In this illustrated piece, Anna Karakalou turns to scuba diving and her love for the sea to ease her heartache over a troubled relationship. The only thing standing in her way is physics.
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A Very Sad Story
Sometimes you can look at a child and say, "Man, he was meant to be a basketball star." That's what people used to say about me too, except instead of basketball star, they said lawyer.
No, seriously.
I was born in a matching sweater set and shiny Mary Jane shoes on February 26, 1988. Rumor has it I climbed down a stack of reference books to accept the birth certificate. I have spent more recess hours in a library—more hours in a library in general—than probably most members of Congress. I have, on occasion, very politely argued my way out of paying for school milk (where else do state tax dollars go?). I started making study flash cards long before my teachers recommended it. When I became the only member of my rather large family to require a nice, thick pair of glasses, everyone just said, "Of course."
Read MorePassing
I arrived in Jersey City with my mother and brother on a dark night in January 1986. Mom had fallen in love and had dragged us along to her new life with her new husband. We were transplants from Southern California, where our hometown had experienced a cold snap just a few months before. Temperatures had plummeted to fifty degrees. But this was worse. Even in my warmest coat, I shivered. My bare ears stung.
A few days later, my brother and I enrolled in our new school, PS 23. In California, our schools were named after mountains and fruit trees, but in Jersey City the education system had opted for utilitarian numbers. It made me feel like a number myself.
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Side Effects
Cyndi Freeman's story of receiving frightening advice from her doctor—and how it inspired a surprising career change—was recorded at one of The Story Collider's first shows, in August of 2010. In the "Bad Medicine" issue of our magazine, we bring you an illustrated version by Tammy Stellanova. (Contains explicit images.)
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Hair Gone Wrong . . . Or Just Gone
Rapunzel sucks. Even in her most tragic, desperate moments did she really ever truly understand the value of good hair? I don't think so. Because of her, and Barbie and Marilyn Monroe, I've always assumed that the saying "Blondes have more fun" is true because being a brunette was absolute torture, turning gray early wasn't as nearly as positive an experience as Andy Warhol said it would be (he dyed his hair on purpose at twenty-four so no one would ever know how old he was—or so he said), and that time when I went bald, well, it was an epic bad hair day. Umm, because I'm a girl.
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The Land of Cockaigne
I was twenty-six the first time I visited a shrink, the practice tucked away on Manhattan's Upper East Side, a brass plate on a black door. The therapists' offices faced in toward the waiting room, each with an overstuffed couch or, in the smaller offices, a large wing chair. Huge desks barricaded the far walls, and the rooms were painted in muted primary colors.
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Welcome to The Story Collider Magazine
"We all have a story about science, and at The Story Collider, we want to hear those stories." That's been part of our standard blurb since our inception a year and a half ago, and it's true. We've been lucky to feature many stories. Over 150 people have told stories on our stage, and 70 of those have appeared on our podcast. But there are a lot more personal science stories out there. A lot a lot.
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