Ten Bests

This has not been the best year of my life, but it was a pretty good year for flicks, books and TV (yes, I wrote TV). Just remember that like all "best" list, this is subjective.

Movies
1. No Country For Old Men, hands down an on-the-edge of your seat movie. How good? Well, I saw it in a packed theater and you could hear a pin drop.

2. Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, an amazing study of greed and family; I predict Oscar nominations (if not wins) for Philip Seymour Hoffman and Albert Finney

3. Away From Her, Julie Christie is back, thank the heavens, in this painful study of Alzheimer’s Disease and what it really means.

4. Eastern Promises, Viggo Mortensen just keeps getting better.

5. Romance and Cigarettes, a musical mind you by John Turturro starring James Gandolfini.

6. Sicko, less Michael Moore and more content.

7. Talk to Me, Don Cheadle in another virtuoso performance, what more do you need to know?

8. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a a great book made into a terrific movie.

9. Starting Out, Frank Langella's performance is remarkable.

10. It's a tie:

 Music and Lyrics, I should hate this movie because it was so contrived, but I loved the music, I'm a sucker for Hugh Grant and I absolutely reveled in the opening "music video." We all have secret vices.

Sweeney Todd, I loved the play and was prepared to hate the movie, but I had not counted on Johnny Depp, who once again stunned me with yet another amazing performance.

Books (some were published in 2006, but I read them in 2007, sue me)

1. Out Stealing Horses, I read it in one sitting, unable to put it down.

2. The Road, just remember: it's fiction.

3. What is the What, Dave Egger's stole my heart with his first book and our love affair continues.

4. Gertrude Bell: Queen of the Desert, Shaper of Nations, it reads like fiction but there was a real Gertrude Bell and she is the mother of Iraq.

5. A Thousand Splendid Suns, all that wasted love will break your heart

6. A Tree of Smoke, I probably liked this book because it's assessment of Vietnam closely mirrored my own: A clash between two entirely different cultures, both of which believed their way was the only way.

7. The Coldest Winter: America and the Korean War, David Halberstam's final work is a compelling story told by the men who were there.

8. Big Girls, this heart breaker is set in a woman's prison and explores the relationship between a psychiatrist and her mentally ill patient.

9. Yiddish Policemen's Union, at one point, the Roosevelt administration considere placing Jewish refuges in Alaska; this story delves into what might have happened (and it's a murder mystery)

10. Happiness Sold Separately, what happens when you meet  the wrong person at the wrong time and try to make it work anyway.

TV

1. Series Finale: The Sopranos. We all knew the series had to end with Tony dead or in jail, and dead is what David Chase choose, but  the way he choose to finish his tale left fans fuming. Clearly, only daughter Meadow survived, and only because she couldn't parallel park. But it all made sense.

2. Series Finale: Extras. Ricky Gervais as Andy Millman seems to have it all, but he is dissatisfied with his TV series and the kind of fame it brings him. It's really an extraordinary commentary on fame and loyalty, and while amusing, it will touch you (and yeah, maybe make you think).

3. The Wire, this HBO series set in Baltimore, devoted the entire penultimate season to the effects of drugs, violence, crime and poverty on children. It was surprising, moving and insightful. Really, some of the best stuff on TV.

4. Rome, I thought long and hard about this because the second season was not as good as the first. But the acting was so good that I felt compelled to include it on my list. Roman everymen are at every major event, which means history suffers (hell, it dies a bloody death). But it was beautiful to look at and fun to watch.

Happy New Year!

Don't get sick in the United States

When CIGNA Health Care insurance denied coverage to Nataline Sarkisyan, it signed the 17-year-old's death warrant. Eventually, as a result of a public outcry, CIGNA relented, but it was too late and the young woman died Dec. 21, 10 days after CIGNA first refused coverage. Sarkisyan needed a liver transplant, which CIGNA denied, ignoring the urgent appeal of her physicians claiming the procedure was "experimental." CIGNA committed murder because some bean counter decided that Nataline Sarkisyan's life was not as important as CIGNA's bottom line. CIGNA, by the way, advertises itself on its healthcare Web site, as "a business of caring."

California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger supports a new healthcare plan that would require all California physicians to purchase insurance products from big companies like CIGNA, but it doesn't address the problems that resulted in Nataline Sarkisyan's death. I guess her parents won't be voting for the govern-ator's re-election. And for a wealthy man like Arnold, the issue of paying for heathcare is not a problem. If one of his kids needed a liver transplant, he'll just write a check. We should all be so lucky. Attorney Mark Geragos, who represents the Sarkisyan family, said last week that he will as the California State Attorney to press murder or manslaughter charges against Cigna HealthCare. Well, that was my first thought, but I live in the real world, so I know that will request will go nowhere.

A side issue, of course, is that the hospital, which was aware of the seriousness of Sarkisyan's condition did not offer to perform the transplant procedure without first being assured it would be paid. Hospitals in the United States are famous for offering free medical services to any Iraqi kid who is injured, but will not do the same for US citizens.

I realize that neither insurance companies or hospitals are in business to lose money. But they are playing with people's lives and something substantive must be done. The first liver transplant was performed in 1963. Living donor liver transplantation have been done since 1983. I have no idea on what CGNA based its decision to refuse coverage because liver transplants are experimental and fall outside the scope of coverage. But they took the Sarkisyan's premium checks and refused to cover a life-saving procedure that has a track record of success. It was only when they were pushed by the concerted efforts of citizens and the California Nurses Association that the company reversed their decision, and probably they do so because of the bad publicity. But, by that time, it was too late and Nataline Sarkisyan died. Paying for insurance coverage will not assure you that you will receive needed care. More insurance is not the answer.

The American Medical Association will be happy to assure you that we have the best medical care in the world--but what no one will address is that people sometimes do not have access to that care. What no one will admit is that profits are more important to giants like CIGNA than the life of one of their subscribers. Profit is at the bottom of everything. Profit is the reason why the American Medical Association and physicians fear universal healthcare. If we have a system of universal healthcare, we wouldn't be at the mercy of heartless giants like CIGNA. Nataline Sarkisyan survived cancer only to be done in by corporate greed. And no one will pay for her death, no one will be held accountable. Should the Sarkisyan family sue, CIGNA will settle out of court and raise premiums to cover their financial loss. Meanwhile, their investors will continue to profit from the misery of others.

Clockwork Orange as a sign of the times

When I first saw Clockwork Orange in 1971, I was so horrified and shocked that it took me 20 years before I could see it again, and another 12 months before I could really study it. Alex DeLarge is a truly bad, bad boy, and he does terrible things. But the message of this picture, is that people have a right to make their own choices about their lives--even if these are bad choices.

At the stroke of Midnight on Jan 31, no only does the old year pass away, but so does the right of people to smoke in public places. Now the national nannies will tell you that they are banning a still legal behavior for your own good and for the whole good of society. What really happened is that insurance companies, who are making more incursions into your life than you know, have made it less profitable for businesses to operate with a smoking section. And their next stop is your local restaurant, where they will decide for you what you can eat. The medical community in Great Britain is now experimenting with the practice of refusing to treat people who are physically fit. The theory seems to be that if you are fat, for example, you deserve to die of a heart attack.

In all of the second hand smoking studies, I have yet to see one that separates out the harmful events of our polluted environment. There is big money to be made when singling out one industry as the cause of a rise in lung and heart disease. Second hand smoke may indeed have negative effects. I have no problem with being relegated to a smoking section. I abide by the no-smoking rules of my friends who have seen the light and kicked the habit. But now I cannot smoke within 15 feet of a building and I promise you we will all go the way of California and smoking will be prohibited even in the privacy of one's own home.

I have no problem with indoor smoking bans, but the outdoor bans are ridiculous. Which brings us back to Clockwork Orange. Alex was therapeutically cured of his anti-social tendencies, which leaves him open and defenseless to attack and makes him more socially acceptable but less of himself.

The Death of Newspapers

"A GOOD newspaper, I suppose, is a nation talking to itself." --Arthur Miller, 1961

Chicago used to be a great newspaper city, most major metropolitan were. And then he Rupert Murdochs of the world got into business, not to report the news, but to make money. The once proud Chicago Sun-Times was gutted when Hollinger International took over and siphoned off more than $400 million right into Conrad Black's bottomless pockets. The cuts that have decimated the small community papers owned by the Chicago Sun-Times, are now at the paper's door. Fewer reporters are expected to get the news, and those fewer reporters are usually less experienced recent journalism school grads who work for less. Where two reporters worked on a story, one reporter works and he loser is the public.

Now, we can say that newspapers have been done in my the Internet, but we know that's not true. Newspapers have been done in by the greed of corporations who buy companies for the profits they generate, not the reporting they provide. Advertising dollars are what keeps newspapers alive, and those dollars have, in the past 10 years, been moving to the Internet. According to a 2006 article in The Economist: "In Switzerland and the Netherlands newspapers have lost half their classified advertising to the internet." That same year, the venerable New York Times came under fire not because of its reporting, but because its share prices fell. And the first place so-called modern newspaper barons look for cuts is in the newsroom. What we have today is more media and less news.

So what does this mean? Well, when politicians burgle their opponents' offices who will tell the story? If, as Benjamin Franklin said, "It is the fist responsibility of every citizen to question authority," who will publish these questions or the public response? A newspaper does more than investigating abuses or even spreading general news, it holds the governments to account. Bloggers do the same thing, but we do not do it with the same educated background, eye to detail, and mania for accuracy (well, some bloggers anyway), and we certainly don't do it objectively.

Giants die, and when they die they fall harder and leave a gapping wound for the rest of us to ponder. Newspapers are important on both the local and national level. The loss of talented people who are willing to report the news objectively but with intelligence leaves the rest of is poorer.

And now more information about dead Diana

Ten years dead and Diana (no other identification needed) remains a staple of the tabloid press. For whatever reason, the British government has bowed to the demands of wealthy arms dealer turned store keeper Mohamed Al Fayed and Diana's own conspiracy minded followers and has mounted another expensive inquest. Unable to accept that accidents happen, even to the incredibly wealthy, a decade after the fatal car crash, people still insist Diana was murdered. Of all the conspiracy theories I have read, my favorite includes a stealth tank. Yes, you read that right. Some people posit that a British Army Tank, hidden in the tunnel, moved forward to crush the speeding Mercedes and then rushed away unseen and unheard.

I suppose to establish motive, the inquest seems unhealthily concerned with Diana's active and rather public sex life. To whit: Was he pregnant? Did she mean to marry Dodi Al Fayed? Did she want a quiet middle class life as the wife of Dr. Hasat Kahn? Did she invite the press to her public affair with Dodi to get back at Charles. None of this has anything to do with the accident, but it feeds the unending public appetite for intimate information about a very public person.

Of all the things revealed by this side show, my favorite is the contributions of Raine, Countess Spencer, Diana's publicly hated step-mother. We are now to believe that cast out by the cold hearted Royal Family, Diana turned for comfort not to her own mother, with whom she was not on speaking terms, but to her step-mother, who she had nick-named "Acid Raine." Raine married Diana's father after his first wife, Diana's mother, decamped with another man, losing custody of her children. When she lived, Diana had not one good thing to say about Raine, but now that she's dead, Raine, who is on the board of the al Fayed owned Harrod's Department Store, has decided to rewrite history. When her father died, Diana, then Princess of Wales, instructed her servants to place all of Raine's in plastic trash bags, which were then kicked down the palatial family home steps, reportedly by Diana's brother. This is the same brother who refused Diana's request to live on the family estate but who castigated the Royal Family for their callous ways at Diana's public funeral. And he was living in South Africa at the time. But Raine publicly stated that since Diana's divorce, they had grown close and that Diana confided to her that she planned to marry Dodi Al Fayed.

So, what does this have to do with the car accident? Well, apparently, the Royal Family targeted Diana because she was about to marry Dodi, even though people who knew Diana say that no such marriage was in the works.

From previous inquests, we know that Diana died from injuries she incurred when the speeding car in which she was riding came to an abrupt stop against a pole in a Paris tunnel. American physicians, who were not there and who did not examine Diana, claim that had the accident happened in the US, they could have saved her life. And while I question French emergency methods in this instance, I think second guessing what was done from a distance is both unfair and unimportant. All I know is that if Diana had worn a seat belt, she might have walked away with a few bruises and even more publicity.

In the end, Diana may have been the victim of her own publicity machine. She was fighting for the public heart, using her considerable weapons of physical attractiveness and her connection with various charities, some of which had grown tired of her act. Diana wanted to ruin the Prince of Wales, and she did. If she couldn't be queen, he couldn't be king.

Deeper still, it was have been galling for a young, attractive woman to lose out in the love sweepstakes to a middle age hausfrau who is more at home in riding cloths than haut couture. All women have been there and we understand the sting. On the other, when a woman of no obvious physical appeal beats out a beautiful blond, I find myself muttering, "You go, girl."

In her ire, Diana did her level best to bring down the British Monarchy, and she may have succeeded. But I think the problem was that in doing so, Diana began to believe her own press and that is a dangerous thing. Dead now for 10 years, Diana continues to haunt the Royal Family, which I am sure now looks back with horror on its plan to find a suitable bride for their unmarried heir. Oddly, I think the smoke was clearing when Diana died and she had come to some civilized understanding with her former husband. She was out of the Royal Family, because she wanted a divorce. She dragged them through the mud in print and on television, so clearly she was willing to burn her bridges. She was stripped of her HRH because she said, perhaps in a moment of piqué, that she didn't want it. Had she lived, Charles probably would have remained unmarried, and maybe miserable, which is what she may have wanted. But who really knows. And although we now know that Diana may have accepted Dodi's advances for any number of reasons, she apparently did not consider theirs a serious relationship. Diana loved the limelight--who couldn't do without public adulation, but in the end that's what did her in. She thought she could control the press, and she was wrong.

The thing is Diana is dead and her bones are being picked over for no other reason that it makes good press. I find that sad and ugly. She lies alone on a island, finally achieving the quiet of the family estate denied her during her life. Her brother, who so vociferously opposed his step-mother's plan to turn the family seat Althrop into a tourist attraction, opened the estate to the public, selling trinkets decorated with his dead sister's image. And while some of the profits go to charity, some of the profits go into Althrop's pockets. Diana is now a cottage industry, feeding those who refused to help or who haunted her in her lifetime. I add to that sorry list of greedy relatives and press and avaricious former butlers, the public harpies who keep the myth and the ire alive.

Diana's dead. It's over. Move on.

¿Hablas inglés?

Joe Vento, the owner of Philadelphia's famous Geno's Steaks, the home of the original Philly Cheese Steak, is in all sorts of trouble because in 2005 he posted a sign, telling customers "This is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING PLEASE 'SPEAK ENGLISH.'"

The Spanish-speaking population immediately pounced on him, calling the sign "intimidation," because it suggested that he did not want certain customers in his establishment. Since 2006, Vento has been the subject of a Philadelphia Commission on Human Relations, which in February found "probable cause against Geno's Steaks for discrimination." Vento did not post a sign that said "Whites Only," he did not post a sign stating, "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service." He simply asked his customers to order in English. Maybe he wanted to keep the line moving. Maybe he wanted to make sure that people got what they ordered. Maybe Vento thought that in an English-speaking country it is reasonable to ask customers to order in English. When I travel in a foreign country, I try to learn basic phrases because I do not assume that the people of that country speak English (although more often than not in Europe, many do). When walking into a restaurant in Italy, I do not assume that I can order in English. But then I am not the Spanish-speaking population, which has something other than language on their agenda. I applaud that public information is now written in more than one language; I don't even mind that to get an English-speaking customer service representative, I have to punch number 2; but I am not thrilled when special interests groups take aim at a small business owner. I would feel differently if Vento had barred his doors to anyone who was not White or of a certain ethnic group. He didn't do this. No one has been refused service. He simply asked them to speak English.

Clearly, the timing of his sign is the heart of the issue. We have a problem with our porous borders. For years, anybody could get in and out without much hassle. And that includes Chinese workers stealing in by ship, Irish laborers who overstay their visitor visas, and Pakastanis who come as students and stay as IT professionals. If we are serious about Homeland Defense, and we aren't, then the first place to watch for illegals is at the borders. I do not care if 99.9 percent of the illegals from Mexico are clean living, honest, hard working people because some people are not (and how law abiding can you be if you are willing to flaunt immigration laws). Citizens have a right to know who is coming into the United States. Personally, whatever Vento says, I believe his sign had more to do with the immigration debate than anything else. But I don't know what his true motives are because I don't know the man, and neither do the Spanish-speaking activists who started the uproar in the first place. But they sure seem willing to strip him of a business he worked long and hard to build.

Johnny Fairplay cries foul and other unreal stories

The things you find on Youtube.com: I don't watch Fox TV, so I had no idea they have their own awards show, honoring Reality TV competitors and participants (they call them "stars," but then they also call their opinion reports "news"). However, I did watch Survivor the season that contestant Johnny Fairplay lied about his grandmother's death to gain immunity and sympathy from his too trusting team members. At the time, I suspected the guy was lying. Fairplay is a real creep who has, apparently, spun his 15 minutes of fame by appearing on whatever low budget reality fest will have him and as a professional wrestler. For his stint on Survivor, Fairplay in October received the trophy as the Most Memorable Reality Performer (talk about an oxymoron). Fairplay was booed by the audience, which included the prostitutes who work at the Bunny Ranch and their pimp (Cathouse, HBO), Mike "Boogie" Malin ( Big Brother), and Janice Dickinson (True Life).

Perhaps trying to be helpful, former child star and world class train wreck, Danny Bonaduce, ambled on stage to inform Fairplay that booing means the audience "hates you." And then he begins to amble off. Fairplay, who is a living example to dumb blonds everywhere, calls to Danny and proceeds to run at him, jumping into Bonaduce's non-waiting arms, wrapping his legs around Bonaduce's waist and begins to dry hump. With the greatest of ease, Bonaduce throws Fairplay over his shoulders. Here's the link, because seeing is believing: Bonaduce flips Fairplay

Anyway, Fairplay goes to the emergency room to deal with his broken teeth and Danny goes home. Naturally, Fairplay files a police report, claiming assault. But the charges are dropped when the Los Angeles DA found that Bonaduce did not intentionally injure Fairplay and his "actions fell within the realm of self-defense.’”

The saga does not end there because now Fairplay is suing everybody: Bonaduce, FOX Reality Channel, producer Natural 9 Entertainment and Boulevard3, the venue at which the event took place. Having done a little research, I find that the suit does not mention Fairplay's drunken state, apparently he'd been hitting the bottle before the event and backstage during the event and that he broke the camera of some woman who dared to take his picture when he left the event under his own power, but in an ambulance. I also found that Fairplay was kicked off Kill Reality in 2006, for defecating on another contestant's bed. Class act meet class act.

In other news, the personal letters of the late Diana, Princess of Wales have been made public in yet another inquest into her death. The inquest is being held, at taxpayer's expense, to quell the rumors instigated by Mohamed Al Fayed that Diana was the target of an assassination plot hatched by Prince Philip. To add insult to injury, correspondence from Diana to the Prince has been introduced to prove that they were on good terms (take that, Paul Burrell). When does too much information become way too much information?

Michael Vick has already been sentenced for perjury and dog fighting,but letters from his family pleading for leniency have appeared on the Internet this week. Leniency in this case means that Vick should pay a fine, that he can easily afford, but not serve time, which inconvenient. This isn't Vick's first run-in with the law, but it may be his most lasting. I can think of no other reason for these letters to be made public, other than to drum up public support for Vick and achieve an early release. His mother explained away Vick's failure of a drug test in September by saying he was distraught by comments made by his father, which indicated that Vick had a long history of dog fighting. I do not believe that Vick's football career is over. That's not how in works in the US. As long as he appears contrite, as long as he is seen to have paid for his crime, and as long as he plays winning ball, the Atlanta Falcons will have him back, and if they won't somebody else will. Vick knew what he was doing, he was not coerced, or forced, perhaps he thought he was above the law. Perhaps he believed that because of his athletic prowess he could get away with breaking the law.

A little intelligent design in your stocking, by George

'Tis the season, when people step on your toes, grab the last hot toy from your sweaty palms but wish you a Merry Christmas anyway. All this forced good will gets on my nerves. And just when I think it cannot get any worse, George W. Bush does something that really sends me over the edge.

This year, I've read, the President and his ever lovely Stepford wife have chosen as their Christmas greeting an Old Testament quotation from Nehemiah, which seems to affirm his belief in intelligent design, you know, Creationism by another name. Other presidents were happy to settle for a non-denominational "Season's Greetings," but not George.

Christmas in the United States has nothing to do with the birth of anybody, much less the Christian Christ and I will not bore you with my treasure trove of Christmas trivia from around the world. Suffice to say, it's a pagan mid-Winter festival dressed up in religious attire. And if you are going to practice Peace on Earth and Good Will to Men in December, why can't you do so during the 11 preceding months?

Now, I am willing to bet that if confronted, George will make doe eyes and claim that the passage about how the Lord made the heaven's and earth has nothing to do with intelligent design, and, because it comes from the Old Testament, it isn't even Christian, so there. Begging the question about who, other than fundamentalist Christians, believe that the Theory of Evolution is so much anti-Christian poppy cock.

What really offends me about the Shrub (and let me count the ways), is that his choice of a religious theme shows a lack of respect for the non-Christians who receive it. I assume, of course, and I could be wrong, that George will send the card to various ambassadors, for example, some of whom just might not be Christian. I guess the religious intolerance comes without extra charge.

I don't really care what flavor of worship turns you on, that's your business. But I do resent the Christian aspects of this very secular celebration and I know that those crazy Puritans who first fled to the Colonies did so in part to be away from the kind of Christmas frivolities we take for granted. The kind of fundamentalist pandering appeals to the yokels in Kansas who built a "science" museum to Creationism, but it should fill the majority of US citizens, who do not buy into this political-religious cant with horror and disgust. Loving the Lord, in whatever permutation, has nothing to do with patriotism, regardless of what George Waterboard Bush says.

As far as I'm concerned this proves there is no God. If God existed, he (or she) would have struck Georgie and his fundamentalist pals stone dead years ago. Meanwhile, I'm counting down the days until the next election, and I don't care who wins as long as it isn't Mike Huckabee.

Oh, by the way, Happy Holidays!

Ike Turner

Ike Turner died today. Another reminder to us baby boomers that nothing flies like time, whether or not you are having a good time. Ike didn't have the kind of influence he wanted, or that he believes he did, on rock music, but that isn't to say that he wasn't an important element. Turner wrote Rocket 88, which is credited as being the first rock song. It was recorded in 1951 and features an early example of guitar distortion--but not by design. The story goes that an amp was dropped before the recording session and that resulted in the distortion. But Turner knew how to take advantage of a happy accident and he knew what to do with that whammy bar on his Fender Stratocaster. But without Tina, one wonders if we would even know Ike Turner.

In many ways Ike was his own worst enemy, and that says a lot about an African-American who was born in Clarkdale, Mississippi, near the start of the depression. He is remembered as much for his alcohol and drug-fueled rages and the abuse of Tina Turner as for his music. In his autobiography, Takin' Back My Name, Ike admits to slapping and punching Tina, but he didn't think that was spousal abuse. Most of it, maybe all of it, is attributable to his drug and alcohol abuse. But I think we cannot overlook professional jealousy, and how that is amplified in the mind of a man who grew to adulthood at a time when African-Americans were still powerless over their own fates. All of his big hits came when Tina was part of the group. That's got to be hard to take when you consider that it was his group in the first place. And in the end, when we talk about Ike Turner's contributions to music, you have to include Tina, and I think that more than anything else is what made Ike crazy.

Since being released from prison in 1993 (for a 1980s drug-related charge), Turner had maintained sobriety and continued playing music.

Ike Turner died today, and whatever else he did, or did not do, he was one of the granddads of rock. Music is richer because of him.

UPDATE: In all the obits, Ike is identified as Tina's former husband. No wonder he was so annoyed.

Michael Vick goes to jail

As we all now know, former, and maybe future, NFL star, Michael Vick drew a 23-month jail sentence for his involvement in dog fighting--more because he lied to the judge rather than for the act of owning a dog fighting kennel or for the dogs that are routinely injured and killed by this so-called sport.

I like animals and would not knowing hurt one. On the other hand I am an unabashed carnivore and I have always wanted a mink coat. While this sometimes means that I agree with PETA, it also means I am barred from membership, but PETA would probably accept my contribution. I'm like the rest of the world, we eat what we think of as food and if I lived in China, that might include snakes, which I pathologically fear. If I were a member of PETA, I would have written "whom" instead of "which."

I'm also told that as a white Northerner, I do not understand regional and cultural differences. I'm all about diversity and acceptance, but I draw the line at a so-called sport that requires the torture of animals that does nothing more than make the two-legged animals at the top of the food chain richer. But how do I square that with the fact that I make poultry farmers wealthy every time I chow down on fried chicken? To answer that, I turn, again, to the movies (where all life's questions are answered). In the underrated Culpepper Cattle Company, a young cooks helper asks the name of a cowboy's horse, "I don't name nothin' I might have to eat," replies the cowboy. And therein lies the difference.

I have read that there are more pet dogs in the United States than there are people in the United Kingdom. We, in the US, think of our pets as part of the family. We give them names. We buy them sweaters. We become litigious when we discover that money grubbing pet food manufacturers use the same formula (regardless of consumer cost) to buy preparations made in China, where pets are food, that are laced with poison. That's the society in which we live. If there was some cataclysmic event tomorrow and food became scarce, we might literally have Fido or Fluffy for dinner, but right now, dogs and cats, birds and lizards, and guppies are pets. We don't eat pets. We don't purposely set one dog on another for money.

And while I am certain that Michael Vick is sorry that he was caught and is now in jail, I am not so sure he understands why dog fighting is wrong. Although dog fighting is illegal in the United States, law enforcement doesn't always take it seriously (in their defense, there is a whole lot of other crime with which to contend). I'm also not sure that the kennel Vick co-owned would have caught national media attention without Vick's involvement. Still, this sorry case brought a serious problem to public attention. Dog fighting has been around for centuries and most people think of it as unsavory but acceptable as long as it doesn't involve a family pet or happen in their backyards. But according to Stephanie LaFarge, Ph.D., Senior Director, ASPCA Counseling Services, "Dog fighters represent a range of personality types and psychological disorders. School life offers them little fulfillment and humiliates them into doing socially unacceptable things in an environment where beating the system is the goal." And that should concern us. People who come from chaotic homes and who live in an environment of limited social or economic opportunity will find other ways to make themselves feel powerful and wealthy. Some sell crack, others fight dogs.

I know nothing about Michael Vick other than what I read in the papers. Apparently from modest means, Vick played ball well enough to attend college. Unfortunately, football outweighed education and Vick left school in his sophomore year. He may play ball well enough that he will return to the field after serving his time. Do you see the similarities? Michael Vick was valued for what he could do in a sport, not for who he is as a person. No matter what he does, if his team can continue to make money on Michael Vick, he will continue to play football. And when he stops playing well, out he goes into an uncertain future. Maybe if someone had treated Michael Vick with greater respect, he would have some understanding of why torturing animals for money is not a good idea.

Oh, my how things have changed

I'm a sucker for old movies, and if the old movies include singing and dancing, I am in old movie heaven. One of the things I've noticed, because you cannot miss it, are the sizes of those dancing girls. Now, they are not, by any stretch, hefty ladies, MGM left the dancing hippos to Disney. But by today's standards these lovelies are behemoths. It's difficult for me to judge, but most women looked to wear a size 10, maybe 14, but it's their muscular thighs that caught my attention. When you compare them to the boney twigs of a Terry Hatcher or that walking bag-o-bones Victoria Beckham, well, they do look, how shall I put it--outsized. And yet, they look so good in their dresses, but then the 1930s style was flattering and very feminine.

We women are susceptible to image because regardless of what brains or skills you may have, it's easier to get a foot in the door if it's attached to a shapely leg. Consider, for example, the hoopla over Ugly Betty, and what makes Betty so ugly: she has braces, bangs and does not wear a size zero. I actually knew someone who wore a size zero, and even she was displeased with her appearance because her arms were too skinny. She looks much better at a size five, but now she thinks she's overweight.

But men are also falling prey to the everlasting, and often futile, chase for the perfect appearance. Frankly, a perfect six-pack turns me off, it looks so unfriendly. But then I am an old bird, so my opinion doesn't count. But what is interesting is that body image is now a problem for men. According to people who know, about 10 percent of men have either anorexia and bulimia, both of which can kill you.

I'd like to think that we have grown beyond the beauty beats brains theory, but I know better. What scares me is that when I look at a line of 1930s chorines, my eyes go to their thighs and without even thinking, I think about size. Imagine what kind of influence this has on teen and now pre-teen girls who take as their role models the likes of Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears. I suppose it isn't fair to single out those two train wrecks, but a whole generation of girls have followed those to from their pre-teen stardom to the current chaos they call their lives. And while I don't think that most teenage girls will follow in the footsteps of either Lohan or Spears, I do think that their body image is often the result of unrealistic expectations.

I don't expect this to change. I don't even expect it to get better. I just wish we lived in a different more accepting world.

Dec. 7 and the conspiracy theorists work over times

Before the Kennedy assassination; before the death of Diana, Princess of Wales; before 9/11, we have Pearl Harbor. Unwilling or unable to accept that those little yellow people across the sea bested the mighty United States, conspiracy theorists continue the drumbeat: Franklin D. Roosevelt, anxious to enter the war in Europe, knew about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and allowed it to happen. To accept this theory, we have to ignore that the United States did not go to war with Germany until Dec. 11, when Hitler declared war on the United States. But, we should not allow common sense, and historic fact, to cloud our vision. And it's helpful if we also ignore the mountains of evidence that have since become public knowledge that shows no such conspiracy exists.

Let's start with the carriers: Why were the carriers Enterprise and Yorktown not docked in Hawaii? Conspiracy theorists use this as proof that the United States knew an attack was imminent. The battleship was the dominant feature in all the world’s navies. And even if a small, vocal cadre of aircraft enthusiasts believed that aircraft would dominate naval warfare, the Army and Navy disagreed. Carriers supported the battleline of battleships and heavy cruisers, which was why the Enterprise and the Yorktown were in Midway and Wake Island in the first place. They were returning after having delivered supplies needed for their defense if and when the Japanese attacked. Yes, the United States suspected that an attack in the South Pacific was possible. But take a look at a map of the South Pacific and at our bases at the time. With no idea where the Japanese might attack, which island or group of islands would you choose for an attack? Those closest to Japan or those farthest from Japan? Remember, before Pearl Harbor, no attack had ever been launched from an aircraft carrier. On Dec. 6, 1941, the battleship was the most important element in our naval defense.

We also need to consider the inability or refusal of the Navy to talk to the Army, and vice-versa. What happened is that although the United States had the ability to read Japanese code, messages often went uncoded and even when coded, the information was not always shared. But even if the information was shared, there is no mention of a day, time or place in any of the coded and uncoded messages. The South Pacific is a mighty big place.

Although I agree that Admiral Husband Kimmel and General Frank Short were shabbily treated in the wake of Pearl Harbor, they did nothing worse than work with the information they had. Kimmel and Short were rightly concerned with spies on the ground. And we know now that there were Japanese spies in Hawaii, posing as tourists and taking pictures of military installations months before the attack. No one was prepared or trained for an air attack. Actually it would have been worse if Kimmel had moved the battleships out of Pearl because rescue and salvage would have been impossible had the ships sunk in deep water (and within weeks of Pearl Harbor, three of the mangled battleships were back in operation). Within days of the attack, General Douglas MacArthur also lost the bulk of his command, not to mention the Philippines, but unlike Kimmel and Short, MacArthur escaped being held personally responsible.

Few people understand today how much Franklin D. Roosevelt and his policies were hated (and still are, the Republicans are still trying to dismantle the Social Security system). Conspiracy theorists variously claim that Roosevelt wanted a war with Europe to hide the failures of the New Deal or to help his friends the Communists. Roosevelt did want to curb military aggression, which is why he brought sanctions to bear on Japan when that country invaded China. At the time of Pearl Harbor, the US military was smaller than that of Yugoslavia. If Roosevelt was preparing for war, wouldn't he have created a stronger, larger, better armed military than that which existed in December 1941? The Roosevelt Administration through lend-lease helped England, China and, to a lesser extent, the Soviet Union. But he was thwarted by the American First movement, those vocal isolationists who had Charles A Lindbergh as their spokesperson.

The United States doesn't like to lose and it especially doesn't want to lose to what they consider an inferior race. Pearl Harbor was the result of inadequate intelligence, miserable communication, poor planning and a racist view of the world. These are the same failures that led to 9/11.

Huh?

Mitt Romney is falling behind in the polls, so he announced today, from the presidential library of former President George H.W. Bush in College Station, TX, that if elected the Mormon Church would not run the White House. I had no idea this was an issue. Well, I mean I understood that it was probably a problem in Iowa, were the professed religious beliefs of various candidates might be question. But for the rest of us, Romney's religious affiliation is less important than the economy, the growing police state in the US, or even global warming.

The problem, of course, is that vocal, but minority, Christian evangelicals, who profess to believe in the separation of church and state, want to make sure that no non-Christian sits in the White House. Romeny has spent millions building up a lead in Iowa, only to see it evaporate to Baptist preacher Mike Huckabee. And nobody is asking Huckabee if his religious affiliations will somehow overlap with my civil liberties on the slim chance that he wins the White House next year. As governor of Arkansas, Huckabee personally supported the release of a convicted rapist, which just shows you how far we have come when George Dukakus was crucified for the release of a convicted murdered (and he had no part in the release). To bolster his claim of innocence, Huckabee claims that all four parole board members have lied about his role in putting a convicted racist back out on the streets. But at least Huckabee is a good Christian.

I won't be voting for either Romney or Huckabee and not because of their religious affiliations (or lack thereof). I actually think there's something more important than which flavor of the Christian god these guys worship. But the entire controversy highlights the lengths Republicans will go to rather than speak on issues that are important.

The question of religion was a hot issue in 1959, when John F. Kennedy ran for office. I'm not at all sure that the question is so important today for the rest of us. On the other hand, Mitt seems really dedicated to portraying himself as a latterday JFK, so maybe this is just more of the same. Personally, I think whatever people do in the privacy of their own church, prayer tent, synagogue or mosque is their own business--and should stay that way.

Fresh wounds from old cuts

Yesterday, Dec. 3, 2007, a day that will live in infamy, Walter O’Malley, was elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY.

The wailing and gnashing of teeth you hear are the remains of die-hard Brooklyn Dodger fans who consider this honor as rubbing salt in their still fresh wounds.

Popular joke of the 1950s: A Dodger fan is locked in a room with Stalin, Hitler and O'Malley but with only two bullets. Who does he shoot? O'Malley, twice.

The issue was pretty simple. Ebbets Field was small, decrepit and had no parking (many of the team's fans had moved out of Brooklyn). O'Malley wanted a big, modern, privately owned domed stadium in Brooklyn (where land was available because a market was being torn down). New York City Building Commissioner Robert Moses wanted a city-owned stadium located in Flushing Meadows, NY, on land he had cleared for the World's Fair, which is more convenient to more people (this providing more revenue for the city).

Neither side would compromise and in the end they got what they wanted. O'Malley moved to a larger, modern venue in Los Angeles and Moses got Shea Stadium. What the fans wanted was lost in the equation. No one much cared what the fans wanted because in the end, fans will always want baseball and "if you build, it they will come," even if it was in Los Angeles. The Giants moved to San Francisco in the same year, but with a lot less rancor.

On the other hand, one could consider O'Malley a visionary because he expanded baseball beyond Missouri. Dodger Stadium remains a popular venue for baseball, with it's clean and still modern design and excellent sight lines. Of course, when the team was placed for sale, O'Malley refused any offer than would move the team out of Los Angeles. He seemed to need or want or enjoy (I don't know which), the myth that the Dodgers were thrown out of Brooklyn. Anyway the moment is passed, the team remains in Los Angeles and the land on which Ebbets Filed once stood is a housing development. If nothing else, the move from east to west ushered in an era of naked corporate greed. Both sides saw an opportunity to make more money and both sides jumped at the chance, without caring what the public thought.

O'Malley was first and foremost a real estate man. He designed, built, privately financed and maintained Dodger Stadium. It was and remains his park, his vision. Although old Brooklyn Dodger fans will forever hate the man, someone would have inevitably moved baseball west. Because O'Malley made that move, he is being honored by Cooperstown. And the move was about ticket sales because the more people you can seat, the more money you can make. Whether you enjoy baseball in the "friendly confines" or a small field or while sitting in comfort in a large stadium has always been less important to owners that how many butts are in the seats. The Chicago Cubs, for example, never have to change because no matter how miserable their season, the park is frequently sold out. And that, my friends, is what really counts to owners. Attendance is the reason we have night games, it's the reason teams move and the reason baseball exists.

However, in the pantheon of most loathed team owners, I submit that O'Malley is third behind Charley Comiskey and Robert Irsay, who moved the Baltimore Colts out of the city that loved them in the dead of night.

O'Malley is being honored as a visionary, who expanded baseball west to Los Angeles. In 1957, O'Malley took his team west in search of better real estate, leaving in his wake inconsolable Brooklyn Dodger fans who have never forgiven O'Malley for taking their team west. In these days of TV coverage and the Internet, it might seem like a small thing, but in those days when a baseball game could be followed on radios blaring from open windows and backyards as one walked down a city street, when one lived and died by their teams, well, it was the worst kind of back stabbing an owner could do to fans. On that day in 1957, I gave up baseball forever--maybe not forever, but I never felt the same about the game. It was a day on which the United States began a precipitous decline from a great nation of opportunity to the shuddering corporate wreck it has become, and from which it will never recover, unless the Dodgers return to Brooklyn and since that will never happen, we are doomed as a society. I was a kid in 1957, and I am old now, but the wound remains fresh.

And yet another movie review

One of the nice things about being "at leisure" is the movies I get to see on TCM. They did an Andy Hardy festival last week and this week it was Dr. Kildare. But what I want to write about is a small western that you might not know, or if you know the name and not the flick, you might think it's cheesy.

This 1951 film was co-written by Frank Capra and directed by William Wellman and if you ignore Robert Taylor's conventional macho hero (fairly easy to do), you will find a very moving story about mail order brides. It is by turns tragic, funny and poetic. I was greatly moved by two scenes. In the first, after an attack, the survivors call out the names of the dead, just as soldiers would do after battle. And in the second, a woman gives birth in a wagon moving through the blistering desert when one of the wheels falls off. The women move as one to lift the wagon and hold it in place until the baby is born. It's a moment of joy and much needed hope for them and the audience. And finally, women are women, regardless of their long grueling trek from Chicago to California across the desert, and they demand new clothes and time to prepare before meeting the men. This is really a remarkable movie, featuring wonderful performances by an International cast, some of whom you might recognize. It's very real and human. There are moments of beauty and sadness in this poetic story of woman walking toward an unknown future.

Westward the Women is now available on DVD and I highly recommend it. It's a little known western that is unfortunately forgotten and it deserves your attention.

And I also have a bridge in Brooklyn you might want to buy

Karl Rove told Charlie Rose (Nov 21) that George W. Bush was pushed into Iraq by the Congress. I will wait a moment as you read that a second time. Maybe a third. I don't believe he said it either. But he did and he said it on TV. And here all along I thought I heard Bush ask Congress to authorize the use of the US military in Iraq--what could I have been smoking.

I've been thinking about this interview for a few days now and trying to assemble my thoughts without using expletives that need deleting. Both of them make me so angry.

Had he not been pushed into invading Iraq, Rove maintains, Bush would have done what he really wanted to do in the first place: Provide more time for inspectors. What Bush wanted was a peaceful alternative but was thwarted by Congress. When I heard that I looked out the window to make sure there were no pigs roosting in my trees. I assume that Congress also forced the preemptive strike on the peace loving president. However, it should be noted that in this interview Rove admitted that the United States rushed into war ill-prepared.

This is historic revision on a monumental scale. In fact, it more closely resembles convenient fiction and it makes clear why his dear friend George Bush calls Karl Rove "turd blossom." Rove and Bush are the kind of people who allow other people to go to war for them, they did it in Vietnam and they are doing it now. They do pretty much what they want with human lives and never let it be said that either is concerned about trampling on the Constitution in the bargain.

Karl Rove, and by extension George Bush, succeed because they think Americans are stupid--and they are right. Their sole purpose, as far as I can see it, is to put everything in this country into the hands of a few wealthy friends. They call this privatization. I used to think the whole Iraqi mess was for oil, but I slowly came to realize that these guys mean business. Today, Iraq, tomorrow the whole world. Right now, it's blood for oil, as long as the blood is not Rove's or Bush's. Rove is a traitor to his country, he gave up a CIA agent for political reasons. But I don't see anyone rushing to put the guy behind bars where he belongs.

But this is what comes of Republicans, who have rewritten history to the point that we forget that it was Ronald Reagan who armed and funded all of the "terrorists" we are now fighting. Before this is done, the Republicans will have rewritten history making George W. Bush the greatest president since Abraham Lincoln. When you tell a lie, make it a big one, Adolph Hitler said, knowing that the bigger the lie, the easier it is for people to believe.

When the interview ended I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or slit my wrist. But one word reverberated in my fevered brain: Contemptible. The whole lot is contemptible, as are the people who voted for them, the people who continue to support them, and the weak livered Congress that allowed this to happen.

No rest for the wicked

So, no, there were no left overs, unless you count the raviolis, which I don't, although I took some. So I made a turkey breast but it came without skin, this defeating my purpose. I think turkey skin should be sold separately in little carry out containers for those of us who smoke and eat bad things. Anyway, now I have cold turkey sandwiches. The secret to a really great cold turkey or chicken sandwich is to butter one slice of bread and than use mayo on the other. Really adds depth to a sandwich; try it.

I was planning to use today to write about Iraq--but I can't work up the energy. So, instead, I'll talk about No Country for Old Men, a magnificent film I saw over the weekend. There may be no such thing as a perfect movie, but this comes as close to perfect as any film can be. The film is as flat and bleak at Tommy Lee Jone's narration. Set in 1980, this is essentially a chase film centered on a drug deal gone bad and missing money. Three men are after each other for various reasons and what humor there is, is the nervous gallows humor kind. Jones is the ready-to-retire Texas lawman who has seen more than he needs to, Josh Brolin, in a surprisingly terrific performance, is the nice guy who finds the money, and Javier Bardem is the scary, robotic killer (armed with a nasty compressed-air gun). The movie begins with the aftermath of a massacre in the desert and ends...well, I won't tell you that. But I will tell you that this is a very satisfying journey that is filled with real horror. Of all the stellar performances (yes, Josh Brolin turns in a stellar performance), Bardem's ultimate bad guy is the best. On the surface, he seems fairly bland and nondescript but then the beast within him rises. No Country for Old Men is dark, bloody and fatalistic and as true a masterpiece as any film I have ever seen.

As a rule I love the Coen brothers' efforts. There have been a very few missteps along the way (The Ladykillers), but the journey through their films is usually satisfying. But this movie is a standout and it will stay with you long after you leave the theater.

Thanks for Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving, it's all about eating, no expensive gift giving, no forced jollity at the passing of one more damn year. Just crackling turkey skin, stuffing and pecan pie. Not that I get crackling skin anymore. As I am now a guest, I must chow down on a bird overcooked in an ancient Nesco roaster, which is as close to turkey soup as you can get. Worse, my hosts, carve the bird in the kitchen and discard the oh, so luscious skin. A pox on them. Anyway, I make the stuffing, so every year it's an adventure. I mean I prefer stuffing in the bird, but no one does that anymore. This year, my offering is sage, onion and apple. I also do fresh cranberries because everyone just opens one of those yucky cans. This year: orange zest, vanilla, and Galliano have been added. I think a little too much vanilla. But, really, this is a no-brainer--water, sugar and cranberries, cook for 10 minutes. Although I feel I have less to be thankful for this year, I plan to chow down and hope for left overs. That was the only good part about being the host. All those wonderful left overs. Is there anything better than a next day turkey sandwich with cranberry mayo? I am hoping for good cookies as I have given up on pecan pie. I had a friend once who made the best pecan pie in the world. I should have been a better person and I would still be eating that delish pecan pie.

Anyway, happy turkey day to anyone who reads this--although I get the feeling that this, like my resumes, go off unread into the ether.

60 Glorious Years

Her Majesty, Elizabeth II, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith, tomorrow celebrates 60 glorious years married to HRH The Prince Philip. In almost all of their pictures we see her gazing lovingly at him and he looking faintly amused at her. It may not have been a marriage made in heaven (her father was not amused), but it is a relationship that works. I have no idea what keeps people together, my own parents included, after the first blush of romance fades. But I am supposing that it has something to do with a sense of humor, a willingness to compromise, and a deep-seated respect for the other person. I like them, individually and as a couple. Frankly, she and he, alone and together, are one of the comforting constants in an increasingly unsure world. I've never been convinced that he married for love, although I am just as sure she did. But it worked, and they seem just as happy today as they were 60 years ago.

Together they have weathered changes in government, shifting public alliance, the creeping rise of Republication sentiment and Diana, Princess of Wales. I have no idea if the monarchy continues after Elizabeth dies, but she has made a very good queen in a world that claims it can do without pomp and ceremony. She is, first and foremost, THE Queen, and sometimes her family has suffered for that. It must be difficult for Philip, or for any man, to accept a role that always places him two paces behind his wife, although they claim that behind closed doors, he makes the decisions. And eventually his children did carry his name.

In any case, they are an example of a working couple and the importance of having someone who knows everything and loves you anyway. When Prince Albert died, Queen Victoria was said to have exclaimed, "Now there is no one who can call me Victoria." Think about that, a world in which no one, not even your best friend, can use your first name. When I was a tiny tot, I remember vividly watching the Queen's coronation on television (albeit, a few hours after the fact), and being convinced that I was her long lost daughter stolen by gypsies and forced to live a miserable working class existence on another continent. I think I actually believed that for several days, maybe a week. Anyway, this was before I realized that being Royal ain't no bed of roses. I cannot imagine Elizabeth without Philip or he without her. I cannot imagine a world without them. It makes me happy to think that she found a soul mate, someone who supported her in an increasingly questionable endeavor. They are for real, they were not created by the tabloid press, and they continue. They found a way to make it work, in public and in private, against the odds. Good for them--and let that be a lesson to the rest of us.

The $1.29 potato and $4 gas

I'm sure you've seen them, hermetically sealed Russet potatoes that come out of the microwave almost as good as the baking potatoes done in the oven. They are not shriveled or puckered. They are a taste sensation, and travel well. I took them to work, when I had a job, and had a tasty microwave potato, sometimes topped with chili. Until this week, you could buy one of these puppies for 79 cents. OK, so that's the price of a pound of baking potatoes, but I was employed and had the extra 79 cents. Apparently, the wrapped potato is a popular item because today, I discovered that these potatoes are now $1.29 each, almost twice as much a pound of Russet potatoes. And if you want a similarly wrapped sweet potato, it will set you back $2.29 each. Even if I was still employed, I wouldn't spend $1.29 on a single potato, wrapped or not. Now I have tried to duplicate the same effect by enrobing a potato in plastic wrap before microwaving. But the result was not as good. If you have one of those seal-a-meal devices that were so popular a few years ago, you may want to try sealing your potato before microwaving. Or you can do what I now do, bake them the old fashion way: in the oven.

I was thinking about complaining, but realize it's useless. I promise you the high cost of gas will be cited as the reason why in one week, the price of a convenience item jumped from 70 cents to $1.29.

Like banging my head on a wall

I wish one of two things would happen: Either Mel Gibson stops making movies or I stop watching them. The only saving grace is that I don't pay at the box office, I pay for the cable, and then I see his movie and hate myself in the morning (usually it doesn't take that long).

This time it was Apocalypto, which has to be one of the dumbest running, jumping, falling down movies ever made. On this side, we have the good Mayans, who make babies and jokes and in the other corner, the bad guys who kidnap people and sell them into slavery. Our hero, Jaguar Paw escapes the slave market and is pursued back to his own forest for the next 40 minutes by the bad guys. Naturally, he prevails, I mean, he IS, the good guy. Early in the movie, Jaguar Paw lowers his heavily pregnant wife and toddler son to a hole or a dry well, or some other inconvenient location. Once their life line is cut, and it is, they are helpless to escape. See, this is a very deep hole, which, of course, immediately fills when it begins to rain. Mrs. Jaguar Paw could have treaded water until she floated to the top, or used outcroppings to stand around and wait to float to the top, but she chooses to nearly drown, and then, balancing on a rock, with her son on her shoulders, she gives birth--I kid you not--and all three survive when pop shows up just in time to haul them out.

Jaguar Paw has kill three of his five pursuers and races out of the forest to the sea he is saved by the timely arrival of the Spanish. The bad guys have pursued him all day and all night without stopping but they are so dumb struck by the big ships that they all forget about Jaguar Paw. And that's how the movie ends, well, Jaguar Paw saves his family and they go deeper into the forest for "a new life."

Oh, yeah and the whole thing is done in Mayan. This film is neither interesting or educational. But who is the lunatic in this asylum: he who makes the crap or she who watches it?

I'm tired of Heather Mills

I've never been much of a Paul McCartney fan and so I have no vested interest in his ongoing break-up with Heather Mills--other than I wish they would get on with it already.

Mills simply does not know when to shut up. Apparently, their's was an unhappy union from the start. But, considering Heather had more to gain by becoming Lady McCartney, one can almost understand why she put up with him for four long years. I guess he needed viagra, as if he is the only man of his age to rely on pharmaceuticals for a stellar performance. Another of his great sins is that he admitted that he was partially to blame for the end of their marriage. Well, duh, isn't that always the way? Too bad Heather can't admit that maybe she had something to do with the end as well. However, Heather seems to be a spiteful bitch who wants to come out of this as a cross between Mother Theresa and Princess Diana. Not even her lawyers want to deal with her anymore--and lawyers will represent anyone as long as the legal bills are paid. Anyway, according to the British tabs, Lady McCartney has tapes of conversations with her then husband and at least one of her step-daughters. I guess wondering why she would tape them in the first place is useless. She keeps threatening to use these tapes in court, where I am sure they will have less of an inpact since she, or someone close to her, reveals the contents to the tabs. Heather, who made a name for herself by marrying Paul in the first place, wants to be known fort her charitable work--which apparently she cannot pursue until the financial settlement meets her needs. And that, apparently, is really what this is about. Heather wants money and lots of it, Paul would prefer to keep his money to himself. Meanwhile, Heather continues her assault on Paul's character, somehow convinced that the public who has lionized him for 40 years will suddenly change its mind. Yeah, when pigs fly.

The gifts that just keep giving

Well, I finally entered the 21st century and installed high speed internet, having ditched both my trusty ancient computer and dial up. Oh, the days when things were easier. I went to get the handy dandy home install, that, of course, did not work, and had to call an installer, for a few. He was quite nice. I have real fast awfully good access to the internet, but no job. And this whole mail thing defeats me. I think things were easier when we traveled to our local monestary and had the monks do our writng for us. Nicer to look at as well. I am set up in a corner, without proper light, my computer on one TV table to my left and the keyboard on another--niether of which are stable. It's also cold. I willl not turn the heat on, so I am huddled in a dark, cold corner, looking for a job. Life cannot get better than this. And I still have trouble logging on to this page.

All of life's problems are solved at the movies

So, I'm sitting here weeping over The Holiday--a film that for whatever reason I gave a pass when it opened--for the same reason why I weep every time I see Crossing Delancy, one of my favorite movie. It's about toxic relationships and our unwillingness to either see them for what they are or to get out of them--and what happens when we are forced out. And this does tie into my recent work disaster. Because we stay there in the hope that it will get better, that somehow through some force of will, we can make them better. The Holiday is written and directed by a woman, of course. Only a woman could understand why we do it and repeat the bad behavior and are surprised by the inevitable end.

And it is a chick flick. I cannot imagine any man who could understand why this movie resonates with women. That sounds like a sexist comment, which it may be, and the movie is not perfect, but it spoke to me. I suppose in both cases, it's the happy ending, both of which are wholly unbelievable. In the case of Crossing Delancy, no guy waits that long and in the case of The Holiday, it was too pat, too predictable. But jeeze, wouldn't it be terrific if life's ends were like movies?

Neither The Holiday or Crossing Delancy elicited the great gulping sobs precipitated by The Prize Winner of Defiance Ohio, All Mine to Give or Dumbo, but I wept anyway because there was a lot of truth there. We cripple ourselves by staying in relationships that do us no good and by our hubris: we think this time it will end differently.

Successful people understand timing; the know when to hold and, more importantly, they know when to fold. I never learned that and maybe it is too late. But I keep plodding along, hoping for a happy ending--often feeling like a tennis ball as I bounce for here to there and off the wall back again. There has to be an answer, there has to be a time when I will find that answer. I have no idea how this will end and so far, I have been frustrated in my attempts to move forward toward something new. But I think it must be positive that through no fault of my own I have been shoved out of a bad working relationship, into a whole new and far scarier world toward something else. If my life was a movie, something wonderful would have fallen into my lap. But this is real life, and my way out is not so clear. But I do believe there is an exit sign somewhere.

Dumb questions

I haven't applied for a job since 1990 and I haven't worked a cash register since 1964. But there I am, old and weary applying for a cashier's job at a Halloween specialty shop. I am old enough to remember when the Halloween decorations came to the door demanding candy and then went away. But holiday decorations have gone way past the Polk Brother's Santa that sat on our front porch. I need a job, they need a clerk. it's part time and season, and pays a whopping $8 an hour. Who knew that during the interview the harried manager would actually ask me, "Why are you looking for work." I should think the fact that I am unemployed was sufficient, but she wanted an answer. Always happy to spin a tale, I told her one. I'm bored with retirement, which is less dramatic than "I am desperate and broke."

Even when I was somebody who hired people, I never asked that job. I might ask what it was about the job that attracted the applicant. But I never asked, "Why are you applying," because when the applicant is unemployed, it seemed obvious. I also never asked anyone "Where do you hope to be in five years?" Obviously, the hoped to be gainfully employed.

Anyway, the manager took a long leisurely up and down look and me in my decrepitude and asked "Are you up to this?" So, I suspect the other, younger, more physically fit applicant gets the job.

Look, I am glad, glad, glad not to be where I was and should have left there long ago. But, I've made such a has of my financial life that I need something, and need it soon. I am looking for work because I need the money and because I am no longer able to find something for which I may be more qualified. Although, I gotta tell ya, I ain't feeling qualified for much lately.

Jayne Mansfield redux

The world likes nothing better than a hot celebrity meltdown and Britney Spears is the gift that keeps on giving. Yesterday, she lost custody of her two sons to their father. That's how bad it is. A gigolo was determined by an LA judge to be the more competent parent--and no doubt with child support from Britney. She reacted in true pop tart fashion by turning over the kids to their pop and going to a tanning salon. Reportedly, she is under a suicide watch--whether at the tanning salon or not, the news stories do not say.

How the hell did this happen?

You might want to begin when her parents put her into show business, stage parent being the job of choice for underskilled parents with champaign taste on Pepsi money. Anyway, the kid gyrates herself into some sort of adult stardom and then finds true love with one of her back-up dancers. What Kevin Federline lacks in talent, he makes up for with street smarts. Yes, he was co-habitating with another woman, and yes they had children, but there was Britney all lush and flush with cash, the darling of the tweens and with a future and, according to sources, SHE asked HIM. Can you blame the guy? So they get married, have two kids and do not live happily ever after--well, she didn't anyway.

The thing is, K-Fed's initial grab for bags-o-cash was woefully mistimed. All he had to do was wait for the time bomb to explode, which it did, giving us all an unwanted gynecological education. So now he's got the kids and access to the cash. Is this a great country or what?

All that's left now is for him to bleed her financially dry and for her to end up doing dinner theater in some cheesy Louisiana location. I see the ghost of Jayne Mansfield before me and it ain't a pretty site.

Used tissue

I suppose this is the natural response, but I feel crumpled like used tissue. I have looked into what might be available and find not much. This week, I have devoted my time to getting organized, dealing with insurance and financial issues and exploring. Next week, I begin my job search in earnest. Other people manage to find rewarding careers after their shelf life expires. I am not one of them. Apparently, I lack imagination because all I seem before me are the terrors of looking into temporary work and I was never a good "new kid on the block." This is a learning experience, that is my mantra. I cannot curl up and die, well, I could, but I won't. I don't know which way to turn and there is no one who cares enough to listen, and I cannot keep repeating myself. Had I been a better person. this would not have happened. That's in the past. It's gone. It cannot be relived. Whatever happens, I will die alone, unwanted and unmourned--my worst fears realized. The good news is, I'll be dead, so I won't know.

On the upside, I do 15 minutes on the exercise bike, so when I die, I will have one really good knee.

What doesn't kill you will leave you writhing in pain

Yesterday's to-do list went quite well, other than the frustrating conversation about my 401/Pension Fund account. But eventually even that will work out. I filed for unemployment benefits online, and according to them I have 45 skills. An automatic message suggested I look into adding to my skills to make me more marketable. It didn't say more marketable as what. And five, count 'em five boxes of personal belongings arrived. Now, I know of two, and I know I took what I wanted with me, so those five boxes should be interesting. On today's list: me and the trash barrel going through those five boxes. Or maybe I should just dump them unopened.

It occurs to me that I worked in the same place for 17 years and three months and came away without one friend. Not one. I think that says a lot about me--a lot I'd rather not explore at the moment. Yesterday, someone I knew suggested I take in a room mate post haste. She wouldn't want a room mate, but she suggested I get one. Can you imagine anyone who would want to share anything with me? Neither can I. The hospital bill came, so this will not be a day without spending money.

Yesterday's conversation about my pension fund was frustrating. I wanted to get everything done before the blackout, which I was told was on the 30th--but they moved it up to yesterday. Convenient, don't you think? But the guy in charge told me to call this administrator and that administrator and they told me to call him. Then I get a snotty note about how I can't do anything until Nov. 11, which he did say, right before he told me to call someone else. I end up feeling jacked around and they end up feeling I am a pain and all of it means I cannot roll that money over until November. Somehow, I think this does not bode well for me.

I've explored the employment opportunities available to me and think maybe the Eskimos have it right when they put the elderly on ice floes. Something will come up, I will survive, and everything happens for a reason. At least I did not wake up with a panic attack. I count that as a minor victory.

17 years working in one place and all I have to show for it are five boxes of crap and a sense of foreboding. I suppose it could be worse.

Without a schedule

During recovery from knee surgery, I kept a schedule. I wanted to maintain my usual sleep patterns. I wanted to be well enough to return to work without any problems. And yesterday, as I went through my rehab routine, I couldn't help thinking how useless it all was.

I awoke today paralyzed with fear. It all comes down to money, of course. A friend said that she thought if I could make it through the next 18 months, I'd be fine, Maybe she's right. My schedule for today, is to sign the separation agreement and get what money they are willing to give, go to the library and sign up for unemployment insurance, look through the want ads. But what do I want?

I dreamed last night that it was today and I have one last thing to finish up for work even though I no longer worked there. I did the job but when I left, I became lost. I could not find my way home. I wandered around in a world of people who were busy with their lives and who would not help. I found myself in a courtyard filled with student actors--young, fresh, and with their lives ahead of them and filled with promise. And I remembered when I was one of them and part of something. But mostly, I was lost with no way home.

My career as a writer/editor is over. No one will hire me because of my age. OK, that door is closed. Customer service jobs, the usual fall back for those of us with limited skills, have dried up and gone to India.

Why do people stay in uncomfortable situations, whether it's a bad marriage or a bad job? Because it's comfortable and safe. Because the unknown is so terrifying. I did this to myself and I have no one to blame but myself. I have to put one foot in front of the other and walk. At least I have one good knee on which to make the journey. But I am alone in this, as I am in everything else.

Meanwhile
I am trying to make it through the day without spending money. I am not succeeding.

Gas: 18.55 ($2.99 a gallon)
Cigarettes: $34 (a carton and the kid behind the counter CARDED ME. I haven't been carded in 40 years)
Cost to print something out at the Library: 60 cents but I had to put $1 on the no refund account

I need trash bags.

Tomorrow, when my head clears, we will discuss how difficult it is to roll over my money from their 401/Pension into a personal IRA. The horror, oh the horror!

Keeping busy

I spent the better part of Saturday assembling the exercise bike I ordered when I was employed and could afford such things. Pleased to report that I only sustained one nasty cut, and that from a scissors while opening the box. OK, so I did realized a little late in the game that the enclosed "spanner" had uses. Although initially stumped by the missing bolts to affix the seat, I did eventually find them, on the bottom of the seat. I did not, as it happens, figure out about the computer, which still remains in the box, nor was I successful with that final seat bolt, but it works and I am now in danger of becoming a physically sit senior citizen. I did my 15 minutes, yesterday AND today, but on the lowest setting (without the computer attached apparently I cannot change settings--another good reason for it to remain in the box).

I had a knee replaced in July. Returned after 10 weeks, and was fired. I don't think the two events are related, but who knows. It is still something of a shock that I cannot easily begin riding (even on the lowest setting), but eventually the new knee does what it's suppose to. I have the rest of the knee rehab ahead of me, but I have yards of time and nothing to do.

I assume that other people in this circumstance somehow retire. I don't know how they do that, so I am really concerned. Oh, hell, I had a full blown panic attack this morning--and it's only 9:50 a.m. A number of people, younger and with more energy, believe I should build a freelance business, as if I have the energy to start from scratch what I should have been doing from the beginning. Someone suggested I write a book, but I can think of no subject that might interest anyone.

None of this would have happened had I not been me, had I been another, better person. But it did happen and there is nothing for it but to move along, nothing more to see here. I'm not even angry, just scared.

I feel your pain, Baby Jane

I feel like Baby Jane, lost on a beach where everyone else is having fun, dreaming of the days when I was some one.

I was speaking yesterday with a now former business associate with whom I shared maybe the best year of my employment. I was at the top of my game, I had a new love and all seemed right with the world. Of course, it was short lived. Good times are always short lived. But it's good to remember that at some point I was a worthwhile person. And while I understand one should never hang one's self esteem on a job, it's what I did and who I was and who I will never be again. I cannot imagine who will hire me or for what. But I am sure that the one thing at which I thought was good is gone, has been gone for a long time. I hung on, for all the wrong reasons, I'm sure, and stayed at the party much too long. Closed doors and open windows and all that...I just don't believe it, not now anyway. Right now, day two of my unemployment, I feel old, useless and unwanted. Not even a chocolate chip cookie will cheer me.

The thing is that I always tried to treat people fairly, I nurtured the employee who will benefit most from my demise. And I do not begrudge him the opportunity, I was young once and I remember. But over the summer he was particularly cruel and that is unforgivable. Clearly, he owes his allegiance to the one who skates with his paycheck in his mouth. But I went to the mat for that kid, more than once, toe-to-toe to protect him. So, I feel betrayed. Probably, that's unfair. Feelings sometimes are.

None of this matters now and I know it. But it shows you just how much crap karma is. Do good to others and duck when the going gets tough. This could be the textbook old-and-out-of-a-job crazies. But right now, I'm not feeling very hopeful.

Fired!

It was a long time coming and not particularly surprising, but after 17 years, the past three of which were hell, I am out of a job. Booted out the door. Downsized. Disappeared. Fired.

And it is not the loss of the job, that's been gone long ago, it's not the loss of friendship, no one there much cared for me (and I them), it's the horror of how will I pay my health insurance--because that's the reason I stayed there these past three years. And, at age 61, who will hire me?

Years ago, when I was young and this hellish existence stretched before me, I work for a woman who was mighty admirable. She was accomplished, attractive and competent. She was somewhere in her 50s. And then one day a new boss came and she was demoted. Her appearance went first, she became dragged down and lost her confident stride. And I wondered, in my youth, why she didn't just quit? Were was her pride? And then it happened to me. Full circle. Karma.

Any job in my chosen profession is gone. I am too old, require to much care and feeding. And I have a chronic disease. And, had I lived my life more intelligently, I could have retired. I didn't, so here I am, a drag on the economy, out of a job, scared to death and even though I know I am not alone, I feel alone.

My first stop was unemployment, which these days you can file online, provided you are not using a MAC, providing you are not using a Mac with dial-up. After that I don't know. I'm not sorry to be gone, to be away from them. I just scared. Really, really scared. Bad things happen to people in the United States when they are in their 60s, have a chronic disease and are unemployed,

Exploding countries

The fact that the country's motto has to appear in four languages should have been a tip off. But it seems the long-simmering battle between the Walloons and the Flemings is about to explode. Yes, pretty little Belgium with it's cobbled streets, yummy waffles, and 500 types of beer--Belgium, that state de Gaulle claimed had been invented by the British to annoy the French, is about to disintegrate. Poof, it's gone in the blink of an eye--like the USSR, like Yugoslavia. And what's really bizarre about this is that Belgium, sweet, misty Belgium, home of Godiva chocolate, is the damn seat of the damn European Union--and as everyone in Europe is expected to sign their common constitution, Belgium explodes. Can a free and independent Scotland be far behind? Will Quebec finally break off from Canada and go its own Frenchified way? I don't think this bodes well for the European Union, about which I have always had mixed emotions. And if Brussels is the capital city of the European Union, in what country is Brussels located? Well, actually, with the Dutch-speaking and the French-Speaking regions already almost completely autonomous, that makes Brussels a federal state, like Texas was but without the hot sauce. If worse comes to worse, we, like Ethiopians after the separation of Eritrea, have to redraw our maps and learn to live with it. But I will miss the Belgiums, and their uniquely finicky approach to life. What about Belgium lace? Belgium chocolate? Marvin Gaye? What does Marvin Gaye have to do with Belgium? Well, did you know that Marvin Gaye wrote Sexual Healing after having stayed in Ostend, Belgium?

And then there was Iran

If you look at a world map, you will noticed that Iran is circled by Afghanistan, Iraq and the Persian Gulf. So, if, for example, one was interested in restructuring the region to be more amenable to our requirements, wouldn't Iran be the next stop on our Westernize or Die tour? And what better way to stop those Iranian buggers in their sandy tracks than to go looking for Weapons of Mass Destruction. Iran has a right to develop nuclear power, if in fact that is what they are doing. We don't know what the Iranians are doing because the people who are telling us what they are doing are the very same people who insisted that Iraq was hiding Weapons of Mass Destruction and they had the pictures to prove it!

But let's assume for a moment that Iran does build a bomb--which would put them on the same footing as Pakistan, India, Israel and North Korea. Are the Iranians lunatics while the Pakistanis are not? And if you are looking for a Taliban connection, look no further than Pakistan, from whence the Taliban come and where they are even now comfortably ensconced. Would Iran actually consider detonating a nuclear weapon knowing that everyone from Pakistan to France would retaliate with bigger, better, dirtier bombs? China has nuclear weapons AND a larger Army than the US, plus they are evil Communists. How come we aren't more worried about them? Oh, yeah, Muslim fanatics--you know the Wahabbis, the extreme Sunnis based out of and financed by our pals in Saudi Arabia.

Should war come with Iran, it will not be the result of nuclear weapons, real or imagined, or religious fervor, or because Israel continues to exist--if war comes with Iran it will be because US oil interest see some advantage. The United States has interests in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Libya and Afghanistan, we have invaded Iraqi and are in the process of installing a government favorable to US interests. Iran is just another stop on the long road to world domination, or in the words of the first George Bush: The New World Order.

Britney Spears and other entertaining trainwrecks

Yesterday, Britney was hauled into court by her former husband, K-Fed, and his pit bull attorney, Gloria Allred, over custody of the couples two young sons. That isn't bad enough, her attorney, Laura Wasser, quit because Britney was a problem client (she just didn't listen to and follow the advice Wasser gave so Spears could maintain custody and end the war). In spite of Spears' erratic behavior and stint in rehab, Wasser was able to hammer out a 50/50 custody split with K-Fed -- a small miracle. Now Federline wants 70/30 custody. But it gets worse, the surprise witness was none other than Tony, a former bodyguard who Brit fired because he didn't pick up a hat off the floor as directed. Not that he has an ax to grind, but he had a lot to say about drugs and nudity--although as far as I know nudity in the privacy of one's own, although questionable when toddlers are roaming around, is not illegal. But it gets worse as Brit's manager Jeff Kwatinetz dumped her saying, "We believe Britney is enormously talented, and has made a terrific record, but current circumstances have prevented us from properly doing our job." And what are those circumstances? Well, apparently. Brit doesn't take his advice either, and it was her idea to switch the costume she planned to wear at the VMAs for the glitterated swamp bikini, without telling anyone.

As if things couldn't get worse, Spears has been BANNED from LA's exclusive Chateau Marmont hotel after a string of complaints over her oddball behavior. The Toxic star came under the management spotlight after reports she was "acting weird". And it seems "acting weird" doesn't begin to describe her latest act of lunacy, which saw Britney stunning fellow diners in the posh hotel restaurant by smearing a plate of top-notch food over her FACE. Horrified guests were understandably outraged and demanded the management kick her out for good. A source said: "The diners were disgusted. You wouldn't expect that from a teenager in a fast-food joint. "Royalty have dined in this restaurant. Her behavior was totally unacceptable." I told you last month that Brit had previously been so spaced out at the Chateau that she failed to recognize VICTORIA BECKHAM - despite the Beckhams' arrival in the States being plastered all over the US media. Brit's latest crazy antics - combined with the convoy of photographers who followed her to the strictly private hotel - were the final straw for stuffy bosses. Now her name has been added to a blacklist of former guests who are no longer welcome.

So, I'm thinking, what more can Brit do to sink her life and career? Well, she can become pen pals with OJ, maybe they can do the clubs should he ever make bail.

But how bad do you have to be to make K-Fed look like father of the year and the sane one in this white trash dream?

I didn't watch it, so I don't know, but apparently Anna Nicole did not make the dearly departed list at Sunday's Emmy's.

Meanwhile, are the mean white Las Vegas police out to get the innocent and beleaguered OJ? Probably, but that doesn't negate that OJ barged into a room, with armed gunmen, to remove some items that were his and some that were not. In the chaos, OJ did pick up a few items that did not belong to him, although apparently he did offer to return them. OJ is expected to appear in court Wednesday, meanwhile he's cooling his heels in a Las Vegas lock-up where he is definitely not getting the Paris Hilton treatment. Maybe, having gotten one pass, it's impossible for OJ to get a fair hearing and maybe he has a perfectly good explanation for his actions. But after having gotten away with a double murder, one would think that OJ would spend his life trying not to call attention to himself. If it were me, I would avoid getting so much as a parking ticket. You don't hear much about Robert Blake these days, now do you? There are people who want OJ behind bars and they must be thanking their lucky stars that OJ just gave them good reason.

Healthcare in the USA--alive and well

According to Sean Hannity, the US Healthcare System is the best in the world, providing services to all regardless of their ability to pay.

Fact is, the United States ranks poorly relative to other industrialized nations in health care despite having the best trained health care providers and the best medical infrastructure of any industrialized nation. Healthcare for the poor is different than healthcare for those who can pay. Healthcare in the United States is a for-profit business that is managed by physicians, pharmaceutical companies and health benefit providers--all of whom are more interested in their bottom line than they are in you.

Managed care is not the answer. Health care costs in the United States grew more in the United States under managed care in 1990 to 1996 than any other industrialized nation with single payer universal health care The quality of health care in the US has deteriorated under managed care. Access problems have increased. The number of uninsured has dramatically increased (increase of 10 million to 43.4 million from 1989 to 1996, increase of 2.4% from 1989 to 1996- 16% in 1996 and increasing each year).

The reason we don't have universal healthcare in the United States is that physicians, pharmaceutical companies and health benefit providers, who determined which citizen will receive which kind of care, don't want you to have it. It interferes with their bottom lines.

Sean Hannity believes that universal healthcare will destroy our already excellent and equal system and will level our economy. If you have a managed care program, you already know that you have no guarantee that you will receive a service, you have no right to choose your physician or hospital and you will be forced to wait for an approval, and sometimes that wait is endless. So, even if a universal healthcare system is introduced into the US, what would change? If you can pay cash, you too can partake of the wonderful US healthcare system--ask any wealthy person from Canada or the United States.

Music as torture, or, disco music as a weapon

Now that the United States officially believes that torture is an acceptable means of interrogation, the military (or rather the private sector non-military interrogators that we now use), has formalized its use of torturous music. I understand the concept. After five minutes in line at Disneyworld listening to endless loops of It's a Small World, I would gladly sign a confession that I am Jack the Ripper than listen to that happy little ditty one more time.

According to an NPR report aired 9/16, torturous music is being used to demoralize prisoners at the Guantánamo Bay Detention Camp. One guy, who apparently was picked up off the street in Afghanistan, claims he was very nearly driven insane by incessant loops of Ennemm played at ear-splitting levels, I feel his pain--as would any parent of a teen.

The idea of rock music as torture is apparently the brain child of some unknown CIA agent, who clearly preferred Lawrence Welk (and, no doubt, he now works for Clear Channel). It was played to flush out Noriega, once he became more liability than asset. I have often felt terrorized by the alarming repetition of Disco Music on what passes for music radio these days. But I don't think that the good folks who wrote the cloyingly I Love You theme for the Barney series thought that their music would be considered as a good candidate for torture. Maybe they never lived with a Barney obsessed a four-year-old.

The idea that torture is a good way to obtain useful information has been questioned by people who know better--but they aren't in charge. However, it sort of makes sense in this situation when played for people who want no part of our culture (and who are not jealous of our overpriced jeans, obsession with big breasted women, or form of government). The Inquisition used the rack, the Nazi's hung people on meathooks, South American dictators applied electrodes to genitals, and the US uses rock music. We seem wimpy by comparison, but new enemies require new methods of torture.

While I listened to the NPR report, I couldn't help wondering if the government has to pay a royalty to the artists every time their music is played. According to NPR, the jury is still out. Apparently, the government remains silent on that subject, which is odd when you think about how communistic that sounds. Shouldn't people be paid for their labor? Don't we have copyright laws? To paraphrase Joseph Welch: Have we no decency?

I would have thought that being held without charge, without hope of a hearing or trial and for an undetermined time might be torture enough without having by sense assaulted by endless loops of Rap Music--or worse, Disco. Apparently, I am wrong--yet again.

Oops, he did it again

It's all over the media, OJ Simpson recovered some stolen property with the help of a four friends and one or two guns (depends on which report you read).

OJ's story, and his story is always interesting, is that a sports memorabilia dealer contacted him with the startling news that some of his personal belongings are up for sale by dealers who would prefer to keep it quiet--which is when OJ, friends and guns made an unannounced visit. The other story is that the goodies were once kept in a storage facility rented by OJ's mom, and when the rental went due, the property became that of the highest bidder. So, OJ was taking back things that no longer belong to him.

OJ said he was running a sting on people who may or may have not stolen his property. Other people say they were robbed at gun point. The Las Vegas police are looking into the matter.

Having gotten away with murder, and I am one of those who believe he did, Simpson has every right to think he can talk his way out of this one--if, in fact, he did recover what might or might not be his at gun point. Meanwhile, Simpson's theoretical tell all, If I Did It, became the property of the out-of-their-heads Goldman family, who appeared on Oprah, changed the name of the book to I Did It, and will now recover some of their damages in the form of book royalties--assuming someone buys it. I won't, but I am sure others will.

This is a story that keeps on giving, because the cast of characters just will not shut up. I don't know who did what, and I bet the cops will have a difficult time because none of the people involved seem credible. But its just another twist in the never-ending winding road that is Simpson's life. I guess if I had beaten a double murder rap, I might keep my head down and my good self out of the media. But then, I'm not OJ. Anyway, OJ is my pick for Freak of the Week.