Although social media companies are in many ways villains that have not done nearly enough to protect children on their platforms, they nonetheless should not be held liable based on claims that they are creating addictive and harmful online environments. Last week, a trial began in Los Angeles Superior Court in a lawsuit brought by a woman, referred to in documents as Kaley G.M., against tech giants YouTube and Instagram. (TikTok previously settled with her).
Shia LaBeouf had a hectic weekend down in New Orleans, where bartenders and Mardi Gras attendees alike testified to his erratic behavior before he was arrested on February 15 for two charges of simple battery. For those of us of a certain age, the news of LaBeouf popping up at a random bar in a random city and wreaking havoc is borderline old-fashioned. He made a habit of this in the 2010s,
Almost all Americans are familiar with posttraumatic stress disorder ( PTSD) and its long-term, sometimes devastating effects on people's lives-crippling anxiety, depression, disturbing flashbacks, sleep problems, irritability, concentration difficulties, and much, much more. About 70 percent of U.S. adults have experienced at least one major life trauma. The fact that so many of us experience trauma makes it easier to empathize with the 10 or so percent of people who go on to develop PTSD.
It's a film about music. Particularly, about what remains when a musician cannot play and is left to consider the terrible sacrifices made, without conscious consent, to this all-consuming vocation that creates family pain and jealousy almost as a toxic byproduct. It's a drama to put you in mind of Glenn Gould and Hilary du Pre, sister of Jacqueline. Screenwriter Mark O'Halloran has adapted the 2013 novel Intermission by Owen Martell about renowned jazz pianist Bill Evans.
Losing my brother to a substance use disorder taught me things I never wanted to learn. Things nobody prepares you for. Things that will change you in ways you never thought possible. It taught me that you can love someone so much it physically hurts-and still not be able to save them. It taught me that you can mourn someone you love long before they are physically gone, and no one tells you how helpless that feels. How humiliating.
Rue seemingly starts on the path to sobriety after years of struggling with addiction. "I don't know if life was exactly what I wished, but somehow, for the first time, I was beginning to have faith," she states in the trailer's voiceover. But her life quickly flips upside down when her former drug dealer, Laurie (Martha Kelly), informs her that she's still in debt.
A 32-year-old man, who runs up to two marathons a year, has told how he was able to give up smoking while training for the events - only to lapse back into his cigarette habit after he had crossed the finishing line.
Ransone portrayed the dock worker turned petty criminal Chester Ziggy Sobotka in season two of David Simon's critically acclaimed Baltimore crime drama The Wire. He later acted alongside Alexander Skarsgard in Generation Kill, also helmed by Simon. In Generation Kill, Ransone played real-life marine Cpl Josh Ray Person across all seven episodes of the HBO show. Ransone more recently appeared in It Chapter Two as the fictional character Eddie Kaspbrak.
Whatever mixture of genetics, temperament, trauma, and environment leads someone to use cannabis daily, such frequency almost inevitably results in addiction, that seemingly mysterious bending of the will and reward toward continued cannabis use despite adverse consequences. For example, money might be rewarding as a means to buy more cannabis, but no longer be very rewarding in and of itself. Or being high might become more desired than good grades or excelling at sports. The mind bends toward getting high as its preferred state.
The second one questions how much money he made from the aforementioned gig: "I made 10k the other night at that show. My cut was not that much over a thousand $. Split between me and 3 other band members, does that make any sense mathematically? Anyways, Thank you for all your support everybody. NOAH WEILAND - OUT." The third message is the most concerning, with Noah writing, "I'd rather be dead... then [sic] live the same way my father did. Regardless of all this, it's been a long journey. Can't wait to see him again, and thank you for all the support along the way. Won't ever forget this."
Last April, neuroscientist Sue Grigson received an e-mail from a man detailing his years-long struggle to kick addiction - first to opioids, and then to the very medication meant to help him quit. The man had stumbled on research by Grigson, suggesting that certain anti-obesity medications could help to reduce rats' addiction to drugs such as heroin and fentanyl. He decided to try quitting again, this time while taking semaglutide, the blockbuster GLP-1 drug better known as Ozempic.
When arriving paramedics ask Eitan for his details, he declines to give his real name, instead giving them the name of his work supervisor and nemesis, Douglas Moran. Eitan is a hard-partying consultant rheumatologist who has just returned to work after several months off following a mental health crisis, and who uses liquid cocaine secreted into a nasal inhaler to get through the working day.
In childhood, he felt like he did not belong to the small cultish church of his family, a fact and internal pain he minimized. The spirit of the church did not fit, and he felt a pull to what became the shadows of sex. Pornography, prostitutes, and internet obsession drew him increasingly into a secret life. He felt an outsider, and the not belonging represented an unanswered need for security.
Flophouse America is the unnervingly intimate feature debut of Monica Strømdahl, an internationally award-winning photographer who spent 15 years documenting the impoverished communities that have sprung up in rundown motels throughout the US. Which is how she met Mikal, an energetic, 11-year old boy who's called home the hotel room he's shared with his parents since the day he was born.
Gascoigne's new book is called Eight, not just for the number he wore during his playing career, but also because he addresses the emotions he experienced during his life. It's about my eight demons, everything I've had to face up to, he told FourFourTwo. I've conquered most of them. The rest are hard to conquer, but I just try to deal with them the best I can.
