Clarky Cat Is On The Loose

And so it begins...

It is extremely unfortunate, or perhaps richly ironic, that the drug mephedrone, making headlines this morning because of the tragic deaths of two teenagers who had taken it, has the following nicknames: “M-Cat”, “MC”, “mieow” and “meow”.

Because, when I heard this, my mind turned to thoughts of yellow bentines, cake (the made up drug) and, of course, clarky cat.

Satirised by Chris Morris and the Brass Eye team almost 13 years ago, in scenes that caused great controversy at the time due to the willingness of popular figures to lend their names to a campaign that was entirely fictitious, the problem now is that satire ceases to be funny if it’s actually true.

I have no doubt that mephedrone is indeed dangerous if you stick it up your nose. I imagine snorting most things are. Cillit Bang, Mr Muscle, soap powder…

What worries me is that we are now in danger of witnessing yet another full scale moral panic regarding a drug which has been the result of no research, no previous media information, with the resulting effect that almost the entire population know nothing of it.

That is where things start to go wrong. Nature abhors a vacuum, and so too do the media.

Into this void we are going to see endless tales of the “dangers” of mephedrone. Politicians will jump on the bandwagon. There is even talking of classifying this drug as Class A, and yet you have Peter Mandelson admitting this morning that he had previously no knowledge of it.

Perhaps in a month or so, or less, we will be seeing celebrities coming out to warn da yoof about the dangers of this drug. And, naturally, the celebrities will know no more than anyone else.

Evidence. Evidence. Evidence.

I wrote about this same subject before when Professor Nutt resigned from government’s drug advisory panel. Where drugs are concerned, if we must be going down the route of prohibition (being a crazy liberal, I am unconvinced), the best we can do is to do things thoroughly. Yes, there will always be a political decision, and there will be variations in human physiology, but science is pretty damn good in fields like this, and we should use all the tools at our disposal.

But since that’s not going to happen, and with an election imminent, democracy is once again going to be exposed as a failure when it comes to resisting short-term bouts of populism. I’ll bet even the Lib Dems will find it hard to resist the tidal wave of calls for a ban. After all, would you want to look like the outsider on an issue like this?

No. Not when we’re going to have the Daily Mail and Express, with a dash of The Sun and Sky News dictating the agenda.

But still. As long as we all don’t have to live with arms that feel like a couple of fortnights in a bad balloon.

[Via http://futilitymonster.wordpress.com]

Whites Say Coverage of Jackson's Death Seen As Excessive

Blacks Track News of Icon’s Death Much More Closely than Whites

This article apparenlty breaks down the numbers on what race is following the story more closely and who thinks there is too much coverage. I thought it didn’t matter “if you’re black or white hee hee!”? There is way too much MJ coverage, and yes I am white. I don’t give a fuck if you are purple, yellow, brown, or green. There is too much MJ coverage. I can’t even get the local fuckin’ news until 20 minutes into it because of this damn guy. Lets face the facts, I have never seen the media give more coverage to a drug addict who OD’d in my entire life. Bury the muthafucker already, please. And why was Al Sharpton at the ceremony? He just likes to stick his neck in everything doesn’t he? Now you can disagree with me on this all you want, but lets break it down for you to show those who do disagree with me just how ignorant you are and why you are everything wrong with America. American’s were polled this past week which stories they followed most closely, the results:

Michael Jackson Death: 31%

Health Care Reform: 19%

Iran: 18%

Ok, get my point. Whether you are black or white, you are pathetic. You spend more time caring about a story on the death of a petafile who slept in the same bed as little boys than you did on IRAN? And health care reform in your own country?!?!?! Are U FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!?!? This country should be ashamed. No wonder why we are the laughing stock of the world.

[Via http://thebreezy1.wordpress.com]

NWCHCA Hosts MPD Presentation on Drug Awareness Tonight

According to Northwest Columbia Heights Community Association president Cecilia Jones, if you are concerned about drugs and drug culture in our neighborhoods, you won’t want to miss tonight’s meeting. A description of the meeting from an email distributed to various listservs is below:

A seasoned MPD Detective will give a “show-and-tell” presentation to help us recognize the different types of drugs in our community. We will learn more about drug distribution methods, pricing, and drug paraphernalia associated with crack cocaine, marijuana, heroin, and the most serious growing threat, PCP. You will learn ways to recognize the signs of drug use, and know which drug is being used through distinguishing features or behaviors–heroin, crack cocaine, PCP, crystal meth, marijuana, or others.

There are also many unexpected ways that children and teenagers are getting high. We will learn what parents and concerned adults should know to keep our young people from becoming addicted to drugs.

After the drug awareness presentation, to complete this topic, we will have a discussion about substance abuse recovery with a panel of providers: Neighbors Consejo, Second Genesis and Gospel Rescue Ministries.

[Via http://parkviewdc.wordpress.com]

Of a recent Tuesday

I’d just wrapped up a busy day of aerial rope class, brunch with a friend (both of which are becoming part of a lovely weekly routine. Added benefit-friend is a goldmine of sexy material to impart with you later. We’ll even call her Goldie from now on for it) Then home for a quick bubble bath and a wank, back out for a theatre type meeting and delicious lychee-tini with a theatre type friend. I was done for the day, ready to go home, feed the cat, go to bed. Then I got a phone call from a friend. He lives in the Bronx, whilst I am in Brooklyn. He may as well be on Pluto. This night in was in my neighborhood, drinking wine, taking pictures of naked people, running around naked with said people. Come over, he insisted. You’ll have a blast, he proclaimed. When I got off the phone, my theatre type friend said “That’s how you know you’re an artist, when you have to ask if you HAVE to get naked before going to a party.” Bronx had assured me it was only if I wanted to.

I sploosh in the rain through nine or so extra blocks to get to the address Bronx had given me. He comes down to let me in scantily clad. I come up to find 4 young women in various states of nudity huddled around a computer you-tubeing 80’s music videos. There are magnum sized bottles of wine scatter about the room, some empty but many not. There are more bottles than people. I am given a large glass immediately by the only other man there, besides Bronx. He is wearing boxers and fairly drooling and the only thing I remember him saying that night is “It’s about time for that shirt to come off.” in reference to me. I am introduced to the girls, R, V, L, and E. L and I set our sights on each other immediately. She has a large tattoo on her chest, is wearing only girl boxers, smallish breasts and perfect thighs. Her hair is at least four different colors, all of them common to a fire or a sunset. Firehead kept my glass full and danced in a raverish way meant to be sexy but that only appealed to me in an awkwardly endearing way.

There was a photo-shooting area, a tripod aimed at a white wall with one studio light. We kissed against the wall Bronx took photos, both our exhibitionism inclinations rising, bubbling rapidly on our merging bodies. She took my shirt off. I’d been resisting, wanting to be the misfit in a pack of misfits. She choked me in the hallway, pressed so hard against the wall my feet almost rose off the ground. We paused to get more wine. She told me it would be so hot if she could shotgun pot smoke into my mouth. I thought one hit of second hand smoke wouldn’t do much.

Terrible mistake. My neck and ears went warm and tingly, a sure sign I am stoned. I whisper this to Bronx in an urgent way, but he laughs. He doesn’t understand the severity of this disaster. I can hold my liquor, I can stay up all night on coke, I can pop pills and wash ‘em back with whiskey, I’ve enjoyed acid, ecstacy, and mushrooms.

But one hit of marijuana, and I’m anxious, paranoid, panicked and guilt ridden. William Burroughs called it simply The Fear and he got it from pot too. The most famous junkie of literature and I are kindred spirits.

Firehead thinks it would be a good idea to take me into the bedroom to cuddle and calm me down. Instead we start a session of very hard heavy petting, rubbing through our panties while my head spins into another universe and I barely notice that I’ve come.

I stop to make a painfully heartfelt confession to her about her beauty, her youth, the power dynamic of what’s just happened. She says she needs to sit up, and leaning over from the foot of the bed, she vomits all over the mixed up pile of 7 naked people clothes in a make shift coat check.

The silver lining is that my fear instantly sstops as I kick into caretaker mode. Clean up the puke, get her to the bathroom, clean her up, get her some water.

Once she’s safely in bed witha friend to tend to her, though, I panic. I put on the clothes that don’t have vomit on them, or perhaps only very little. These are rainbow striped long johns, a peacoat and a newsie cap. No shirt, no bra, no pants. It’s only 11 pm in California so I call my ex-boyfriend and hiss/wail into the phone “I just got stoned and made out with a teenager!”

Side note-Born in 1990 folks, I’m not a pedophile. He even pointed out that she could have been 20.

He laughs as I begin to hyperventilate, but agrees to stay on the phone with me as I take my half dressed ass out into the wiles of Brooklyn at 2 am, find a towncar, and take it home. I thanked him endlessly for talking me through what seemed like hours, but I realized the next day of course was under 20 minutes.

[Via http://bottledamory.wordpress.com]

TPD: Drugs, a Mother and an almost Fire

Friday 5 March 2010

It’s Friday night and I have big expectations. Something hectic better happen tonight, I think somewhat guiltily. I don’t want anyone to get hurt but I’m quite anxious to see how the volunteers respond to a real crime situation. Tonight I’m patrolling with Simon* and Andrew*, two big guys who like to drive fast. They’re both polite and I chat for a long time to Andrew, a fellow photography enthusiast, about our beloved DSLRS.

I’m also feeling a bit under pressure as it’s the first night that I’m shooting with the camera. As an inexperienced camera operator, it’s quite a challenge getting good quality sound and visuals, at night while chasing around in cars, as well as still ensuring that the subjects are comfortable in front of the camera. This was almost impossible. I hope that with time my camera technique will improve.  I’ll just have to go on more patrols to practice.

I don’t have to wait long until we are called to a scene involving drugs. Feeling a little bored, the guys contact the police on the radio to find out if they need support. They tell us to meet them a few minutes away at a scene where a young mother is threatening to burn the house down.

We arrive first and Melanie* a CPF volunteer, former police officer and trauma counselor enters the house with the police to try and calm the woman down. The grandparents of the child are currently taking care of the young mother’s child. She wants to take the child back and is threatening to burn down the house if her parents don’t give it to her. This is why they called the police. The woman was hysterical and had to be controlled by the police. They searched her room and found drugs in her possession.

While this was going on inside the house, a group of more than 20 CPF volunteers and local residents were waiting outside, chatting with other police officers. I try to get closer with the camera to document the conversation but the police move out of the shot. Clearly they don’t want to be filmed.

The woman comes out of the house with her hands handcuffed behind her back. She’s crying so loud that we can hear her. It’s hard not to feel sympathy for her. Clearly, the police feel the same when they decide to let her off with a warning instead of arresting her for possession as initially intended.

This is much to the dismay of the locals. They want drugs out of their area. They think that this woman is going to cause more trouble in the future, which she does, the very next day but that’s a whole different story.

[Via http://nightwalkingtruths.wordpress.com]

DAY OF PRAYER FOR BURMA - 14 March 2010

LER PER HER

A COMMUNITY SCATTERED

Burma Army forces and their proxies attacked Ler Per Her IDP site in June 2009, driving over 1,000 people from their homes and across the border into Thailand. Homes were burned down and the school destroyed.

With the destruction of their homes, schools, and churches, our friends are now homeless. The first time we were in Ler Per Her was in 1997 before it was an IDP site. We were on a relief mission to give assistance to IDPs further west in the Dawna Range. At that time Ler Per Her was a cluster of huts by the Moei River where all was calm and beautiful. I remember looking over my shoulder at the mountains we had just come down and thinking, ‘this place could go anytime’.

This recent loss of Ler Per Her is another in the progression of attack on and destruction of Karen communities. Ler Per Her was important as a place of Karen freedom in the midst of an oppressive country. It was also a place where others could share in their lives and taste some of that freedom that is so rare in Burma. Where boats plied the river, men fished, mothers washed clothes and children ran through the shallows. Most of all it was home for the families who lived there. The enemy came and they shot and they burned.

The families who fled need prayer, help and hope.

On March 14, 2010 take a few moments, wherever you are, whatever your beliefs, to say a prayer for the people suffering in Burma at the hands of a brutal dictatorship.

To see the full report:

Global Day of Prayer for Burma

[Via http://refugefilms.wordpress.com]

Gay Porn Star Zapped To Death By Police.

A simple early morning disturbance call ended with the death of a gay-porn actor.  And it was all captured on video.

Deputies with the Bay County Sheriff’s Department in Florida arrived at the Executive Inn after Andrew Grande (known professionally as Dustin Michaels), 23, allegedly got into a fight with a female friend, according to Panama City Beach’s WJHG.

Police attempted to handcuff Grande, who had reportedly swallowed a bag of marijuana. When he resisted, police tasered him.

A camera crew from Zoo Productions was at the scene and captured the moments before the incident, as well as after.

Once he was struck by the powerful electrical jolt, Grande yanked the wires from his chest but showed signs of choking. Police tried to help, with one performing the Heimlich maneuver.

Every effort by police to remove the object from Grande’s throat failed. Paramedics later arrived and removed the bag, but it was too late.

Grande was pronounced dead at Bay Medical Center.

“It’s a tragic situation for our officers,” said Sheriff Frank McKeithen, and “a tragic situation for this young man and his family.”

However, he said, it never would have happened had Grande co-operated with police.

“If he’d … allowed them to handcuff him, it would have been over,” the sheriff said. “This would not have happened.”

WARNING: BELOW VIDEO CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT!

“The BklynBandette.” Mr. Hollywood’s Co-Defendant.

[Via http://heavenhollywood.wordpress.com]