andrewbaggott

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comedic A R T

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By copyrighting his property as an artwork, he has prevented oil companies from drilling on it.

Peter Von Tiesenhausen has developed artworks all over his property in northern Alberta.  There’s a boat woven from sticks that is gradually being reclaimed by the land; there is a fence that he adds to each year of his life, and there are many “watching” trees, with eyes scored into their bark.

Oil interests pester him continually about drilling on his land.  His repeated rebuffing of their advances lead them to move toward arbitration.  They made it very clear that he only owned the top 6 inches of soil, and they had rights to anything underneath.  He then, off the top of his head, threatened them that he would sue damages if they disturbed his 6 inches, for the entire property is an artwork.  Any disturbance would compromise the work, and he would sue.

Immediately after that meeting, he called a lawyer (who is also an art collector) and asked if his intuitive threat would actually hold legally.  The lawyer visited, saw the scope of the work on the property, and wrote a document protecting the artwork.

The oil companies have kept their distance ever since.

This is but one example of Peter’s ability to negotiate quickly on his feet, and to find solutions that defy expectations.

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Shark finning infographic by ripetungi.

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Source for more facts on your dash follow NowYouKno

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what TLJ probably meant: poor Kylo Ren look he had a reason to come into the Dark Side his own uncle tried to kill him :’((( it’s also all Luke’s fault, blame him, he gave up on Ben so easy!!

what I, an intellectual, learned form TLJ: if Luke “there is still good in you dad Vader” Skywalker takes one look at Ben Solo’s mind and thinks this one is irredeemable then well, shit, I absolutely believe him

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All the angles, Elyse Dodge

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The News-Herald, Franklin, Pennsylvania, February 2, 1950

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The Journal News, White Plains, New York, July 30, 1948

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“Trauma” - I don’t write much anymore, so sit down and read up

You may have heard that this year’s worst mass shooting thus far occurred today in the small town of Benton, KY. In total, there were two deaths and 17 others injured. Five of the victims were transported to the Trauma ICU at Vanderbilt University Medical Center, where I happen to work as a nurse. 

In fact, I happened to be at work today, and one of the two beds assigned to me at the beginning of the shift was empty and ready for admission. I received the first victim from the emergency room, and this patient died mere moments after arrival. Over the next couple of hours we admitted the four other patients to other beds, and their family members were soon to join them at bedside. In their faces were concern and hope, and in many an unexpected happiness. Yes, perhaps their child had been shot, but they still lived. In the hall I saw middle-aged men hugging each other in tears: “Mine’s alive, is your boy okay?”

Not so with the family of my patient. In the years I’ve been a nurse, I’ve seen death and grief on a regular basis, but never like today. There are many kinds of crying: angry, anxious, scared, sad... But today I heard the quiet, quivering wail of a grandmother’s complete helplessness and despair. I watched a grandfather fall to his knees as he rounded a corner and caught sight of his lifeless grandkid, whom we had done our best to clean up and make presentable. I watched them lay themselves over his body, as if trying to protect him even in death. 

And I saw more staff members crying throughout the day than I’ve ever seen - our security officer, a couple of nurse practitioner students, a new hire, several seasoned nurses... even me. In four years of ER and ICU nursing I’ve only cried three times because of my job. We often carry the heartache of our patients’ troubles as secret burdens that are never spoken of outside work. Nurses have thick skins by necessity, but today was incomprehensible. 

I often think about a famous quote from Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood: “My mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world.”

But today I was one of the helpers, and as I looked around and saw the hurt on the faces of the other helpers I wondered, “But to whom do we look to now? When our own emotional levees overflow, where is our comfort?” 

After things settled down a bit, our Trauma team had a formal “debriefing” session consisting of one of our doctors saying some supportive words, as well some remarks by a random man I’d never seen from an HR-ish counseling-ish department. I didn’t know this man, and I wanted him to leave. I left the group instead at this point and went back to a newly-arrived victim’s bedside to help that nurse get things in order. Strangers couldn’t get us through this.

As we later gathered in the break room to clock out for the day, we got into a discussion about the past few hours. We talked about the inadequacy of current political policy to address mental health and gun control. Some speculated about the shooter’s motives. We denounced “thoughts and prayers” as the excuses they are. We wondered about the community in which this violence occurred, and what it was like. Were signs missed? Were there signs at all? We admitted to each other that we ultimately had no way of understanding this atrocity. We helpers tried our best to help each other, and then we went home. 

Which is when I started crying, because I still can’t make sense of it. 

Less than six months ago, I was working another shift when we received several victims from a mass shooting at a local church. So I’ve now worked with victims of two mass shootings in a mere six months?! What current are the helpers trying desperately to swim against, and will we make it?

I’m so tired in my spirit. 

[andrewbaggott]

Des Moines Tribune, Iowa, September 7, 1960