The story, if you want to read it, I can send. Otherwise, I just wanted to say hello and send some love to you and your family!
Hello to Shlomit!
a ? cline'd U yet...
Begin forwarded message:Reply-To: firstname.lastname@example.org Date: October 25, 2014 at 11:15:44 AM EDT Subject: Re: Thinking of you… From: Howard Lipton <email@example.com> To: Angela Marie Glass <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Please pardon my tardy reply. I am always delighted to hear from you, and I truly hope that all is going well with you and yours.
Like so many, I was astounded at what Nadella said. Even though he is Indian and only came to the U.S. as an adult, he has been here at least a quarter century and runs the 3d largest company in the world. He knows that women are woefully underrepresented in the coding sectors of his own company, and he certainly knows that teenaged and college women are as interested in the future financial security of their eventual families as are boys. He cannot possibly believe that a paternal attitude where the bosses will “look after the girls” will attract the brilliant women that Microsoft needs, even if he grew up in that culture as a child. Just as does everyone else, these women want transparently equal opportunities for advancement and financial security. While I do not know a lot about him, I am exceedingly suspicious that he actually spoke his mind and told the world what he really thinks. If that is the case, then regardless of his skills as a CEO, I would hope the board considers a change.
Yes, I am interested in why you left Microsoft and would love to read your story. Also, I briefly noticed the comment on your website about “walking after midnight.” While I do not know if that was your reference, that song by Patsy Cline is one of my all-time favorites.
All the best,
In 2006 I wrote a paper about gender in toys, “Toys R Us—Engendering Children Are Us” for my UW Sociology of Family course.
Now it’s 2014 and we’re demolishing gender stereotypes and disrupting the pink aisle…
Sterling realized she was one of the only female engineering majors at Stanford University.
“When Debbie Sterling set out to create GoldieBlox engineering toys for girls, she was hoping to sell much more than a product. She was hoping to inspire a movement that could eventually change the gender ratio in the engineering industry,” reports Danielle Abril from the Dallas Business Journal. Continue reading
I accidentally left my diary on the internet. pic.twitter.com/GJNAuhKpFi
— Angela Marié Glass (@Ang) December 8, 2015
“Nobody knows I’m a real person — they think “Gidget” is Sandra Dee or Sally Field.”—Kathy Kohner Zuckerman
@Ori would remember the night I walked and told him of all the creepy sites on those dark streets which weave the beach along Windansea into Draper Villas…
< BEGIN CONTEXT / SHIFT TO PRESENT TONE >
Authentic Non-Fiction Life
[Richard] Powers is especially effective at illustrating the way the story of the girl with “the happiness gene” spreads across the Internet and, only slightly less rapidly, the traditional media. Thassa’s mailbox starts filling up: “Strange people with Hotmail accounts want me to make them happy. One woman wants to hire me as her personal trainer. She thinks her soul needs a professional workout.”
… This review was written by Jay McInerney (“How It Ended: New and Collected Stories”) and published in The New York Times Sunday Book Review, October 1, 2009. … when I first stumbled into this story the other day, I did a double take… it read like my life…
“Meanwhile, Kurton’s research team is on the verge of publishing a study that correlates specific genetic codes with emotional well-being. But despite the large sample on which the study is based, Kurton is holding back on publication, looking for some missing datum to confirm his findings. When Thassa’s story comes to his attention he thinks he may have found it. …”
I remember listening to a Nobel Prize contending researcher detail his observations of my hyperthymic temperament…
“Kurton persuades Thassa to undergo a series of tests, and when the results are finally published — the ebullient Thassa’s genetic material having confirmed the initial findings — media interest in the Happy Gene Girl goes manic, culminating with an appearance on a Chicago talk show whose host, known to all simply as Oona, “is, by any measure, the most influential woman in the world.” In a canny elision, Powers gives us only hints of Thassa’s triumphant performance, by way of its echoes on the Internet. … “
My effervescent happiness, despite the most contrary of circumstances, led me to be taken and tested, poked and prodded, and accused many more times of being “on something”. Continue reading
Domestic violence and sexual abuse are often called “women’s issues.” But in this bold, blunt talk, Jackson Katz points out that these are intrinsically men’s issues — and shows how these violent behaviors are tied to definitions of manhood. A clarion call for us all — women and men — to call out unacceptable behavior and be leaders of change.
Jackson Katz asks a very important question that gets at the root of why sexual abuse, rape and domestic abuse remain a problem: What’s going on with men? Continue reading
My momma has drunk water in years, and David Foster Wallace died of suicide.
There were these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says,
“Morning, boys, how’s the water?”
And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes,
“What the hell is water?”
“The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance…”
“I’m an optimist, but I’m an impatient optimist,” Bill Gates said during his speech. “The world is not getting better fast enough, and it’s not getting better for everyone.”
“There are billions of people who need the great inventions of the computer age, and many more basic needs as well, but they have no way of expressing their needs in ways that matter to the market, so they go without,” said Gates. “If we are going to have a chance of changing their lives, we need another level of innovation. Not just technology innovation, we need system innovation, and that’s what I want to discuss with you here in Davos today.”
“The challenge here is to design a system where market incentives, including profits and recognition, drive those principles to do more for the poor,” said Gates. “I like to call this idea creative capitalism, an approach where governments, businesses, and nonprofits work together to stretch the reach of market forces so that more people can make a profit, or gain recognition, doing work that eases the world’s inequities.”
Bill Gates at Harvard
- Bill Gates Issues Call For Kinder Capitalism – WSJ
- Creative Capitalism: A Conversation with Bill Gates, Warren Buffett
- Bill Gates on creative capitalism – YouTube
Bill Gates Goes to School with Napoleon Dynamite
On September 11, 2001 I watched stunned as the first plane hit. I grabbed my co-workers who were already in their cubes, and we ran to the news room. Shocked, we watched on the horror unfold live on tiny screens where live TV news feeds fed into our new Bank of America “TV channel”.
You could call them co-workers, but they were friends, and they were family.
A year later I was working far away in Texas at Travelocity…
Love and resilience in storefront windows: Looking back at 9/11 http://t.co/rF2OZvfWjd
— GOOD (@GOOD) September 11, 2013
Companies that do promoted tweets about “never forgetting” 9/11 should be locked in a room with Michael Moore’s neck for all eternity.
— Heidi Hits Children (@heiditron3000) September 11, 2013
Some posts just rock your world. Pamela Jones’ post today on her site www.groklaw.com is just one of those posts:
Forced ExposurePosted by ~pj Tuesday, August 20 2013 @ 02:40 AM EDT on www.groklaw.com
The owner of Lavabit tells us that he’s stopped using email and if we knew what he knew, we’d stop too.There is no way to do Groklaw without email. Therein lies the conundrum.What to do?
By 1977, with a fledgling community of committed and dedicated people, and with a sound teaching that inspired us to live our ideals, the Unification movement in California had grown rapidly. Our first challenge was to become ourselves a model of what we wanted the world to become. The love-ethic presented in the Divine Principle demanded a life of prayer, study, and service to others. We sought within our community to be caring, creative, and loving people, and upon this foundation to work actively for the sake of God and humanity.
We called ourselves “The Creative Community Project” and used a former fraternity house on Hearst Street as a place to teach the Divine Principle at luncheon and dinner programs. We were inspired by an ideal and wanted above all to communicate that ideal to those around us who, so it seemed, had very little commitment to anything other than self-interest.
Most people we encountered had only the foggiest sense of ethics, so we felt great meaning in sharing with them, through our dinner discussions and lectures, the significance of our own ethical ideals. Those who were serious and wanted to pursue those ideals further were invited to workshops at Boonville and, later, to other country retreats. — To Bigotry, No Sanction: Reverend Sun Myung Moon and the Unification Church by Dr. Mose Durst
Growing up in the San Francisco Bay area, Scott Keeler, 18, knew what every other teenager knew. As one of his classmates put it, “There’s this place you can go if you’re fighting with your parents. They’ll take care of you.”
But unlike most of the others, Keeler also knew that the “place,” Creative Community Project, was owned and run by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon‘s Unification Church. As student body president at Alameda, Calif. High School and reporter for his school paper, Oak Leaf, Keeler decided last spring to go underground and investigate the Moonies.
Using the alias Dirk Schwerte, he quickly discovered that Moonie recruiters were on the lookout for unattached teenagers.
“All anyone has to do,” he says, “is put on his backpack and walk down to Fisherman’s Wharf.” Though no mention was made of Reverend Moon or his church, Keeler was invited to the Moonies’ San Francisco headquarters. Here is his account of his bizarre experiences:
Creative Community Project is a large white Victorian house on Washington Street. I felt my stomach in my throat as I jabbed the doorbell. Before I could ring again, the door swung open. “Come on and join our circle,” said a young man with a fixed smile. He offered his hand. I cautiously took it and sat down. He squeezed my hand, smiling and staring at me.
Later a low-protein, vegetarian dinner of rice and broccoli was served. I noticed that all the first-time visitors had acquired a new Moonie friend hanging close by their side. “Come on, let’s go over and pull up some rug,” said a young man, putting his arm around me and beaming. His name was Bob. I noticed he didn’t have any food.
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked.
“No, I’m fasting this week. It’s spiritual fasting. Some of the people in our community do it.”
An hour and a half later Bob was still sitting beside me and holding my hand. We were being lectured by a Moonie leader named Sherri Sagar when there was a loud crash at the front door. A man was shouting “Jeannie!” and trying to force his way in. Suddenly at least 25 Moonie reinforcements flooded the entry, trying to push him back out. “Where is Jeannie?” he shouted. “Jeannie! Jeannie!”
“There’s no Jeannie here,” insisted one of the Moonies. “You’ll have to leave.”
“What do you mean?” shouted the man, clinging to the door molding. “She came here last week, you bastards! What have you done with her?”
The Moonies kept pushing, peeling his fingers from the door, and finally shoved him outside. We could hear him shouting after the door was closed and locked.
“What was that about?” I asked Bob.
“Just somebody being negative,” he said. “People attack us because they don’t understand what we’re doing.”
At the end of the evening everyone clasped hands and formed a circle. “Okay!” said Sherri Sagar. “I hope you all liked what you saw tonight and will come up to our farm. We have cars leaving tonight. But before everybody goes, we’re going to do a mass Choo-Choo!” The newcomers shrugged and exchanged glances. “Got it?” she shouted. “It’s easy! Just shake your partner’s hand until we’re through. Ready? One, two, three—Choo-choo-choo! Choo-choo-choo! Choo-choo-choo! Yea, yea, pow!” We newcomers began to laugh, but the Moonies just smiled. “What’s the matter?” they asked.
The Dodge van was packed with 15 people heading north to the Moonies’ farm at Boonville, Calif. The lecture about the farm had sounded appealing—being out in the country, by a cool creek, with people you liked. Sitting beside me was a Moonie named Joanna. She was 20, already married and divorced. “I’m so inspired now that I’m in the Family, I never want to leave,” she said. “There’s so much meaning here.”
No one had mentioned Moon or the Unification Church yet. I decided to take a chance. “How long have you been in the church?” I asked. Joanna’s eyes became distant. For a moment I thought she wasn’t going to answer. “How did you know about the church?” she asked finally. “Most people don’t know this early.”
I told her my cover story, and she seemed satisfied. “Well,” she said, smiling again in the darkness, “it’s good that you’re so open. Most people don’t understand and say bad things about us and the Principle.”
“What’s the Principle?” I asked.
“Well, it’s…” Then she stopped. A man on the other side of the van was looking at her with intense disapproval. “You’ll get that in the lectures,” she said finally. The stranger smiled and nodded. I nodded back.
“How are you feeling, Family?” shouted David, our leader, the next morning. “Great!” everyone yelled.
“Is everyone ready to have the best weekend of your life?”
Dr. Jack was our exercise leader. “Now let’s do 25 regular jumping-jacks and 10 free-style.” We began bobbing up and down in count with Dr. Jack. I started wondering whether I was 8 or 18. After exercises we were separated into new groups, each recruit accompanied by a Moonie. Eight of us sat on the grass in a tight little circle with blankets and songbooks.
“Okay,” said Dr. John, our group leader, supposedly an M.D. from New Zealand. “Let’s start off this fantastic day by giving your name and sharing a little bit about you.”
When my turn came I talked about Dirk Schwerte, but emotionally I was telling about Scott Keeler (“My mom and dad are divorced. I keep mostly to myself. A lot of people call me a sissy because I don’t play sports…”). “That was really fantastic,” said Dr. John at the end of the sharing. “It shows how open you can be up here in the fresh air.” He laughed as we all clasped hands, and we laughed too. I was beginning to feel so warm and comfortable I wondered why I had ever suspected there was anything wrong with these people. I felt intensely guilty about deceiving them.
The first lecture was a 70-minute presentation of ambiguous references to God, cosmic principles and spirituality. Oriental symbols were put on a blackboard but never explained. After the lecture broke up, we went back to our groups. “Does anyone have any questions?” asked Dr. John. I raised my hand. The other recruits still did not know these people were connected with Reverend Moon and his church. I wondered what would happen if I mentioned it. “You know in the lecture when you talked about God being everywhere?” I began. “Well, is that what the church believes?”
Dr. John dropped his smile. The other Moonies stared at me. A fellow recruit named Paul looked bewildered. “What church?” he asked. No one answered. My eyes locked with Dr. John’s for what seemed a long, uneasy time. “That’s a good question, Dirk,” he said slowly. “Who can answer that?” His eyes never left mine.
“Ah, yeah,” Bob began uncertainly. He talked and talked and didn’t tell us anything.
It was time for volleyball. “Everybody hug in close,” commanded Dr. John. “We’ve got to be positive and chant so loud every second that we’ll love-bomb ’em right out of the game!”
“Yeah, yeah! Great! Yeah!” Every Moonie in our huddle was screaming. I forced a smile and chanted along with everyone else: “Win with love! Win with love!”
“Follow the game!” shouted Dr. John. “Keep your eyes on the ball!” It got easier and easier to chant as I followed the ball with my eyes. I began to lose track of the words I was repeating over and over. I felt I could do anything. A smile spread across my face as I heard our voices echoing off the surrounding hills. Suddenly I fell, and it took me several moments to realize I was on the ground. A Moonie was standing over me. My breath had been knocked out, but I went on chanting “Win with love” in a whisper. I couldn’t stop and it scared me. “Are you okay?” he asked. I picked myself up and checked my watch. We had been playing for more than an hour and had finished two games I couldn’t even remember.
The next evening I walked to the van to return to San Francisco. I said I was sorry I had to go, and I was. “Where am I ever going to get love like this on the outside?” I thought to myself. I was almost crying, and I went up and hugged Dr. John.
“Look, Dirk,” he began slowly, “can’t you just call your mom and tell her you’ll be home in a couple of days? You can call her right now.”
“Sure, just call her now,” said Bob. “You like it up here, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Good,” said Dr. John, “because you can go up to Camp K with us tonight. I’ll drive you myself. Why don’t you tell your mom now?” Stepping forward, they closed in on me in a way I didn’t like, and I took a step backward.
“Hey,” I said finally. “I told you, I have to go. I’ll be back when everything’s straightened out, okay?”
A few days later I did go to Camp K, a converted Girl Scout camp in the Napa Valley where the Moonies continue their indoctrination. Before I went there, I spoke with several authorities on the Unification Church. They warned me that the Moonies were trying to isolate me from the outside world and to keep me from critically examining what they were saying. “If you’re good,” one of them warned me, “they smile and love-bomb you. But if you argue, then they descend on you.” Later one of the Moonies told me the church teaches that you don’t have any responsibility to your friends or family; your only duty is to Moon.
Unification Church members are smiling all of the time, even at four in the morning. The man who is full of love must live that way. When you go out witnessing you can caress the wall and say that it can expect you to witness well and be smiling when you return. What face could better represent love than a smiling face? This is why we talk about love bomb; Moonies have that kind of happy problem.
By the time I got to Camp K, I was beginning to understand some of the things I guess I hadn’t wanted to see before. At Boonville I had become close with a girl named Maureen. At Camp K they deliberately split us up. That’s when I realized they were playing with people’s lives. Any one-to-one sexual activity is absolutely forbidden. Couples are selected for marriage by church officials, often before they get to know each other. After I left, I seriously thought about kidnapping Maureen and having her deprogrammed. It took me about two months to reach her. I told her who I really was, and she got very defensive. She said, “I’m not leaving here. I’m better off here than on the road.” I knew I had to let her go.
In all, I spent three days at Camp K. Then I went back to Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco to continue researching my article and to photograph Moonie recruiters. While I was there I ran into Dr. Jack and another recruiter who knew me. They demanded to know who I was and what I was doing. I told them.
“Give me your film,” Dr. Jack demanded quietly, moving close.
I told him I wouldn’t.
“Give me the film,” he insisted.
“No,” I said, trying to hold my ground.
“Give it to me,” he droned. “Give me the film.”
I grabbed my camera, wrapping the strap around my arm and gripping the lens barrel. I almost gave in from fear, but then I exploded.
“No!” I yelled. “Forget it! I’m not going to give you the film!” People in the park turned and looked at me.
“Scott Keeler?” asked Dr. Jack. “Alameda?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We’ll be in touch.”
“A California Teenager Goes Undercover to Investigate Life Among the Moonies.” : People.com. N.p., 24 July 1978. Web. 04 Mar. 2013.
“Heartbreak and Rage: Ten Years Under Sun Myung Moon: a Cult Survivor’s Memoir” Neufeld, K G. College Station, TX: Virtualbookworm.com, 2002. Print.
Charles Arthur goes over the past few days’ worth of examples to summarize…
REPRINTED FROM GAWKER ARTICLE
In the days after Steve Jobs’ death, friends and colleagues have, in customary fashion, been sharing their fondest memories of the Apple co-founder. He’s been hailed as “a genius” and “the greatest CEO of his generation” by pundits and tech journalists. But a great man’s reputation can withstand a full accounting. And, truth be told, Jobs could be terrible to people, and his impact on the world was not uniformly positive.
One thing he wasn’t, though, was perfect. Continue reading
I met him at my favorite coffee house, Bird Rock Coffee Roasters. As I joined the line to order, I noticed him. I summed him up. Nicely dressed, but so is everyone else who lives here. Nothing striking about him. A little shorter than average height. Given to talking to people, I told myself I wasn’t going to talk to him. I needed to focus. I’ll pass.
He picked up the white cardboard container of organic oatmeal, examining it’s nutritional values and marketing.
“I’ve been wondering how that’d taste.” Oh, well… Well, I had been.
“I was wondering the same. I don’t imagine it can be that good, but I’ll try it.”
“Right? Can organic oatmeal in cardboard taste like anything but, well, cardboard?”
He smiles. Warm, dark eyes, with dark eyebrows that made him seem both deep and sincere. He buys the oatmeal and orders a coffee, and then takes the corner table against the garage style window.
The Cleanse Song, Bright Eyes
Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and all of this sorrow
See the new pyramids down in old Manhattan
From the roof of a friend’s I watched an empire ending
Heard it loud and long the river’s Om
Time marching on to a madman’s drum
Don’t forget what you’ve learned all you give is returned
And if life seems absurd what you need is some laughter
And a season to sleep and a place to get clean
Maybe Los Angeles, somewhere no one is expecting
On a detox loft through a Glendale Park over sidewalk chalk
Someone wrote in red, “start over”
So I muffled my scream on an Oxnard beach
Full of fever dreams that scare you sober
Into saltless dinners
Take the fruit from the tree, break the skin with your teeth
Is it bitter or sweet? All depends on your timing
Like a meeting of chance with the train station glance
Many lifetimes had past in a instant reminded
Of a millstone house in a seaside town
When your heart gave out in a mission bed
So your wife gave birth to a funeral dirge
You woke up purged as a wailing infant
In Krug Thep, Thailand
Hear the chimes, did you know that the wind when it blows
It is older than Rome and our joy and our sorrow
Simply, the classics.
A leather binder, adorned with my Mickey Mouse pin that I’ve carried since the mid-90’s. The Charger’s a Los Angeles team brought to San Diego by Barron Hilton. My classic iPod, and the song that was playing, a hint… “It may be years until the day my dreams will match up with my pay”. Oh, and did you make note of the tiny patch of madras pattern? I did. 🙂
(Taken with Instagram at Bird Rock Coffee Roasters)
One of the day dreams I’ve had is to help young artists find their audience. Mira Parfitt (@miraparfitt) was one of those people who inspired that in me.
Update January 21, 2013: Mira released New Plaid Shirt on Mira Parfitt, her own label.
The photo below was taken at my favorite San Diego Coffee shop, Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, and is nearly two years earlier.
A man who was under the influence of pot when his car veered off a La Jolla road and into a cafe [Cass Street Bakery Cafe in Bird Rock], seriously injuring three teens and a man eating dinner last summer, was sentenced today to nearly 17 years in state prison.
Well endured some interesting sociological research, and feel like I need another two weeks to process. It’s the first time in a long time that my research has taken me to places I hadn’t expected. Continue reading
Poor guy. I’d never share the story, if it wasn’t a piece of the over all whole. In this case, the names have been changed to protect the already not-so-innocent.
I didn’t write the original email, btw. A friend wrote it based on my rant and emailed it ‘on my behalf’…
I’m not sure what went wrong exactly. 😉
On 4 July 2011 22:26, Angela M. Baxley wrote:
well so here’s the thing. i put in jimmy to address this email and hilariously i am reminded that you’re michael, not jimmy, which is actually the basis of what i’m emailing about.
we got along great online, through email, and meeting… but there have been a few things that haven’t quite settled yet in my mind.
first, let me begin by stating that authenticity is extremely important to me.
as you know, i have a very hard time remembering names, usually only doing so when i see it written and form an association of face with name. therein lies my first difficulty… you unwittingly created for me a very strong association to jimmy p. long. but that’s not you. i have to shake my head and double back to get it right. <alert! error in processing> Continue reading
I’ve had more than my fair share of experience with drunk drivers in my life.
My family was hit by a drunk driver, my mother taking our Lincoln Town Car careening off an embankment avoiding front impact. We were supposed to be on our way out of town for vacation. I don’t really remember where we were going… who could?
I was hit by a drunk driver driving my husband and I home late one night. He was driving on a suspended license, suspended for multiple DUI’s. When sentenced, I was outraged. He got fourteen weeks in weekend prison, and still maintained driving privileges for work… leaving him and I share that same stretch of NC Hwy 150.
Perhaps most devastating was friends our family, when a drunk driver plowed into them sending their pre-school son flying a hundred yards from the car to his death, blood all over the pillow he was using moments before. I babysat their infant girl, who thankfully was safe secured into a infant car seat… I just had to careful remove glass from the folds of her most delicate flesh, where I’m not quite certain how it got there in the first place.
Growing up, my pal Ryan moved to Texas. He was a hottie playboy type, complete with the picturesque convertible. On some summer night in Texas, he was driving, post drinks, and flipped his convertible tumbling into his death.
I’m just sitting here thinking about how big tomorrow’s taxi strike in SF is going to be as a disruptor for change, potentially of über proportions.
I’ve taken two @über rides in as many days, and both drivers were all too happy to tell me about their @über experiences. It’s actually been a little bit of a fascination of mine since having talked to @ryangraves and @austypants last fall.
Each time I’ve interviewed a driver, they can clearly articulate their experience from the technical aspects, the impact on their lives, work, and their service for their patrons. Continue reading
ExpansionFrom the moment we are born,
the world tends to have a
container already built for us
to fit inside: A social security
number, a gender, a race,
a profession or an I.Q. I ponder
if we are more defined by the
container we are in, rather than
what we are inside. Would we
recognize ourselves if we could
expand beyond our bodies?
Would we still be able to exist
if we were authentically
It was once famously argued that “information yearns to be free”. I find this to be a truth with evidence regardless of the type of content—that is whether it’s content in the form of newspaper journalism, music, television or movies. Continue reading
Facts of the Case
The school heard that the kids were going to wear black armbands to school to protest the Vietnam War and passed a policy banning the armbands. The kids were suspended until the New Year. The parents filed suit in U.S. District Court which agreed with the school board, U.S. Court of Appeals were tied meaning the ruling stood forcing the parents to take it to Supreme Court.
Facts of the Case
Matthew Fraser gave a speech at a school assembly that was filled with sexual innuendo, but not obscenity, prompting disciplinary action from the administration—he was suspended for three days. Continue reading
Facts of the Case
The principal who normally reviewed the paper prior to publication deleted two pages to remove two articles regarding teen pregnancy and divorce.
What are cultural industries? According to Hesmondhalgh’s texts cultural industries are defined as those which have “leisure, information, entertainment, media, and creativity” as their primary outputs. Others might refer to the cultural industries as simply “entertainment and the arts”.
What is missing in referring to the cultural industries is the required awareness of the impact such industries have people. Members of The Frankfurt School (Horkheimer, Adorno, Marcuse) warned about the difference between true needs and false needs. But of what concern are these to us? Continue reading
Blogs are a new medium of communication which is accessible to anyone with the ability to use the Internet. With the demonstrated power and reach of blogs it is important to examine this medium and the subsequent impact which it may have on mass media. Continue reading
I believe that each one of our classroom negotiations has shaped me as a negotiator. Each negotiation had a subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) nuance or caveat where I learned a bit more about myself and my personal negotiation style. Continue reading
The Internet is a pervasive medium that enhances personal communication, access to information, and freedom of speech, while making obsolete borders, reversing isolation even as it reduces tactile and direct experiences with real people, which retrieves a sense of tribalism a global village.
By means of the Internet, the ways in which we can communicate have been forever enhanced. The Internet is here to stay and it will ever continue to grow in popularity. Continue reading
Jane is a wife who took her husband to the cleaners in the divorce, and had a favorable finding as regards the custody of the children. There is bad blood because Tom wants more time with the kids, but she has been pretty bitchy about wanting it her way. Continue reading
“Feminism is anti-sexism.” — bell hooks
Feminism is a dirty word, or at least that’s what you’d believe from the reactions you get from people if you mention it. It conjures up images of radical women or lesbians with unshaved legs and armpits rallying outside abortion clinics, fighting domestic violence and rape, or gender equality. It is an image of a woman who you can’t relate to, she is one that you don’t know what to do with, and she is one whom you shy away from. Continue reading
“White privilege is best understood as a constellation of psychical and somatic habits formed through transaction with a racist world. As such, it often functions as unconscious: seemingly invisible, even nonexistent, and actively resisting conscious efforts to know this.” In Revealing Whiteness: The Unconscious Habits of Racial Privilege, Sullivan is trying to get us to think about and understand how white privilege can be unconscious when it is transactional because of the means by which that unconsciousness is formed through seduction by transference of enigmatic (meaning unknown to or hidden from both sender and receiver) messages from parent to child. Continue reading
- Go on record speaking against the violence, and denouncing all relationship to the pledge.
- Form committee of all fraternity leaders to campaign against key safety issues on campus, namely Rape, and Drugs and Alcohol Abuse, and Violence to ensure campus safety.
- Mandatory orientation for all incoming freshmen that is organized and run by the fraternity.
- Fraternity’s run their own mini-PR campaign to improve their image on campus, and to promote more responsible members and behaviors.
- Meet with Dante every two weeks to review the campus crime reports with hope to be able to better address issues. Continue reading
Razack argues that “we need a theory that can account for the structure of violent relationships in women’s lives and expose the social conditions that limit what can be said in the rape script [and that] the stories of women with disabilities must be told, not as stories of vulnerability, but as stories of injustice.”
In changing the rape scripts and incorporating the stories of violence into our evaluation of justice, we effectively “move beyond consent [as the salient factor in rape cases] to responsibility [of men as respects to women] and beyond pity to respect.” Continue reading
Razack presents her thesis as “how gender persecution, as it is deployed in refugee discourse, can function as a deeply racialized concept in that it requires that Third World women speak of their realities of sexual violence outside of, and at the expense of, their realities as colonized peoplesâ€¦ therefore further[ing] First World interests by obscuring Western hegemony and its destructive impact on the Third World.” Continue reading