Skip to comments.Woman Falls 17 Stories to Her Death; AP Implies She Deserved It
Posted on 08/02/2013 3:44:57 PM PDT by grundle
Every urbanites worst nightmare came true for one New Yorker this week: Jennifer Rosoff, leaning against the railing on the balcony of her Upper East Side apartment, suddenly fell 17 stories to her death after the railing gave way. This is obviously horrifying and tragic. Rosoff was a media executive with stints at The New Yorker and Cosmopolitan on her resume. Its outrageous that the owners of her building were so remiss in their balcony inspection duties. But if you skimmed the beginning of the Associated Presss account of Rosoffs accidental death, you wouldnt get much information about Rosoffs promising career or about the structural inadequacies of her balcony. Here are the first two paragraphs of the APs article about Rosoff:
"A 35-year-old media executive on a first date plunged to her death Thursday after the railing on her 17th-floor New York City balcony gave way, police said."
"Jennifer Rosoff went outside for a cigarette around 12:50 a.m. when she either sat on the railing or leaned on it. Her date told her that she probably shouldn't do it, and then moments later, she apparently fell backward and landed on construction scaffolding at the first floor, authorities said. Police spoke to the man and no foul play was suspected."
Lets break this down. According to the AP, the crucial facts you need to know about Rosoff right off the bat are that:
1. She was 35 and single.
2. She was a smoker.
3. She invited a man back to her apartment late at night on a first date.
4. The man warned her not to lean against the balcony, but she did it anyway.
The implication being that this smoking slut totally had it coming...
(Excerpt) Read more at slate.com ...
Okay, it seems I read too much into your comments — I apologize for that. (Although I still wonder about your imagination.) Some other writers were clearly being judgmental. They need to give their heads a shake. The woman is a victim, plain and simple.
You should write a book about your exposure to smokers and the pain it caused you but I see you already did.
Yes, I like to write. Bye.
Well don’t get all huffy and puffy......
BTW, a psych unit didn’t give special considerations to patients on lock down for suicide watch back then. If you were breathing smoke...you were still breathing and alive. That’s all that mattered.
If that’s your story, glad you are okay but you need to lose that big old chip on your shoulder.
Wow. You sure get off being a bitch. You must be a member of Thelma’s family.
Thelma and her visitors? Why they were just plain offish, selfish and rude individuals.
Many psych patients often use name calling to verbalize their own self-hatred. You could google “transference” but I’m sure you are familiar with the term. If not, try googling “liberal mental illness” and “name calling.”
Later, flo. Need to run to the store and get Aunt Thelma a pack of smokes.
Go bite a rabid animal. It might sweeten you up, addict.
Now you want me to “bite” you. You really are sick. Please don’t start cutting yourself or doing any other form of self mutilation. Get some help, flo.
Oh, and by the way, joules, or whatever your name is, exactly who is doing the “transference” here, insinuating I’m a “psyche patient”? Ha! Ask my dearest love, Joe 6-pack, how I feel about smokers. As you know, he is one.
But back to transference, you can add my little “chip” to the mountain on your shoulder. How about “huffy, puffy”, words that incidentally describe a smoker to a ‘T’?
The truth is, you’ve got your nose out of joint because I blew a hole in your selfish nostalgia about the good old days, smoking up hospital corridors.
You know not everyone remembers your indoor smoking so fondly, but then you were just trying to bait folk weren’t you... for sport... in the wee hours... like you are wont to do almost every night? Sad.
Come on joulez, you can still devour another pack of fags before you conk out. It’s not even midnight.
You are getting creepy, flo. “Bite” “devour” “bait” “fags” “psyche” but my favorite is “joint”. Typical lib pot head thinking. Interesting.
BTW, you should ping someone when you talk about them.
My mistake. I’ll run it again in full, for “Joe”. And, by the way, for the record, I don’t know what a “psyche ward” looks like, but you seem pretty familiar with that world. When I was 19, I had heart problems. Dr. Fleming wanted to keep me in the hospital for a couple of days and run tests. It was amazing smokers were put into the room with me.
Joe, I mentioned you, and was remiss in pinging to you. So, here it is complete with the link to joulez’ reply.
“Oh, and by the way, joules, or whatever your name is, exactly who is doing the transference here, insinuating Im a psyche patient? Ha! Ask my dearest love, Joe 6-pack, how I feel about smokers. As you know, he is one.
“But back to transference, you can add my little chip to the mountain on your shoulder. How about huffy, puffy, words that incidentally describe a smoker to a T?
“The truth is, youve got your nose out of joint because I blew a hole in your selfish nostalgia about the good old days, smoking up hospital corridors.
“You know not everyone remembers your indoor smoking so fondly, but then you were just trying to bait folk werent you... for sport... in the wee hours... like you are wont to do almost every night? Sad.
“Come on joulez, you can still devour another pack of fags before you conk out. Its not even midnight.”
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You’re a silly woman.
One more question... why do you use ####### symbols in your comments? I believe quotation marks would serve you better.
The voice of reason and the spirit of peace... but why are you still up? Thank you, dear, and goodnight to you and joulez.
“One more question... why do you use ####### symbols in your comments? I believe quotation marks would serve you better.”
Sorry, honey, that was meant for joulez.
What a stupid thing to say. Second-hand smoke is hazardous to your health. As far as I know, farts are not.
You may find it annoying, but it's no more dangerous than car exhaust, standing around a campfire or the dust that blows out of your ducts every fall when you turn the heater on for the first time.