LUMBERTON, N.C. — The most memorable moment of the trial that put Henry McCollum and Leon Brown behind bars for three decades for a hideous 1983 rape and murder was a display of brilliant courtroom theatrics.

District Attorney Joe Freeman Britt of Robeson County, who stood 6-foot-6 and came to be known as America’s “Deadliest D.A.,” asked jurors to try to hold their breath for five minutes — the time it took the 11-year-old victim to choke to death, after her killer stuffed her panties down her throat with a stick — to get a small sense of the horror she experienced.

The jury came back with two of the more than 40 death penalty convictions Mr. Britt won over almost two decades.

Those two convictions were obtained on the basis of inconsistent, soon recanted, confessions from two mentally impaired teenagers who said they had been coerced to sign statements written by interrogators, and testimony by an informer who previously did not implicate the two. They were overturned last week, and Mr. McCollum and Mr. Brown were exonerated and set free.

Their release concluded a judicial horror story in which the two men were sent to death row though no physical evidence linked them to the murder. At the same time, a serial sex offender who lived less than 100 yards from the crime scene — and who, a few weeks after that murder, would kill a teenage girl nearby in strikingly similar circumstances — was never pursued as a suspect.

How Long Before Hamas Realizes It Lost the War?

Israelis have entered the second full week of what everyone hopes will be a permanent ceasefire. Very rapidly, Tel Aviv has seemingly returned to normal.

However, my fragile calm was ruptured one recent night at midnight. I was so startled by a screeching sound that I went out on my balcony to see if everything was OK. Happily, I quickly realized that the discordant blaring wail (which I had not heard for a month) was merely a return of aircraft to their normal flight path (i.e. over Tel Aviv, when landing at Ben-Gurion Airport – a flight path that planes did not take during the nearly two months of warfare.)

The streets of Tel Aviv are once again full at night. People have gone back to the restaurants and bars they avoided during the war. Every restaurateur who I spoke with in Tel Aviv reported the same thing (a 50 percent drop in business during the war.) People just stopped going out. They preferred to remain as close to home as possible.

How Long Before Hamas Realizes It Lost the War?

Israelis have entered the second full week of what everyone hopes will be a permanent ceasefire. Very rapidly, Tel Aviv has seemingly returned to normal.

However, my fragile calm was ruptured one recent night at midnight. I was so startled by a screeching sound that I went out on my balcony to see if everything was OK. Happily, I quickly realized that the discordant blaring wail (which I had not heard for a month) was merely a return of aircraft to their normal flight path (i.e. over Tel Aviv, when landing at Ben-Gurion Airport – a flight path that planes did not take during the nearly two months of warfare.)

The streets of Tel Aviv are once again full at night. People have gone back to the restaurants and bars they avoided during the war. Every restaurateur who I spoke with in Tel Aviv reported the same thing (a 50 percent drop in business during the war.) People just stopped going out. They preferred to remain as close to home as possible.

Map Shows All The Devices In The World Connected To The Internet | IFLScience

The image above isn’t your average map: it shows the location of all devices connected to the Internet in the world. The redder the area, the more devices there are.

The map was created by John Matherly, founder of the search engine Shodan and self-proclaimed Internet cartographer. To produce it, Matherly sent ping requests on August 2 to every IP address on the Internet and plotted the positive responses. There’s nothing shady or illegal about this; pings are simply network utilities which transmit an echo-request message to an IP address.

It took him just five hours to collect the data, but a further 12 to generate the image. Matherly notes on reddit that his ping requests would only reach devices that are directly connected to the Internet, such as routers. However, he has sometimes picked up smart phones.

Map Shows All The Devices In The World Connected To The Internet | IFLScience

The image above isn’t your average map: it shows the location of all devices connected to the Internet in the world. The redder the area, the more devices there are.

The map was created by John Matherly, founder of the search engine Shodan and self-proclaimed Internet cartographer. To produce it, Matherly sent ping requests on August 2 to every IP address on the Internet and plotted the positive responses. There’s nothing shady or illegal about this; pings are simply network utilities which transmit an echo-request message to an IP address.

It took him just five hours to collect the data, but a further 12 to generate the image. Matherly notes on reddit that his ping requests would only reach devices that are directly connected to the Internet, such as routers. However, he has sometimes picked up smart phones.

Meat is a nasty business, filled with blood, guts and, yes, shit. While there’s nothing in the U.S. today that matches the hellish conditions described in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle at the turn of the last century, there is no avoiding the fact that if we want to eat meat, we need to do things that are stomach-churning for the average person: kill things, cut them up, pack the pieces into containers and ship them out. 

We’ve all done an excellent job of hiding this process from our daily lives. In the time we’ve moved out of the country and into cities and suburbs (in 1910, 72 percent of Americans lived in rural areas; in 2010, only 16 percent did), we’ve both literally and emotionally distanced ourselves from the provenance of our dinners. 

In her book on the history of meat production in the U.S., In Meat We Trust, Maureen Ogle notes that as early as 1870s, city dwellers were desperate to get the dirty business of the slaughterhouse off their cobblestone streets. And as cities became less industrialized and more “refined,” the sight and smell of slaughter became even less tolerable. 

So we drove meat production into the hinterlands, in the process encouraging the growth of massive meat conglomerates that did much more than simply process: They grew, slaughtered, processed, shipped and marketed. 

To keep up with demand, they used all the resources they could marshall to become ever more efficient at these tasks. In 2010, we consumed 34,156,000 metric tons of the stuff total. Per person, we average 270.7 pounds of meat per year, well above the world average of 102.5 pounds and second only to tiny Luxembourg. 

Can Mass Meat Be Both Cheap and Safe?

Meat is a nasty business, filled with blood, guts and, yes, shit. While there’s nothing in the U.S. today that matches the hellish conditions described in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle at the turn of the last century, there is no avoiding the fact that if we want to eat meat, we need to do things that are stomach-churning for the average person: kill things, cut them up, pack the pieces into containers and ship them out.

We’ve all done an excellent job of hiding this process from our daily lives. In the time we’ve moved out of the country and into cities and suburbs (in 1910, 72 percent of Americans lived in rural areas; in 2010, only 16 percent did), we’ve both literally and emotionally distanced ourselves from the provenance of our dinners.

In her book on the history of meat production in the U.S., In Meat We Trust, Maureen Ogle notes that as early as 1870s, city dwellers were desperate to get the dirty business of the slaughterhouse off their cobblestone streets. And as cities became less industrialized and more “refined,” the sight and smell of slaughter became even less tolerable.

So we drove meat production into the hinterlands, in the process encouraging the growth of massive meat conglomerates that did much more than simply process: They grew, slaughtered, processed, shipped and marketed.

To keep up with demand, they used all the resources they could marshall to become ever more efficient at these tasks. In 2010, we consumed 34,156,000 metric tons of the stuff total. Per person, we average 270.7 pounds of meat per year, well above the world average of 102.5 pounds and second only to tiny Luxembourg.

Can Mass Meat Be Both Cheap and Safe?

I don’t really like dive bars, but I am always sad when one closes. I prefer to drink in a clean, well-lighted place where I don’t have to watch Yankees highlights or listen to the discomfiting political ideas of ancient barflies. But many others like the dimness, and the sweating bottles of Budweiser, and talking sports with someone they don’t know and never will, except for the duration of one boozy evening. 

These pleasures, to be found in dive bars, used to be readily available on the street corners of New York and Chicago, in establishments that had an Irish name, or a Polish name, or maybe no name at all—just a neon sign announcing the presence of cheap booze in uncomplicated arrangements. No longer so. To watch the agonizing death of the dive bar is to know that a species integral to urban ecology is disappearing. 

Regardless of your affection or animosity for that species, its extinction says nothing good about the way we live. You may, at this, point, ask an entirely reasonable question: What, exactly, is a dive bar, anyway? To which I will, in turn, supply an entirely honest answer: I have absolutely no idea. Unlike flora and fauna, watering holes do not abide by Linnaean taxonomy. 

Nevertheless, several negatives readily apply: This is not the place for the $18 kiwi-tini, nor for an Upper Peninsula artisanal ale lauded by the high culinary priests of Bon Appetit. The dive is not new, the dive is not fashionable, and the dive is not in the newspapers unless 1) it is closing, as dives often are, and 2) it is the setting of a crime, as dives also often are. The dive is not beautiful, and neither are the people within it. And that’s how they like it, thank you very much. 

Yuppies Are Killing the Dive Bar

I don’t really like dive bars, but I am always sad when one closes. I prefer to drink in a clean, well-lighted place where I don’t have to watch Yankees highlights or listen to the discomfiting political ideas of ancient barflies. But many others like the dimness, and the sweating bottles of Budweiser, and talking sports with someone they don’t know and never will, except for the duration of one boozy evening.

These pleasures, to be found in dive bars, used to be readily available on the street corners of New York and Chicago, in establishments that had an Irish name, or a Polish name, or maybe no name at all—just a neon sign announcing the presence of cheap booze in uncomplicated arrangements. No longer so. To watch the agonizing death of the dive bar is to know that a species integral to urban ecology is disappearing.

Regardless of your affection or animosity for that species, its extinction says nothing good about the way we live. You may, at this, point, ask an entirely reasonable question: What, exactly, is a dive bar, anyway? To which I will, in turn, supply an entirely honest answer: I have absolutely no idea. Unlike flora and fauna, watering holes do not abide by Linnaean taxonomy.

Nevertheless, several negatives readily apply: This is not the place for the $18 kiwi-tini, nor for an Upper Peninsula artisanal ale lauded by the high culinary priests of Bon Appetit. The dive is not new, the dive is not fashionable, and the dive is not in the newspapers unless 1) it is closing, as dives often are, and 2) it is the setting of a crime, as dives also often are. The dive is not beautiful, and neither are the people within it. And that’s how they like it, thank you very much.

Yuppies Are Killing the Dive Bar