Appalling result of a culture that places profit over people.
'A courier for the parcel giant DPD who was fined for attending a medical appointment to treat his diabetes collapsed and died of the disease, it has emerged. Don Lane, 53, missed appointments with specialists because he felt under pressure to cover his round and faced DPD’s £150 daily penalties if he did not find cover.'
The past three shows Michelle and I binged had a lot in common yet were incredibly different and original.
We started with "Big Little Lies," followed up with "The Handmaid's Tale" and just finished the first season of "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel." They all featured brilliant writing, settings that helped drive the stories and intriguing music.
More important, they were showcases for some of the best performances in TV or movies that we've seen in the past year.
After watching Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon in "Big Little Lies" and Elisabeth Moss in "The Handmaid's Tale," I didn't expect Rachel Brosnahan could come close in "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel."
I'm glad I was wrong.
Brosnahan, who stood out in "House of Cards," has plenty of support from an excellent cast (Alex Borstein, Tony Shalhoub, Marin Hinkle) but she is magnetic as the title character. Sure, she delivers witty dialog flawlessly, but it's more than that. Brosnahan's Midge is compassionate, passionate, vicious when needed and always hilarious.
You won't waste your time with any of the three, but the first two are rather dark and the third will keep you laughing (the first episode is one of the funniest hours of TV I've seen). Just $5 Shipping On Your Order at Bits And Pieces. Shop now: bits and pieces free shipping
'We were transported in a taxi to the planton, a camp set up and occupied by parents of the 43 students who were disappeared in September 2014 from Ayotzinapa Rural Teachers' College.
It has been a thorn in the side of Mexican attorney general’s office for more than three years, having been established soon after the trainee teachers, aged between 19 and 24, vanished from police custody.'
The NRA is as much a media company as it is an advocacy group. Katie Benner and I look at its newest, loudest and most vitriolic messaging arm, NRATV, where favorite topics include gun confiscation plots, "deep state" conspiracies and racial division.
Inside Bannon’s final days, associates described someone unable or unwilling to grasp the severity of his falling out with the president. He was dismissive of the Mercers. And that non-apology apology was sent out without his knowledge.
Check out A New Comedy series coming out!! Fish Tank Series it’s soooooo funny and i made a debut or 2 in it as the character TRINA “nosey Neighbor next door “ get into the Trailer and get yo Life!!! #fishtank #ImAlwaysWorking #TsMadison
Good Morning Everyone!!! May your day Start and End With a blessing❤️☀️
In order to do that you Got to Be a blessing to someone else! Something as simple as saying “Thank you” “I love you”or even “Be blessed” could be someone’s blessing!!
Every Day is a New Day ❤️❤️❤️
PHOTOGRAPHER Nathan Pearcy
MUA Glam Boss | MUA Assistant @maquillage_makayla,
HAIR PROVIDED BY / HAIR STYLIST @hairshegoagain and @iamhair_maniacs
STYLIST Ryan Christopher assistant | Stylist Assistant @jinkyz1911
MS MADISON ASSISTANT @dhatniggache
PHOTO ASSISTANTS @iamjamealmonte @juto_photography @altongillphotography
So honored to have Board President Fran Sachs share the stage with Presidential Women's Center's Mona Reis and Lady Parts Justice's Lizz Winstead to discuss abortion access and the action steps we can all take to help. Reach out to EMA or PWC if you want to be an escort at the clinic, help with events, help with fundraising. Make your voice heard.
Been thinking about getting a Rodan + Fields regimen or regimen bundle?! Now through Feb 28, sign up as a NEW Preferred Customer with a regimen or regimen bundle, get a FREE full size microdermabrasion paste. ($80 value) #rodanandfields #skincare #freegift #rfdreamteam
Who are you cheering for??? In honor of Hudson’s first Super Bowl, I’m doing a drawing for a mini eye cream. Comment here who your cheering for me get entered to win #rfsuperbowldeals #rfeyecream #rodanandfields #skincare #patriots #
One of the sounds of this city I've been trying to decipher is what happens on the long reaches of the express trains. Duke Ellington notwithstanding, there's not much music on the A Train between 59th and 125th, the longest stretch I know (about three miles).
Mostly rumbling and rattling Maybe he heard things I can't--well, duh--or maybe the trains have slowed down. The tracks feel bad over there on 8th Ave, you know what passage you'e found.
But the long reach of the 2/3 Train between 42nd and 72nd, now there's a sound that will wake you up, no matter what state of inebriation or--in my case--imminent expiration, you find yourself.
It's thirty blocks, and the train finds its rhythm right around 50, as the insane caricatures of my people etched in the tile--these are the Irish morons who lived by the law of dreams and settled Hell's Kitchen--whirl away, leprechauns and canes and funny hats giving way, as always, to darkness.
Here's a sound I can't describe. Is it a moan, a whistle, a sigh, a chorus? It wakes me no matter what the hour, whether I'm headed downtown or up, and it begins like any stray sound intruding on my well-earned reverie, like a welcome ghost saying, Jimmy boy, you owe me.
This sound is like nothing you've ever heard, it rises from humming to whiining to--what?--singing and it makes me want to open the doors and say, I hear you.
This evening started badly and ended worsely. It starts with me just pitching in, emptying my girlfriend's dishwasherr, but then suddenly a glass falls onto a plate because I'm not paying attentiion, shattering both. They were clean, mind you..
Later as we're eating dinner I break another glass because I set it on a surface that didn't exist. I just reached out and put it down, all the way to the floor, where it, too, shattered. A river of wine seeping into theese old boards, and tiny shards of glass gleaming in its current, like stars reflected in moving water. I didn't want to clean up the beautiful mess I made. But I'm a guest.
Like I said, it gets worse. At about 11:00, my girlfriend runs screaming from the kitchen, having there discovered a mouse at large. I am charged with its execution. Or extradition. I choose the latter because I don't like killing animals. Yeah, yeah, I eat them, I just don't want to be the hunter as well.
This little fucker is leaping and sprinting, trying to escape the sink. I'm thinking maybe I'll just wait him out, but he's got too many calories to burn, so I pick up the tongs and grab him that way, as if he's an agile hot dog on the run from the grill.
I drop him in a plastic bag and tell my girlfriend I'm gonna put him in the garbage downstairs, on the street. I can't do that, I don't know why, so I leave him in the bag on the lid of a garbage can. I loosen the knot, thinking he'll escape. But it's cold outside.
Two hours later, I couldn't stand it. I went back down the four stories to check on him. He was alive and well. I untied the knot, and he ran free. He'll be dead within a day.
On the train downtown tonight there was a couple across from me that seemed anxious about where it was going. Finally, the guy says, to no one in particular, "What train is this?" I hold up two fingers. "It's express!"" he says and I start laughing, and nodding, I say Yeah, all the way to Brooklyn. Then he looks panicked and asks: "Does it stop at 34th, you know, Penn Statioin?"
Yeah, I say, everything does. I'm still laughing, and now the enormous guy next to me is, too. He's big enough to jiggle my body when he laughs, and we're only elbow to elbow on the 2 train. I've been watching his phone all this time, so now I get to turn to him and say, Jesus, you been looking at flowers forever, sorry, I looked over your shoulder, what's the deal?
"Im a florist," he says. "I got a shop on 96th. Valentine's Day. Inventory." He laughs some more, my body moves according to his happy rhythm, and we watch the couple scurry off the train at 34th, "You wanna see some more?" he says.
Hell yes, I say. Glad you reminded me.
There's an expert panhandler in my neighborhood who does all the wrong things. He wears a black eye patch and a tri-corner hat, plus a colorful sweater rain or shine, summer or winter; he pisses on cars, maybe even yours, while he's asking for money; and he's always laughing, as if his way of life is fun. I call him The Pirate, very creative of me.
Yesterday he stunk as I fished for a dollar in the rain, so I was a little worried about him, or me.
"You got a place to take a shower?"
"Can't do that, then the gays come up on me 'cause I'm so pretty."
"You're not that pretty, my friend, but I think you mean they come on to you. And that's hard to believe. Why would they?" I'm still fishing for the dollar. "A shower, a bath, you need some cleaning."
"You see me, I'm standin' here in the rain waitin' on you."
"There is that."
When I first moved to New York, about ten years ago, I was renting an apartment at 596 Edgecombe Avenue, just north of where W.E.B. Du Bois, Duke Ellington, Joe Lewis, Lena Horne, and Count Basie lived in the 1920s and 30s. Keyboard in place, I sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter writing a book that would be published in 2009.
The windows were open, it was the summer of 2008, from where I sat I could see across the Harlem River, all the way to the Bronx, even down to where the Polo Grounds had been at 155th. Meanwhile, I heard everything.
My first blog post from there was about all the sounds. I claimed the whole history of the place could be heard from where I sat on my barstool: birds, insects, squirrels, rats, cats and dogs, gentle winds, new ruffians, old prisoners--a minimum security facility was next door, once in a while the murmuring of the residents became audible--railroads, automobiles, airplanes, helicopters, and, of course, all the other voices I could hear as they passed by.
So, this morning at 6:30 the absolute silence was unnerving. My apartment faces north, toward 125th, it's insulated from the street sounds on 123rd. But still, not even a bird chirping? Not even a truck backing up on 124th, delivering something to Whole Foods? Had the world stopped?
Of course not. But for just a minute there . . .
I've spent some time as a teacher in prisons--Stateville, Trenton, Mountainview. I never tried to tell you what it's like inside because I knew I'd never really been inside. I was always a tourist instead--I could leave. This piece tells me there is no outside. We're all prisoners here. I am not congratulating myself. Nor consoling you.
Football isn't a sport, it's a vicious, contagious disease that needs quarantine. But there I was watching the blood flow at Super Bowl LII, where the Roman numerals matter, as the marketing department knows. Here's my confession; never again.
I'm supposed to be elsewhere. As always.
You wear the Raybans in winter, morning and night,
So nobody sees into your soul, that's what eyes are for.
But not yours.
You look the other way, every time, hoping for the best,
Still you see how this is ending, when they come for what's left.
But not you.
So now you see clearly, no lenses, no frames,
You've been stripped down to nothing,
Remember your name.
GUYS LIKE CRUZ HAVE NO SHAME. IF WHAT THEY BELIEVE IS REALLY TRUE ABOUT THE CONSTITUTION GIVING THE RIGHT TO ALL CITIZENS TO HAVE GUNS, (I DON'T BELIEVE SO)...IT IS THE CONSTITUTION THAT NEEDS CHANGING... FOR THE PROTECTION OF ALL OF US WHO ARE OBVIOUSLY IN DANGER BECAUSE OF SUCH RIDICULOUSLY LAX GUN LAWS.