IKEA Monkey

Marissa Mayer's pregnancy comes at a critical time for Yahoo.

The author in great pain. Photo by Dominik Pichler

I love saying no to things. It's what I do. A friend asked me recently, "Hey Michael, I'm hosting a spontaneous, crazy night of board games at my place with some friends later. Do you wanna come?" I felt like hissing at her. Genital herpes sounded more appealing than a "spontaneous, crazy night of board games."

"You're always so negative," she fumed. "Give it a chance."

Honestly, I don't think very highly of folks who consider a round of board games entertaining. But on some level, she had a point. Maybe I do need to be more positive? Maybe I ought to try new things? So, in the spirit of adventure, I decided that I'd spend a week saying "Yes" to every question I was asked.

Photo by Dominik Pichler

Day 1

From the get-go, it was difficult to find things to say "Yes" to. Probably because I didn't really leave my apartment. Luckily, Facebook was full of glorious clickbait for me to agree to. Yes internet, I would like to know what Kendall Jenner's worst outfit looks like but unfortunately it's not really the point of this project.

Related: My Attempt to Become a Better Person Through CrossFit

Things escalated rather quickly when I visited a restaurant with my friends. "Would you like another glass of wine, sir?" Yep. "Coffee?" Sure. "Would you like to try our creme brûlée?" Of course.

"Wow Michael, you aren't holding back tonight," me friend said. As delicious as the experience was, wine and desserts weren't going to broaden my horizons either. I needed to put more effort into gathering new experiences.

It didn't take long before opportunity came knocking. As soon as I arrived home, an email rattled in from a radio station that had seen my YouTube channel and wanted me to do a one-hour impromptu live show. As a person who gets anxious easily, the idea of live radio scared the life out of me. What if I snort while laughing and the entire country hears it? What if I have a panic attack and pass out? Lying through my teeth, I replied, "Sure, I'd love to."

Photo by Alexander Wagner

Day 2

On the way to the radio station, I felt as if I was going on a Tinder date: Excited, more than a little skeptical, and full of possible excuses to escape if necessary.

After arriving and greeting the staff, I was politely handed a glass of water—which I then proceeded to spill absolutely everywhere. Thankfully, the liquid narrowly avoided the control board. I wouldn't call myself a body language specialist, but it was pretty obvious that at that point a fair few people wanted to kill me.

Aside from that little cock-up, the performance went surprisingly smoothly. I dropped a few wisecracks and juggled calls from enthusiastic listeners. "Haha Tamara, you're really one of a kind!" Though, to be fair, she wasn't.

It was actually a great success.

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Watch our documentary, 'Searching for Spitman':

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Day 3

The next day, while swanning through the streets, still high from my not entirely shit radio debut, I got stopped by one of those charity clipboard ladies. "Do you have a moment to talk about the rainforest?" FFS.

"Yes, I have plenty of time," I told her. She began reciting her script and I nodded along like some robot programmed to mimic humans. I actually found the whole thing pretty interesting. "So, would you like to adopt a tree?" my new friend asked. Luckily, just then, a text ticked in from my mate. "Do you want to work out together tomorrow?"

My friend—who is ludicrously athletic and gets up at 7 AM to do CrossFit at least three times a week—had been asking me to come check it out for months. As little tears of laziness trickled down my face, I told him I'd love to.

Ready for CrossFit. Photo by Dominik Pichler

Day 4

I'm not athletic at all. Like, at all. If I bought something in Sports Direct, my bank would probably call me to ask if my card had been stolen.

"You know what? I'm not feeling that good! Maybe it's that creme brûlée from a few days ago," I lied. My friend quickly realized that I was dreading the exercise and began trying to placate me. "Don't worry, it's really chill. It's usually just four of us with the trainer and if someone starts burning out, the others will cheer them on."

How did he expect me to relax when he was describing my worst nightmare?

Day 5

I got to the gym at 8 AM. Apparently that was the late lesson. Worryingly, the first thing the trainer said was, "You came on a bad day."

"Yeah. No shit. Any day that starts with CrossFit is a bad day."

"Today, instead of doing all sorts of stuff, we're all just going to do 1,000 kettle bell swings." Oh God.

"You think you can manage?"

"Yes." Again, I was lying.

After just 100 swings, I started sweating profusely. The friction of the iron handles made everyone's hands bleed. By the end of it, my fingers looked as if I'd been high-fiving a blender.

"How many swings have you done, Michael?" the trainer asked me after 30 minutes.

"600," I groaned.

"OK, that's enough. You're already sweating more than you should be." He didn't have to tell me twice.

CrossFit session. Photo by Dominik Pichler

Day 6

After the training session, I was in so much pain that I could barely stand up. Even the clipboard lady who'd harassed me a few days ago looked at me with pity as I limped past her. She could definitely tell that it took me three minutes to clamber into my boxers that morning.

I stumbled into a restaurant bathroom. A short trip that felt like the final hundred feet of a marathon. As soon as I began to piss, I noticed that my urine was a very strange color. I immediately hobbled towards my doctor to find out if I was falling apart.

"You have rhabdomyolysis," she explained. "That means your muscle tissue is breaking down. What did you do to yourself?"

"I did a trial CrossFit session."

She must have been in pain holding the tears of laughter back. I checked into the hospital immediately and was told I'd need to stay there overnight so I could get injections to counteract my heightened "CK count."

"Yes," I replied enthusiastically. That time I actually meant it.

As I lay alone in that hospital room, unable to sleep because of the dripping of my IV, I wondered if this was the "new experience" I'd been looking for. Sure, I wanted to get out of my comfort zone, but I thought that meant eating curiously moldy cheeses or trying Zumba.

Photo by author

Day 7

The following morning, I was told that my blood levels were improving and I was safe to go home. Because of yesterday's turbulence, I had completely forgot to check my messages. Aside from the usual spam, I had a text from my board game obsessed friend. This time she wanted to know if I'd be interested in checking out a ukulele concert. I couldn't help but wonder why I associated with this woman.

Instead of immediately agreeing, I took a moment to reflect on my week. I remembered my intimate conversation with the rainforest lady, the hellish kettle bell swings and, last but not least, my catastrophic hospital stay.

As I typed "no," I felt as if I could breathe again. I pressed send with a satisfied smile and limped out of there, leaving my positive outlook by the hospital bed.

In a move that will likely lengthen his quest for gainful employment, a 23-year-old Aurora man sent naked selfies to the human resources manager of a St. Charles company where he had just been offered a job earlier this month, according to police.

On July 30, 23-year old Meenakshi Kumari and her 15-year-old sister were sentenced to be gang-raped by a group of village elders in the Baghpat district. The sisters weren’t convicted of any crimes, rather their sentence was punishment for their brother’s elopement. Vice reports:

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One vintage ad warns women, “Don’t let them call you SKINNY!” while another promises that smoking cigarettes will keep one slender. If the task of morphing their bodies into the current desirable shape isn’t enough of a burden, women are also reminded that they stink.

In these vintage ads, a woman may be emitting a foul odor from any body part—her armpits, her mouth, her hair, her hands, her lady parts—but she never knows it until her husband is walking out the door, suitcase in hand. And what about her skin? According to such ads, she might drive that man away with her so-called coarse pores, old mouth, tan lines, zits, wrinkles, middle-age skin, hairy legs or lip, visible veins, or horror of all horrors, dishpan hands.

The Do I Offend? blog chronicles such vintage body-shaming advertisements geared toward women, and the baffling shifts from one feminine ideal to the next. Cynthia Petrovic, a Southern California artist known as RedTango who designs and sells a retro-themed gift line, got hooked on these advertisements when she was in college. Now, she has a garage full of antique and vintage magazines, which she’s been slowly pilfering for the most sexist (and funniest) ads targeting women.

For the past couple years, she’s been uploading these ads to Do I Offend?, where she adds a snarky headline and sorts them into categories like “A Weighty Matter,” “Toilet Torment,” and “No Boob Left Behind.” We talked to Petrovic about her collection and what she’s learned about how the ad men on Madison Avenue have gotten rich selling women shame.

Collectors Weekly: How did you first get interested in these ads?

Petrovic: When I was in college, I came across a 1930s romance magazine called “True Story” in an antiques store in Orange, California. Flipping through the pages, I found an ad for Waldorf toilet paper, which was a little comic strip. A man has become so cranky toward his wife that their marriage is on the rocks. As it turns out, cheap toilet paper is the thing that’s driving him crazy because it has bits of splinters in it. The couple holds the tissue up to the light, and they see little pieces of wood in it. Waldorf advertised repeatedly in these magazines. In some of the ads, the wife was cranky, and then it was their little girl. Eventually, the whole family was affected by this scourge. I found it so funny.

After that, I got addicted to finding these old romance magazines from the ’30s and ’40s—“True Romance,” “True Story,” and “True Secrets”—as well as the homemaking magazines like “Woman’s Home Companion” and “Ladies’ Home Journal.” But the romance magazines were where I found the ads that really take the cake. They’re the most entertaining, and just shameless. The most common premise is that a woman does not want to offend a man. These ads speculate about whether your husband is going to walk out on you because you’re not using a feminine hygiene product or your scalp smells when you’re dancing or you have undie odor.

Petrovic: Yeah, the advertisers got really creative with that in the 1930s. As a bonus, they’ve also instructed you on how to do the “armhole test” so that you can smell your own funk and determine whether you’re acceptable or not for a night out. Maybe people just didn’t wash as much—which brings me to my favorite ad.

This one is the prize, the reason why I collect these, a crowning achievement. Whoever thought it up in the ad department needs an award. A woman is in bed asleep, and her underthings are hanging on a chair nearby—slip, girdle, bra. And they’re whispering about her. They’re saying, “She would’ve been more popular if she had washed us” with the soap the ad is shilling. Literally, her underwear is gossiping about her. You can’t get more demented than that.

Collectors Weekly: I love how the woman is always wondering whether her husband thinks she smells bad. Why doesn’t she just ask him?

Petrovic: I thought about that, too. It seems like a lot of the marital dilemmas in these ads could be solved if the couple just talked. But it’s got to get to the point where he literally puts his hat on, picks up the suitcase, and rushes out the door in disgust. There are ads that illustrate that very plainly: He’s going to rush out the door while she’s sitting there crying into her handkerchief. Somebody else has to come and clue her in, or maybe she goes to the doctor. I don’t know whether people didn’t communicate and talk the same way they might now, or whether the ads would’ve made somebody laugh back then. I’d like to know.

Collectors Weekly: For example, would a woman’s date ever be so offended if her skirt is gaping at the button?

Petrovic: No, a guy would be amused at that. He probably wouldn’t say anything because he would enjoy peeking at her underwear. He definitely wouldn’t be choking on a sandwich in disgust. Men are never as critical of a woman’s body as women are, whether they’re talking about themselves or others.

Collectors Weekly: What are some of the most dangerous products were targeted toward women?

Petrovic: A big product that was advertised for women’s personal hygiene starting in the 1920s was Lysol. In those ads, they didn’t say you can use it as a douche and to clean your floor. Now, we’re just cleaning floors with it. Can you imagine the injury that was done? Some of these products were toxic. From the 1930s to the 1960s, the makers of Kotex sold something called Quest deodorant powder to sprinkle on your menstrual pads, and that chemical gave women cervical cancer. Still, today, how careful are we with the beauty products we sell people? Many cosmetics even now contain known carcinogens.

Collectors Weekly: How else were women shamed about menstruation?

Petrovic: Many 1930s ads actually treat the period with a kind of maturity that flies in the face of the rest of the ads. They’re telling menstruating women, “Go ahead, enjoy your life.” They’re showing women on horseback or doing other stuff that you probably wouldn’t do: wearing white pants, playing tennis, going out to dinner, going to the theater. Early Midol ads say, “You’re going to have a great time, and the pain won’t bother you. Don’t let your period get in the way.” That’s a very modern idea. This is 80 years ago, and they’re telling women, “Get out and live your life.” I like that. That’s different from the rest of the ads that say, “You’re no good. You’ve got to fix yourself.”

Collectors Weekly: How did ads insulting women evolve in the mid-20th century?

Petrovic: Like I said, there were periods of time where the woman-shaming ads seemed to recess into the background. During wars, maybe you knuckle down a little bit, but then when the war is over, it bursts back out again. These ads resurfaced after World War II, but from what I can tell, they matured a little bit. During the late ’40s and early ’50s, the ads targeting women just didn’t reach the same peaks of insanity they did before the war, but you would still have ads for Kotex and the practical stuff that you need. In the ’50s and ’60s, you started to see ads for breast enlargement. Then during the ’70s, we underwent a big social revolution where women stood up, and said, “We’re not going to be treated as objects anymore.” But even then, the shaming ads didn’t completely disappear. In that decade, you still had companies using those tactics to sell deodorants and breast-enhancement products.

Collectors Weekly: That early ’70s ad boasting about all the attractive women who weren’t good enough to become flight attendants is amazing.

Petrovic: That was right when the women’s lib movement was going strong, and women were saying, “We’re not going to be playing traditional female roles anymore, we’re going to get out into the world, really get out in the workforce, and make our stand.” Still, these ads popped up. Through all of that turmoil and social change that was going on back then, there was still this ad that says, “We only pick the prettiest women to be flight attendants.” It just never dies.

Collectors Weekly: How does this sort of shaming manifest today?

Petrovic: Nothing’s really changed. Ads and the media still insist that you have to be physically perfect and socially acceptable to avoid embarrassment. Seriously, look at the world today. Women are more objectified than ever. It’s changed form. I don’t think you’re going to see the same kinds of magazine ads we had back in the 1930s, but back then, people didn’t have the Internet and the tremendous mass media the way we do now. What we see now are women-against-women cat fights and women being taught to hate their bodies in a different way through snide remarks in television shows, reality shows celebrating bad behavior, and trash tabloid websites. It’s a different kind of assault, not just through products but also through images and memes constantly reminding women that there are other women that look better than they do.

In our gossip-obsessed culture, everybody is expected to be 20 years old forever and sexually available. Even when you’re pregnant, you’ve got to be hot. What makes me sick is that there’s no moment of a woman’s life from birth to death where she’s not supposed to be “on” sexually, starting with Bratz dolls and padded bras for girls to stories of women in their 60s and 70s getting breast implants. Everything is about being skinny now, because only the rich can afford to buy organic groceries at Whole Foods and do the crazy detox diets. Most overweight people are poor, because they can only afford fattening fast food. But all the ads on Facebook and all the lead stories on the covers so-called health magazines are about losing belly fat, which links them to the shaming magazine ads of the past. What’s particularly brutal about the way the media beats up on women today is that it’s not just in magazines, it’s everywhere you look.

More Ads That Find Fault With Women

As soon as Valerie Herrera found out Monday morning that she would be speaking with Pope Francis, she started trembling.

Americans’ relationship to death has often struck me as being an extension of our puritan attitudes about sex — both are objects of lurid fascination and prudish avoidance.  We sentimentalize mortality with tearful, unrealistic deathbed scenes — or dramatic mid-fight demises — in pop culture. Memorial tribute songs, the schmaltzier the better, rocket up the charts. Certain persistent and vocal activist groups tend towards publicly agonizing about the fate of “innocent” human embryos or animals — yet many Americans could care less about the deaths of oppressed people at the hands of the state, or from neglect.

Talking about death in a pragmatic manner, for some reason, is always treated as inciting fear; the mere mention of end-of-life care in healthcare reform debates instigated the noxious “death panel” scare. Our pathology is particularly strong around cancer. We talk about cancer like it’s some sort of tussle or fight, or a video game that we can beat. As painful as this sort of talk can be for those whose cancer is terminal, it also makes little sense for those who achieve remission. The reality is, cancer can never be fully defeated, nor can mortality. Our lives all end. Death is always waiting down the road.

Oliver Sacks, the popular scientific writer who made his name writing “case studies” of people with strange brain conditions that altered their consciousness, passed away this weekend. But we knew he was going to die, because he was remarkably forthright about the end of his life in a series of essays for the New York Times (“My Own Life,” “My Periodic Table,” and “Sabbath“) that repeatedly, bluntly, and honestly referred to his impending death — not only its inevitability, but also the way it increasingly affected his consciousness as he grew sicker and could no longer deny the reality.

For one doctor, writing in the Guardian, this progressive admission wasn’t just touching; it was important. Australian oncologist Ranjana Srivastava felt it had ramifications for her work, and her field. “Now he reminds us with all the poise and dignity we have come to expect of him that there is value in embracing our mortality, that there is an art to dying,” she wrote last month, after reading one of Sacks’ columns.

Srivastava is referring in part to the issue that Atul Gawande also explored in his 2014 book Being Mortal. “Our reluctance to honestly examine the experience of aging and dying has increased the harm we inflict on people and denied them the basic comforts they most need,” Gawande wrote. “Lacking a coherent view of how people might live successfully all the way to their very end, we have allowed our fates to be controlled by the imperatives of medicine, technology, and strangers.” Rather than the kind of palliative care that would allow the dying to sum up their lives and say goodbye, Gawande chronicles how we often opt for invasive treatment that could prolong life, but so often doesn’t.

Americans’ fascination with Brittany Maynard, the young woman who chose to die on her own terms when she was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, shows that on some level we understand this problem and are seeking examples of dignity in death. And the oncologist Srivastava writes that she thinks that Sacks’ work can actually help both doctors and patients make more honest choices, and have better discussions about those choices:

This recognition allows patients to halt toxic treatment, opt for effective palliation and articulate their goals for the end of life.It permits their oncologist to open up new conversations that don’t include the latest million-dollar blockbuster therapy with a bleak survival curve but do mention the therapeutic benefit of teaming up with hospice workers to write letters, preserve photos and record memories. I would say that this candid admission from a patient is the difference between bemoaning death as a medical failure and viewing life as a welcome gift.

One of the most striking things about Sacks’ pieces is that they are so little occupied with his medical situation, and place much more emphasis on his human one. A few sentences here and there about his various treatments lead him to his most pressing concern: how to find meaning, connection, and some fun in his last months (a trip to visit lemurs, for instance). “Weak, short of breath, my once-firm muscles melted away by cancer, I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life — achieving a sense of peace within oneself,” he wrote in “Sabbath,” his final essay which reflects on his Orthodox Jewish upbringing, the pain of being rejected by his family for his sexuality, and the joy of a late-life relationship after a period of “monkish” living.

But he also addresses, again and again, the finality of what’s coming. “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself,” he writes in “My Own Life.” “There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.”

This is a very cute way to start off your week.

Travel is a great experience, and we should all be so lucky to see different parts of the world. But there are probably some places you’ve been that you felt were overrated, or they just weren’t what you expected.

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Yes, it sounds like exactly the kind of sitcom-plot scam that could only end in disaster. [ more › ]

This is pure exhilaration. This is pure life. This, if Taylor Swift were writing about it, would just have the words “squad goals” written over and over again with a few emoji and hashtags thrown in. This dog is living your best life and you didn’t even know it.

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It's time, once again, to marvel at some idiots who don't know how to handle the world:

Cry-Baby #1: Beverly Brooks

Screencap via Google Maps

The incident: A woman didn't want to go to work.

The appropriate response: Finding another job or complaining about your current job until you retire or die (whichever comes first).

The actual response: She pretended she'd been kidnapped.

According to a report on Panama City's News Herald, Beverly Brooks (pictured above) failed to return from a break at her job as a nurse assistant in an area hospital early in the morning last Monday.

A concerned coworker reportedly called Beverly to ask where she was and if she needed a ride back to work. According to police, Beverly told the coworker that she was not returning to work as she was being held against her will by her boyfriend. As she said this, the coworker could allegedly hear the boyfriend in the background telling the woman she was not allowed out of his car.

The coworker called 9-1-1. This led to a reported six separate law enforcements taking part in a search for Beverly that lasted several hours.

She was eventually found in a car with her boyfriend. According to police, Beverly admitted that she had made up the kidnapping as she didn't want to return to work.

She and her boyfriend were both arrested on charges of false reports of commission of crime. So, presumably, she should get a few more days off work, at least.

Cry-Baby #2: Some students at Duke University

Images via Amazon and Google Maps

The incident: Some students at a university were asked to read the graphic novel Fun Home as part of a summer reading program.

The appropriate response: Reading it. Or Wikipedia'ing what it's about then pretending you read it.

The actual response: Several students refused to read the book, claiming the sex depicted in the book violated their religious beliefs.

As part of their annual summer reading program, Duke University in Durham, North Carolina provided incoming freshmen with a list of recommended books. One of the books on the list was Fun Home, an autobiographical graphic novel by Alison Bechdel which focuses on the author coming to terms with her homosexuality, as well her relationship with her father, who was a closeted homosexual.

According to a report on the Duke Chronicle, an incoming freshman named Brian Grasso made a post on the school's Class of 2019 Facebook page explaining why he was not willing to read the book. "I feel as if I would have to compromise my personal Christian moral beliefs to read it," Brian wrote.

The Chronicle reports that another student "could not bring herself to view the images depicting nudity," and another told the publication that he would not read it due to its "pornographic nature."

Brian, the student who made the Facebook post, also wrote an op-ed for the Washington Post earlier this week where he went into more depth about his decision not to read the book.

"After researching the book's content and reading a portion of it, I chose to opt out of the assignment," Brian wrote. "My choice had nothing to do with the ideas presented. I'm not opposed to reading memoirs written by LGBTQ individuals or stories containing suicide. I'm not even opposed to reading Freud, Marx, or Darwin. I know that I'll have to grapple with ideas I don't agree with, even ideas that I find immoral."

He added that he would not be reading the book because the Bible forbids people from looking at pornographic images. "My beliefs extend to pop culture and even Renaissance art depicting sex," he wrote.

Brian also believes that his professors have a duty to warn him when he might possibly be exposed to a boob: "And I believe professors should warn me about such material, not because I might consider them offensive or discomforting, but because I consider it immoral."

Who here is the bigger cry-baby? Let us know in this poll down here, please:

Previously: A school who sent a girl home because her collarbone was showing vs. a bunch of people who didn't get a car seat for cheap because of a pricing error.

Winner: It's a draw!!!

Follow Jamie Lee Curtis Taete on Twitter.

If you find yourself blue about our stinky friend’s demise, just remember that in science, you sometimes learn more from failure than success. [ more › ]

Spike, the rare corpse flower that has been attracting thousands of visitors to the Chicago Botanic Garden, raised a stink after all - by not blooming.

Kim Davis, the Kentucky County Court clerk who has persistently refused to issue gay marriage licenses, has asked the Supreme Court to hear her case. Davis, an Apostolic Christian, has refused to issue the licenses for religious reasons, claiming that to do so would undermine her First Amendment freedoms.

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Carl's Jr. and Hardee's latest menu addition is the new Cinnamon Swirl French Toast Breakfast Sandwich.

The sweet and savory combination features a folded egg, American cheese, a choice of sausage, ham, or bacon, and maple syrup sauce, sandwiched between two sliced of Cinnamon Swirl French Toast.

The sister chains have teamed up with undefeated UFC Women's champion, Ronda Rousey, to promote the new sandwich in a TV spot that will premiere nationally on August 31, 2015.

Pricing on the Cinnamon Swirl French Toast Breakfast Sandwich starts at $2.99 for just the sandwich and at $4.69 for a combo meal that also includes hash browns and a drink (prices may vary).

Some of you might remember when the sandwich was spotted in test last year here in Southern California.

Nutritional Info - Carl's Jr. Cinnamon Swirl French Toast Breakfast Sandwich with Sausage (191g)
Calories - 580 (from Fat - 310)
Fat - 34g (Saturated Fat - 15g)
Sodium - 1110mg
Carbs - 50g (Sugar - 17g)
Protein - 20g

Nutritional Info - Hardee's Cinnamon Swirl French Toast Breakfast Sandwich with Sausage (182g)
Calories - 560 (from Fat - 270)
Fat - 31g (Saturated Fat - 12g)
Sodium - 1140mg
Carbs - 50g (Sugar - 16g)
Protein - 21g

The next time you need a time out, try thinking pink.

Over the last couple of years, there’s been no reason to think Usain Bolt could be as dominant in Rio as he was in Beijing or London. He’ll turn 30 during those games, for one. For another, he sat out many of the big races since 2013, and lost a lot of time to nagging hamstring troubles last year. Then he went and won the 100m at Worlds on Sunday. This morning, he did this. Usain Bolt is most definitely back .
http://deadspin.com/usain-bolt-is-...

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Aw, Chief Keef is reportedly using his newborn son as a promo tool. Sweetest move ever?

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Yesterday morning in Roanoke, Va., a man named Vester Lee Flanagan walked up to newscaster Alison Parker and cameraman Adam Ward as they were filming a segment for local TV station WDBJ, and, using a handgun, shot them to death. (He also critically wounded Vicki Gardner, the woman Parker and Ward were interviewing; after fleeing the scene, he shot and killed himself.) We know this, because we saw this. The murders were captured by Ward’s own camera; Flanagan also recorded the murders from his perspective.http://gawker.com/everything-we-...

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Kevin Miller was flying his camera-equipped drone around a wind turbine in Rhode Island and spotted a man sunbathing on top. The sunbather waved to the drone then probably wished the drone would buzz off.

There’s nothing quite like a good New York bagel with cream cheese. First, you bite through the crisp outer crust; then you move on to the chewy, bubbly crumb; and finally, of course, everything is overpowered by an enormous mouthful of cold white goop.

Tajikistan is just no place for good parties, and 25-year-old Amirbek Isayev learned the hard way, fined $600 for violating a ban on birthday parties.

According to reports from other vloggers who attended the conference, the viral Christian vlogger Sam Rader was ejected from the Vlogger Fair conference in Seattle yesterday for “threatening violence” against one or more people. This incident allegedly occurred just one day after Sam admitted to using a paid account on the cheating website Ashley Madison.http://gawker.com/viral-christia...

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Liv lives in the French Alps. Her father is Border Collie, and her mother is a Labrador. She loves discovering life, and exploring the world with her twin brother Phileas.

Jack in the Box's Portabello Mushroom Buttery Jack features a quarter pound signature beef patty with melted garlic herb butter, Portobello mushrooms, Swiss cheese, peppercorn mayo, grilled onions, and the chain's signature bun.

It goes for $4.99 in my area but I received this courtesy of Jack in the Box.

I've had pretty good experiences with the Buttery Jack line so far and the Portabello Mushroom version was no exception.

The mushrooms were cut thick and contributed a meaty tenderness and robust flavor to the burger. The melted Swiss blanketed the mushrooms and provided a creamy counterpoint.

The onions were caramelized for a nice sweetness but retained a good amount of watery crispness.

The beef was thick and moist with an enjoyable seasoned flavor that was further complemented by a lot of melted butter... maybe too much butter (Le gasp! I know. I can't believe I said that either). My bottom bun was actually soaked with it. So yeah, it was very buttery.

I didn't really notice the peppery quality of the mayo over all the butter.

The bun offered a slightly sweet brioche quality that would probably make for some great French toast. There's a durable and satisfying squish factor to it.

Overall, Jack in the Box's Portabello Mushroom Buttery Jack was really good all around if a bit overly rich due to the butter (not really complaining). Both the mushrooms and Swiss cheese are front and center. Compared to Carl's Jr.'s recently-introduced Mushroom & Swiss All-Natural Burger, I have to tip my hat to Jack's version, which is smaller but comes with a much thicker, meatier patty and better quality mushrooms and Swiss.

Nutritional Info - Jack in the Box Portobello Mushroom Buttery Jack (275g)
Calories - 807 (Calories from Fat - 462)
Fat - 51g (Saturated Fat - 23g)
Sodium - 1081mg
Carbs - 51g (Sugar - 12g)
Protein - 38g

MEDFORD, OR—Recoiling at the sight of the two coworkers waiting for them in the lobby, employees from local company Core Analysts stated Monday that their invitation to head out and grab lunch had somehow trickled down to the office weirdos. “Crap, how did Joel [Seltz] and Matt [Heiser] hear about this?” said office manager Evan Coss, mentally recalibrating his expectations for a pleasant midday meal at Buffalo Wild Wings with friends to now include a series of labored asides in which he would make cursory attempts to engage his two bland, awkward colleagues over mozzarella sticks. “I sure as hell didn’t tell them about this—they must have heard Craig say we were meeting in the lobby at noon. Well, lunch is ruined. I wonder if I should just call it a bust, claim I have some work that needs to get out, and head back upstairs.” At ...

It's in River North, it's overpriced, and it serves seafood. Can you guess which restaurant it is? [ more › ]