AdamSmith

Besides the gaping hole in peer review, another point that struck me is the article's note that most of these papers were first accepted by conferences held in China. From myself getting more and more invites to come speak at professional events in China -- usually in nice coastal cities, in nice hotels -- I see the Chinese have caught on to the lucre to be made from the conference biz. Even as a speaker at any of these things, I would have to pay the registration fee (usually US$500-1000 -- quite unlike many Western events where speakers are given free admission). And of course pay for my hotel room, for which the conf organizer gets a commission from the hotel. These programs usually get just enough legitimate speakers, lured by the nice vacation and paid for by their employer which doesn't know the difference, to offset the lightweights (to be charitable) who fill most of the speaking slots. Close to the human equivalent of those fraudulent papers.

Ah. So now he knows to step on it next time.

Attention MsGuy -- hooray for slow-moving undertakers down your way! Man wakes up in body bag at funeral home Coroner calls incident miracle UPDATED 10:24 PM CST Feb 27, 2014 wapt.com LEXINGTON, Miss. —Leaders at a funeral home in Lexington found a person alive and kicking in a body bag. The man was found at the Porter and Sons Funeral Home, on Yazoo Street. Walter Williams woke up and surprised many people. "I asked the coroner what happened, and the only thing he could say is that it's a miracle," Holmes County Sheriff Willie March said. "I stood there and watched them put him in a body bag and zipped it up," Williams' nephew, Eddie Hester, said. The coroner said he checked Williams' pulse about 9 p.m. Wednesday and pronounced him dead at his home in Lexington. "That was at 10:30, and at 2:30, my cousin called me and said, 'Not yet,' and I said, 'What you mean not yet?' He said, 'Daddy still here,'" Hester said. After the coroner helped move Williams to Porter and Sons Funeral Home, workers were getting ready to embalm him, but that's when he started to move. Byron Porter said it's the first time he's ever seen anything like it. Williams' was inside the zipped-up body bag and kicking to get out. Paramedics rushed Williams him to a hospital, where family members said Thursday night that he's happy to be alive. "I don't know how long he's going to be here, but I know he's back right now. That's all that matters," Hester said. The coroner said Williams' pacemaker may have stopped working and then started up again. Family members said Williams is a fighter. He's been a long-time farmer and worked for the school board. Read more: http://www.wapt.com/news/central-mississippi/man-wakes-up-in-body-bag-at-funeral-home/24722536#ixzz2udKcRXC7

Hoof-in-mouth disease? Paula Deen feels like 'that black,' gay football player By Breeanna Hare, CNN updated 4:51 PM EST, Thu February 27, 2014 (CNN) -- Paula Deen might be on track to issue another apology. After her career in food imploded last year when she admitted to previously using a racial slur, the 67-year-old celebrity chef is trying to slowly rebuild what she's lost. However, her recent cover story with People magazine is having the opposite effect. In the article, Deen says she is finding inspiration in what might seem an unusual place given her past troubles. "I feel like 'embattled' or 'disgraced' will always follow my name," she tells People. "It's like that black football player who recently came out," referring to NFL prospect and former University of Missouri football standout, Michael Sam. "He (Sam) said, 'I just want to be known as a football player. I don't want to be known as a gay football player.' I know exactly what he's saying." Given that the former doyenne of Southern cuisine has acknowledged in a deposition that she'd used the "N" word in the past, several observers were thrown by her choice of words. "Seriously Paula?" Twitter user @HarryItie responded to CNN's story on Deen's People interview, summing up in two words the reaction of the Internet. "Paula Deen crashing and burning before she rises from the ashes like a Phoenix," commented @JayBaklava. The Stir's Food & Party channel, meanwhile, tried for some humor: "Paula Deen Comes Back From Her Racist Past as a Black Gay Football Player." "I honestly don't have a problem with Paula Deen I just need her to stop speaking about anything other than cooking," said @mktggirl. Her comment is a noticeable misstep in what's been pegged as her "comeback" plan: Within the past month, Deen has made a warmly welcomed appearance at the recent South Beach Wine and Food festival, has announced a new company, Paula Deen Ventures, and confirmed she's planning to open a new restaurant in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. It's the support from her fans, Deen tells People, that's enabled her to get back up after last summer's controversy stripped her of sponsors and her gig as a Food Network personality. "If it wasn't for my fans' love, I'd be home breathing into a paper bag," Deen says. "When I woke up each morning, it was like my world was crashing down again. ... I'm fighting to get my name back." It looks like that fight continues. http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/27/showbiz/celebrity-news-gossip/paula-deen-comeback/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

Supreme Court ruling expands police authority in home searches The Supreme Court decision, based on a Los Angeles case, says officers may search a residence without a warrant as long as one occupant consents. By David G. Savage February 25, 2014, 8:16 p.m. WASHINGTON Police officers may enter and search a home without a warrant as long as one occupant consents, even if another resident has previously objected, the Supreme Court ruled Tuesday in a Los Angeles case. The 6-3 ruling, triggered by a Los Angeles Police Department arrest in 2009, gives authorities more leeway to search homes without obtaining a warrant, even when there is no emergency. The majority, led by Justice Samuel A. Alito Jr., said police need not take the time to get a magistrate's approval before entering a home in such cases. But dissenters, led by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, warned that the decision would erode protections against warrantless home searches. The court had previously held that such protections were at the "very core" of the 4th Amendment and its ban on unreasonable searches and seizures. The case began when LAPD officers responded to reports of a street robbery near Venice Boulevard and Magnolia Avenue. They pursued a suspect to an apartment building, heard shouting inside a unit and knocked on the door. Roxanne Rojas opened the door, but her boyfriend, Walter Fernandez, told officers they could not enter without a warrant. "You don't have any right to come in here. I know my rights," Fernandez shouted from inside the apartment, according to court records. Fernandez was arrested in connection with the street robbery and taken away. An hour later, police returned and searched his apartment, this time with Rojas' consent. They found a shotgun and gang-related material. In Tuesday's decision, the high court said Fernandez did not have the right to prevent the search of his apartment once he was gone and Rojas had consented. In the past, the court has frowned upon most searches of residences except in the case of an emergency or if the police had a warrant from a judge. But Alito said police were free to search when they get the consent of the only occupant on site. "A warrantless consent search is reasonable and thus consistent with the 4th Amendment irrespective of the availability of a warrant," he said in Fernandez vs. California. "Even with modern technological advances, the warrant procedure imposes burdens on the officers who wish to search [and] the magistrate who must review the warrant application." He also said Rojas, who appeared to have been beaten when police first arrived, should have her own right to consent to a search. "Denying someone in Rojas' position the right to allow the police to enter her home would also show disrespect for her independence," Alito wrote for the court. Justices Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan joined Ginsburg in dissent and faulted the court for retreating from the warrant rule. "Instead of adhering to the warrant requirement, today's decision tells the police they may dodge it," Ginsburg said. She noted that in 2006, the court had ruled in a Georgia case that a husband standing in the doorway could block police from searching his home, even if his estranged wife consented. In Tuesday's opinion, the majority said that rule applied only when the co-owner was "physically present" to object. The voting lineup seemed to track the court's ideological divide and its gender split, with male and female justices taking opposite sides. The six men Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. and Justices Antonin Scalia, Clarence Thomas, Stephen G. Breyer, Anthony M. Kennedy and Alito voted to uphold Rojas' consent to the search. The court's three women would have honored Fernandez's objection. Fernandez was later convicted for his role in the street robbery and sentenced to 14 years in prison. After the California Supreme Court upheld his conviction, he appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court challenging the search of his apartment. http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-scotus-lapd-search-20140226,0,3720623.story#ixzz2uYke1v6J

Spot on. Pretty Cute Watching Boston Residents Play Daily Game Of ‘Big City’ ‘It’s Fun Watching Them Hustle And Bustle Around Like They Live In A Major Metropolis,’ Nation Says News • Local • ISSUE 49•10 • Mar 6, 2013 At this very moment, precious Bostonians are engaged in a game of “Big City,” pretending that they live in a significant metropolitan center. BOSTON—Boston residents once again hustled and bustled their way into the nation’s hearts this week as they continued playing their adorable little game of “Big City,” a live-action role-playing adventure in which Bostonians buzz about their daily routines in a delightful hubbub of excitement as if they lived in a major American metropolis. Inhabitants of real cities across the nation smiled in affectionate amusement as Bostonians put on their big-city clothes, swiped their Charlie cards for a ride on one of the MBTA’s trolley-like subway cars—charmingly called the “T”—and rushed downtown for “important” business meetings at the John Hancock Building, the South Boston Innovation District, and other pretend centers of global industry and commerce. “You have to admit, seeing them scurrying around in the morning for their big day in the city—it’s pretty cute,” New York resident Michael Goodman said as the Bay State busybodies emulated life in a large epicenter of American culture and politics. “When they look down at their watches and start hurrying down the street like they’re headed to some of sort of huge, important meeting, it’s hard not to smile. I mean, they look like they really think they are doing something significant.” “My favorite part is when those little guys and gals head out to bars on the weekend like they’re experiencing real nightlife!” he added. “Gets me every time.” According to enchanted onlookers who live in actual metropolitan areas, Boston residents are particularly endearing when they get all dressed up for a night at the theater; eat a big, fancy dinner at the Prudential Center’s top-floor restaurant; and read The Boston Globe, whose reporters get to play a game of Big-City Journalist each and every day. In addition, eyewitnesses are reportedly delighted when Bostonians set off on one of their charming adventures to shop along the trendy Newbury Street, which allows residents to sip cappuccinos and pretend to be chic urbanites for the day. Sources went on to call the city’s darling nickname, “The Hub,” a great, hilarious touch, as though Boston were an actual locus of anything vital whatsoever. “I like it when they really get into their roles as residents of an actual city and complain about traffic and subways not coming on time,” Chicago native James Camden said. “Oh, and when the local news anchors talk about Boston politics like it’s really important, as if the goings-on in Boston could possibly have some sort of national implication even though nobody outside of Boston even cares? It’s so much fun to watch that I can only imagine how much fun it is to actually play.” “I mean, we play Big City here in Chicago, too,” he continued, “But we’re nowhere near as good at it as the people in Boston.” Along with the usual game of Big City, many Bostonians reportedly play side games, such as Mr. Important Advertising Man, Big-City Lawyer, Major Metropolitan Police Officer, Professional Artist, and Super-Sophisticated Student. “It’s really cool going to school in the city,” said adorable Boston College sophomore Erica Hoyt, who not only gets to play Big City with her fellow classmates, but also with her visiting parents, who pretend that Boston is making their daughter much more independent and well-rounded. “There’s just so much going on and so much culture here.” “I’m glad I decided to leave my hometown and come to a city as big as Boston,” she added, playing her role in the game perfectly. Sources confirmed that while they think its adorable watching Boston residents excitedly attend their little music shows at the Paradise Rock Club and express their devotion to city-wide landmarks like an old oil company sign that lights up at night, their favorite part of Big City is when Bostonians wear their undying allegiance to the fake metropolis on their collective sleeve. “I saw a guy wearing a Boston hat, and it was so cute,” Los Angeles resident Eva Anderson told reporters. “All that hometown pride for a place so small and inconsequential? It melts my heart.” http://www.theonion.com/articles/pretty-cute-watching-boston-residents-play-daily-g,31554/

Star Whores featuring Lube Thighstroker Hand Solo Princess Labia OB-Gyn Kenobi STD-O Grand Muff Merkin Dark Spatter (gave up on that one) You can imagine what the 'Testar' was to look like.

After a hurricane caused a shortage of free-flowing electrons hereabouts, my cousin went to Sears and got a kerosene-powered household generator. But the wife won't let him use it, for fear of blowing up the house and himself. In that order of concern, I think. For no real reason, that brought this to mind... The Night the Bed Fell by James Thurber I suppose that the high-water mark of my youth in Columbus, Ohio, was the night the bed fell on my father. It makes a better recitation (unless, as some friends of mine have said, one has heard it five or six times) than it does a piece of writing, for it is almost necessary to throw furniture around, shake doors, and bark like a dog, to lend the proper atmosphere and verisimilitude to what is admittedly a somewhat incredible tale. Still, it did take place. It happened, then, that my father had decided to sleep in the attic one night, to be away where he could think. My mother opposed the notion strongly because, she said, the old wooden bed up there was unsafe- it was wobbly and the heavy headboard would crash down on father's head in case the bed fell, and kill him. There was no dissuading him, however, and at a quarter past ten he closed the attic door behind him and went up the narrow twisting stairs. We later heard ominous creakings as he crawled into bed. Grandfather, who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us, had disappeared some days before. (On these occasions he was usually gone six or seven days and returned growling and out of temper, with the news that the federal Union was run by a passel of blockheads and that the Army of the Potomac didn't have any more chance than a fiddler's bitch.) We had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named Briggs Beall, who believed that he was likely to cease breathing when he was asleep. It was his feeling that if he were not awakened every hour during the night, he might die of suffocation. He had been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning, but I persuaded him to abandon this. He slept in my room and I told him that I was such a light sleeper that if anybody quit breathing in the same room with me, I would wake Instantly. He tested me the first night-which I had suspected he would by holding his breath after my regular breathing had convinced him I was asleep. I was not asleep, however, and called to him. This seemed to allay his fears a little, but he took the precaution of putting a class of spirits of camphor on a little table at the head of his bed. In case I didn't arouse him until he was almost gone, he said, he would sniff the camphor, a powerful reviver. Briggs was not the only member of his family who had his crotchets. Old Aunt Alelissa Beall (who could whistle like a man, with two fingers in her mouth) suffered under the premonition that she was destined to die on South High Street, because she had been born on South High Street and married on South High Street. Then there was Aunt Sarah Shoaf, who never went to bed at night without the fear that a burglar was going to get in and blow chloroform under her door through a tube. To avert this calamity -for she was in greater dread of anesthetics than of losing her household goods-she always piled her money, silverware, and other valuables in a neat stack just outside her bedroom, with a note reading,: "This is all I have. Please take it and do not use your chloroform, as this is all I have." Aunt Gracie Shoaf also had a burglar phobia, but she met it with more fortitude. She was confident that burglars had been getting into her house every night for four years. The fact that she never missed anything was to her no proof to the contrary. She always claimed that she scared them off before they could take anything, by throwing shoes down the hallway. When she went to bed she piled, where she could get at them handily, all the shoes there were about her house. Five minutes after she had turned off the light, she would sit up in bed and say "Hark!" Her husband, who had learned to ignore the whole situation as long ago as 1903, would either be sound asleep or pretend to be sound asleep. In either case he would not respond to her tugging and pulling, so that presently she would arise, tiptoe to the door, open it slightly and heave a shoe down the hall in one direction, and its mate down the hall in the other direction. Some nights she threw them all, some nights only a couple of pair. But I am straying from the remarkable incidents that took place during the night that the bed fell on father. By midnight we were all in bed. The layout of the rooms and the disposition of their occupants is important to an understanding of what later occurred. In the front room upstairs (just under father's attic bedroom) were my mother and my brother Terry, who sometimes sang in his sleep, usually "Marching Through Georgia" or "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Briggs Beall and myself were in a room adjoining this one. My brother Roy was in a room across the hall from ours. Our bull terrier, Rex, slept in the hall. My bed was an army cot, one of those affairs which are made wide enough to sleep on comfortably only by putting up, flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like the sideboards of a drop-leaf table. When these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far toward the edge, for then the cot is likely to tip completely over, bringing the whole bed down on top of one, with a tremendous banging crash. This, in fact, is precisely what happened, about two o'clock in the morning. (It was my mother who, in recalling the scene later, first referred to it as "the night the bed fell on your father.") Always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse (I had lied to Briggs), I was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me onto the floor and toppled over on me. It left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested above me like a canopy. Hence I did not wake up, only reached-the edge of consciousness and went back. The racket, however, instantly awakened my mother, in the next room, who came to the immediate conclusion that her worst dread was realized: the big wooden bed upstairs had fallen on father. She therefore screamed, "Let's go to your poor father!" It was this shout, rather, than the noise of my cot falling, that awakened Herman, in the same room with her. He thought that mother had become, for no apparent reason, hysterical. "You're all right, Mamma!" He shouted, trying, to calm her. They exchanged shout for shout for perhaps ten seconds: "Let's go to your poor father!" and "You're all right! " That woke up Briggs. By this time I was conscious of what was going on, in a vague way, but did not yet realize that I was under my bed instead of on it. Briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension, came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to "bring him out." With a low moan, he grasped the glass of camphor at the head of his bed and instead of sniffing it poured it over himself. The room reeked of camphor. "Ugh, ugh," choked Briggs, like a drowning man, for he had almost succeeded in stopping his breathing under the deluge of pungent spirits. He leaped out of bed and groped toward the open window, but he came up against one that was closed. With his hand, he beat out the glass, and I could hear it crash and tinkle on the alleyway below. It was at this juncture that I, in trying to get up, had the uncanny sensation of feeling my bed above me. Foggy with sleep, I now suspected, in my turn, that the whole uproar was being made in a frantic endeavor to extricate me from what must be an unheard-of and perilous situation. "Get me out of this!" I bawled. "Get me out!" I think I had the nightmarish belief that I was entombed in a mine. "Ugh," gasped Briggs, floundering in his camphor. By this time my mother, still shouting, pursued by Herman, still shouting, was trying to open the door to the attic, in order to' go up and get my father's body out of the wreckage. The door was stuck, however, and wouldn't yield. Her frantic pulls on it only added to the general banging and confusion. Roy and the dog were now up, the one shouting questions, the other barking. Father, farthest away and soundest sleeper of all, had by this time been awakened by the battering on the attic door. He decided that the house was on fire. "I'm coming, I'm coming,!" be wailed in a slow, sleepy voice-it took him many minutes to regain full consciousness. My mother, still believing he was caught under the bed, detected in his "I'm coming!" the mournful, resigned note of one who is preparing to meet his Maker. "He's dying!" she shouted. "I'm all right!" Briggs yelled to reassure her. "I'm all right!" He still believed that it was his own closeness to death that was worrying mother. I found at last the light switch in my room, unlocked the door, and Briggs and I joined the others at the attic door. The dog, who never did like Briggs, jumped for him assuming that he was the culprit in whatever was going on and Roy had to throw Rex and hold him. We could hear father crawling out of bed upstairs. Roy pulled the attic door open, with a mighty jerk, and father came down the stairs, sleepy and irritable but safe and sound. My mother began to weep when she saw him. Rex began to-howl. "What in the name of God "s going on here?" asked father. The situation was finally put together like a gigantic jig-saw puzzle. Father caught a cold from prowling around in his bare feet but there were no other bad results. "I'm glad," said mother, who always looked on the bright side of things, "that your grandfather wasn't here." http://english.glendale.cc.ca.us/bedfell.html

Who could this be?