ONE QUARTER = AWESOME.
April is going to be tough for me; my buffer has been depleted, so no more blowing off three days in a row just because.
A place for me to talk about my writing, social issues, music, and whatever else catches my fancy.
My crossroad came when a person came into my life and shook me to the core. This person started the deconstruction of my male belief system and 20 years later am I continuing that work. I was stuck in this “man prison” because my definition of masculinity was limited. Once I alleviated both perceived and real peer pressure that motivated me to engage in physical and sexual aggression to affirm my masculinity I was free.
The Dunning-Kruger effect is an example of cognitive bias in which people reach erroneous conclusions and make unfortunate choices, but their incompetence robs them of the metacognitive ability to realize it.
Criticized for talking too fast and sounding "shrill" during city hall meetings, Councillor Karen Stintz decided she needed to do something about it.
So she spent $4,500 (U.S.) for public-speaking lessons last year. Then she got taxpayers to cover the costs.
The vocal opponent of Toronto Mayor David Miller used the services of Lynda Spillane, an author and vocal coach who has advised other female politicians.

The gossip outlet, which pays for stories and likely shelled out a fortune for the Rihanna image, last April published the name and photograph of a 14-year-old boy whom TMZ identified as the alleged victim of a sex crime. The child, the site reported, was the son of a celebrity, hence its interest in this particular minor's sexual abuse. ... [The story] was illustrated with a photo of the alleged victim that was taken when he was 10. So if TMZ editor Harvey Levin ... pops up on television to talk about his tortured decision to publish the photo of a domestic violence victim, know that he is full of shit.
As soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon, I was back in action. Hidden underneath layers of straw was a small knife that I could barely grasp in my talons. If I could have used my beak to hold it, I would have. But my bastard owner had decided to bind my mouth shut as punishment for biting him earlier. And so I was left with no choice but to use my wretched claws instead. The knife was horribly dull, barely putting a dent into the bars of my cage. I pushed harder with the knife, metal noisily screeching against metal. Noise was the last thing I wanted; Qadir would bind my feet and clip my wings if he found me trying to escape like this. So I eased up on the pressure, slowly dragging the knife back and forth across the bar, praying to see some kind of chink in my prison. The light slowly faded, giving way to a dark night. Shadows were creeping across the vast treasure room when I realized that the knife was doing absolutely nothing. With a frustrated (but muffled) squawk, I tossed it through the bars of my cage, where it landed on top of a filigreed jewelery box.
I wished for a moment that Giedre was still here, to tell me that it was better to stay calm and unruffled, to tell me that I'd certainly be free one day, she was sure of it. But she was gone now and I was alone without a friend for the first time in five years. It was true that I knew I would one day be free of this place, that I was destined to lead a life of wonder and magnificence, but it was nice to hear it from someone else besides myself every now and then.
"Simmer down, Nisr. I'm trying to sleep."
Go to hell, old man. I fixed my steely gaze on Bilal, wishing I could screech at him through the darkness. Sensing my foul mood, he grumbled about my bad attitude, his grizzled form curling up on a carpet of indigo and gold that was his home. There were others in the vault, imprisoned treasures such as myself, but no one else spoke to me. I was too fiery, too stubborn, too willing to go too far and earn Qadir's wrath. If it was within their control, they didn't speak a word to me; Qadir was the strictest of men and they dared not get in his way.
Me, on the other hand? I wasn't afraid of Qadir. I'd seen worse than him. I had no qualms about testing his patience.
"At this point in time, I had the stunning realization that the octuplets mom, who is being lambasted from every corner of the planet, might be on the sane side of over-fertile. She has certainly exposed how the pro-patriarchal arguments about the glories of unemployed, fertile femininity and the embracing of human life were all 100% empty---in the end, it’s all about having a man, and that was the difference between hero and villain. But maybe Nadya Suleman saw “Jon & Kate” and realized that you can have a litter of small children or a happy, peaceful marriage, but you can’t have both. (I guess the Duggars achieved it by removing Michelle Duggar’s personality and will from the equation.)"