Is there an emoji for slowly freezing to death?
Photo by: Sky Noir
Good morning, RVA! It’s 18 °F, and you shouldn’t expect temperatures above freezing until tomorrow afternoon. Deal with it. You should also deal with the fact that there’s a possibility of more snow on Wednesday night as an incoming front has shifted slightly north.
University of Richmond announced the selection of their tenth president, Ronald Andrew Crutcher. Crutcher has a Doctor in Musical Arts degree in cello from Yale, played in the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, and is the President Emeritus of Wheaton College. Just your average super-genius musician, nbd.
Style Weekly’s Ned Oliver reports that the Floyd Avenue Bike Walk RVA Boulevard of Dreams and Champions has cleared its final hurdle. Construction begins this spring.
From the City Council meeting last night, more no-news about Stone Brewing Co. That decision has been postponed until next week or whenever Council decides to get its act together.
Supporters of RPS superintendent Dr. Bedden showed up wearing blue and carrying #BetterWithBedden signs at last night’s School Board meeting. Bedden will interview in Boston this week where the current temperature is one half of a degree Fahrenheit.
Today, the first seat of every GRTC bus will be reserved for Rosa Parks. While you’re thinking about it, you should check out some of the primary source material about her over on Wikipedia, like her booking photo and the police report from her arrest.
Big news, you guys! With the release of iOS 8.3, Apple will add a bunch of new and diverse emoji! The six new skin tones are based on Fitzpatrick Scale plus the yellow Lego-like tone that we’re all familiar with. Double bonus: same-sex family emojis, too! No word on the highly anticipated taco emoji, though.
Alaska became the third state to legalize recreational marijuana use.
This morning’s longread
I am dying, literally, at my home in Hollywood, of metastatic breast cancer, the only kind of breast cancer that kills. For six years I’ve known I was going to die. I just didn’t know when. Then, a couple of weeks before Christmas, a new, deadly diagnosis gave me a deadline. No doctor would promise me I’d make it to 2015. Promise me, I told my friends and family, that you’ll never say that I died after “fighting a courageous battle with breast cancer.” This tired, trite line dishonors the dead and the dying by suggesting that we, the victims, are responsible for our deaths or that the fight we were in was ever fair.
This morning’s Instagram
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