“Imagine if this was a woman being teased about her body in this story? This would be all over Operah and people would be flipping out. But because its a man the teasing is ok? He did the only thing any man is tought to do when teased. Fight.”
–The comments on this story about a Miami International Airport worker who beat a co-worker with a baton and forced him to apologize for a year of jokes about the size of his penis occasioned by his trying out one of those newfangled full-body scanners are pretty heated! Admittedly, the story is written from the perspective of “ha ha look at this guy trying to overcompensate for his NOT ALL THAT SUSPICIOUS PACKAGE” and thus designed for maximum pageview-provocation, but this is one of those “reader feedback” sections that has it all. (Including the phrase “the IQ of mayonnaise”!)

The forecast for the Gulf Oil spill today is: lots of little oil spills! That can’t be good. In other news, the 100-ton containment box lowered yesterday may or may not work, which we will discover over the next week. Pictures show that the containment dome is delightfully oily! And the Gulf? Very end-of-the-world pretty.

Florida landfall should take place sometime this weekend. Which is good news!

Because the picture on the front page of today’s Times has me thinking that this oil spill wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Those colors! It’s like a beautiful nuclear sunrise.

As predicted. He sounds great, no? (Also: “cameras weren’t allowed so i tried to get by with my cell phone. i think the set was recorded though! so be on the look out for that.”)

“I’m scared. But I already paid for this.”
-Queens resident Sai Lawrence, before tucking into a salad of romaine lettuce yesterday. Lawrence had just been informed of a romaine recall in the metropolitan area due to an E. coli contamination, the health effects of which range from diarrhea to kidney disease to death.

Dear Pam and David MacNeill,

Sorry for letting your children watch The Amityville Horror.

This was in 1986 at the house on Long Beach Island that you and my parents had rented with a bunch of your other friends. I shouldn’t even have been there. I didn’t want to be there. I was not supposed to be there. I was supposed to be at home, at my parents’ house, where I had been given the responsibility of staying unattended for the week.

Of course, being fifteen years old at the time, I had a party on the very first night. I’d had parties in my parent’s absence before-over winter weekends during the school year-and been able to clean up well enough before they returned to avoid getting caught. But this was in the summer, and the party got bigger and more out of control than the others had. A door got broken; Kool-Aid was made with beer on the kitchen floor; a metal fork was microwaved, causing a flash of light and a booming explosion that knocked the microwave off the counter onto the Kool-Aid-covered floor. (Amazingly, it still worked when I set it back up and plugged it back in. But I’ve guiltily wondered for years whether or not this might have had anything to do with my parents getting cancer later. Probably not. We lived in New Jersey; chances are they both would have gotten cancer anyway.) Bottles broke in the pool. Peanut butter, somehow, ended up all over the living room curtains. No one died, that was lucky. But after spending a sad, hung-over next day trying to make repairs and hide evidence, I realized that I was going to have to fess up this time. I called my parents, who were understandably unhappy to hear the news, and my dad drove home to pick me up and bring me down to Long Beach Island, where I was to not leave the house for the rest of the week.

It was a pretty bad punishment. Anywhere my family was was absolutely the last place I wanted to be at that point in my life. (I was deeply committed to teenage disaffection.) The other kids that were there-your children, my sister and four or five others-were all at least five years younger than me. You guys and the other adults gave me some good-natured teasing upon my arrival (“Why wasn’t I invited?!”) that I was too sullen and embarrassed to take with good-natured. To add insult to injury, I learned that some of you were going up to the roof deck to smoke pot after dinner every night-which had the devastating effect of making me feel less cool than my parents’ 45-year-old friends. I spent most of the week alone in a room listening to L.L. Cool J’s Radio. But not even on a big-woofer box that I could have played at volumes intended to offend older ears. Just on my Walkman.

One night I was in the TV room, flipping channels to find something to watch, when Sarah Landy and my sister and your two boys, Devon and Jordan came in. Sarah was probably ten. Devon must have been eight or so, my sister seven, Jordan maybe five. There was only one TV in the house, so I stayed sitting there and tried to pretend they didn’t exist. It turned out The Amityville Horror was on. Thinking back, it might have been somewhat intentional-I might have chosen to watch it to get them out the room. I think I may have warned them that it was a scary movie. But they stayed and I absolved myself from any responsibility. I wasn’t there to baby sit. I was trying to mope.

The kids became transfixed, as kids will do in front of a television, especially if they’re watching something they think they’re not supposed to be watching, and it was quiet, which I liked. It had probably been half-an-hour-and I don’t know if it was the buzzing of the flies or when the statue falls on the priest in the church or when James Brolin sees his face in the fire or what, but little Jordan suddenly burst out wailing like an ambulance siren. He was inconsolable, totally freaking out, so Sarah got up and led him downstairs.

I knew I’d fucked up, and it occurred to me that I might be hearing more about it, but I was determined to play out what I saw as my role as the blasé no-goodnik. So when, you, Pam, came up to fetch Devon and my sister, and looked at the screen, and then at me, and said, “Real nice, Dave. Thanks a lot,” I gave you a well-rehearsed “whatever” shrug and turned back to the TV.

So you have my sympathy, as well as an apology. I know I wouldn’t like it much if some cranky fifteen-year-old showed up in the middle of my nice beach vacation and showed my kid that movie. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t sleep well at all that night. I kept seeing James Brolin seeing his face in that fire. That shit is terrifying!

Should you care, you can watch the results of The Race To Run Knifecrime Island right here. We’ll discuss it tomorrow! Bottoms (and knives) up!

Premise: You are an attractive, well-bred young woman in your late twenties; genteel, if shabby. You have poor impulse control, no real money, and a reasonably well-off aunt who generally bails you out of scrapes.

1. On your way to a week-long house party in Rhinebeck, you miss your train. On the platform, you encounter your true love, Lawrence Selden. He invites you to take tea with him in his rooming house while you wait. You…

A) Insist that he preserve your reputation by taking you to a public tea-room instead.
B) Rebuff him and remain on the platform.
C) Accompany him to his apartment unchaperoned, insult the dinginess of his surroundings, and inform him that his legal salary disqualifies him as a husband.

2. Upon leaving Selden’s apartment, you run into the unfortunately Jewish, and hence socially dead, Simon Rosedale who asks what brings you to a street consisting entirely of male rooming houses. You…

A) Tell him the reasonably innocent truth, and butter him up by accepting his offer of a lift to the train and making friendly conversation.
B) Make up a weak story about visiting your dressmaker, and butter him up by accepting his offer of a lift to the train and making friendly conversation.
C) Make up a weak story about visiting your dressmaker, then insult him by jumping into a hansom cab and dashing off.

3. On the train, you spot the unbearably dull but extremely wealthy Percy Gryce, en route to the same party. You flirt with him successfully, and ask after his unbearably dull collection of Americana. It occurs to you that you should marry this unbearably dull man and use his money to buy many dresses. Selden arrives unexpectedly. Over the course of the week, you…

A) Maintain a meek, sedate demeanor, attend church with Gryce, avoid Selden like the plague, dress conservatively, ask more questions about Americana.
B) Behave in a reasonably neutral manner, sneak two cigarettes behind the fountain in the garden, treat Selden civilly, do nothing disastrous in public.
C) Lose tremendous amounts of money at cards, and skip church… twice… in order to continue your flirtation with Selden, who you still refuse to consider as a husband. Then, let your rival for Selden’s affections, the adulteress Bertha Dorset, use your distraction as an opening to terrify Gryce away with tales of your poor impulse control and nicotine addiction.

4. Despondent at your decaying financial prospects, you go to pick up your hostess’s husband, Gus Trenor, at the train station. You reveal your debts, bat your eyelashes, and play on his sympathies. He promises to take over your failing investments, and you begin receiving generous cheques as a result. His manner towards you becomes increasingly friendly and familiar, and culminates in an awkward scene in which his romantic designs are made clear. He also accuses you of having an affair with Selden. Selden sees you leaving the house with Trenor, assumes that you have become Trenor’s mistress, becomes enraged. Then Rosedale proposes marriage! So you…

A) Reveal all to Selden, pledge your undying love, marry him.
B) Become either Trenor’s mistress or Simon Rosedale’s wife, achieving financial security.
C) Tell your horrified aunt about your gambling addiction and clothing debts, rebuff Rosedale, Selden, and Trenor, and jet off to the Mediterranean for an impromptu vacation with the Dorsets.

5. It becomes clear that Bertha Dorset has invited you to the Mediterranean to provide cover for her own illicit adultery. Spotting her chance to frame you for an imagined tryst with her husband, she takes it, booting you from their yacht, devastating you socially and leaving you literally stranded in Monte Carlo. After making your own way back to New York, your aunt dies, almost completely disinheriting you, and removing your financial safety net. Happily, compromising letters proving a previous affair between Bertha and Selden have come into your possession, allowing you to…

A) Use the letters to blackmail Bertha Dorset into restoring your social position, then reveal all to Selden.
B) Take a job as a milliner, a trade you understand nothing about, and which requires more speed and manual dexterity than you currently possess or have any hope of acquiring.
C) Marry Simon Rosedale.

6. Oh but Simon Rosedale no longer wants to marry you. You find an unfulfilling but reasonably lucrative job as a secretary to the divorcee Mrs Norma Hatch. Examining the limited options available, you…

A) Use the letters to blackmail Bertha Dorset into restoring your social position, then reveal all to Selden.
B) Remain in the employ of Mrs. Hatch, and attempt to gradually work your way back into society’s graces.
C) Take a job as a milliner, a trade you understand nothing about, and which requires more speed and manual dexterity than you currently possess or have any hope of acquiring.

7. You are a terrible milliner, and find yourself fired at the end of the season. Circling the drain, you…

A) Use the letters to blackmail Bertha Dorset into restoring your social position, reveal all to Selden.
B) Try to get your job back with Mrs. Hatch, and accept Simon Rosedale’s offer of financial assistance.
C) Give Gus Trenor your tiny inheritance to repay him for his earlier cheques, leaving yourself penniless and unemployed. Rebuff Selden a final time, and burn the letters that represent your one hope of salvation.

8. You’ve become accustomed to supplementing your sleep with a heavy dose of chloral. This particular night, sleep continues to elude you. You….

A) Take your usual dose with a mug of hot milk, count sheep. In the morning, reveal all to Selden.
B) Take a slightly higher dose, fall asleep more quickly. In the morning, accept Simon Rosedale’s offer of financial assistance.
C) Think, “at least I won’t have to make any more damn hats,” and chug away.

Nicole Cliffe lives in Sandy, Utah. As a pending legal resident of the United States, she neither travels to Arizona nor accepts money in exchange for goods, services or blog posts about Edith Wharton. She used to work for a successful hedge fund, but was not allowed to touch the money there, either.

“Many people alive today possess some Neanderthal ancestry, according to a landmark scientific study. The finding has surprised many experts, as previous genetic evidence suggested the Neanderthals made little or no contribution to our inheritance. The result comes from analysis of the Neanderthal genome-the ‘instruction manual’ describing how these ancient humans were put together. The genomes of 1% to 4% of people in Eurasia come from Neanderthals,” reports the BBC. Presumably this is the same percentage of people who would be unable to discern the difference between a 1952 Chateau Latour and 1974 Robert Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon.

The Great Market Crash of May 6, 2010, affected everyone in different ways. With the passage of time we can look back at the events of that day from a historical standpoint. In three separate interviews we got the perspective of a trio of bloggers from The Awl, a semi-popular website of that era.

Alex Balk: It’s funny, we were just sitting around talking about Courtney Love, without a care in the world. And then the news came through.

Maura Johnston: I was saying something about Nobody’s Daughter. I guess I was mocking it a little, but you have to remember, those were different times, back before the crash. We were able to joke then. Anyway, all of a sudden Choire told us that something terrible was happening with the Dow.

Choire Sicha: I think it might have been the scariest moment of my life. I mean, I have been through some shit, but when Joe Weisenthal uses six exclamation points you know immediately that THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Maura Johnston: And also, let’s not kid ourselves, Nobody’s Daughter was not good.

Alex Balk: Once we all understood what was going on it was really strange. It was eerily quiet for a minute, and then Choire started looking around with this bizarre, focused gaze. We’ve never discussed it, but I’m pretty sure he was looking at everything in the room to see what he could turn into a weapon.

Choire Sicha: I figured I’d take Balk out first, because he’s slow and it would be easy, and maybe Maura would be so stunned by it that it would give me time to break free before all the shit came storming down. It’s a little mercenary, sure, but it’s all part of the training.

Maura Johnston: I grew up eating Old El Paso taco shells, so I knew that I could survive on pretty much anything, but I was a little worried about Choire. He’s such a pissy gourmet. I was genuinely concerned by what he might survive on. Balk? I figured if he lived through the first hour, which seemed unlikely, he had plenty of stored fat to see him through.

Choire Sicha: I know Balk keeps a bunch of Slim Jims in his computer bag. After I cracked him in the face with the table leg I was going to swipe those and head down to Mexico. [Chuckles] Of course they’re disgusting. [Suddenly serious] You don’t get to choose what you survive on. You JUST SURVIVE.

Alex Balk: It was starting to get pretty tense. If Maura hadn’t hit refresh on her screen when she did I don’t like to think about what would have happened.

Maura Johnston: Well, you know, thirty seconds had gone by, I thought I might see if things had changed. By that point the Dow had bounced back by about 500 points. We took a deep breath and went back to our respective RSSs.

Choire Sicha: I probably will smash Balk in the face with a table leg at some point, but I guess I’m glad it didn’t have to be today. I’m also glad that now I know exactly which table leg I’m going to do it with.

Alex Balk: I tried to check in with Cho to see if he had made it through okay, but his IM message read “Out looting sneakers.” Which is usually what it says, so I guess he was fine.

Choire Sicha: It’s the one on the right at the front. You see how there are already some dents and splinters coming out of it? That’s definitely gonna take that guy down.

OK, OK, so she’s a willing participant in the throwing, because she’s trying to dunk on a strategically placed Nerf hoop in her apartment. And the between-the-legs dunk is pretty rad. But her pre-dunk move in the first half of the clip? Is not called a “Jordan Logo,” as whatever person who posted this to YouTube claims. It is a split, people. Sheesh. [Via]