A Hooverville was the popular name for shanty towns built by homeless men during the Great Depression. They were named after the President at the time, Herbert Hoover, because he allegedly let the nation slide into depression. The term was coined by Charles Michelson, publicity chief of the Democratic National Committee.[1] The name Hooverville has also been used to describe the tent cities commonly found in modern-day America.
A HUNDRED years ago a group of foreign diplomats gathered in Shanghai for the first-ever international effort to ban trade in a narcotic drug. On February 26th 1909 they agreed to set up the International Opium Commission—just a few decades after Britain had fought a war with China to assert its right to peddle the stuff. Many other bans of mood-altering drugs have followed. In 1998 the UN General Assembly committed member countries to achieving a "drug-free world" and to "eliminating or significantly reducing" the production of opium, cocaine and cannabis by 2008.
What didn't the Times want you to see?
Trust fund millionaire James G. Cummings, an American Nazi sympathizer from Maine who was slain by his wife Amber in December, allegedly had the radioactive components necessary to construct a "dirty bomb," a newly released threat analysis report states.
Gwyneth Paltrow could be the future of journalism.
Not as the subject of articles or magazines, but the writer and publisher of them. Her weekly e-newsletter and blog, Goop, which offers earnest advice on how to improve our tasteless, unstylish, ignorant lives, has 150,000 subscribers (an astronomical number for a new blog) and climbing, and she's already been offered a book deal (and is opening a gym, and starring in a cooking series with Mario Batali of Iron Chef fame).
Goop, whose title is based on her initials and nickname, has the New-Agey tagline, "Nourish the Inner Aspect," and covers recipes, books, spirituality, style, travel, health and culture, through notes to readers, and high profile guest contributions. This foray into journalism, or whatever it might be called, is proving so captivating it's outshining Paltrow's work on the bigger screen: at the premiere of Two Lovers, co-starring actor-turned-hip-hop underachiever Joaquin Phoenix, media interest in Paltrow's role as the more stylish pretender to Martha Stewart's crown hogged the spotlight.
Perplexed and curious, I've been a subscriber since the first issue back in September, fascinated by the unfolding of her project, and its effect on the media and public. It's clearly well meaning, and Paltrow makes no pretense of being a Pulitzer-prize calibre writer, but its tone(-deafness) and purpose(lessness) have nonetheless ignited millions of vitriolic words from journalists, bloggers and commenters. But though many are justified, those criticisms alone don't account for the depth of passion felt by the "haters," as Paltrow herself calls them.
As a NYT article put it this week,, "In a culture that has given us Jane Fonda workout tapes, Paul Newman salad dressing, fashion and perfumes from J. Lo, Madonna children's books, and furniture and clothing by the Olsen twins, why is Ms. Paltrow the victim of such ridicule?"
In hard times a man must consider new options, and right now I'm thinking about going on disability. I read in the Washington Post about the wonderful deals that police in Montgomery County, Md., negotiated for themselves way back when, whereby after a few years on the force if you twist your back reaching for a jelly doughnut and are no longer able to dash down dark alleys and leap picket fences while firing your revolver with deadly accuracy, you apply for disability and a committee of gentlemen who report to nobody whomsoever and whose deliberations are highly confidential award you $50,000 per year tax-free. And then, though disabled, you pass the physical and are hired as a security guard at John F. Kennedy High School, named for the man who said, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but on the other hand don't turn it down when it's easily available," and all this at a time when they are cutting music and art out of the schools and children must start classes at 7 a.m. due to a shortage of buses.
An editorial cartoon is like nothing else in a newspaper. Editorial cartoonists don't need any special degrees. Unlike reporters and editorial writers, they don't even have to pretend to be "fair." Moderation in what Jules Feiffer called "the art of ill will" is the ultimate vice: boring. 
A chimp that deliberately fashions discs of concrete to later hurl at zoo visitors is being hailed as definitive proof that the apes plan for future events.
Few are begrudging Kate Winslet winning her first Oscar in six nominations for "The Reader." As the common refrain in Hollywood went last week: "It's time." 
Ending America's dependence on carbon fuels would power the nation's economy the way abolition of slavery unleashed the Industrial Revolution in Britain, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. said Friday in Seattle.
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