Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) announced on Sunday morning that she intends to name another Republican to the House select committee to investigate the Jan. 6 Capitol insurrection, saying her “plan” was to choose Rep. Adam Kinzinger (R-IL).
Both congressmen have been vocal supporters of former President Donald Trump’s “Big Lie” that the 2020 election was stolen and objected to Congress’ certification of President Joe Biden’s election victory.
Scouting Report: Furbo is more than just a camera. It allows me to ensure my puppy is behaving herself and give her treats via an app if she is. It also allows me to capture videos and sends me alerts if I need to check in on things back at home.
Getting a puppy halfway through the pandemic was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I love my dog, and it has been great to have some company throughout this difficult time. But now that things are headed back to normalcy, and my eventual return to the office is approaching, it’s time to go back to a life she isn’t used to: being alone. I’ve been going out to dinner more, working in coffee shops, and just leaving her alone at home more, and I’ve been anxious to do so. I worried she’d have separation anxiety (I know I do). Thankfully, I found the perfect tool to help make the transition a little smoother.
Furbo might just seem like a camera, but it really does so much more to ease my (and hopefully my dog’s) anxiety. Being able to connect to the camera via an app on my phone is nice—this way, I’m able to open it up and check up on her whenever I want. I can also throw treats at her—I just swipe up on the screen and Furbo discharges a treat. I could understand if some dogs wouldn’t like it—but my dog loves this. Beyond these fun features, Furbo also alerts me if my dog is up to something (instead of just usually sleeping). Whether this means she’s biting furniture or just repositioning herself, I can tell her to stop remotely, which is a helpful tool. Best of all though, Furbo is able to capture and record videos of funny things that your dog may be up to (i.e. the other night, she battled a fly and it may just be the best video I have of her to date).
Having been postponed on account of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Olympics started this week in Tokyo, Japan. For die-hard fans this year will be a little different: no spectators in the crowd, no tourist trips for the athletes, and medals served on a (hopefully at least silver) platter. Though most people know that the Olympics are based on an ancient Greek athletic tradition, there’s a lot about our modern Olympics that we conveniently overlook.
Though we don’t know exactly how or why the games began (best guesses include a ceasefire during the mythic Trojan war) they are tied to Olympia and the sanctuary of Zeus that was located there, near the west coast of the Peloponnesian peninsula in southern Greece. The first named winner was apparently Koroibos, a cook from the city of Elis, who won a 600 feet foot race in 776 BCE. Some traditions maintain that the footrace was the only event at the games until 724 BCE, when other events—long jump, discus, javelin, boxing, wrestling, and chariot racing—entered the mix.
Like most ancient rituals, the Olympics were a religious event, and this dictated their timing: they were held every four years between August 6 and September 19. The influence of the games was so pronounced that some historians measured time in four-year increments, known as Olympiads. The second century CE writer Phlegon of Tralles (best known for On Marvels his collection of tales of revenants and vampires) wrote a whole book called Olympiads. That said, the Olympics was hardly the celebration of international diversity that it is today. The ancient Olympics were open only to freeborn Greeks and citizens; this meant no women, no foreigners, and no enslaved inhabitants of Greece. Women were allowed to enter the chariot race by proxy, but they weren’t allowed to actually compete: they were more like the billionaire backers of formula one racing.
It’s a hot and sunny day in mid-April 2019, and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a borrowed Honda Pilot SUV driven by Miguel Ángel Vega, a jovial reporter born and raised in Culiacán. We’re on our way to La Tuna, the birthplace of El Chapo, and like many of the towns and villages in these parts, it is not an easy place to get to. For people who don’t want to be found, that’s what makes it such a good place to hide. Driving along the twists and turns of Highway 24 as it hugs the curves of the hillsides, I can see why Sinaloans pride themselves on autonomy: in a place this remote, you can’t look to the outside world for help.
As I was about to find out, they take matters of security into their own hands out here.
It’s an hour just to get from Culiacán to the municipal capital of Badiraguato, a town of about 3,700 people that spreads out on either side of the highway, which forms a main drag through town. Crossing the last bridge on the way out of Badiraguato, our cell phones lose service, and we drive for another hour up the highway before our next turn. Miguel Ángel and I pass the time chatting about the job, him quizzing me on my experience reporting on El Chapo’s trial and me asking him questions about the area, obscure figures in the drug trade, his life reporting on the violence in his hometown. It’s early afternoon now, and I’m forced to reapply sunscreen to my skin, still pale from winter in New York, and eventually I drape a spare shirt over my right arm to keep it from burning in the sun. Finally we come to the turnoff that will lead to La Tuna. This is where we hit the first checkpoint.