Someone had to say it

This week was a strange cocktail of mess and meaning. From radioactive rhino horns and lakefront scream sessions to yet another reminder that we treat our public spaces like personal trash cans, the world continues to ask: Are we okay? (Answer: not really, but at least we’re creative about it.) Let’s dive in.

Street Festival or Trash Parade?

Over the weekend, Marine Drive hosted a lively Street Festival that brought out foodies, music lovers, and curious city dwellers in full force. But by the time the crowds left, what remained looked less like a celebration and more like the aftermath of a public tantrum. Empty bottles, food wrappers, plastic bags all dumped across the road, pavements, and even the beachfront.

It was as if the event came with a side of collective amnesia: clean-up crews do exist, but so do trash bins. Why does civic pride vanish the moment something fun happens? Why do we continue to treat public spaces like they’re someone else’s problem?

You want festivals and street markets? Great. But at least clean up after yourselves. Otherwise, we’re just turning our city into a landfill with fairy lights.

Last Word: Yes, people are paid to clean up. But that doesn’t mean you get to act like trash.

Scream Therapy, But Make It Lakefront

Some couples hike. Others take salsa classes. Manny Hernandez and Elena Soboleva? They co-founded a “Scream Club” in Chicago, a weekly gathering of people who walk up to Lake Michigan and just scream into the void. For catharsis. For community. For content, probably.

What started as a way to process pandemic-era grief has grown into a 200-member strong group that now meets regularly to let it all out, loud and unfiltered. No icebreakers. No awkward small talk. Just deep breaths and primal screams, sometimes while wearing fun outfits. Think group therapy, but make it punk.

They’re hoping to expand the movement worldwide, and honestly, why not? In a world that constantly tells you to calm down, bottle it up, and be “chill,” this club says: be loud, be unhinged, and feel your feelings in stereo.

Last Word: If you’ve ever wanted to scream into the abyss and hear a chorus scream back, this might just be your people.

Radioactive Horns Are the New Black

In South Africa, scientists have decided that if diplomacy won’t stop poachers, maybe a little radiation will. Enter the Rhisotope Project, a six-year research venture that’s now injecting rhino horns with a non-lethal dose of radioactive isotopes. No, this isn’t a Marvel origin story. It’s a real-world solution designed to make horns easier to detect at border controls and impossible to traffic without lighting up airport scanners like a Christmas tree.

South Africa is home to the world’s largest rhino population and loses hundreds each year to poaching. Traditional methods (rangers, drones, dehorning, awareness campaigns) haven’t stemmed the bloodshed. So now, we glow.

The radioactive material doesn’t harm the animals, but it could help dismantle the black market, where horn powder is still hawked as a cure-all and status symbol. The hope? That smugglers will find their usual routes too risky, customs officials will have a fighting chance, and rhinos can finally exist without being butchered for their bones.

Last Word: Maybe the solution to a dirty trade was to make it too hot to handle.

Until next week, stay loud, stay present, and if the void starts screaming back, maybe just scream louder.
– Rihaab