This photo of Strikeforce champs Alistair Overeem and Marloes Coenen has been making the rounds today, and I adore it for lots of sparkly, Photoshopped reasons. Also, Overeem and Coenen seem to be two of the nicest people you’ll ever meet who can rip your arm off and eat it and chase it with horse meat.
But still guys … wasn’t it CANADA who saved the Dutch in 1945?
Mental health is kind of a cause of mine. Though you maybe couldn’t tell if you knew me, depression is something I’ve struggled on-and-off with over the years. Kicking it and picking it back up like a bad smoking habit. (Had that too.) I’ve never, however, harboured any strong suicidal thoughts. I feel there’s an important difference between wanting to die or wishing to not exist anymore and wanting to kill yourself. I remember this confusing a counsellor I visited back in my university days — one of the many questions she asked during our first session was, “Do you ever think about killing yourself?” And when I answered with full confidence, “F-ck no,” her response was a smile and a “Good!”
Which it was. Good.
I respect the struggles of suicidal persons enough that I would never claim to be one, no matter how deflated or angry or boxed-in I feel on any of those hardest of days. But she also seemed to take that to mean that I couldn’t actually be depressed. Not for real. I disagreed, of course — I also see a distinction between just having the blues and being actually depressed (I can handle the blues), but I guess I’m always a bit nitpicky with my words.
We parted ways soon after.
So what was I missing, and what was she looking for in me? Scientific American’s Jesse Bering has a great column entry up called “Being Suicidal: What it feels like to want to kill yourself.” It’s an important piece, written very well, and I encourage you to check it out — for your sake, someone else’s sake, everyone’s sake.
From Bering’s intro:
…I do hope that having knowledge about the what-it-feels-like phenomenology of ‘being’ suicidal helps people to recognize their own possible symptoms of suicidal ideation and—if indeed this is what’s happening—enables them to somehow derail themselves before it’s too late. Note that it is not at all apparent that those at risk of suicide are always aware that they are in fact suicidal, at least in the earliest cognitive manifestations of suicidal ideation. And if such thinking proceeds unimpeded, then keeping a suicidal person from completing the act may be as futile as encouraging someone at the very peak of sexual excitement to please kindly refrain from having an orgasm, which is itself sometimes referred to as la petite mort (“the little death”)…
That’s the good writing part, where I’m all I see what you did there. What follows is a list of six steps, a little academic for a topic dealing with emotions, but very on-point. I’ll link it again here in case you’re a scroller.
With the way pundits and politicians fret over the proper deployment of the word torture, you would think it had a vague definition or something. (It doesn’t.) To help the news people at The New York Times continue to dodge the word altogether, BoingBoing has come up with a Torture Euphemism Generator. Try it! It’s more fun than a barrel of “bothersome toenail solicitations.”
Courtesy of the fine blog “Mind Hacks” (shouts to Raki Kam for the shared link), here’s video footage of the “Lazarus sign” — an eerie twitch that can make it seem like a brain dead person raises their arms and then crosses them over their chest. It’s not a sign of onsetting zombie-ism or of a misdiagnosed death, it’s just a reflex generated by the spine.
This video featuring the body of a deceased young man is incredibly fascinating, but also unsettling, even for this blog. So I’ll link it at the bottom if you want to check it out. Which you should. Unless you’re chicken.
Wikipedia on Shirin Neshat (sic everything):
Shirin Neshat has become one of the most well known Persian artist within the Western artistic world. While she lives in New York City, she addresses a global audience. Her earlier work was symbolic of her personal grief, anxiety and the pain of separation from her home country. It took a neutral position on Islam. As time progressed and the Islamic regime of Iran became more intrusive and oppressive, Neshat’s artwork became more boldly political and subversively critical against it.
She seeks to, according an article in Time, “untangle the ideology of Islam through her art.” Her current cinematic work continues to express the poetic, philosophical, and metaphorical as well as complex levels of intellectual abstraction.
“Ennui” is a word that is hard to pull off because it sounds so full of shit, but it looks great and sounds great if you can nail it and it has one of the illest definitions:
“a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest”
You eat enough planets, and things just get mundane, I guess.
I finally got around to reading National Geographic’s feature on the “family secrets” of King Tut. The famous Egyptian king has been popping up a lot lately due to a bunch of new exhibits (took my mom to the AGO’s earlier this year; if you missed it, you really missed out) and new insights into his life gleaned from genetic testings. Yes, looks like he had malaria, and his club foot was likely the result of inbreeding. Doesn’t look like he was murdered though, which was previously the most popular theory on his too-young death.
The DNA tests have also established a family. More inbreeding. The mummy previously referred to only as “Elder Lady” (on left) has been revealed to be Tut’s grandmother, Tiye. His only grandmother, since Tut’s parents, we now know, were brother and sister, Tiye’s offspring. Evidence also suggests that maybe Tut himself indulged in some of the ol’ incest — two mummified children are likely to be his and his half-sister’s.
You can read Zahi Hawass’s story here, but I encourage you to seek out the September issue print version because Kenneth Garrett’s photos are lush in a way only Nat Geo’s glossed pages can capture. I was particularly drawn to this photo of Tiye, still with her beautiful reddish hair flowing behind her, left hand forever clenched in a sign of queendom. She stayed fly, that Tiye.
According to Keith Jeffery’s new book, The Secret History of MI6, the answer is no. MI6 did not hand out licenses to kill. But that doesn’t mean Ian Flemming’s tales of super spy James Bond were that far off.
From the Star:
The first-ever official history of MI6 reveals that Britain’s foreign spy agency debated assassinating Nazi leaders, landed a spy wearing a wetsuit over his tux at a casino by the sea … but also wrangled with other government departments and had to make do on a shoestring budget.
Ace spies included “Biffy” Dunderdale — a friend of Flemming — whom Jeffery says shared with Bond an affinity for fast cars and fast women.
More happily for spy buffs, Q — the gadget-making super-scientist from the Bond films — is based on reality. After World War II, MI6 researchers worked on silent weapons, knockout tablets, safecracking tools and exploding filing cabinets that could destroy secret documents at short notice.
Gotta love how it all makes MI6 sound like just a bunch of bumbling Inspector Gadget type blokes. Her majesty’s secret service, of course, held the power to censor the book’s content.