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Cat Undergoes Hilarious Transformation After Getting in Owner's Fireplace
One pet lover was amazed, declaring that the feline looked like "a totally different cat."
5 m
newsweek.com
The First U.S. Offshore Wind Farm Could Be a Lifeline for Struggling New England Cities
East coast workers are preparing for a new industry that could shape the region's economic future
8 m
time.com
Bryan Adams dedicates Pirelli's 2022 calendar to 'the great stars of music'
Pirelli has unveiled "On the Road," its 2022 calendar starring some of the music industry's biggest names, including Iggy Pop, Cher, Grimes and Jennifer Hudson.
8 m
edition.cnn.com
Who Is Simone In Netflix’s ‘True Story’?
Kevin Hart's Netflix drama ends with a series of shocking twists.
nypost.com
Shop all the best deals from Walmart’s Cyber Monday 2021 sale
Head over to Walmart now for all the best Cyber Monday deals of 2021, including air fryers, vacuums, laptops and more. Save big before these deals run out!
nypost.com
Jack Dorsey Expected to Step Down as C.E.O. of Twitter
The social media pioneer, whose name has become synonymous with Twitter, is also the chief executive of another company, Square.
nytimes.com
Megan Thee Stallion makes surprise appearance at BTS show for ‘Butter’ remix
The K-pop sensations hosted the "Body" rapper on Sunday during the second of their two-night stop in Los Angeles for their "Permission to Dance on Stage" tour.
nypost.com
Michigan moves past Alabama into third spot of USA TODAY Sports NCAA Re-Rank
Michigan surged in the USA TODAY Sports AFCA Coaches Poll after its defeat of Ohio State, while Georgia and Cincinnati still hold top two spots.       
usatoday.com
Global markets assess threat of Omicron variant
Stocks rebound after plunging on Black Friday over fears of the Omicron coronavirus variant. CNN's Christine Romans reports.
edition.cnn.com
Teen selling PlayStation shot when meeting potential buyer in Texas
A teenager trying to sell his PlayStation 5 was shot and hospitalized Sunday in Harris County, Texas.
foxnews.com
How a once struggling deaf football team rode a historic season to a championship game
Founded 68 years ago, the Cubs, the football team of the California School for the Deaf Riverside, had never reached a championship game.
edition.cnn.com
D.C. United cuts ties with Joseph Mora, Yamil Asad and several others
D.C. United begins making roster decisions after missing the MLS playoffs by one point.
washingtonpost.com
Man Enters Barn To Find 'Terrifying Amount' of Owls Staring at Him: 'Creepy'
A Reddit user's video of a minor owl invasion in his barn has gone viral on the social media site.
newsweek.com
Teen Selling PS5 Gunned Down by Armed Robber
The pair had agreed to meet up after the teenager listed his gaming console for sale online, police said.
newsweek.com
Jets still waiting for Zach Wilson progress despite big win
The Jets beat the Texans on Sunday 21-14 to notch their third victory of the season. Here are some thoughts and observations from the game.
nypost.com
Lee Elder, the first Black golfer to play at the Masters, dies at 87
edition.cnn.com
12 New Movie Theater Releases in December 2021: From 'Spider-Man 3' to 'Matrix 4'
Film buffs better get their Christmas calendars ready as there are plenty of new and exciting movies coming to theaters this December that you will not want to miss.
newsweek.com
The World Health Organization warns of very high risk posed by the Omicron variant
The newly identified strain of the coronavirus, which could be more transmissible than the previously dominant Delta variant, has global health officials worried about a possible new surge in cases.
npr.org
President Biden and Congress facing crucial tests in December
President Joe Biden is hoping to pass his Build Back Better social spending plan as a government shutdown and debt ceiling crisis loom. CBS News chief White House correspondent Nancy Cordes joins "CBSN AM" from the White House with more.
cbsnews.com
How will the media cover Trump in 2024? Insiders are sounding the alarm.
A debate is underway at news organizations about how to avoid the pitfalls of 2020.
washingtonpost.com
Former ‘Bachelor’ Star Colton Underwood Grapples With His Sexuality In Trailer For Netflix Docuseries ‘Coming Out Colton’
The former Bachelor star came out as gay in April 2021.
nypost.com
Do Covid travel restrictions work?
Governments are trying to buy time with a rash of new travel restrictions as they figure out the potential impact of Omicron.
edition.cnn.com
The Youngkin playbook won’t work for Herschel Walker
A flawed and dangerous candidate cannot mimic the disarming business tycoon.
washingtonpost.com
Lakers show flashes of defensive effort needed to win, which is a good and bad sign
The Lakers put on a strong defensive performance during part of a win over the Pistons, but it's troubling the team hasn't sustained that effort.
latimes.com
Water and Renewables Are Remaking the Middle East
Practical cooperation is gradually replacing the old narrative of Israeli-Arab relations.
washingtonpost.com
Make vanilla extract at home for luxe flavor at a fraction of the cost
Make your own top-quality vanilla extract. It's easy and makes a great gift, too.
washingtonpost.com
Amazon Cyber Monday Deals: Discounts on Echo Dot, Fire TV Sticks, Tablets and More
For Cyber Monday, Amazon is running deals on many of its own electronic devices, including the Ring doorbell, the Fire TV Stick and the Echo Dot smart speaker.
newsweek.com
A Criminal Justice Reformer’s Case for Looser Gun Laws
Public defenders have found common cause with the NRA at the Supreme Court.
slate.com
The ghosts of our motel
A bell was always ringing. A tenant was always asking for something. Money was always short. How could this place be home? I didn’t realize that growing up in a motel was unusual until my senior year of high school, when all my peers were agonizing over their college entrance essays. After a dozen fruitless attempts to explain my uniqueness in 500 words, I went back to the beginning. I thought I’d cross out most of what I wrote, but I had no other ideas about how to start. “I was born in London,” I wrote. “But I grew up in California, in the desert, at a motel.” That sentence was the moment my childhood became a story instead of a haunted room in my head. A lot of writers know this moment; many of us need it. It can help us make peace with whatever monsters rampage through our memories. It can help us turn something painful into something useful. For years, the motel occupied one of those two spaces. First, something painful: a place where a bell was always ringing. A tenant was always asking for something. Money was always short. Our brown skin, Muslim faith, and immigrant status meant we didn’t fit in. And then I wrote that college entrance essay, and the motel became something useful. I thought that’s all the motel would ever be. After my parents sold it in the early 2000s, it was personal legend material, the source for a useful passel of ghosts I trotted out when people asked about my childhood. But recently, the motel became something more. My parents didn’t tell me many stories of their young lives. Probably because they were so busy surviving, it didn’t seem like they had time for stories. My father was trained as an engineer. My mother, after two years of college, got married and held secretarial and retail jobs. They ended up in the Mojave desert after an oil job my father had been counting on fell through, and a fellow Pakistani convinced my father that flipping a business would get him back on his feet. Did my dad research the business? Not really. He trusted a countryman. When I tell this story, I’ve had listeners suggest that my father was naïve. This is a comment that usually earns my quiet and undying enmity. I always thought of my father’s decision as brave. He needed a path to move to America for opportunities that were scarce elsewhere. The motel provided it. A few months later, my mother arrived from Pakistan with her three kids and found herself driving through the barren wasteland of the Mojave, unaware that it would be the backdrop for her children’s entire childhoods and 20 years of her own life. The motel was in an unobtrusive grid of a town that sits just off a long and especially desolate stretch of Highway 395. It had a central building with a cinder-block wall painted cream, and two wings of rooms. It was low and flat and brown. The wings had six rooms and a parking space in front of each. The dust that blew in from the desert was a constant companion. On windy nights, the air tasted of creosote. My parents never shied away from hard work, but the motel was exhausting. My father became a jack-of-all-trades, building huge signs, repairing the roof, running sprinkler lines and new electrical wiring. Both my parents dealt with a never-ending churn of cleaning rooms, doing laundry, changing bulbs, fixing broken ACs and TVs. Not to mention raising three children with no family to help and no money to pay for child care. My parents didn’t rest or vacation or go to a book club or the gym. They worked themselves to the bone through the 100 degree summers and the bitingly windy winters. In the beginning, they were hopeful. But little incidents took their toll. My father hired a couple of journeyman carpenters to help with a building project. They stole all his tools. My mom rented a room to a woman with a baby who didn’t have enough money. She and her boyfriend stole all the furniture out of the room. My father came to America with an almost deep belief in the goodness of people. But the motel taught him — and all of us — better. The town itself is isolated. At night, the lights sparkle like stars, and it seems bigger and more promising than in the daytime. You can guess the name of the town if you really want to, but I try not to use it too much. Partly to protect the privacy of the people who live there now, people whose story intersects briefly with my own. And partly because for me, the name is laden with frustration, sadness, and, above all, loss. Loss of family. Loss of health. Loss of years. For my parents, the town — and specifically the motel — was a type of purgatory. Until then, they had lived in huge metropolises, in Manchester and London and Benghazi and Lahore. In Pakistan, they had the embrace of their families: sisters and brothers and aunts and uncles. Even when they left for Europe and Africa, they were always able to find a community. A sense of home. But what was home to my parents in the desert with no other Pakistanis and few other immigrants? Was it the family they’d left behind? Was it the cities where their children were born? The communities and bonds they’d formed in places they were considered outcasts and unwelcome? Or was it the place they came to? The home they made at a dusty motel in the middle of a desert? The friends they found amid the vast emptiness, those who said “you are welcome here” even amid the people who said “you are not”? Perhaps it is their children. Their grandchildren. But more than all of that, I think home for my parents is something ineffable. Home is the past. Not a where, but a when. A when that I will never know or understand and that they will never get back. For myself, home has always been people, not a place. I call my hometown a hometown, but it never felt like one, other than within the walls of the motel where I lived with my parents and brothers. That was the place where my name was said correctly, my spirituality was a boon instead of something to condemn, and my skin color was reflected instead of rejected. It was also a place of adventure. Endless games of hide-and-seek. Roller-skating on cracked parking lots. Hiding from the ghosts in the shed. Late-night cops and robbers with neighborhood kids. “Be on my team,” one of them once said to me. “You’re harder to see in the dark.” Courtesy of Sabaa Tahir The author at age 6. Some things made the desert feel like home when I lived there. But I also let the town warp my brain. It’s an old story for so many immigrant kids. In the ’80s, when my family moved to America, many people in small towns hadn’t met an immigrant before. We were otherized because we looked and sounded and acted different. I thought I was ugly because people told me I was. My name was mispronounced my entire childhood, and after a few failed attempts to correct it, I stopped trying. I thought I was stupid, careless, and spoke poor English because my very first teachers, for kindergarten and first grade, told me that. I and my family were harassed, profiled, attacked. I wish this type of stuff didn’t stick, but it does. Long into my 20s, I devalued myself, my experiences, my culture, my beauty. This isn’t to say that everyone in the town was bad. I had friends. Adults I trusted. Teachers who mentored me. Their kindness meant all the more against the backdrop of not belonging. But it wasn’t enough to make the ubiquitous demands to “go back to where you came from” fade from my mind. When I left at 17 for university, I felt like I could breathe. I could acknowledge how lucky I was to have parents who wanted me to get out — who helped me find ways to do so via college, scholarships, and the FAFSA form. But I could see how bad things had been. After leaving, I resolved that the motel would be nothing more than a story. That’s all it deserved to be. In my late 20s, I had my children. As they grew older, they began asking me about when I was little, as I had with my own parents. The motel featured heavily in my stories: the haunted shed behind the north wing of rooms. Climbing to the roof with my brother — their uncle — during hide-and-seek. Riding bikes in the desert. But the motel was, of course, more than that. It was also the alcoholic tenants who’d piss in our bushes, the guest who’d scream racial epithets at the TV, the abuser who threatened my mom if she didn’t tell him what room his terrified ex was in. I don’t share those stories with my kids, so they’ve lurked in my head, misting into spirits, walking with me through relationships and friendships and therapy sessions and the books I write. Unpleasant at times. Scary. But still, just stories. Then, at the beginning of this year, my family took a road trip. We hadn’t gone anywhere for a while because of Covid, but with three members of the family vaccinated, we figured it was time to get out. We were driving south through California, and I mulled over whether I should show my kids where I grew up. Part of me wanted them to retain the image of the motel I’d given them: a periwinkle blue pool, beautiful sunsets, interesting and strange people. Not a tired building on a dusty street where you could crunch the dirt between your teeth. Even as we approached the turnoff to Highway 14 that would take us past my hometown, I began to waffle. I didn’t want to go. I really wanted to go. I couldn’t go! I had to. “Just forget it,” I blurted out. “Let’s head to LA,” which was our next stop. Fortunately, my husband was driving for that leg of the trip. “I think we should go,” he said, glancing over at me, eyebrows raised, well-attuned to my indecisiveness. “I think you need to see it.” “Nah, I’m okay,” I said, wishing quietly that I could get out of my own damn way and admit that I wanted to see my old home. That it was okay to want to see it. “It will take too long.” “We’re going,” my husband said, and took the turnoff. Strangely, in the back seat, my kids cheered. I didn’t think they cared one way or another. But I guess they were curious about this place they’d heard stories of. As it turns out, so was I. As an adult, I’ve had friends tell me I’m observant. But I must not have been as a kid because I had no idea I lived in an isolated town until college, when I casually mentioned to a friend that I hadn’t been to a real mall until I was 13. “Where was this mall you went to?” she asked. “Palmdale,” I told her. “Civilization!” She laughed. “Palmdale is the edge of the world, Sabaa.” I remember thinking that if she thought Palmdale was the edge of the world, what would she make of the motel? Now, as my family and I traversed the desert on a cool spring afternoon, as I watched my kids’ eyes glaze over at the endlessly flat land, broken only by tumbleweeds and the occasional distant hillock, I started to understand why that old friend thought the desert was the back of the beyond. I hadn’t been back to the area in years. I’d thought I’d never go back. But as we drove, I felt a weird sense of relief. Familiarity. In relegating my childhood to stories, it lost its sense of reality. But here it was, in browns and taupes and mauves and olives, staring me in the face. This is what I’d survived. It was not just a story. It was my reality. As we neared the town, down a long road that leads off Highway 14 and into the city limits, my husband told my kids all about the community’s origins. He knew enough that I realized he must have read up on it at some point because even I didn’t know some of the facts he was sharing. My kids stared and exclaimed and tried to find something interesting in the relatively unimpressive surroundings. “Ooh, a junkyard of old cars,” my older child observed valiantly. I, meanwhile, found myself getting quieter. I thought I’d forgotten the streets, but I hadn’t. I realized I was almost the same age as my father was when he moved to the town in the early ’80s. For the first time, I saw it as my parents must have seen it: a strange and distant outpost. How they must have loved us to try to make a life there, to have not given up. When we got into the town, I thought we’d do a quick drive-by of the motel where I grew up, just to show the kids the big palm trees in the front and the broad stretch of sand across the street, where my brother would try to catch lizards. But my husband, who could befriend a boulder, stopped in front of the motel and got out. Before I really understood what was happening, he’d walked up to the old center apartment and told the new owners his wife used to live there. A minute or so later, he waved me over, and they ushered us into their home. My old home. Suddenly, I was inside the place where I grew up, in front of a South Asian family that looked like mine. Again, I couldn’t speak. I was tallying all the things that had changed. A wood floor instead of the ragged, brown-black carpet where my brother and I had had Lego pirate wars. Tall, pale curtains on the picture window instead of the pilled yellow ones where I’d skulk during hide-and-seek. The big, dark beams above were the same. As was the fireplace with the closet behind it. I tried to look inside to see what the new owners kept in there. For us, it was towels and soaps and TP — the most requested items. The place felt small. The new owners were a big family. Grandparents, grandchildren, and the two couples who ran the place. I knew they shared a small kitchen with a butcher-block counter. A half bath and a longer, narrower one with a stall shower. A dining room with cedar-paneled walls from the ’60s. Two bedrooms. Outside, the lawn had been paved over. There used to be three trees out front. The pool in the back was empty and fenced off, the chain-link listing down toward it, pulled by its black hole gravity, maybe, or a jinn. My husband asked how the business was doing, how the family liked the town, and chatted again about how I used to live there with my parents and brothers. “What do you do now?” they asked me. How do you say, “This place you live, where your kids live, put ghosts in my head, and I write to shut them up”? You don’t. My husband told them a bit about his own work, and I looked at the faces of their kids, these little beautiful brown children. I hoped that things would be better for them in this town than they were for me and my brothers. I hoped they’d come home from college and be happy and not feel what I felt at the time: the intense desire to stay, to live the reality I was most familiar and comfortable with, combined with the desperate urge to leave because I couldn’t get sucked into that dead space again. We didn’t stay long. After we drove off, I showed my kids my high school as well as the house my family lived in briefly when I was in my teens — beautiful and ghost-free. As the sun was setting, we parked on the side of the road to watch the sky over the Sierra Nevada turn gold, then pink, then a deep, unforgettable violet. The sky was dusty because the wind had kicked up. I knew that wind so well that it was like an old friend. I could practically hear it asking where I had been, why I hadn’t come back. The kids, who haven’t met many winds, threw sand in the air and watched as it spun into oblivion. The sun set. There are more stars in my hometown than anywhere else I’ve lived. I drank them in and the taste of dust at night. As we left, I opened the window and whispered a word. “Home.” I said it a few times, trying it out, to see how it felt. “Home.” Yes. That is what this town was. Not just a story or a source of pain, but home. One I could appreciate now for what it gave me. A desire to belong, which made me seek out stories. A need to contemplate, which lets me sit for months with a character. A passion for work, taught by my parents, which allowed me to survive college, then journalism, then publishing. A love of rain and mountains and the joyful howls of the Santa Ana winds. A “when” that I can come back to if I ever need to remember who I am. Sabaa Tahir is the New York Times bestselling author of the An Ember in the Ashes YA series, which has been translated into more than 35 languages. Her new novel, All My Rage, is partially inspired by her childhood in the desert, and will be published in March 2022 by Razorbill.
vox.com
D.C. United cuts ties with Joseph Mora, Yamil Asad and several others
D.C. United begins making roster decisions after missing the MLS playoffs by one point.
washingtonpost.com
Jack Dorsey Is Stepping Down as Twitter’s Chief Executive
Jack Dorsey, the co-founder and chief executive officer of Twitter Inc., is stepping down, according to a person familiar with the situation. Dorsey, 45, is also the head of payments company Square Inc. and has been taking an increasing interest in cryptocurrencies recently. CNBC reported the news earlier Monday, without providing any other details. Twitter…
time.com
Suspected bomb threats made at two Brooklyn high schools: sources
Edward R. Murrow High School in Midwood and New Utrecht High School in Bensonhurst were evacuated Monday morning after receiving suspected bomb threats, sources said.
nypost.com
Jussie Smollett trial: Judge orders no cameras, press in courtroom during jury selection
A Cook County judge has ordered that cameras and press will not be allowed inside the courtroom when Jussie Smollett’s trial kicks off Monday.
foxnews.com
Philadelphia college student killed as city surges past 500 homicides in 2021
Samuel Sean Collington died from fatal gunshot wounds during an apparent attempted robbery on November 28, 2021 at Temple University.
nypost.com
‘Jeopardy!’ Champ Reveals What “Sucks” About Winning
Still, that doesn't mean Amy wants to lose, per se.
nypost.com
Opening statements are set to begin in the sex trafficking trial of Ghislaine Maxwell
Prosecutors have sought to portray the once prominent socialite as the chief coordinator of a trafficking ring that victimized teenage girls to the benefit of disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein.
npr.org
Supply-Chain Kinks Force Small Manufacturers to Scramble
Facing delays, shortages and higher prices for raw materials, companies are finding new sources. Not all are able to pass along the costs.
nytimes.com
Pomegranate-glazed chicken wings for game day: Try the recipe
Looking to jazz up your tailgate repertoire? Look no further than this recipe from Rania Batayneh, MPH, author of the book, The One One One Diet.
foxnews.com
Kareem Hunt's father rips Baker Mayfield in latest Browns drama: 'He's scared to throw the ball'
The father of Cleveland Browns running back Kareem Hunt took his turn to take a shot at quarterback Baker Mayfield during the team’s 16-10 loss to the Baltimore Ravens on Sunday.
foxnews.com
Unvaccinated Pregnant Woman Hospitalized by COVID Wishes She Got the Shot
Anniree Muir, 23, who had to have her baby delivered early after falling seriously ill with COVID, urged others to get vaccinated.
newsweek.com
WorldView: Japan bans foreign visitors as Omicron coronavirus variant spreads
Japan announced it will ban all foreign visitors, one of an increasing number of countries tightening their borders as an emergency precaution as the Omicron coronavirus variant spreads. Lucy Craft reports from Tokyo for "CBSN AM" on the global pandemic and other international headlines.
cbsnews.com
Michigan middle school teacher quits after refusing to remove pride flag: 'Oppression'
Michigan middle school teacher resigns after school asks him repeatedly to remove pride flag from classroom
foxnews.com
Second gentleman kicks off Hanukkah in attendance of the National menorah lighting
Doug Emhoff is the first Jewish spouse of a U.S. president or vice president.       
usatoday.com
Miss New York’s stunning transformation from tomboy to tiara
Raised by an Army veteran single dad, Miss New York Briana Siaca was a tomboy who learned to change a flat before she ever learned how to apply mascara.
nypost.com
Northeast, Great Lakes to get snow this week
We’re watching three Alberta Clipper systems that will impact the Great Lakes and Northeast this week.
foxnews.com
Biden offers words of encouragement to young girl with stutter
President Joe Biden offered some words of encouragement to a young girl who struggles with a stutter, empathizing with her as someone who has had a lifelong stutter himself.
edition.cnn.com
Did the conservative legal movement succeed? That all depends on whether the Supreme Court overrules Roe v. Wade.
For four decades, conservatives have been pressing to interpret the Constitution based on the language of the Framers and stop judges from inventing constitutional rights. Now, with six conservative justices, is the moment of truth.
washingtonpost.com
Indiana girl, 2, found dead in river days after she vanished with father
Search crews recovered the body of missing 2-year-old Emma Sweet from the White River near Columbus, Indiana, on Sunday morning, days after her father was rescued from a submerged vehicle.
foxnews.com