The Daily Word in the tragic end of a bartending career, the dawn of a white minority and a reprieve for some Texas abortion clinics
By Geoffrey Plant [ Tue Jun 30 2015 12:35 PM ]
An appeals court has resuscitated the Jemez Pueblo's claim on the Valle Caldera in the Jemez Mountains.
Because of Monday's Supreme Court decision, 10 Texas abortion clinics slated to close will remain open. For now.
"Legs really don't work": the Action Man series of battlefield casualties action figures.
One of the United States' last all-wood baseball stadiums burned to the ground in a dramatic 30 minute blaze yesterday.
Justin Bieber is changing his life thanks to a Pentecostal church in Australia.
The Daily Word in rocket explosion, one more second and the ugliest dog in the world
By Constance Moss [ Mon Jun 29 2015 12:36 PM ]
A very large pig was rescued from a dead hoarder's home, thanks to the Detroit Police Department.
The debt crisis in Greece is screwing up the global economy.
Shortly after launch, a SpaceX rocket exploded.
A heat-packing pizza delivery driver shot an armed robber at a Duke City Domino's last night.
The bassist and cofounder of the band Yes has died at the age of 67.
A canine named "Quasi Modo" won the blue ribbon for World's Ugliest Dog.
Presidential candidate Donald Trump hasn't voted in 25 years.
The Daily Word In OMG THE SUPREME COURT LEGALIZED SAME SEX-MARRIAGE IN ALL 50 STATES!
By Amelia Olson [ Fri Jun 26 2015 10:09 AM ]
There's no other news today other than
Major high five, Supreme Court!
Let's celebrate and take in this incredibly important moment in our history!
The Daily Word in Obamacare, Muslim beauty pageants and the history of twerking
By Renee Chavez [ Thu Jun 25 2015 1:19 PM ]
The Supreme Courts says Obamacare is here to stay for all.
Could you survive a plane crash and four days in a jungle?
Magic Mike is way better as written by 6-year-olds.
This is what a Muslim beauty pageant looks like.
Have you read any of the books on the #CharlestonSyllabus?
Jihadists are people with their own doubts and fears.
Because APS has so much money to spare, jackass vandal causes $16k in damage.
The Daily Word: in Tiny Giants
By Robert Maestas [ Wed Jun 24 2015 10:53 AM ]
bro, you got goldfish in my resin, bro! you got resin in my goldfish!
from pulp to paint, the future melts.
I still hate flying.
i get it. the world sucks.
tiny giants made of tinier giants.
insert skynet reference here.
you dance like a windmill.
smart is simple
brevity truly is the soul of wit.
art is simply a projection.
The Daily Word in Martian politics, toxic moonshine and works of art by A. Hitler
By Constance Moss [ Mon Jun 22 2015 12:50 PM ]
In Mumbai, a bad batch of moonshine has taken the lives of 99 people and hospitalized dozens.
After an injury, a moon jellyfish rearranges its limbs.
Works of art by Adolf Hitler sold at auction for half a million dollars.
It could reach 104 degrees today in the Duke. Here are 27 ways to stay cool.
A telegram from the Southern lands
By August March [ Sat Jun 20 2015 10:46 PM ]
This time round the sun, June’s solstice falls upon the same day as the American holiday called Father’s Day, on the 21st day of the month.
The same coincidentally calendrical conjunction came to pass 23 years ago; the day called twenty June nineteen hundred and ninety two was the last day of spring in Albuquerque. Practically everyone dwelling amidst the middle latitudes of the North American continent celebrated fatherhood the day after. I’m sure they did that here too or so I was told.
I was in Cuenca, Ecuador where the earth was preparing for winter, though you sure as hell couldn’t tell at the latitude of 2 degrees south. It was hot and humid all over that damn country and I had to carry around a cotton kerchief to keep the sweat off my eyes. I kept the towel in a pocket with my father’s Swiss Army knife. It was the fancy kind with a fork y todo. He told me at the Sunport it would come in handy in the jungle and I couldn’t wait to use the goddamn thing on a tasty lizard or a stubborn piece of bamboo.
I planned to stay a couple of rotations and then drive down from the highlands to the northeast, where the Amazon Jungle crept up into the land. There was a town called Macas out there; I had already chartered a plane to ride me out along the Rio Pastaza to an indigenous settlement in the rainforest. I’d be working for some anthropologists as a sound recordist.
I wandered around Cuenca. There was a fine pizzeria. For a 10 more Sucre, patrons could have their pies topped with small purple potatoes or guinea pig meat. Being a bit nervous about consuming either, I opted for the four-cheese pie.
The long distance service was spotty back then. The cook told me I could send a telegram from the police station. I walked over there, regailed the machine-gun carrying officials with my shitty Spanish and sent a telegram to my old man. I told him I was having a grand time and wished him a happy Father’s Day.
The city also had a magnificent plaza built around a mountainous cathedral. The church had gold accouterments, baroque domes. The Andes rose up behind the basilica like a greater order of magical edifices imposed upon the viewer for the sake of comparison.
Come Saturday night there was big party in the center of town. Many citizens walked down to the plaza holding hands, singing songs about the sun and the land. One of them stopped me, asked me where I was from, guessed that I was Israeli or Persian. I tried to tell him I was an American from Albuquerque, but he ran off, laughing and pointing at the sky.
My hotel, the Inca, was nearby to the church – which by now was surrounded by people filling and releasing paper lantern/balloons into the air. The paper bags, each lit by a candle, drifted around the cathedral like angels might and then floated away, towards the mountains.
I picked up an old copy of Time Magazine in the lobby and took the stairs to my room. As I settled in to read a fine article about 1977’s Man of the Year someone pounded on the door. I opened it. The man on the other side had a gun. He flashed an identification card, told me to come with him and waved the gun around like it was just another celebratory instrument of the solstice.
Downstairs, there was a car waiting. I turned around to protest and realized the gun had been gently pressed to the back of my head for what I reckoned were at least two very long minutes. I was urged to take a seat in the back of the car.
By now, night had fallen. It was dark as hell. We drove around and around the outskirts of Cuenca while the driver and the gunman argued. Occasionally the latter, wearing a dirty Adidas baseball cap, turned around to face me, brandished the gun, winked and smiled a toothy smile. Finally we were on the road out of town. I began to think of my father as two paper balloons passed by the windows of that automobile.
Remembering I had his knife in my front pocket it occurred to me that I could stab Mr. Adidas in the neck and thereby save myself. But as the vehicle slowed down to cross a bridge, I came up with another idea. I quickly unlocked the backseat door, opened it, yelled “Fuck It Dude, Life’s a Risk!” at the top of my lungs and rolled out onto the highway.
Mr. Adidas and his friend screeched the car to a halt. I hid under the bridge and covered myself in mud. After a few minutes splashing around the creek rather angrily, the two stormed off, still cussing and yelling. I remained absolutely still when I saw the muzzle flash from the receding coche.
Soaking wet and tired as crap, I walked along the highway until I came upon a farmhouse. There was a phone there. The farmer offered me a drink and a cigarette while we waited for the police.
It was dawn on the first day of summer when we arrived at the police station. One of the policemen took me aside and said, “You’re that hombre from Albuquerque, no? I replied I was and wondered how he knew that, since my passport didn’t mention it. He told me my father had replied to my telegram, that I could pick up his telegraphic response on my way out.
The telegram from my father was succinct. It was too hot in Burque. He was going to have Father’s Day Brunch with my sister at the Rancher’s Club. He hoped the knife he had given me came to good use, out there in South America.
The Daily Word in the confederate flag, the KKK and the Queen of Española
By Constance Moss [ Fri Jun 19 2015 12:58 PM ]
Texas says no to confederate flags on license plates.
Two men from South Africa became stowaways on a British Airlines flight to London. The adventure didn't go so well.
A cruise ship in upstate New York suffered a collision while 274 passengers and crew members were on board. Only minor injuries were reported.
Adult summer camps are all the rage this season.
Dylann Roof is said to possibly be affiliated with Neo Nazis. Here's the current 411 on the KKK and other US supremacy groups.
243 medical professionals were charged with false billings to the tune of $700 million in a giant Medicare scam.
Thousands of international travelers are S.O.L. after the US government's visa system crashed.
A woman's dismembered body was found in an abandoned home in Niagara Falls three years after a relative's body was discovered in a similar fashion.
The Queen of Española's crown has been stolen and now she may lose the throne.
Triple-digit weather is coming to the metro this weekend. Wear your sunscreen, drink your h2o, and have a Happy Father's Day!
The Daily Word in murder, women and small-town crimes.
By Renee Chavez [ Thu Jun 18 2015 1:25 PM ]
Who is Dylann Roof?
Dozens more women and children murdered by Boko Haram in Niger.
What does the beginning of Ramadan look like around the world?
Iranian women might be allowed to watch volleyball matches again!
11-year-old is youngest US Chess Master.
Move over Alexander Hamilton.
First rape clinic for men and boys opens in Sweden.
Espanola Valley Fiesta Queen’s crown stolen.
Despicable T or C officer shot a dog seven times.
The Daily Word: art schtuff
By Robert Maestas [ Wed Jun 17 2015 2:29 PM ]
the past, now in glorious technicolor!
who needs a brush?
dissect your childhood
cut it out
damn girl, are you an ancient philosophical text? because I’m learning a lot about myself and the universe from looking at you
jesus, does anyone draw anything anymore?
I guess not.
4th of July Celebrate Freedom at Anderson-Abruzzo Balloon Museum
A Butterfly for Brooklyn at Belen Public LibraryMore Recommented Events ››