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Yahoo
20-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
10 Things Kids Took To School In The '80s That Would Be Banned Today
The 1980s were a different universe when it came to childhood freedom—and school was no exception. Kids rolled into classrooms with items that would spark an emergency PTA meeting today. There were zero safety disclaimers, minimal adult supervision, and a collective belief that "they'll figure it out." It wasn't just a vibe—it was chaos wrapped in denim and Fruit Roll-Ups. From pocket knives to full-on pyrotechnics, '80s kids carried contraband with casual confidence. Here's a roundup of school staples from that decade that would never make it past a modern-day front office. It wasn't uncommon for boys—especially in rural areas—to bring pocket knives to school like it was just another pencil case item according to the Independent Mail. They were used for whittling during recess, showing off during lunch, or cutting apples like tiny survivalists in tube socks according to this article in Independent . No one called home, no one called the cops. Today, a pocket knife would trigger lockdown protocol, a suspension, and possibly a therapist referral. But back then, it was almost a rite of passage. Just a kid, his backpack, and a blade—what could go wrong? Yes, we were literally encouraged to 'smoke' during recess—just with chalky sugar sticks pretending to be Marlboros. Kids would lean against the brick wall, fake-inhale, and flick the invisible ash like tiny executives in recess blazers. It was bizarre and completely normalized. Today, candy cigarettes are basically extinct—or at the very least, not welcome anywhere near a child's lunchbox. Teaching kids how to fake-smoke while their lungs are still developing? Definitely a hard no in 2025. Armed with rubber bands, sticks, and zero adult oversight, kids proudly carried DIY slingshots to school like they were prepping for woodland warfare according to WebMD. They'd launch pebbles across the playground with terrifying precision—and no one questioned it unless someone got hit. It was fun until someone needed a Band-Aid. Today, a slingshot would be treated like a weapon, complete with disciplinary forms and a call to district HQ. But in the '80s? It was just another "creative project" that happened to double as a projectile launcher. Kids would lug these giant sound machines around like cultural badges of honor. Hallways, buses, even classrooms were soundtracked with mixtapes and cassette singles, whether people liked it or not. Volume control? Not a thing. The 80s were all about freedom according to The Cut. Today's schools have strict rules around phones, AirPods, and sound disruption. Show up with a boom box now and you'd be met with confusion, a noise complaint, and maybe a TikTok. Back then, it was just how you made an entrance. Those iconic tin lunchboxes—decorated with Star Wars or He-Man—weren't just for PB&Js. They were armor, weapon, and status symbol all in one. If you swung it the wrong way, someone was getting a black eye. Today, lunch gear is soft, bendable, and designed to avoid lawsuits. But in the '80s, kids walked around with miniature steel briefcases filled with snacks and the power to concuss. They were stylish—and slightly dangerous. Around Halloween or the Fourth of July, firecrackers somehow made their way into backpacks like contraband confetti. Kids lit them in bathrooms, under bleachers, or (in legendary cases) during class changes. The teachers were either oblivious or just numb to it. Now? One firecracker on campus is a police matter. But back then, it was part of the festive chaos. Childhood was a little louder—and a lot more combustible. Forget juice boxes. Kids strolled into lunchrooms with full-on glass bottles of Coca-Cola or RC Cola, fresh from the corner store. Finish your drink, chuck it in the trash—or drop it and create a lunchtime safety hazard. Today, schools are practically allergic to breakable materials. And with good reason—glass and kids don't mix well. But in the '80s, it was hydration with a side of risk. Every kid had a notebook full of M.A.S.H. games—predicting your future spouse, job, number of kids, and car. It was light-hearted, hilarious… and occasionally brutal. 'You're going to live in a shack, marry your worst enemy, and drive a garbage truck.' Cool cool cool. It wasn't technically banned, but it would never fly today in a classroom hyper-aware of bullying, labeling, and social anxiety. Back then, emotional warfare was just another form of recess entertainment. Mental health? Never heard of her. Kids collected them, traded them, and obsessed over the weirdest scents—gasoline, skunk, burnt rubber. The thrill was in how gross you could get. No one questioned what was actually in the stickers. Today's classrooms are fragrance-free zones for a reason. But back then, inhaling synthetic 'dirt' scents was peak sensory fun. Parents bought them. Teachers handed them out. No one read the ingredient list. Found a deer skull in the woods? Perfect for your Monday morning presentation. Kids brought in bones, bugs, and once in a while—a full taxidermied something—because show-and-tell was basically chaos in a sweater vest. Modern schools would shut that down before the femur hit the floor. But in the '80s, it was just another example of experiential learning. Science class was hands-on, unsupervised, and a little bit haunted.
New York Times
08-03-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
How a Sculptor Spends His Sundays
Sergio Furnari likes to think big. For the last 25 years, he has made a name for himself creating and displaying his giant works of art in public spaces. 'I believe in manifestation,' he said. 'If you dream it, it will come true.' His latest project, a nine-foot-tall metal statue of the soccer star Cristiano Ronaldo, was unveiled on Feb. 5 in Times Square to commemorate Mr. Ronaldo's 40th birthday. The sculpture will tour the globe atop a 2022 Jeep Gladiator that Mr. Furnari painted red and green — the colors of the national flag in Portugal, where Mr. Ronaldo is from. 'I wanted to make a monument to him,' Mr. Furnari, 55, said. 'He's the best in the world, the Superman of life.' Mr. Furnari, who hails from the Sicilian tile-making town of Caltagirone, first came to New York City in 1991 and made his living designing and installing elaborate hand-painted tile murals in luxury pools. In 2001, he rolled out 'Lunchtime Atop a Skyscraper,' a 40-foot sculptural version of the 1932 photo of 11 ironworkers suspended on an I-beam at Rockefeller Center. He mounted it on a pickup truck and displayed it at the site of the World Trade Center after the Sept. 11 attacks. Mr. Furnari rents a tiny house with 'a lot of charm' in Long Island City that was built in 1871. He lives with his 15-year-old daughter, Breeze. NO ALARMS, PLEASE My Sundays are not much different from the rest of the days of the week. I generally get up between 9 and 10. I've never been a person to set an alarm clock unless I have some really important reason to be up by a certain time. I stay up pretty late on Saturday night — and every night — so I don't wake up really early. A SMOKE TO START My breakfast is a couple of Marlboros, and when I finish them, I get breakfast for Breeze. I'm not an American dad who gets up at 7 a.m. and starts making pancakes. But I'm like her servant, and I like to spoil her. She loves brioche, so I get her one at Santa Chiara Caffe, which is right by the water in Long Island City. THE HEAVY LIFTING Most of the rest of the day, starting at about 11 a.m., I'm at my studio. It's in an old Airstream trailer about a mile from my house. It's from 1987, and I bought it in 2023. There's always a bunch of people there — I have apprentices and a staff who help me — and Breeze has been coming to do things like painting. People always think that artists have it easy, that we lie on the beach and make sketches, but my work is very physical. You have to have a strong body because we're welding, mounting, mixing, cutting, cleaning, blending and retouching. It all comes down to shaping and reshaping. And I'm supervising people, so I have to explain to them what has to be done and watch over things because if there's one little mistake, days of work go down the drain. I also have to be very organized because my projects are big, and I tour with them. I have to coordinate things from places all over the world, so I'm always on the phone working on schedules. CONNECTING I often visit my new art mentor, Robert Rogal, to get inspiration. His Long Island City gallery, RoGallery, is a place where you can literally breathe art and magic from Dalí to Picasso. It's a real surreal atmosphere where every art piece has a story almost like a Hollywood movie. IT ALL STARTS IN MY HEAD My process is simple. I don't make sketches. My ideas start in a kind of A.I. in my head. I'm a deep thinker; I think several times a day, 'What is life?' I visualize every project and think about it every minute, and I often wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it. Sometimes I make small models first, but in the case of the Ronaldo statue, I went directly to the nine-foot version. I try to take breaks to eat, but I'm not usually successful. I'm done for the day when I cannot see or look any more, and my body says game over. When I was younger, I had a different life — I went to the beach, I rode my motorcycle — but now this, working on my art, is my life and I love it. Sometimes I dream about spending time in Guatemala or at my family's summer home in Sicily. Or traveling around the world. But my art keeps calling me back. TAKEOUT OR COOK IN By 8 p.m., I'm pretty much done for the day, and I go home to eat with Breeze. Once in a while I do cook — I'm Italian, after all — and I'll make ravioli, eggs, salads, whatever I feel like and whatever Breeze wants. But more often than not, I get something that's already made. Breeze likes burritos, so I frequently stop by the Mexican food truck on the way home. CLOSING OUT THE DAY I go to bed at midnight, 1 a.m. or even 2 a.m. Whenever I'm exhausted, I lie down. I don't read or watch movies — I make my own movies in a way because my life is my movie. And I sleep like a baby. Sunday Routine readers can follow Sergio Furnari on Instagram @SergioFurnariArt.
Yahoo
19-02-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
A defense of ‘sin taxes' in Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine's proposed budget
Stock photo from Getty Images. Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine's final two-year budget proposal, released earlier this month, has caused quite a stir. The headline many have seen about it over and over again is the changes the budget recommends to taxes — namely proposed increases to taxes on cannabis, cigarettes, and sports betting. These taxes are often given the pejorative label of 'sin taxes' because they cover 'vices' that are potentially more palatable to tax than say…income or general sales. The phrase 'sin tax' smells a lot like the rebranding of the 'estate tax' as a 'death tax.' It's a way to get at our gut and rankle that libertarian impulse that we as Americans almost all have whether we like it or not. Who is to say what constitutes a 'sin' or not? Certainly not the government. Don't tread on my Marlboros! The problem with this framing is that it obscures a valuable tool of taxation: to correct social problems. The typical function that we ascribe to taxes is to raise revenue for operations of government. If that were the only way we could use taxes to a good end, the answer for how to raise taxes is pretty straightforward: cover as many different economic transactions as possible to make taxes as efficient as possible then rebate either cash or services back to low-income households to offset the regression of the system. SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX The problem with this line of thinking about taxes is that it is both excessively narrow-minded and a century behind the times. When Teddy Roosevelt instituted the national estate tax, he saw it as a way to promote equality of opportunity. Why should your wealth be a function of your parents' wealth? An estate tax reduced how much wealth you could receive from your parents, which had an impact on inequality. At the same time, Economist Arthur Pigou was promoting what later became known as 'Pigouvian taxation,' the idea that we can tax economic transactions that lead to 'externalities,' or social spillovers that cause harm to others. This became the theoretical basis for carbon taxes. If we want to reduce the release of carbon into the air, we need to bring the private cost of carbon pollution into line with the social cost of carbon pollution. This is how taxes on cannabis, cigarettes, and sports gambling work. A study released by the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City last year found state cannabis legalization caused double-digit increases in substance use disorder, chronic homelessness, and criminal justice involvement. Cigarette smoking leads to hundreds of millions of dollars in health care spending and productivity losses every year. Sports betting is causing household fiscal instability and fueling addiction. Yes, increasing taxes on cannabis, cigarettes, and sports betting does raise some equity concerns. The amazing thing about Pigouvian taxation, though, is that by using the revenue raised you can promote efficiency and equity at the same time by funding programs that support low-income people like child tax credits…just like this current budget does. You cannot build a state budget on a foundation of Pigouvian taxes — these three taxes will only raise 4% of total tax revenue in DeWine's FY 2026-2027 budget. But if we can curb social problems and fund programs at the same time, why wouldn't we? SUPPORT: YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE
