School Hero Antoinette Tuff’s Next Move: Getting Underprivileged Kids To Travel

School Clerk Hailed as Hero After Talking Shooter Down

It was just another day at work for Antoinette Tuff on August 20 when the routine work scene rapidly changed at the hands of a young gunman who intended to murder the students of the Ronald E. McNair Discovery Learning Academy in Georgia.

Tuff courageously talked to the shooter and convinced him not to follow through with his plans to wreak havoc on the school and surrounding community. Her inspiring story has been told through news outlets repeatedly since the incident and just two days after the would-be shooting, Tuff decided to use her public platform for good.

She launched a fundraising campaign here in an effort to help inner city kids travel and see the world. Her initial goal for the project was set at $1,500 but she has so far raised a staggering $105,868 (at time of publication).

Travel provides knowledge, compassion and context for those who embrace it. We’re excited to see this campaign do so well.

Korean Rice Wine Uses Shocking Ingredient in the Name of Medicine

Warning: this video is graphic and is most likely going to make you lose your appetite — or any desire for a glass of rice wine.

A recent video from VICE documents the making of Korean Children’s Feces Wine which is, alarmingly, a real thing. With real feces. The wine is a traditional treatment that’s nearly obsolete in modern Korean medicine. But VICE found a doctor who still believes in the wine’s health benefits and makes it himself. In order to make the drink, a child’s feces has to be procured through an “open-minded” mother, as the doctor explains in the video.

I can’t help but think about the urine-marinated eggs sold in Dongyang, China; the fact that some people eat foreskin; and all the other gross and weird food from around the world. All of these stories have made me completely against trying any food if I don’t know what’s in it. I had the unfortunate timing of watching this video while eating my lunch. Be sure you don’t repeat my mistake.Japanese Girl Band Tricked Into Drinking 'Feces Wine'

First Same-Sex Marriage in New Zealand Takes Place on a Flight


New Zealand recently legalized same-sex marriage and in celebration, Air New Zealand launched a contest that would grant a couple a sky-high wedding ceremony aboard one of their flights. This video documents the wedding of the two women who won the contest, making theirs the first same-sex marriage in New Zealand.

This isn’t the first mile-high marriage; it isn’t even the first in-flight same-sex marriage. In 2010, a captain diverted a flight into Canadian airspace so a same-sex couple on board could wed. Two same-sex marriage ceremonies took place on a SAS flight in 2010. And in 2008, a couple was married while on top of a plane.

But weddings aren’t the only out of place events that occur in air. A woman recently began to give birth on a plane. Coincidentally, something somewhat similar happened to a friend of mine who went into labor during her layover at LAX. I guess you never know when you’ll get a little extra in-flight entertainment.A Flight Attendant Helps Deliver a Baby During a Flight

Craigslist Missed Connection Ad The Best Short Story You’ll Read Today

Flickr user WhiskeyGoneBad

Craigslist Missed Connections ads are often entertaining, but seldom can they be considered worthwhile works of fiction.

The nondescript “Missed Connection – m4w” may have initially been overlooked by the scores of New Yorkers seeking the sultry redhead who caught their eye while browsing the incontinence aisle of Duane Reade, but it soon set the Internet on fire. At turns humorous and heartbreaking, the 1,000-word treatise touches on love at first sight, missed opportunities and regret during one fairly long ride on the NYC subway.

According to the Village Voice, the author is likely Raphael Bob-Waksberg, who was the first to post a link to the ad on Twitter.

While I’m a little jealous that my ad selling my old Craftsman lawn mower didn’t garner the same notoriety, the Craigslist story serves not only as a wonderful piece of found art, but as a bittersweet reminder to make the most of every opportunity which presents itself.

The entire Craigslist post after the jump.

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q train.

I was wearing a blue-striped t-shirt and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. I guess we still do.

You got on at DeKalb and sat across from me and we made eye contact, briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit, in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you’re looking at and fall in love with that person. But still I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you — maybe pretend I didn’t know where I was going and ask you for directions or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, “Hot day.” It all seemed so stupid.

At one point, I caught you staring at me and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it — a biography of Lyndon Johnson — but I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7 at 42nd Street, but then I didn’t get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line at Ditmars, we both just sat there in the car, waiting.

I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason.

Still I said nothing.

We took the train all the way back down — down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through midtown, from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under SoHo and Chinatown, up across the bridge back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheepshead Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something.

Still I said nothing.

And so we went back up.

Up and down the Q line, over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sun set over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines: I’ll talk to her before Newkirk; I’ll talk to her before Canal. Still I remained silent.

For months we sat on the train saying nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by a hundred thousand break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out of singles. When the train went above ground I’d get text messages and voicemails (“Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”) until my phone ran out of battery.

I’ll talk to her before daybreak; I’ll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now, now that we’ve passed this same station for the hundredth time? Maybe if I could go back to the first time the Q switched over to the local R line for the weekend, I could have said, “Well, this is inconvenient,” but I couldn’t very well say it now, could I? I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed — why hadn’t I said “Bless You”? That tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation, but here in stupid silence still we sat.

There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train, and even then I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She’s reading her book, I thought, she doesn’t want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus and we’d immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, holding hands, and we’d both think: Young Love.

For sixty years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other. I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the contours of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you’d glanced at a neighbor’s newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific, or just the general passage of time, so unnoticeable until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine, but it felt too familiar; I stayed glued to my seat.

One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensboro Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up, you hadn’t done it in sixty years. Holding onto the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you, but rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost-conversations I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.

It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to reenter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. Nothing would be said. Nothing would need to be said.

When the train returned to Queensboro Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there, on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you, smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train.

But no, you were gone. And I realized most likely I would never see you again. And I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for sixty years and yet still not really know that person at all.

I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square, at which point I got off and transferred to the L.

NeighborGoods Allows Travelers To Borrow From Locals

Gone are the days when travelers have to pack bulky items. Now they can just borrow instead.

NeighborGoods is changing the face of consumption, facilitating a borrowing and lending culture within neighborhoods. This is great for people who want to meet their neighbors and spend less, but it’s also great for travelers who want to meet locals and borrow items they didn’t want to bring along for the trip. I spoke with the founder/CEO of the site, Micki Krimmel, via email about the potential the site holds for travelers.

“One of my favorite personal experiences using NeighborGoods was when I was traveling. I was in Austin, TX for the South by Southwest festival and I borrowed a bike from a local. I searched the Austin area and set it up before I arrived. It saved me hundreds of dollars in transportation costs and helped me experience the city like a local. Another great example of this is a new mother who was traveling alone to LA to visit family for a week. She didn’t want to haul her baby stroller on the plane by herself so she found someone in LA willing to lend her one for the duration of her stay.”

Krimmel went on to discuss another benefit travelers might find in using NeighborGoods:

“Travelers who prefer to pack lightly will find that NeighborGoods is a great resource to borrow bulky items that don’t travel well like baby strollers or sporting equipment. Borrowing a bike or a surfboard from a local also helps travelers avoid tourist traps and experience their destination more like a local.”

How to Meet Locals While Traveling