Street Artist Spray-Paints Imaginary Homes For Homeless To Highlight Poverty

angelchrys shared this story from Bored Panda.

Is this installation art or graffiti? An anonymous LA artist who goes by the moniker of Skid Robot has been going around Los Angeles’ skid row areas with a spray can painting creating imaginary homes for the homeless people he finds there, leaving care packages for all of them and talking to the ones he finds awake. His intention? To get people to talk about extreme poverty and help find solutions for it.

These augmented graffiti artworks, which are documented on his Instagram account, may seem whimsical at first glance, but they also show how harsh homelessness can be to many. On LA’s Skid Row, an estimated 3,000 to 6,000 homeless people make their disposable, makeshift homes right on the streets. It’s graffiti art with a powerful message.

More info: Instagram | Tumblr (h/t: Vice)









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Steve Martin

angelchrys shared this story from - Rare and beautiful celebrity photos.

Steve Martin ironing | Rare and beautiful celebrity photosSteve Martin ironing.

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99.7 The Point fires back after San Francisco stations ban Lorde’s ‘Royals’ during World Series

angelchrys shared this story .

Let the silliness begin. Two San Francisco radio stations have banned Lorde’s monster hit, “Royals,” during the World Series.

Stations 104.5 KFOG and 96.5 KOIT have pulled “Royals” from their lineups until after the series between the Giants and Royals. The first game is Tuesday night in Kansas City.

In response, 99.7 The Point in Kansas City announced Sunday that it will play the song “on the hour, every hour, from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. on Tuesday.”

The station’s cheeky message: “We don’t play.”

Giants fans requested the ban in their city.

“We’ve had several emails and social media comments stating that we should remove ‘Royals’ by Lorde until the San Francisco Giants win the World Series,” said a statement on the KOIT website.

As everyone in Kansas City, and apparently San Francisco, knows, Lorde was inspired to write the song after seeing a photo of George Brett in the July 1976 issue of National Geographic.

In March, the New Zealand teen’s mother, Sonja Yelich, told The Kansas City Star that her daughter used to collect vintage National Geographics.

Brett sent the singer an autographed No. 5 jersey when she was here in March. Along with his signature he wrote: “Lorde, you are Royal to me.” She called it one of the coolest things she owns.

Then in April the two finally got to meet face-to-face in Las Vegas.

So yeah, you can kind of see why Giants fans don’t want that song rattling around in their heads.

KOIT program director Brian Figula instituted the ban on his station on Friday, announcing: “Our listeners told us to do it, so we did it! As of 4 p.m. today we’ve removed Lorde-Royals from … our playlist until the end of the World Series. Go Giants, beat the Royals!”

In an announcement on its Facebook page, KFOG followed suit: “No offense, Lorde, but for the duration of the World Series, KFOG Radio will be a ‘Royals’-free zone. We’re sure you understand.”

Stargazing likes that 99.7 program director Tony Lorino is not “taking this lying down.”

Because no matter how hard they try, San Francisco fans will never be royals.

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They’re More than Lyrics: Why I Hate Chris Brown’s “Loyal”

angelchrys shared this story from For Harriet | Celebrating the Fullness of Black Womanhood.

by Stephanie Gates

“These hoes ain’t loyal.”

I wake up too many mornings with the hook playing in my head. Here’s the kicker: I hate this song! And yet, I can’t get it out of my head because it’s stuck on repeat. This happens every time I’m somewhere the song plays. I like the beat and I don’t want to because I can’t stand songs with misogynistic lyrics. So, the fact that this song won’t leave me alone, means that I need to write about it. I need to explain why I detest this and similar songs that treat women as things. A hoe is a thing; it’s an object. It is a tool to be used. It is easily discarded and replaced. So, when we sing along to the catchy beat, we subconsciously accept that women and girls are things. We accept that they are disposable. And we don’t recognize their humanity.

When we sing along, we can go along with Jamal Bryant, pastor of Empowerment Temple in Baltimore, MD who was speaking to his congregation back in June about cheating men, and talked about the other woman by referring to these lyrics: “These hoes ain’t loyal.” His sexist, homophobic, misogynistic sermon made references to “sanctified sissies” and “baby mamas”, too. So the song lyrics fit right in with the rest of the foolishness.

When we sing along, we are not offended by the pastor’s remarks. We are members of the congregation clapping and standing up in agreement. We are mostly African-American women being bamboozled and hoodwinked by the words of a charismatic preacher who is once again blaming women for the downfall of men. What’s even more interesting in this scenario is Bryant chose to use this particular song to chastise women for not being loyal when his marriage ended due to his infidelity in 2013. He was calling women out in the sermon when he was the one who stepped out on his wife.

When we sing along, we can accept that three professional African-American women hanging out at a hotel in Manhattan couldn’t have been anything other than professional hookers. On August 28, three friends: Kanataki Washington, Cydney Madlock and J. Lyn Thomas were seated in a restaurant in the Standard Hotel in Manhattan when an African-American man introduced himself and offered to buy the women drinks. But before they could take him up on his offer, a security guard whispered in the man’s ear and ushered him away. Washington said the security guard told them, “Come on ladies. You can buy a drink, but you can’t be soliciting.”

The security guard insisted that the women were soliciting sex. And when the women reported the security officer, they were met with indifference, and told that security personnel were hired through an outside agency. But a few weeks later, Washington says she received an email from a staff member of the hotel inviting Washington and her friends back for a dinner (valued at $400) and a bottle of champagne. None of the emails addressed the women’s prostitution claim, but the hotel was willing to pay them to come back which was a slap in the face. The hotel was okay with paying the women for being insulted, but wouldn’t acknowledge the insult.

When we sing along, we accept two teens found dead and bound together along a road in Duval County, Florida as par for the course. Angela Mangum and Tjhisha Ball were best friends according to their family members, and both the girls had been working as strippers at the time of their deaths. Law enforcement officers in Jacksonville, Florida are looking for tips, but the story has gotten little media attention. In the few news outlets that I’ve seen the story reported, the pictures that are shown are mug shots of the women who were arrested but never convicted of any crime.

When we sing along, we accept these pictures as confirmation that “these hoes ain’t loyal” and deserved to die. We don’t see them as victims because we like our victims clean; we like them White; we like them right according to a strict code of conduct that says bad girls can’t do good, and good girls aren’t bad. So, that there is a killer(s) on the loose, does not hold our attention. We flip the page or scroll onto the next news story if we have even seen this news story at all.

When we sing along, we don’t raise an eyebrow when we learn that a police officer targeted African-American women and sexually assaulted them. Daniel Holtzclaw, a 27 year-old officer with the Oklahoma police department preyed on middle-aged Black women. Eight women have come forth since February of this year complaining that they were pulled over during traffic stops and fondled, ordered to perform oral sex and even one women accused Holtzclaw of rape. He was arrested August 20. His bond, originally set at $5 million dollars was reduced to $500,000 and Holtzclaw has been released from jail and placed under house arrest. Across the nation we are protesting police brutality and excessive force. And yet we are quiet around this decades old issue of police officers abusing their power and assaulting Black women.

When we sing along, we are not outraged that a mother of three lost her life just this month for not responding to a man trying to get her phone number. Mary “Unique” Spears was leaving the repast of a family member, when a man started harassing her. He wanted to know if she was single, and if he could get her number. He was persistent, and when Spears’ boyfriend tried to intercede on her behalf, the man took out a gun and began shooting. He shot Spears once, and when she tried to run he shot her twice more.

When we sing along, the seeds of misogyny take root in our mind and become entangled with rational thought. So even when we clean up the lyrics and sing, “these girls ain’t loyal”, we know that the girls in this and songs like it are still tools of a trade designed to degrade and devalue females in general, but African-American women and girls in particular, as society consistently classifies us as hoes and treats us accordingly.

We should think about all of these women the next time we find ourselves bobbing and singing along to “Loyal.”

Stephanie Gates is an educator and freelance writer in Chicago. She uses writing to seek her truth and understanding of the ways of the world. You can read more of her work at

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NYTimes: How Apple’s Siri Became One Autistic Boy’s B.F.F.

angelchrys shared this story from μηδὲν ἄγαν.

NYTimes: How Apple’s Siri Became One Autistic Boy’s B.F.F.:

Gus had never noticed Siri before, but when he discovered there was someone who would not just find information on his various obsessions (trains, planes, buses, escalators and, of course, anything related to weather) but actually semi-discuss these subjects tirelessly, he was hooked. And I was grateful. Now, when my head was about to explode if I had to have another conversation about the chance of tornadoes in Kansas City, Mo., I could reply brightly: “Hey! Why don’t you ask Siri?”
It’s not that Gus doesn’t understand Siri’s not human. He does — intellectually. But like many autistic people I know, Gus feels that inanimate objects, while maybe not possessing souls, are worthy of our consideration. I realized this when he was 8, and I got him an iPod for his birthday. He listened to it only at home, with one exception. It always came with us on our visits to the Apple Store. Finally, I asked why. “So it can visit its friends,” he said.

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My Kryptonite: Snark

angelchrys shared this story from PANELS.

Whether in prose or comics, I love a good smartass.

Maybe this comes from my watching too much Spider-Man as a child, or just my own fabulous sense of humor, but I am a sucker for a good one-liner.

I have discovered that the sarcastic-yet-lovable do-gooder is my favorite kind of character, whether they are a superhero or the last man on earth.

My favorite snarksters range across the medium of comics:

Panel of Yorick holding a skull

Yorick (Y: The Last Man by Brian K Vaughan, Pia Guerra)

Alas, dear Y, you have found yourself in deep doodoo. Not only does the only man in a world full of confused and angry women find humor in some of the most effed-up situations, he can use his extensive wit to get on everyone’s nerves. And make me giggle uncontrollably.

Panels featuring Spider-Man making a joke about Christian Bale


One of the many things that I loved about the Ultimates Comics Universe introducing Miles Morales? He may not be Peter Parker, but he can be a snarky little sucker. Peter Parker was the master of the one-liner, whether he was webbing up some weirdness or hanging off the side of a building talking to himself. Miles, familiar with Spider-Man in the way a kid living in the Five Boroughs would be, takes his own inherent sarcasm and sense of humor and throws a bit of “what would Peter Parker say?” into it.

Sometimes, though…he doesn’t always succeed.

Miles Morales is tongue tied

Carol Danvers and Monica Rambeau talking  Carol and Jessica Drew

Captain Marvel can be one sassy sumbitch, but not nearly as much as she is when Jessica Drew or Monica Rambeau are yanking her chain or helping her out. Either way, she can throw a witty comeback as strong as her punch.

Loki of Asgard posting on instagram

There are times when I think the best thing about Gillen and McKelvie’s Young Avengers run is the social media. Kid!Loki is an adorable little s$!t, and his interjections into those interludes are always hilarious.

Batman wearing a nice warm hat in Soviet Russia

Batman can be pretty dark and humorless, but my favorite Batman, brief as his appearance might be, is the Bruce Wayne who shows up in Superman’s Soviet Russia (Superman: Red Son by Mark Millar, Dave Johnson, and Kilian Plunkett). I don’t know what it is about it, but that part just leaves me with the cases of the giggles every time I read it, even when I know what he’s going to say.

…Or maybe it’s the hat.


Everyone tells me that if I love snarky supers, then I need to get on the Deadpool wagon, but so far I’ve only stumbled upon a bit of SnarkFamily on AO3. I’m definitely planning to dive into that pool, but I’m a little afraid of drowning.

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When Iggy Pop can’t live off his art, what chance do the rest have?

angelchrys shared this story from globeandmail - Globe Debate.

I have a soft spot for Iggy Pop, partly because I interviewed him once and he was the soul of charm and erudition, like a particularly smart music professor who just happened to be wearing leather pants and eyeliner. On stage, he’s awe-inspiring, dancing like an electrified Twizzler. (I mean that as the highest possible compliment.) He still makes lean, ferocious music.

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At least he used to. As the head Stooge and godfather of punk revealed this week, he can’t actually live off music any more. Not that Iggy ever had the commercial clout of say, Justin Bieber – which is proof, if you needed, of a god-shaped hole in the universe – but he struggled along from label to label, alienating executives here, picking up new fans over there.

But a new reality has tripped him up and it’s the same one shafting artists all across the world: Namely, that everyone wants to listen, and no one wants to pay. This week, Iggy gave a lecture for the British Broadcasting Corp. called Free Music in a Capitalist Society. Artists have always been ripped off by corporations, he said; now the public is in on the free ride, too: “The cat is out of the bag and the new electronic devices, which estrange people from their morals, also make it easier to steal music than to pay for it.”

To keep skinny body and maverick soul together, Iggy’s become a DJ, a car-insurance pitchman and a fashion model. If he had to live off royalties, he said, he’d have to “tend bars between sets.” As I listened to his enthusiastic stoner Midwestern drawl, I thought: If Iggy Pop can’t make it, what message does that send to all the baby Iggys out there? In a society where worth is judged by price, for better or worse, what are you saying to someone when you won’t pay for the thing he’s crafted?

A few days before Iggy’s lecture, Australian novelist Richard Flanagan won the Booker Prize, the most prestigious in the literary world, for his Second World War story The Narrow Road to the Deep North. Just in time, it sounds like: Mr. Flanagan told reporters that he was making so little from his writing that he was thinking about packing it in and becoming a miner. (He comes from a small mining town in Tasmania.) The prize money of about $90,000 and the following sales bump will allow him to continue, but most of his colleagues aren’t so lucky: “Writing is a very hard life for so many writers,” he said.

This is borne out not only in the quiet sobbing you hear in corners at poetry readings, but in the numbers. This summer, the Guardian newspaper reported that professional writers’ salaries in Britain are collapsing, falling almost 30 per cent over eight years to $20,000.

Here, the Writers’ Union of Canada estimates that authors make an average of $12,000 a year from their words. That will buy approximately two wheels of a car or a door knob on a house in Toronto or Calgary (a broken knob, if the house is in Vancouver).

I hear your cry-me-a-river sighs. You’re thinking, “Nobody asked writers to write. Don’t they know a nice degree in commerce will serve them better in the long run? Nobody asked Iggy to roll around on stage in broken glass. He could have had a nice job as an actuary, although he would have had to keep his pants on.”

But in truth, we do ask: Every time we go to a library or shop, we want it to be full of new books, and when we search various channels (legal and illegal) for new music and movies, we expect to find them. Someone has to produce this content – this art – and sadly, the shoemakers’ elves are all busy stitching elsewhere. And after it’s been produced, someone has to buy it. Or not buy it, as is more likely the case.

It comes down to a question of value: Do we value artists’ effort? The boring years spent in the studio or rehearsal hall, the torched drafts – Mr. Flanagan burned five early versions of his novel before he got it right – the slow, fungal growth of something that lives in the dark and may never be ready for the light? Sorry, that’s the novelist in me talking. Never mind.

I’m glad Iggy Pop and Mr. Flanagan have brought the issue of artists’ earnings out into the open, because it’s too often avoided as embarrassing or demeaning or irrelevant to the process. In fact, it’s crucial. As author and cartoonist Tim Kreider wrote in a recent essay about not getting paid for his work, “money is also how our culture defines value, and being told that what you do is of no ($0.00) value to the society you live in is, frankly, demoralizing.”

Or, to give Iggy the last word, which I think he’d like: “When it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge unimportant detail.”

Follow Elizabeth Renzetti on Twitter: @lizrenzetti

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angelchrys shared this story from Least I Could Do.


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It’s that time of year again

angelchrys shared this story from Occupation: Girl.

It’s that time of year again

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28 Teeny Tiny Wild Mice

angelchrys shared this story from Bored Panda.

When they’re in our homes and eating our food, most consider mice to be repulsive pests. But out in their native fields and woodlands, mice are about as cute as it gets.

Because of their size (and perhaps also due to jealousy of their cuteness), there are a lot of things out to get mice, including the internet’s favorite mouse-slaying terror, the common house cat. But because of their adaptability and speed, they are still one of the most wide-spread and successful mammal species on Earth – they can be found in almost any environment and on almost every continent.

Mice certainly are cute and harmless in their natural environments, but they can be devastating pests when introduced to new environments. In parts of New Zealand and Australia, the absence of natural predators allows them to breed unchecked and devastate local crops and bird populations. Many birds were able to nest safely in the South Pacific islands until mice were introduced there by European explorers.


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Image credits: Kaloyan Hristov




Image credits: Matt Binstead


Image credits: Miroslav Hlavko


Image credits: Benjamin Joseph Andrew | Matt Binstead


Image credits: Miroslav Hlavko


Image credits: Lynn Griffiths


Image credits: Adam Hough


Image credits: Benjamin Joseph Andrew


Image credits: Mark Wright


Image credits: Benjamin Joseph Andrew


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Image credits: Benjamin Joseph Andrew


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Image credits: Paul Tymon


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Image credits: Mark Bridger

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