Odd news of the day

Discussion in 'Off Topic' started by RickAgresta, Oct 10, 2007.

  1. RickAgresta

    RickAgresta Peanut, leader of the Peanutty Forces

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    normally, yes, but sometimes I get confused....growing old is not for the faint of heart

    EDIT: and the fart-related cat memes were in direct response to the news article jig posted
     
  2. lelisa13p

    lelisa13p Your Super Moderator Super Moderator

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    Sometimes it's hard to know which thread to post in. :thumbsup:
     
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  3. scjjtt

    scjjtt A Former Palm User

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    ...especially the way our threads evolve!

    Sent from my LG G4 using Tapatalk
     
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  4. raspabalsa

    raspabalsa Brain stuck BogoMipping

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    Devolve would be a more accurate description. "Evolve" implies advancing. We usually go around and around, and often backwards. Not that this isn't no less unenjoyable in its own, though. Case in point, I'm going around and around trying to understand that quadruple negative.
     
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  5. jigwashere

    jigwashere Life is a circus!

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    Cops rescue pig near a Dunkin' Donuts, name him 'Pork Roll'
    NEPTUNE TOWNSHIP, N.J. — Police in New Jersey say they found a lost pet pig wandering near a local Dunkin' Donuts and nicknamed it "Pork Roll."

    Neptune Township police said Wednesday they got a call over the recent holiday weekend concerning a pig wandering around the doughnuts and coffee chain store.

    The department jokes an officer was able to "catch the well-fed hog and take him into custody for questioning and to provide him with a job application as our new mascot" before transferring him to the Monmouth County Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

    Officials say Pork Roll's owner picked him up from the agency.
     
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  6. RickAgresta

    RickAgresta Peanut, leader of the Peanutty Forces

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    ...my home town...:vbwink::newpalm::thumbsup:
     
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  7. jigwashere

    jigwashere Life is a circus!

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    Dad who fathered kids around the country has offspring tracking 'Johnny Appleseed'
    [​IMG]



    By MARY LYNN SMITH , STAR TRIBUNE
    June 08, 2018 - 12:07 PM

    The doorbell rang on a winter day in 1962 — months after the Minneapolis teenager gave birth and her husband ran off. On the front porch another young woman, accompanied by her father, stood cradling an infant.

    They had one question: Where’s Al? He had fathered the baby girl in her arms.

    More than 55 years later, a story about a man who had children with at least eight wives and even more girlfriends across the country is gradually being unraveled.


    With the help of DNA and online ancestry communities, his offspring are finding one another. Now the search is on to find yet another sibling — the baby brought to that Minneapolis doorstep years ago — most likely fathered by a man some knew as Allan Kain, others knew as Alton “Dub” Barron and his now-connected offspring wryly refer to as “Johnny Appleseed.”


    “You have to laugh because it’s so incredible,” said Connie Hoye, a daughter of Alton Barron who grew up in Minnesota and now lives in Missouri.

    Hoye has so far discovered that she has six brothers and five sisters fathered by Barron.

    And there’s likely a lot more.

    “He spent a lot of time in Idaho, Washington state, California, Indiana, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Texas,” said Hoye, who has assumed the role of historian of the growing family tree. It also appears he married and fathered at least one child while working on an oil rig in Indonesia, she said.

    “We know that he didn’t go very long before impregnating somebody,” she added.

    The charismatic Texas native, born Alton William Barron, was a charmer who picked up women even more easily than he picked up jobs. He was 6-feet-4 with olive skin and blue eyes. His good looks combined with a southern drawl and gregarious personality to draw people in. Women opened their arms and their homes. When he was arrested in Louisiana for bigamy, even his jailers were taken by his affability.

    “He was mesmerizing,” said Bob Sexton, Barron’s younger half-brother, who still lives in their hometown of Tyler, Texas. “The funny part is that I always figured I was the better-looking one,” the 86-year-old said with a laugh.

    But some warned Barron that his penchant for women, especially married women, could spell trouble. “ ‘If you keep messing around,’ ” Sexton told him in the fall of 1979, “ ‘you’re going to get killed.”

    A month later in Idaho, the 53-year-old Barron was shot dead by a girlfriend’s estranged husband.

    Decades later, the extent of his womanizing is being mapped by children who have connected through AncestryDNA and pieced together stories bolstered by birth certificates, memories, photos and newspaper clippings. There’s no doubt he was a cad, they say. Yet they’re captivated by the strange stories that now link them.


    “It’s our own kind of bond,” Hoye said.

    An irresistible scoundrel

    Hoye was 12 years old when she learned that a man named Allan Barron was her biological father. But she didn’t find out who he really was until four decades later.

    Hoye had logged into Ancestry.com and submitted her DNA merely in search of her ethnic heritage. Instead, she found a half-brother.

    Eventually, a timeline of Barron’s escapades emerged, with a dizzying list of women and the children he fathered, beginning in Tyler, Texas, where he abandoned his first wife in the 1940s.

    “My mom was pregnant with me so she followed him to Des Moines,” said Shelia Jenkins, who now lives near Dallas, Texas. Watching him leave a bar with a redheaded woman, her mother jumped in a cab and followed the Cadillac they were in. They were a long way out of town when the Cadillac ran out of gas.

    “My mother borrowed a tire iron from the cabdriver and broke out all the windows in the Cadillac while they were in it,” Jenkins said. “Then she got back in the cab and went back to town. Isn’t that hysterical?”

    Growing up, her mom called him a scoundrel. Even so, she apparently was never “done with him” because DNA tests confirmed that the youngest of the three children she had after she remarried was Barron’s.

    “He had a line of B.S. a mile long,” said Jenkins, one of the few offspring he visited off and on. “All the women just loved him.


    “At one point, he had five wives in Louisiana,” Jenkins said. That led to the bigamy charge, which listed only three wives because the other two had remarried and didn’t want to testify, she explained.

    Jailhouse letter

    When a story about the bigamy appeared in an Iowa newspaper, an ex-girlfriend sent a letter to Barron, offering him a place to stay. She and Barron already shared a son.

    That son, Michael Banks, was 7 years old when Barron bounced back to Iowa. “That’s how I got my baby brother,” he said. Barron split before the baby was born, leaving Banks with few memories and some old photos that his mother kept.

    Banks doesn’t harbor anger. “I would have liked to have a more standard life of being raised by a mother and father — a ‘Leave It To Beaver’ kind of family where the father goes off to work and mother takes care of the home front,” Banks said. “But my mother was such a great mother that I was probably better off without him.”

    Like his newfound half-brothers and half-sisters, Banks is fascinated with the stories and half-siblings they’re finding. “We’re kind of astonished every time we find another one,” he said.

    The discoveries, however, can open old wounds.

    Dredging up the past likely brought back bad memories for Hoye’s mother, Kathleen.

    Kathleen was 16 years old and a waitress in her family’s Wisconsin restaurant when she married Barron, who was using the Kain alias then. He also lied about his age — he was 33, not 22, when he wooed her.

    In the two years they were together, Kathleen and Allan Kain repeatedly pulled up stakes, moving from Wisconsin to Washington to California and then Minneapolis.


    They abruptly left Wisconsin because he was arrested for having sex with a minor. The story he told Kathleen was that a teenage waitress had come on to him. When they suddenly left San Rafael, Calif., he merely said it was time to leave before trouble came. And there was the time he went to Iowa, telling Kathleen he was visiting his sister and her newborn. (It was a girlfriend and his baby.)

    “Everything she thought she knew about him she later found out wasn’t true,” said Hoye, whose mother died earlier this year. Hoye hoped that she could offer her mom solace by showing her that other women also had been duped.

    Now Hoye is on a quest to identify the young mother who turned up on her mother’s doorstep in February 1962. She had said she lived in Hopkins and was either a candy striper or nurse at Fairview Hospital in Minneapolis, where Hoye was born in April 1961.

    “[Barron] probably met her at the hospital while my mom was having me,” Hoye said, her voice tinged with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance.

    “It’s one more piece in the puzzle,” she said. And it’s intriguing, she added.

    “We’re caught up in his charm,” Hoye said. “He has a spell on us just like … all the women he charmed.”



    Mary Lynn Smith • 612-673-4788
     
  8. lelisa13p

    lelisa13p Your Super Moderator Super Moderator

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    Lucky for everyone this was before the advent of HIV/AIDS.
     
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  9. Hook

    Hook Phone Killer ;-) Arrrrr...f

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  10. jigwashere

    jigwashere Life is a circus!

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    Sigh.....yes, I'm from Minnesota.

    Brooks: When goats and yoga become one to save the dairy farm
    JUNE 9, 2018 — 3:11PM
    [​IMG]
    JENNIFER BROOKS, STAR TRIBUNE
    Have Ya Herd goat yoga drew participants to Powderhorn Park in Minneapolis.

    Take a deep breath. Exhale around the goat that just head-butted your stomach.

    Stretch to the left. Pat that goat as it gnaws on your shirttail. Relax in the knowledge that goat yoga is pure and good and a lens through which we can come to understand the struggle of family dairy farmers. Namaste.

    Sometimes you put two words together and tear America apart. Unicorn Frappuccino. Donald Trump. Half the country recoils. The other half rushes in to take selfies.

    It doesn't have to be that way with goat yoga. With goat yoga, everybody wins.

    People get to laugh and roll around with goats.

    The goats get to bounce up and down on people.

    And a sixth-generation dairy farm gets a shot at making it to the seventh generation.

    Friday afternoon's goat yoga exhibition drew dozens of yogis and me to Powderhorn Park, where Jess and Kevin Lubich of Have Ya Herd goat yoga rolled out the mats and penned off some studio space. The Minneapolis Parks Foundation is trying to encourage us to spend more time outdoors and it is working. If we always had goat yoga outside, I would never come inside.

    I took up position on a rented mat as half a dozen goats pranced into the pen, trailed by Ralphie the fainting goat, who had to be carried into class, legs jutting stiffly in the air, because something startled him en route.

    I like you, fainting goat. The way you panic and tip over during yoga reminds me of me.

    Goat yoga is more like animal therapy than a serious workout, says our easygoing yoga teacher Jessie Driscoll. She leads half the class through a graceful tree pose. The rest of the class is down on the mats cuddling goats.

    This wasn't the business model the Lubich family expected to follow when they brought their first goats home.

    The family of five from Roberts, Wis., and their herd of 50 dairy cows are living through terrible times in the dairy industry. Milk prices are low, expenses are high and the president is courting trade wars with the countries that buy our cheese.

    "It's just been miserable," said Pat Lunemann, general manager of Twin Eagle Dairy in Todd County and chairman of Minnesota AgriGrowth, who's watched one small farm after another go out of business over the past four years. Each farm that goes, he said, unravels a bit more of the social fabric in rural communities and ends another family's way of life.

    Wisconsin lost 500 dairy farms last year. Minnesota's dairy farm count drops month after month. Twenty-four went out of business in April. In January, the state lost 29. Another 27 went out of business in December, according to the depressing tally the Minnesota Department of Agriculture keeps.

    "Long story short, it costs us money to milk our cows," Jess Lubich said. "Every month, there's a loss … Fingers crossed things get better. It's a huge struggle."

    Fingers crossed, she and Kevin bought a herd of dairy goats a few years ago, hoping to bring in some extra income. When a deal with a dairy fell through, they found themselves with 20 goats they couldn't quite part with — some they'd bottle-fed in their kitchen during 40-below winters; some their children — ages 6, 3 and 22 months — loved and named.

    It was Kevin Lubich's 60-year-old father who first suggested goat yoga, after spotting a story about all the people lining up to Instagram a similar class out in Oregon.

    These days, the Have Ya Herd herd not only pays its own way, it helps keep the farm afloat. Classes in Roberts, $25 a head, are sold out through July. Tickets to special events — like a goats-and-wine promotion they organized with a Wisconsin winery — sell out in a matter of hours.

    "It's happy," Jess Lubich said, of goat yoga's enduring appeal. "It's relaxing. It takes your mind off everything. It's hard to focus on your to-do list and your stressful job when you're laughing and doing goat yoga."

    To test the theory, I pushed myself up into cobra pose while staring deep into the eyes of Ralphie the fainting goat.

    I thought about U.S. trade policy and the midterms and the polar ice caps and the polar bears and how the movers lost two of my couch legs and now my couch is teetering on a stack of Al Franken biographies and I am definitely the only person in this class wearing sweatpants instead of sleek yoga tights and — Ralphie nibbled on my thumb.

    Did we just become best friends? I patted Ralphie and thought of nothing in particular for the rest of the class.

    The neighbors back in Roberts can't quite believe people pay good money for this.

    "You still dancing with the goats?" one elderly friend asked Lubich the other day. Yes, she assured him, still dancing with the goats.

    Follow Jennifer on Twitter: @stribrooks
     
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