Under the extreme stress of plagues and environmental disaster, people were undoubtedly looking for someone to blame, which—hmm, that sounds familiar.
By the late sixties, “chemicals” were no longer magical things that were going to solve all of our problems; they were dangerous things that were going to kill us all, and MSG was no exception.
It was the 1920s, and it felt like humanity could do anything—and it took the opportunity to do really stupid stuff, like pass off urinals as art, chase after nascent fascism, and—yes—sit around on flagpoles for days at a time.
Joking aside, though, I’m sure you’re wondering—do violent videogames cause violence? The answer, according to science, is “Well, mayb…no. Prolly not.”
For Kate (age ten) and Maggie (age fourteen), the whole thing started as a harmless prank, but evolved into a movement of millions trying to talk to the dead.
So-called cephalomania first took off in France, where it suddenly became fashionable to host octopus- and squid-themed parties, and for a few years, squid-shaped hats were considered to be the height of fashion among French women.
Walker described the lamp as “Freudian” and evocative of the primordial ooze, because apparently no one bothered to take him aside and say, “It’s just a lamp, Ed.”
These hearings, like everything McCarthy had done up to this point, were fueled mainly by McCarthy’s desire to further his own career.
It was obviously a touch ironic that Sesame Street, as a show created for poor inner-city kids, was inspiring such rabid suburban consumerism, but at the time, it was actually exactly what Sesame Street needed.
It’s not really a mystery why people yearn to believe bizarre and dramatic tales of evil: the actual truth about evil is that it’s mundane, pervasive, and unfixable, at least to us mortals.
If you don’t have any sort of hope beyond death, the absurdity of everything tends to hit you hard. And then you end up doing stupid stuff, like betting the family farm on a bunch of tulips.
Ultimately, the problem with VR was that it, like so much that happened in the nineties, put technology ahead of content.
Accounts of unstoppable, contagious dancing fools date as far back as the seventh century, and hail from nearly all parts of Europe.
Let’s give generously to the ones who need it and the ones who are helping. And maybe, I dunno, put that giant pack of Quilted Northern back on the rack.
Dahl wasn’t selling people rocks—not really—he was selling them a joke.
Every once in a while, the internet still manages to provide a bit of clarity to (semi-) important issues.
