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News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

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News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@jezza.pritchard
News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@clairerose
News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets
@elborn_doris

Loose Change, which Vanity Fair once called “our first internet blockbuster,” came out just a few years after 9/11. Directed by 22-year old Dylan Avery, “researched” by Jason Bermas, and produced by veteran Korey Rowe, the film questioned the official narrative of the attack on the Twin Towers. Though initially distributed via DVD and over BitTorrent, it took on a new life as viewers began uploading it to streaming sites. Soon enough, the film had climbed its way onto Google Video’s top 10, garnering millions of views and an audience that included Charlie SheenDavid Lynch, and Alec Baldwin, who called it the “Gone With the Wind of the [9/11 conspiracy] movement.”

The movie begins with an ominous breakbeat played over footage of the 9/11 attack. As we watch the first plane crash into the tower, a voiceover tells us, “at face value it might not look like much. However, upon closer inspection…” Then, a DJ scratch as the image rewinds. The footage replays again and again, zooming in closer each time, until the image becomes an incoherent blur. From here, “if we look closely,” the narrator says, we’ll be able to see a discrepancy between the shadow of the plane and the flash that follows — proof that the explosion was independent of the crash.

Read the rest of this article at: Real Life

News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

Eric Meyers stayed silent as he trained his rifle on the eight-point buck. He fired once and watched the deer shudder from the bullet’s impact. But the wounded animal turned and fled through the woods north of Clarksville, Ohio, spattering autumn foliage with blood as it ran. Meyers followed the buck’s trail for hours before finally suspending his pursuit well past sunset. But he set out again the next afternoon, November 3, 2018, this time with two helpers: his father, William, and a family friend named Bill O’Bryan, a Cincinnati logistics magnate who owns the estate where the hunt was taking place.

The three men were scouring a thicket on the edge of a soybean field, hoping to stumble across the buck’s carcass, when Eric noticed a peculiar stonelike object lying on the ground. He knelt down for a closer look and saw that it was a human skull, its jawbone missing but its upper teeth still a healthy shade of white. He and his fellow hunters left the forest at once to call 911.

A dozen investigators from the Warren County Sheriff’s Office used ATVs to search the area around the skull. They soon spotted a headless skeleton slumped against a honeysuckle tree, its right leg bent sideways at a 90-degree angle, its left still flecked with strands of muscle. Nearby was a rib and a jumble of arm bones that had evidently been gnawed off by coyotes and foxes. There were no man-made objects in the vicinity that might indicate an obvious cause of death: no gun, no knife, no rope, no drug paraphernalia.

A few feet deeper into the forest, the crime scene unit found two black sneakers, a dark shirt, and a pair of black pants with a vine threaded through its belt loops. The clothes’ tattered condition suggested that they, like the skull and loose bones, had been removed from the body by scavengers. Inside a pants pocket was a wallet containing a wad of waterlogged cash, rewards cards from Subway and a chain of erotic boutiques, and an Ohio state ID for Jerold Christoper Haas, born September 30, 1975.

Read the rest of this article at: Wired

Cody Sheehy is standing in a grassy meadow in northeast Oregon, surrounded by dark pines, spruce, and juniper trees. Cody, 39 years old and six foot two, grew up in a ranching family here in remote, rugged Wallowa County. When he was six years old—a mere 40 pounds and three and a half feet tall—he got lost in these woods while playing with his older sister during a springtime family picnic. Within a few hours, a search party began looking for him, crisscrossing the Blue Mountains on horseback all night as rain fell and temperatures hovered just above freezing. They never found him.

Instead, Cody, who is now a Tucson-based documentary filmmaker and sailor, found himself. Over 18 hours, he walked an estimated 14 to 20 miles out of the mountains and into the sparsely populated Wallowa Valley. During that journey he fell into a river, climbed a tree to escape two terrifying coyotes, and hid from a passing car because—as he recalls it—his reptile brain had taken over. He was cold and exhausted, and he developed acute tendonitis in his ankles that put him on crutches for a week. But he saved himself.

The story was national news in 1986, appearing in newspapers around the country, and made the Paul Harvey show, a folksy radio program with millions of listeners. People sent Cody letters of congratulation, money, and Bibles. Some letters were simply addressed to the Lost Boy of Wallowa. His grandfather, a cowboy poet, wrote a ballad about him.

Read the rest of this article at: Outside

News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

https://thisisglamorous.com/category/news/

Justin Sun, a budding Chinese cryptocurrency mogul, walked through the shiny lofted atrium of the departure terminal at South Korea’s Incheon International Airport. It was September 2017, an early height of the crypto craze, and Sun had every reason to be nervous after his first ICO. An ICO, or initial coin offering, is like an initial public offering for a new stock. It’s the first time cryptocurrency traders have the opportunity to buy a brand-new token. But Sun wasn’t anxious about the money he stood to gain if it took off or what he’d lose if the token flopped. In fact, his company, Tron, introduced a coin called TRX — a huge success, selling out quickly for $70 million. The problem for Sun was that the Chinese government, just days before, had banned ICOs entirely.

The state claimed ICOs were vehicles for financial fraud, pyramid schemes, and other illegal and criminal activities — a credible claim because, in 2017, hundreds of new and highly dubious cryptocurrency tokens were being introduced. People buy into initial coin offerings for all sorts of reasons: sometimes because the coin’s underlying blockchain technology is promising, or sometimes because they’re speculating that a cryptocurrency’s value might rise astronomically over time, like Bitcoin has.

But in many cases, the coin founders immediately sold all the tokens they held for a vast sum of money, crashing the its value in the process and every other buyer’s investment. These were “exit scams” or “pump-and-dumps,” and all told, they bilked crypto buyers for billions of dollars. People were swindled so frequently the United States Securities and Exchange Commission could barely file criminal charges fast enough. The Chinese government’s ICO ban was why, a week later, Sun was waiting for a flight in Incheon International Airport. Sources who heard him tell this story say Justin believed he was a fugitive and was ready to take off at a moment’s notice.

Sun’s true escape route from Beijing to Seoul remains cloaked in rumor. But the reason for his getaway was simple: he likely knew the ICO ban was coming and went through with it anyway. Sun pushed TRX to finish its token sale the day before the ban was announced. Sun had been tipped off by Changpeng “CZ” Zhao, the founder and CEO of Binance, one of the world’s busiest cryptocurrency exchanges.

Read the rest of this article at: The Verge

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News 11.03.22 : Today’s Articles of Interest from Around the Internets

They’re known as the Jills. They’re two of America’s top realtors, selling the glitziest mansions in Miami. Then a place went missing—and everyday greed blossomed into full-blown extortion.

The two women are wearing black, which is rare for them. They’re typically dressed in sunny colors, ushering their clients into Miami’s multi-million-dollar mansions of glory. Their vibrant wardrobes and mile-wide smiles befit the No. 1 team in Miami real estate, brokers who have sold a staggering $3.4 billion worth of homes since 2005, making them the most successful residential agents in the national Coldwell Banker network: Jill Hertzberg and Jill Eber, better known to friends and foes alike as the Jills.

Today, though, they wear severe teacher’s spectacles and expressions as dark as their attire as they stand in a dreary Miami courtroom and attempt to persuade a judge to send a rival broker, Kevin Tomlinson, to prison for extortion.

Tomlinson “had the evidence on the Jills,” as he likes to say—proof of systematic market manipulation, a scheme that he and other Miami brokers claim they used to cheat competitors and clients alike. By tampering with the national computerized database that provides detailed information on every house on the market, they hid expired listings from their rivals and misled potential buyers about the value of their properties. Tomlinson detailed his allegations in a 500-page report to the Miami Association of Realtors—a move that many brokers hoped would cost the Jills their licenses and perhaps even drive them out of the cutthroat world of Miami real estate.
Instead, the Jills have not only evaded any disciplinary or legal action, they actually turned the tables on Tomlinson, placing him at the defendant’s table. He sits there now, wearing a blue sport coat and a scowl, facing up to 30 years in prison. The Jills, as always, are doing the talking, urging the judge to throw the book at Tomlinson.

“Kevin Tomlinson maliciously plotted, calculated, planned, and targeted not only me, but my partner,” says Hertzberg, the taller and more analytical Jill. “He threatened to destroy all of us, including my son and daughter, who are in the business with me, for one reason and only one reason: greed.”

Eber, the petite and more impulsive Jill, testifies next. “Besides losing my mother and my father, this has been the most horrible experience in my life,” she tells the court. “Kevin plotted and planned this for months. He actually made extorting the Jills his business plan.”

Judge Milton Hirsch begins his sentencing with a quote from Othello. “Who steals my purse steals trash,” he recites. “But who filches from me my good name, robs me of that which enriches him, and makes me poor indeed.”

Read the rest of this article at: Vanity Fair

P.S. previous articles & more by P.F.M.