This year’s Sundance Film Festival has found room for Hollywood’s biggest stars (Jason Segel, James Franco, Kristen Wiig and Lena Dunham) and brightest newcomers (Lola Kirke, the cast of “Dope”). Ahead, 24 beautiful portraits of Sundance’s class of 2015.
“The day a guy picks you up is the day I die. Oh, and your mother’s a skank.”
We were on the yellow school bus. I remember it, clear as day. I sat in my seat, hands folded and head down, waiting for the bus driver to pull up to Highlawn Avenue and West 6th (the stop closest to my family’s tiny Brooklyn apartment). Mark, my sixth grade peer, took this opportunity to graciously inform me that I had approximately no hope of ever being considered attractive to the opposite sex. And not only that, but just in case I were curious, he wished to inform me that my mom, a young wife, mother, and hardworking medical assistant, perhaps had a questionable reputation.
It’s funny, how a simple Facebook friend request can conjure such a memory.
I was 11 years old When Mark spit those words at me. He was a popular kid with the crush-worthy, physical aesthetics akin to a young Ian Ziering (Beverly Hills, 90210 was becoming hugely popular at the time, a fact from which Mark benefited greatly, however accidentally).
He was also one of my biggest bullies who, a little over two decades since I’ve seen him in the flesh, decided to Facebook friend request me.
I guess he was curious.
I was a shy, quiet kid; like most shy kids my goal, above all else, was to remain invisible. Alas, I had a huge, unruly head of curly hair that my parents refused to allow me to tame with LA Looks (or any other product, for that matter). My unfortunate blond mop was complimented by massive buck teeth, qualities which earned me an unwanted place in the spotlight among my school’s most venomous bullies.
My height certainly helped matters tremendously: Achieving 5’1″ stature (and growing) by the time I entered the fifth grade rendered me the tallest out of all the students, both male and female, an issue that would not resolve itself until well into the ninth grade.
I think about my bullies sometimes. I think about them when they friend request me; I think about them when I read something in the news about the increasingly prolific anti-bully legislation.
I think about my childhood bullies when I read that another kid has committed suicide because of relentless bullying and the silent adults who turned deaf ears and blind eyes.
My memories of my bullies share a home base: They either occurred on school grounds or on the school bus. When the bullying occurred on school grounds, it was sometimes in front of other adults, usually the PTA parents of the bullies who, for some reason, thought nothing of their child’s behavior.
My most painful memories of being bullied occurred on the mini-bus, that small yellow vessel which meant that, if you attempted to hide in the back of the bus you may as well just stay in the front anyway, as there was no escaping any of them. My bullies would make up songs about me, my hair, my body, anything they could think of, and sing them loudly. The bus driver, a white-haired man in his 60s, laughed heartily.
Explain that to a child quietly desperate for adult intervention.
Most of the bullying, now that I think of it, occurred in the presence of a school bus driver.
As such, yellow school buses often provoke, for me, a special flavor of terror. Hell hath no fury like a bunch of quarantined, pre-teenagebullies on a yellow school bus.
The taunting was mostly verbal (such as when Adam announced to a table of peers in our Earth Science class, provoked by nothing other than my existence in the seat next to him, that I was One. Ugly. Girl.), but sometimes it became physical, as when Joe grabbed my books from my hands and threw them into a muddy puddle while we waited outside of school for the bus to arrive. There was also the time when Jason, with an audience, tripped me as I ran to my eighth grade math class; I hit the floor, knees and elbows first, with a painful thud. My books scattered further. The overly made-up and padded girlfriends stood back and laughed, some nervously, some cruelly.
I think about my childhood bullies sometimes. And because I (like most of you) am naturally curious, I accepted all of their Facebook friend requests.
I’ll never cease to be amazed at what one can learn from a simple perusal of a Facebook wall. Of my bullies, there are five who were memorably venomous. Of these five, four are now parents. Of these five, three (so far as I can tell) went on to become teachers, including Mark, who went on to teach junior high school.
For the record, he teaches in the same school where I kept my head down, daily, trying to avoid his eye-contact and his steadfast attempts to do permanent damage to my spirit. (He no longer works in this school; I do not know why.)
Becoming reacquainted with my childhood bullies, even if only virtually, forces me to wonder about what happens when bullies become teachers. As far as these particular people are concerned, I have absolutely no idea. I hope their students love them. I hope they are making a difference, one student’s life at a time. And while I hope that these particular people have evolved into the thinking, reflective, and caring adults that we, as a society, should demand of our teachers, I think I have a response to my own question. But, I cannot offer this response without also divulging another painful memory.
As a child, I dealt with being viciously bullied by staying silent when I saw others being bullied in much the same way. I will always believe that my silence rendered me a bully by proxy.
Desperate to remove the spotlight from my existence for a change, I hid in the shadows when they turned their attention to her, another shy, quiet classmate who earned excellent grades and wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt a fly even if she wanted to.
I remember her name. In fact, we share the same first name. For the record, I also attended weekly CCD (religion courses offered by the local parish) with another little girl who happened to have the same name as me and my fellow target. There were a few kids in CCD who refused to sit next to her, unless the teacher made them (the irony of this treatment occurring in an institution of worship, of all places, is not lost on me). I do not know why they treated her this way, but I was utterly convinced that girls with my first name were destined for a childhood (life?) marred and shaped by bullying and mistreatment. As a result, I grew up hating my first name. I associated it with little girls who were not only bullied, but with those who perhaps deserved to be bullied.
Try convincing my irrational child self that I was wrong about this interpretation.
At school, I knew what my classmate was going through, damn I knew what she was going through, but I dared not befriend her. I dared not support her. Any support I could have shown was sure to turn the bullies on me even worse.
She cried a lot, and I stayed silent and you bet I never dared cry. Tears were our bullies’ lifeblood. On some days, I think she got it worse for exactly that reason.
And it is with these paired memories of being bullied and fearful silence that I recall how my dad would often remind me that “hurt people hurt people.”
Think about that for a second: Hurt people hurt people.
I now take my father’s words to mean that, sometimes, hurt people bully others. Other times, hurt people remain silent and watch as others are bullied. Hurt people indeed hurt people.
And so, in the spirit of attempting to live up to the expectations we should all have of our nation’s teachers, I wish to apologize to her, my fellow target, for my silence. And I hope that those bullies-turned-teachers are anything but silent when they see their child-selves reflected in the relationships they notice playing out in their classrooms, school hallways, and those dreadful yellow school buses.
*This post is dedicated to my loving mother, who shed tears upon reliving these memories through my words.
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FRANKFORT, Ky. (AP) — A Kentucky state senator is trying to have his DUI charge dismissed because the state constitution bans lawmakers from being arrested while the legislature is in session.
Republican state Sen. Brandon Smith of Hazard was charged with DUI on Jan. 6, the first day of the 2015 legislative session. A citation filed in Franklin County Circuit court says Smith had a .088 percent blood alcohol level in a portable breath test. A person is presumed drunk when the alcohol to blood ratio is .08 and above.
His attorney cites Section 43 of the Kentucky Constitution, which says that except for treason and certain other offenses, legislators are “privileged from arrest during their attendance on the sessions of their respective Houses, and in going to and returning from the same.” Section 43 was ratified in 1891.
According to The Courier-Journal, Kentucky Senate President Robert Stivers (R) disagreed with Smith’s request.
“No member of the General Assembly is above the law,” Stivers said in a statement. “While Kentucky’s Constitution does provide for a limited form of legislative immunity, as does the United States Constitution and most state constitutions, it is clear that the immunity does not apply in this situation.”
It’s no secret Latin American women are beautiful.
On Sunday, Miss Colombia won the Miss Universe title for the first time in over 50 years. The gorgeous Paulina Vega was facing some tough competition, especially from first runner-up and Miss USA Nia Sanchez. But the South American beauty took home the crown in the end.
But Sunday night’s win didn’t come as a surprise to those who’ve followed the pageant over the years. Latin American beauty queens have been consistently crowned since the Miss Universe pageant began in 1952. In fact, over one-third of the total Miss Universe winners come from the region.
Venezuela is especially known for its seven titles, second only to the U.S. who has a total of eight. Puerto Rico follows close behind with five crowns while Mexico, Brazil and now Colombia each have two.
Check out all the Latin American countries and the names of the beauty queens who have won the Miss Universe pageant in the map below:
EAGAN, Minn. (AP) — Police in Minnesota say a 15-year-old boy unintentionally fatally shot by his 13-year-old brother while playing “cops and robbers.”
Police and paramedics responded to an Eagan home Sunday morning after the 15-year-old reported his brother was unresponsive and bleeding. The 15-year-old told dispatchers his brother had fallen and stabbed himself while running with a knife. But when police arrived, the older boy told officers he had accidentally shot his brother.
The boys were home alone with their 11-year-old sister when they found an unloaded 9 mm pistol belonging to their father. Investigators say at some point, the firearm was loaded, then thought to be unloaded while the boys chased each other.
Police say the 15-year-old fired one round that struck his brother in the chest.
No one was arrested.
If you’ve ever wanted to tell a street harasser to stick it where the sun don’t shine, but couldn’t find the right words — don’t worry, these mamas got you covered.
A new PSA about street harassment shows what happens when men realize the women they’re catcalling are actually their mothers. Sponsored by Everlast, the PSA takes place in Lima, Peru where, as the video states, seven out of 10 women are harassed on the streets. Everlast found two men who were “repeat offenders” and contacted their moms who agreed to dress in disguise and walk past their sons.
The outcome is highly satisfying. After their sons yell some fairly unsavory things, the horrified moms publicly berate them. One of the women actually repeatedly hits her son over the head with her purse after he calls her “Tasty panties.” It’s everything you’ve ever wanted a catcaller to hear.
So street harassers, next time you want to catcall a woman imagine how you would feel if she was your mom. Or just realize she’s a human being and keep your mouth shut.
The DC Latino Caucus, the main political organization for Latinos in the nation’s capital, elected new officers and members to its board. The new president of the organization is native Washingtonian Gabriela Mossi, who was the vice president of the organization. Gabriella Mossi, currently works for the Greater Washington Hispanic Chamber of Commerce Foundation, a DC-based non-profit that advocates for minority-owned small and mid-size businesses. Gabriella holds an undergraduate degree in Foreign Service from Georgetown University and graduate degrees in International Management from two European universities. The new vice president is John Rodriguez. Rodriguez, new to Washington, has managed campaigns for candidates across the country. Most recently, Rodriguez was campaign manager for the Edward “Smitty” Smith Campaign for DC Attorney General. Mr. Rodriguez holds undergraduate and graduate degrees from the University of California school system. Other officers include, Dr. Jorge Escurra, as the treasurer, Claudia Barragan is the new communications officer, and Karen Vanegas is the secretary.
In addition to electing the officers of the organization, the DC Latino Caucus also elected 8 Board members: Claudia Barragan, Maria Corrales, Alfredo Diaz, Jorge Escurra, Xiomara Flores, Maria Ibanez, Jackie Reyes, and John Rodriguez were elected to serve 2-year terms on the Board. Founded in 2005, the DC Latino Caucus is an affiliate of the DC Democratic State Committee.
The organization maintains a Political Action Committee (PAC), used mainly to endorse Democratic candidates, and to elect two ex-officio members to the DC Democratic State Committee. The PAC has over 400 active members.
Speaking at the elections meeting, newly elected president Gabriela Mossi spoke about the need to continue to reach to Latinos in the city and get them involved in the political process. “Latinos are almost 15% of the population in DC, and we would like to see an equal number of Latinos participate in the political process in the city,” said Mossi. “The high interest in the election of the Board and Officers of our Caucus is a reflection of the progress we have made over the years, and we should capitalize on this momentum with the great team we have on our Board,” concluded Mossi.
The DC Latino Caucus is credited with increasing the number of elected Latinos to the Central Committee of the Democratic Party in DC. Last year, over nine Latinos, most of them members of the DC Latino Caucus, appeared on the Democratic Primary ballot, and five got elected, a record for a Primary election in the city.
Members of the new Board of DC Latino Caucus
Do you know how much of your personal information is floating around? It’s more than you think and very easy to find. Phone numbers, home addresses, email accounts. As my recent story about gamers who got swatted showed , anybody can become a target. You don’t have to be someone with a million followers. Social networks have encouraged us share everything, including where we’re hanging out. We’ve signed up for a million different accounts, and we need to be more careful.
Catfishing is what we call it when people lie about their identity online. It’s unsettling, and it happens often: Last week, I wrote about how the DEA catfished drug dealers on Facebook by impersonating a woman arrested on drug charges. Today, Jezebel covered a disturbing story about a woman named Ellie Flynn who realized some dirtbag in her social circle used her photos to create fake Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and dating site accounts to talk to strangers.
What Exodus may have lacked in script and casting, it made up for in spectacle. The plagues and ancient temples were insane. Behold the magic in these before and after wipes.
This is site is run by Sascha Endlicher, M.A., during ungodly late night hours. Wanna know more about him? Connect via Social Media by jumping to about.me/sascha.endlicher.
