It comes down to a pretty simple rule:.
A Facebook status is annoying if it primarily serves the author and does nothing positive for anyone reading it. To be not annoying, a Facebook status typically has to be one of two things:.
You know why these are not annoying? Ideally, interesting statuses would be fascinating and original or a link to something that is , and funny ones would be hilarious. The author wants to affect the way people think of her. The author wants to make people jealous of him or his life. The author is feeling lonely and wants Facebook to make it better. This is the least heinous of the five—but seeing a lonely person acting lonely on Facebook makes me and everyone else sad.
Facebook is infested with these five motivations—other than a few really saintly people, most people I know, myself certainly included, are guilty of at least some of this nonsense here and there. Bragging is such a staple of unfortunate Facebook behavior, it needs to be broken into three subsections:.
Somewhere in the middle would be you calculatingly crafting your words as part of an unendearing and transparent campaign to make people see you in a certain way. On the other hand, they have the same exact core motivations as the blatant braggers and looking at these examples actually makes the first group seem almost lovable in comparison. The image-crafting and jealousy-inducing motives here are transparent. But really? The fun part of these is watching the inevitable comments and then watching how the author responds to them, if at all. This process slots the author into one of four sub-categories:.
What are you looking for here? Off to the gym, then class reading.
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I really want to get to the bottom of this. At some point between leaving work and arriving at the gym, you had an impulse to take out your phone and type this status. Then you put your phone away. Tell me what was accomplished. A weird part of the life of a major celebrity is that people are obsessed with everything about them, even their blue territory. My grandmother aside, there is no good reason to ever do this. That kind of malice is so extreme it crosses over the far line and becomes awesome. I refuse to believe you feel a genuine outpouring of love for your Facebook friends.
Hug me! I am one who knows the secrets of life—allow me to teach you so that you too can one day find enlightenment. You know what inspires people? You achieving something incredible and letting it be an example and inspiration to others. So for you to consider yourself an inspirational character by simply posting trite quotes is, well, flagrantly narcissistic. The thing is, though, that if you looked right below his post, all you saw were likes and a couple friendly comments.
The bigger point here is that the qualities of annoying statuses are normal human qualities—everyone needs to brag to someone here and there, everyone has moments of weakness when they need attention or feel lonely, and everyone has some downright ugly qualities that are gonna come out at one time or another. Wait But Why posts regularly. If you like this, check out Why generation Y yuppies are so unhappy , The great perils of social interaction , and 11 Awkward things about email.
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But Terranova stayed on and further shocked his client by declining to make opening remarks. Despite no motive or physical evidence, Dixon, then 22, was handed the sentence of 39 years to life for second-degree murder, assault and weapon possession. How could this happen with another man admitting to the crime? Because after LaMarr Scott, then 18, emerged from his meeting with criminal-justice personnel, he changed his story.
He now agreed that Dixon was the shooter. The prosecutor charged them with perjury before the murder trial, to prevent the jury from hearing from them. Case closed. But Dixon was dispirited, dejected—pick a word—and navigating prison culture was a full-time occupation for someone who entered at and pounds.
Before long, living down the hall was LaMarr Scott, who entered Attica after Dixon for a armed robbery and shooting that left one victim a quadriplegic. It was seven years before Dixon started drawing.
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He sketched animals and plants, using magazines like National Geographic for reference material. He started making greeting cards—sweet images with short, original verses—while his wife, Louise, supervised the printing and distribution. Louise Piromalli is an Australian who met Dixon after finding his art on the Internet.
They were married in the Attica cafeteria in Not only were other inmates inspired by his ability to turn time into honest money, Dixon could afford to be a peacemaker. The mandatory prison jobs, which for Dixon was a relatively cushy gig in the barbershop, earned 40 cents an hour. Louise overstayed her visa and was forced to return to Australia.
Her exit brought a halt to their greeting-card business. Dixon studied law to file his appeals, and with what could be described as equal efficacy, read philosophy. Attica superintendent James Conway was a golfer. In , shortly before retiring, Conway brought a photograph of the 12th hole at Augusta National and asked Dixon if he might render the famous par 3 as a favor. But he obliged.
It seemed peaceful. I imagine playing it would be a lot like fishing. The occupant of a neighboring cell, college-educated and white, was a golfer before he committed murder. But what Dixon lacked in supplies, he made up for with time. By applying layer upon layer of colored pencil, he learned to achieve a commensurate, if not stylistically unique, richness of hue.
And the endless permutations of sand bunkers and fairway contours gave him a subject he could play with. Dixon continued to look at Golf Digest, learning about the game through photographs, but eventually he got around to reading the articles, too. Dixon read about Howard Fields, a New York banker and kidney recipient who coped with his existence, in part, by playing golf annually with the father of the boy whose death was his gift of life. Dixon read about Sam LoCicero, an electrician from Louisiana who took up golf as a way of reintegrating into society after a horribly disfiguring work accident.
View more of Valentino Dixon's art portfolio. Waking up eager to resume each masterpiece and be transported to a place as far away from his cell as possible, Dixon thought, Golf is saving my life. A murderer who draws golf courses? The same artist wrongfully convicted would warrant a bigger treatment. Bringing a voice recorder and photographer inside a max-security prison involves an amount of bureaucratic wrangling, but not too much. Two guards take handcuffs off Dixon so we can sit at a table in the visiting area.
Word came that the Jackson brothers were looking to get my friend Mario. It was over a girl. You never know how seriously to take these threats in our neighborhood, but sure enough, I was in a store buying beer when I heard the shots: Pow! I ran outside and grabbed my half-brother to flee. I drove home and went to bed. The next day, the cops pulled me over, and within minutes a tow truck was there to haul away my car.
But soon there I was, being paraded before television cameras in a white paper suit on my way to county lockup. Because my dad had driven LaMarr downtown, much was made that he had coerced LaMarr into confessing. For murder? My half-brother had brought LaMarr to our dad to set everything straight, and LaMarr owned only a bicycle.
The golfer in me wants to believe Dixon. I feel no discomfort in his presence. I hope all you need to do is look at my drawings to know that. In all, the transcripts from the murder trial, perjury trial, the paperwork associated with three unsuccessful appeals, affidavits, police memos, the notes of a Buffalo News staff reporter, the statements and polygraph test results collected by a private investigator, motions, exhibits, orders, briefs and so on combine for about 3, pages. Like a bad novel, it took me a while just to get the names of all the characters straight. Over five months, I read and reread documents, and no doubt am less-invested in my day job.
But my colleagues have always been champions of the offbeat, and they cut me slack as I make timelines and surf people-finding websites for old witnesses. Opposing sides defecate piles of paperwork at one another, seemingly hoping to discourage or deafen the opponent. Amid so much noise, the truth gets as lost as a whistle in the wind. To rehash every detail now would be moot, but the broad strokes are instructive for understanding how black a hole the legal system can be.
Any one of the following facts might be enough for a motivated defense to prove reasonable doubt, but in aggregate the reality is clear: Local officials hastily railroaded a young black man with a criminal background, and when it became apparent there had been a mistake, they were too embarrassed or heartless to fix it.
Minutes before the shooting, brothers Aaron and Torriano Jackson arrived in a car intent on confronting Mario Jarmon over an earlier dispute. They exchanged angry words, a crowd circled, and at the sound of gunshots, the crowd dispersed. The police arrived shortly to recover a. This is significant because the prosecution would present Valentino Dixon as responsible for shooting all four people. Of the three eyewitnesses who testified against Dixon, there are questions about the accuracy of their testimony.
He had a charge pending in Georgia when the police escorted him to Buffalo to testify; he was convicted of sexual assault and battery.
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He picked No. Four days later, she called anonymously to tip the police, and a Buffalo Police intra-department memo about this call survives. Fear of gangland retribution, Frida says, prevented her from coming forward until A report by a U. But for this they were charged with perjury, and thus prevented from testifying at the murder trial.