Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Black and Hispanic students see school as a more rowdy, disrespectful and dangerous place than their white classmates do, a poll says.
The findings suggest that many minority kids are struggling in the equivalent of a hostile work environment, according to Public Agenda, a nonpartisan opinion research group that tracks education trends.
Minority children in public middle and high schools are more likely than white children to describe profanity, truancy, fighting, weapons and drug abuse as "very serious" problems.
The more they stay the same.
When I was a kid, I got into fights all the time.
One head butt to the chest, the other kid would be on the floor and I would be on top, punching the hell out of him. Or her.
My quarterly report cards always said the same thing “Dawn is a bright child with a creative imagination and an inquisitive mind. However,” and now this part was underlined in red, “her self-control needs improvement.”
I am loathe to blame it on public school, however, and yes, imagine this underlined in red, that’s just how things were settled in my school.
Someone called you names, skipped you in line, whatever ---you were scrapping in the yard. And if you told? Well, you were scrapping in the yard anyway, now, you were just scrapping with your whole class.
In seventh grade, when Shantell thought I told the Vice Principal that she had been smoking in the girls bathroom – she threatened me with a knife. I didn’t go tell the homeroom teacher on her. I grabbed the knife, blade first and took it from her. Then I wiped off the blood with her face.
So I guess you could say I was never was really a touchy feely kinda gal.
Of course, when I got a scholarship to go to a fancy schmancy private school in Brooklyn, I was warned over and over that "punch first, punch later" behavior would not be tolerated.
So, I learned to fight with words.
Angry, nasty, mean words.
(Not that I still didn’t occasionally punch people in the face when they had it coming.)
“Dawn, if you keep taking things so seriously, you are going to die very, very young,” my eighth grade English teacher said to me one day during my fortieth detention for “inappropriate language.”
But I took her words to heart.
I couldn’t keep fighting all the time. Well, I could, but one day I was going to come face to face with someone who could beat me. And that’d suck.
So it was, that somewhere in the middle of ninth grade, I decided to become funny instead of angry.
No more insults when teasing would suffice.
I embraced the funny. Just as I was kidding around with others, I also assumed that they were kidding around with me.
Fat jokes no longer resulted in Dawn’s fist in your face, but for sure, you had an ugly/stupid joke coming your way.
It was so stark a transformation, that a guy who knew me in the sixth grade and ended up being a few years senior to me at college, said he couldn’t believe how much I had grown up.
I literally went from being offended by everything, to be offended by nothing.
Well, not today specifically, but literally in the last month I’ve come to realize that life is becoming complicated again.
Recently, it seems everyone and my mother has got something or another deep and important to say to me. And while I smile and accept their comments with good humor, that's suddenly not enough. No, no, they've got to make sure that I "understand what they're saying," and they want to know "what I think."
Evidently, these people do not realize that the alternative to happy go lucky Dawn, is punch you in the face Dawn.
On the one hand, I still never feel the need to utter the words “we’ve got to talk.” Nor am I ever inclined to pen a Martha Stewart like “Dear so& so you really upset me today when." I am more than happy to express my discontent with a well placed middle finger or the sound of me not talking to the offensive party.
I don't need to talk it out.
Of course, my sense of justice and fair play dictates that if I am going to be subjected to people's critiques of me, then I too will have to start doling out citiques of my own, --- which will just result in more wrist slitting "we have to talk" conversations.
Rock meet hard place.
I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker!
This Online Poker Tournament is a No Limit Texas Holdem event exclusive to Bloggers.
Registration code: 6633657
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
What the hell was Grissom wearing in that last scene? Really. WHAT. Talk about a crime scene.
Jolie's decision to have the baby in Namibia has been hailed as a tourism coup that should help boost interest in a country mostly famed for its massive sand dunes.
"It is great ... they have honored Namibia with their presence," Namibia's Prime Minister Nahas Angula said, adding that the child was entitled to Namibian citizenship.
"We hope that this young Namibian that was born here when she gets older she will take Namibia as her homeland."
He might check to see if Apple is looking for a new homeland though.
If you think keeping fit is merely mind over matter, Lester Clancy has an invention for you - a cordless jump-rope. That's right, a jump-rope minus the rope. All that's left is two handles, so you jump over the pretend rope. Or if you are truly lazy, you can pretend to jump over the pretend rope.
Whew, all the pretendericizing has got me winded. I'm treating myself to some Coldstone.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Here's to hoping the Heat pull a "Yankees" and choke on their series lead.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
I thought that headline was going to be about getting lost in New Jersey Friday night.
I stood in the middle of the Path platform waiting for a train. One arrow, pointing to Track 1 said “to WTC and 33rd Street,” the other arrow, pointing to Track 2, said “To Newark.”
So, crazy me, wanting to go to New York, figured I’d get on the Track 1 train to the World Trade Center or 33rd Street.
But this is Jersey, so instead, that train stopped at somewhere called Journal Plaza. Conductor announced it was the last stop and everyone got off.
I immediately searched for an authority figure to ask my standard “I’m lost in Jersey” question.
“Excuse me. Umm..how do I get to New York?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“33rd? World Trade…? Where in New York? ”
Look lady. It’s 1:30 a.m. If the look on my face says anything other than I want to get the hell out of the this state and anywhere into mine, including ---heaven help me---Staten freaking Island, then I’m doing something wrong.
“Uh…anywhere is good.” AS LONG AS IT’S NOT JERSEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Ok, stay on this train. We’re going back.”
I got back on the train, went all the way back to Jersey City, then took a detour to Ho-freaking-boken, until finally the train crawled into the Christopher Street station.
I had won about $250 at a game that night, so I decided I could treat myself to a cab from the West Village.
At last I was safe in the bosom of my city.
And so it was, that when I accepted Tim’s invite to a Czech bohemian beer festival in Queens, I thought “no problem.” At least, it ain’t Joisey.
Indeed, Queens is not Jersey. No, Sir. Queens is Oklahoma. Or Kansas. Or…Poland.
The streets are lined with white picket-fenced houses, with little old ladies sitting out front. American flags jut out from every second floor. I cannot tell you the depths of creepiness reached when one gets onto a NYC subway car and gets off in Kansas.
I checked my blackberry to look up the address that Tim had sent: “It's at 21-19 24th Avenue in Astoria, Queens and is really quite simple to get to (take the N train to the second to last stop in Queens.”
I loved the “the toast is done one minute before it burns” stop getting out instructions.
I looked at the map in the subway and noticed there was no 24th avenue, so I asked a black guy in a hospital workers uniform where I needed to go to get there.
“24th avenue? 24th and what?”
I checked Tim’s directions again.
Umm…I don’t know. It’s an Bohemian Beer garden.”
Black guy gives me the “beer what now?” look.
“Umm..thanks. I’ll go ask over at the gas station.”
The gas station attendant tells me to walk 12 blocks south, make a right and go three avenues East.
I start my trek in my very summery, but non practical for walking, flip flops.
Boy, that Tim has a very odd definition of “simple.”
I walk and stare, mesmerized by the borough that time and geography forgot. Unlike busstops in Brooklyn and Manhattan –which are usually encased in glass structures, with timetables and directional maps – Queens stops just have a blue pole sticking out of the ground. I stopped into Papa Johns to get a slice.
Yeah, they don’t sell slices.
I reached 23rd avenue, and was eager to cross over to 24th. I was parched, my feet hurt and the heebeegeebeees were strong.
Of course, I cross the street, walk another two hours and nothing resembling a 24th avenue materializes.
After circumnavigating Astoria park and crossing a crazy Triborough bridge highway, four times. I stop a group of hippie looking people to ask for directions.
For sure, they will know when the Bohemian Beer Garden will be.
“Whoa. That is also far from here.”
“Oh, we just got stopped by someone else asking for directions to somewhere that was really far away.”
Damn Queens Twilight Zone vortex.
“So…how far is far?”
“Umm…look, all I can tell you is to go that way. You need Astoria boulevard.”
Her finger pointed back toward the Papa Johns I had passed.
I saw a bus coming and ran to the nearest blue pole.
The driver opened the door. Oh.MY.GOD.
The bus seats were GREEN.
And metal. Yet further evidence that I had stepped through some portal to another universe and I had no hope of getting out.
The bus driver let me out on Astoria Blvd., and again, I looked for someone to ask. I was still far from the subway, starving, thirsty, tired and ready to quit.
Eh, I don’t like beer anyway.
I found a hotel type thing and gave it one more shot.
“Hey, do you know where the Bohemian Beer Garden is?”
“yeah…it's on the other side of the bridge,” he says pointing back toward the place I was when the group of hippies sent me back here.
Well, that’s it. I’m going home.
The nice hotel guy hailed a cab for me –an actual yellow, not green, cab.
I checked my cellphone and there was a text message from Kaz. One of her daily “this is where I am” messages.
She was at the beer garden. Turns out, I had the wrong address. I tried to tell the cabdriver the address, but he totally didn’t understand---Queens addresses have like a 15 digit minimum. 293-314 on 24th avenue between 31st and 32nd
I hand him my Treo and he reads Kaz’s message.
Finally, I get to the Beer Garden. A renaissance style arena encapsulated by a huge stone wall---picture Monty Python throwing a cow over kinda wall. A line snaked around the outside.
I was tempted to scale the wall.
What a fitting end to my marathon wandering through the Queens desert.
But, I choose to wait.
When I get inside, it’s a whole different kind of pandemonium. Row after row of picnic tables, surrounded by vendors and bars and two stages and a dance floor. I circumnavigate the “room” (park?) twice before finally running into Tim, who is on line for food.
“Did you just get here?”
“Why, yes. Yes. I did.”
I tell him my whole sorted story and he sympathetically says:
“Funny. You’re the only one who had that problem.”
“Well, yeah. Black people are dumb.”
“Oh my God. That is soooo true.”
I promptly inform him that Al Sharpton will be boycotting his place of business first thing Tuesday morning.
“Well, if you guys can find it.”
Turns out the food line is longer than the wall scaling line.
I am not quite catatonic, but the smelling of food without the eating of food, is starting to get to me.
Tim says he’s having a Kielbasa. I decided I was too. But then I realized I was confusing that with a shish kabob.
“Whoa. Kielbasas are huuuuge. I can’t possibly eat one of those.”
Except. By the time we had reached the front of the line I was thinking one wouldn’t be enough.
At the table I met up with Kaz and F-train, a bunch of F-train’s college buddies, Tim’s friend Tito and his brother…well…Jermaine, Tim’s long lost exchange student brother from high school—Yoshi and Yoshi’s platonic friend Chia. Like the pet.
Oh, what a merry band we were.
Chia talked about the key to good sushi (making friends with the chef.)
I made my usual mature face of tolerance for that which I do not understand.
“Have you ever even had sushi, Dawn,” F-train asks.
“That’s not sushi.”
“Well, I think food should be cooked.”
“You at least have to try the food before you can not like it.”
“Not true. I believe that food must be cooked, that which is uncooked, is not food. It is ingredients for food.”
But this is a bohemian beer garden, after all, and our merry banter would turn to sloppy drunk before the night’s end.
F-train’s friend Seth was introduced to me in the best way possible “Hey, Dawn. He’s a fan of your blog.”
I love blog fans!
He was such a nice guy, one could not help but wonder how on earth he’s friends with F-train.
Must be that whole opposites attract thing that makes me friends with F-train.
Speaking of attraction (did you see how I did that…it’s called “segue." Kids, do not try this at home.) F-train set his sights on Chia.
“What are my chances with the forty-year-old Japanese woman,” he asked me.
“Umm…forty? And single? I’d say good!”
“Yeah, but that’s more a product of her patheticness than my positive attributes.”
“Dude. Umm…yes. And it’s time you embraced that lot in life.”
“Fuck you, Dawn. When’s the last time you had a date.”
Touche, F-train, touché.
With that pearl of encouragement he was off for an evening full of swapping spit with Chia, multiple looks down her shirt and her head on his shoulder – I think twice – but who remembers.
Seth played wingman, keeping Yoshi occupied with mindless chatter while F-train macked it up with Chia. (“I told my wife I was playing wingman for F-train and she said. Yes, that’s good. You talk to the middle aged Japanese business man, not the hot Asian chick.”)
Unfortunately, Seth ran out of material around 8 and Yoshi and Chia prepared to leave. F-train sealed the deal with the very smooth “here’s my card. Hope to hear from you again.”
“So what are the odds I’ll hear from her again?” he whispers to me.
“Two to one!”
“I’ll take those odds!”
She stood up from the table and said her goodbyes.
“Nice to meet you, Dawn, Tito, Jermaine, Seth, F-train”
“Oh, no. I’m Seth. He’s F-train.”
“Ok, three to one,” F-train and I recalculate simulataneously.
After my trek through Queens, I decided I was done with any activity that required standing for the rest of the week. So, I ended up talking poker with Seth and Jermaine. I also had a conversation with one of F-train's college friends which either ended with the phrase “well, you probably don’t worry about making partner because you probably want to get married and have kids” or “well, you probably don’t worry about making partner because you can just marry someone who does.”
Kaz, on the other hand, was playing social butterfly with some friends from college she randomly ended up sitting next to, and three tables of Tim’s friends. She played wingwoman for F-train’s friend Sonar, by finding him a dance partner.
“I just asked her if she would dance with you because you were a really good dancer, but I was messing you all up because I am a terrible dancer,” she said triumphantly after Sonar returned from dancing with the girl, “but of course, that is a BIG lie. I am an AWESOME dancer, but I was playing a ROLE,” she reassured us.
And indeed, she did spin and spin around the dance floor --- of course, she could have just been avoiding dealing with the now plastered F-train.
At this point in my story, F-train is now sprawled across our picnic table attempting to cut his wrists with a plastic knife.
“I can’t believe I didn’t get her number. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY”
“Because you’re an idiot?” Sonar helpfully offers.
“Did you see? She put her head on my shoulder. Twice.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.” When F-train is drunk, he repeats himself. A lot. We’ll call this personality the F-F-F-F-train.
“Look, if you’re going to use a plastic knife, you are going to have to press harder than that,” I offered even more helpfully than Sonar.
F-train promptly gives me the finger in rapid succession to the oompapa beat of the Czech band.
Impressive for one so drunk.
“God. I can’t believe I didn’t get her number. She put her head on my shoulder!”
“What? No way! How many times.”
“I’m going to hit you Dawn. I swear.”
“No you’re not. Cause then I will kill you, leave your body in Queens, Kaz will move into the big bedroom and put your stupid cat in the street.”
“Kaz wouldn’t leave my cat homeless.”
“Well, sure, she’d give the cat a couple of days to make other arrangements, but by week’s end, it’ll be out on the side of the road with its kitty litter, scratching post and squeeze toys.”
“Arrangements? So, my cat’ll be typing away on craig’s list ‘meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow…bitch meow, meow, meow.’?”
He balled up his “fist,” I mean seriously, more bone than fist. I call it grist!
“You’re going to put someone’s eye out with that,” I said taking custody of his left arm and leg (both of which, by the way, I could firmly grip without straining the range on either of my hands.)
When he flailed. I beat him with his own grist. When he kicked, I kicked him with his own leg.
It was…a sight to be seen.
So, really, no one could be too surprised when a Kaz ended up coming down with a migraine.
We were heading back to Brooklyn on the subway and F-train and Sonar were both making such spectacles of themselves that the Goth couple wearing black leather pants, heavy black mascara, with tattooes across half their face and arms, with interlocking nose rings, were staring at us like we were the freaks.
“Daaaaawwwwwn, has a coke nail!!!”
“Coke nail. Coke nail.”
“I wanna see Dawn’s coke nail.”
Yes, someone is a smite overdue for a manicure.
“Shhhh…let’s play a game. Who can be quiet the loooongest,” I said as Kaz collapsed into a ball of writhing brain pain in the seats across from us.
“Fine. I LOSE!” Sonar exclaimed.
“Yeah, yeah!! I LOSE TOO,” F-train, his two-year-old brother joined in.
“Let’s see the coke nail,” he said grabbing my hand and refusing to let go.
One...Two...Let go, F-train...Fine.
“Ow! She bit me!”
He screamed, finally releasing my hand after I may or may not have bitten him.
“I’m taking a picture,” F-train said grabbing his camera phone.
“Dawn bit me.”
“Well, to be fair, I have pictures on my phone of you trying to hit her as proof that you had it coming,” Seth replied. Have I mentioned how awesome and great Seth is? No? cause he is.
By now, the entire half of our subway car was staring at us.
But one woman, in particular, was riveted. And unfortunately, F-train noticed.
“Why is that woman staring at us? That one right there in the green shirt.”
Then he goes into his Christopher Walken impression. Which, since F-train will never do his Walken impression when I ask him--which is pretty much whenever I see him, this is the only redemptive quality of the F-F-F-F-train. He'll just casually do Christopher Walken at the drop of a hat.
The woman stares more.
“Well, we're probably teaching her some English,” Sonar says.
I cover my face with my hands, which is pretty much what Kaz is now doing – but for non-embarrassed my F-train reasons. I think.
“Wow. That lady looks real concerned about Kaz,” F-train loudly observes.
“Yes, this is all your fault.”
"No, it’s not."
Tito, the only thing approaching an adult in our group, went to get Kaz water.
That seemed to do the trick, and F-F-F-F-train took the opportunity to tattle.
“Kaz, Kaz look what Dawn did,” he said showing her the camera phone picture of his bite.
“What is that?”
“Dawn bit my hand.”
“Then, why don’t you just show me your hand?”
“Cause it’s gone now.”
“I don’t know, F-train. That doesn’t really prove anything. You could have bit yourself,” Tito suggests.
Which, now that I think on it, is exactly what happened. I was on the train minding my own business, when F-train shouted, “why didn’t I get her number???” and then bit himself.
As we waited on the platform for the F-train –not the drunken man-child—but the actual train to arrive.
I noticed a woman with a baby stroller. But inside the baby stroller was a small, yippee dog.
She walked away to look at the map and the dog started yelping.
“God dammit. You are like a child,” she said stomping over to the DOG in a STROLLER.
Yah. Can’t imagine how the dog got the impression that it was child.
She wheeled the dog over to the large subway map and started having a hissy fit.
“Carmen, come here. This train doesn’t go there,” she hissed to the Latina chick a foot away.
It was then we noticed the other woman who was holding like seven bags from the finest stores in midtown and pushing a shopping cart with yet another dog inside.
The woman quickly came over to the dog stroller woman and started apologizing and explaining something.
“Man, I fricking HATE rich people,” I say glaring at stroller dog lady chewing out Carmen.
“Uh, Dawn. You are rich,” the newly unmigraned Kaz says.
“Nu uh. I am working class…I work…and…I um…went to class.”
Kaz, still watching the two women interact, mutters "classy" at something dog stroller woman did.
“Ooh. Yes! That’s what I should have said. Ok, do over. Nu uh. I am working class. I work and I have class.”
Damn, I’m so clever.
Seats open up on a bench a few feet away, so we walk over there.
F-train crouches against the garbage can next to me.
“Oh my God!!! THAT'S NOT A BABY!!! That lady has a dog in the stroller,” he says loudly enough for the entire platform to hear.
Kaz and I laugh and laugh.
“Yes, dude. We’ve been talking about her for the past five hours.”
Finally, the train came and we were on our way home. When the train pulled into their stop, F-train said “now, you’ll be all alone!”
“Oh, thank GOD!”
I put on my ipod and settled back into my usual train ride of obscurity. What a crazy night.
The last time I bit a boy was the fifth grade and we ended up going out for a week until he let Tamara sit at our table at lunch and I punched him twice in the stomach.
Hmm, come to think of it, that was also the last time I had a date.
Bonds breaks Ruth's record.
Don't hate the playa, suckas.
Is now a baby.
A representative for the couple said Jolie, 30, had given birth to Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt on Saturday in Namibia, a sparsely populated desert country in southwest Africa. There were no further details available, People reported.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Not only did this site bring the President of the United States to his knees, but after being mocked in a post earlier this week, homicide charges have been dropped against the eight year old boy.
Or, you know, delusions of grandeur is just another symptom of my as yet undiagnosed disease.
Sources claim marines killed dozens of unarmed civilians.
The Marines originally had reported that 15 civilians were killed by a roadside bomb in Haditha, a city along the Euphrates River in western Iraq. The Marines later suggested the civilians may have been caught in a firefight.
However, photographs being reviewed by investigators "are inconsistent with how the Marines claim the Iraqis died," according to a military source familiar with the investigation.
Of course, really, the scariest part is that I am just going to get ALL my news from Bones from now on.
Just like Iocaste.
Mysterious disease causes victim's skin to crawl.
via Binda...who hopefully is not trying to tell me something.
I was over at this guy's house in Jersey City for a game. When I said I was leaving, at around 1 in the morning, he said "Yeah, I figured. You live in like Massachusetts."
Did Alceste tell a woman I had just met to "watch out" because I was "hitting on her husband?"
If Alceste is disappeared in the next week, I was home alone watching TV.
NOT SO RANDOM THOUGHT
OK...so what disease do I have? The symptoms are a complete inability to wake up before 9:30 Monday through Friday, but being up insanely early on weekends.
CALL ME CRAZY...
But this ain't the way to get yourself invited to Oprah's show.
"I've been involved in three projects pitched to [Oprah], but I've never been asked to participate," the rapper-actor [Ice Cube] tells FHM magazine in its July issue, on newsstands June 6.
"For 'Barbershop,' she had Cedric the Entertainer and Eve on, but I wasn't invited," says the 36-year-old rapper, referring to his 2002 movie. "Maybe she's got a problem with hip-hop."
Cube adds: "She's had damn rapists, child molesters and lying authors on her show. And if I'm not a rags-to-riches story for her, who is?"
The clincher? Ice Cube, whose other films include "Friday" and "Three Kings," will release his latest album, "Laugh Now, Cry Later," on June 6.
Not that fifteen years of kiss ass letter writing works either, but that's neither here nor there.
Friday, May 26, 2006
President George W. Bush admitted on Thursday that his bellicose "bring 'em on" taunt to Iraqi insurgents was a big mistake, as he and British Prime Minister Tony Blair carefully avoided setting a timetable for removing troops from Iraq.
Now, I'm not saying the President reads. My blog. However, years ago the Clareified staff pointed out what a ridiculously retarded statement this was, especially coming from a sitting Head of State.
We are happy that the President has finally decided to see the light.
I know, I know. Just finish watching and then blog...oh well.
DUDE. Who picked that duet for those two? Taylor looked like a creepy, lecherous middle aged man going through a life crisis with Katherine gold digging tart on his arm.
Ick, ick, ick.
Oh and you know what's funny? Neither of them can sing.
Thanks for the trivia Seacrest. Note to TPTB we should be able to vote for president by phone as many times as we want.
Hey, Katherine, get the hell out of Taylor's light.
Oh...and Tamyra...get yourself a music producer. And eat something.
Paris was robbed.
No matter how bad things are (and I don't doubt that they are bad) you should not and I repeat NOT be cameoing on American Idol.
Sharing a stage with Meatloaf? AND Dionne WARWICK???? GUY!!!!!!!! When you saw her in the green room it should have been your first clue to get da hell out.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Just watched my Tivo recording. CLAY AIKEN WAS THERE!!!! HE SANG!!! HE WAS AWESOME.
Cept...and now, Clay, understand that I do love you and everything you stand for...but...umm...what's with morphing into Paul Reubens?
No good. Go back one makeover ago. Stop there. Put out another fricking album of original songs already.
Me: I saw your friend from my high school and she said to tell you that her father's sick.
My mom: Yeah? Well, my father's dead.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
And carry a big bat.
I was surfing over on BOM and he writes:
And I do think it's OK for not every show to be for everyone... That doesn't mean I begrude those who like it for liking it. We just don't necessarily care for the same things and that's OK.
Which is a perfectly decent and mature position to take on the matter. However, I disagree.
Sharing a common dis/like for television shows, tells me a lot about a person; conversely, disagreement on such issues may also reveal larger problems.
You know, like when Sideshow Bob told Selma that he didn't like MacGuyver. She overlooked it and he tried to kill her. Think of it as my very own broken windows theory to relationships.
It's one thing if you've never seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but if you've seen it and didn't like it? Well, maybe you also steal and abuse little children. Or have a homicidal past. I don't know. But a red flag has gone up.
Ditto the Simpsons (and yes, I know great minds will disagree about the last six-seven years, but anyone who doesn't worship at least seasons 2-4, is a sicko with serious psychological problems which could manifest themselves at any time in the form of arson or poisoning.) I'm not taking any chances.
Conversely, if you've never seen anything as funny as Home Improvement or as moving as Seventh Heaven...well, pardon me, but I think my mom is calling me. See ya, freak.
Muhammad told Malvo they would obtain a $10 million payment in exchange for stopping the killings, and then recruit 140 homeless children to a compound in Canada where they would train to "continue the mission" -- namely, a prolonged terror campaign against America, Malvo said.
Malvo said he "just latched onto that" and believed it because Muhammad had always been truthful with him.
At the end of several hours of questioning, prosecutor Katherine Winfree asked Malvo what he now thinks of Muhammad. "I think he is a coward," Malvo said.
Malvo then glared at Muhammad: "You took me into your house and you made me a monster," he said.
For one law student, however, using a private consultant was pivotal in getting accepted to Georgetown University Law Center. The student, who requested anonymity, applied two years ago to the school but was wait-listed and eventually was denied admission. Last year, she decided to try Accepted.com to get in. Earlier this month, she finished her first year at Georgetown.
She said help with her personal statement, which cost her about $800, made the difference. But she added that she had some hesitation about using the service.
"I felt sort of guilty," she said. "Other people may not have the resources like I did."
Columbia Law School Dean of Admissions Nkonye Iwerebon said access to consultants is a concern. She is troubled by the specter of classrooms filled only with students who have the means to professionally prepare their applications. Iwerebon added that increasing competition among applicants wanting to get into top law schools has prompted them to try to "improve their odds" by using consultants, which has made it more difficult for her to determine the "authentic individual" from the application package.
Although...hmmm...I could so charge dumb rich kids $300 an hour to help them apply to school.
Bush's second choice appears to be 25, currently worn by veteran special teamer Fred McAfee, who has indicated he would be willing to give it (or sell it) to Bush. Players often change numbers to accommodate others, often selling the rights, as New York Giants punter Jeff Feagles did two years in a row -- first trading No. 10 to Eli Manning in 2004, then No. 17 to Plaxico Burress last year.
Feagles got a vacation for his family to give Manning his number. Burress paid for an outdoor kitchen in Feagles' Arizona home.
Other number exchanges haven't been as amicable.
When Clinton Portis joined the Washington Redskins two years ago, he bought No. 26 for $40,000 from safety Ifeanyi Ohalete. Portis paid $20,000 up front but declined to pay the rest after Ohalete was cut by the Redskins and picked up by Arizona.
Ohalete then sued and the issue was solved before a trial when the two sides agreed on a lump-sum payment of $18,000 to settle the matter.
They just do.
Here's an excerpt from a mailer I received today:
Joe Lieberman has won strong support from Republicans. Vice President Cheney calls him "a fine U.S. Senator." Republican Congressman Chris Shays and Fox News Commentator Sean Hannity have both endorsed him. Even President Bush loves Lieberman -- there are rumors he has been considered for a post in Bush's cabinet. Is that the kind of Democrat that we want in Washington?
Ouch, who knew that Lieberman was getting primaried? All I can say is I can't see him losing his Senate seat to this Lamont guy, but hopefully this will bring an end to Lieberman's delusions that he'll ever survive the Democratic primaries for President. Which means, one down, five pretenders to go.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Taylor was definitely the better singer, but I think his decision to not be a hot girl will cost him votes.
Lloyd Bentsen dies after suffering from stroke.
Former Senator and Treasury Secretary Lloyd Bentsen, a courtly Texan who as the Democrats' vice presidential nominee in 1988 famously told rival Dan Quayle he was ''no Jack Kennedy,'' died Tuesday. He was 85.
Mr. Kerrey, on stage, had accused the protesters of "heckling from the audience where no bravery is required."
But one graduate, Aisha Nga, 22, of Atlanta, said protesters were not hiding in the crowd. "Bob Kerrey said we weren't very brave, but I think a lot of people who were booing would say it to his face," she said after the ceremony. Like many of her classmates, she wore an orange armband to protest Mr. McCain's presence. In an interview later, Mr. Kerrey praised students for showing restraint. "They could have done all sorts of things under the umbrella of guerilla politics to destroy the event, and they didn't," he said.
McCain and Kerrey heckled.
An 8-year-old boy was arrested after he sneaked onto a school bus and released its parking brake, causing it to roll forward and fatally strike a second-grader, police said Tuesday.
The boy was to be charged with criminally negligent homicide, Officer Doris Garcia said. Police were withholding his name because of his age, she said.
Charlie Gibson finally gets ABCNEWS anchor job.
You know...after their top guy dies of lung cancer, the replacement guy got blowed up in Iraq and the chick got knocked up and put on medical leave...
I think Boston owns the Yankees.
When I started this book, I thought "Three Junes" was just the title...not how long it'll take me to finish it.
Monday, May 22, 2006
oooh...first locale: Sydney! Not just a city, but a spy.
Now, that was a series finale.
And hey, hopefully this means no more Elecktra movies.
Quarter past what the fuck: How do we say "real time" in Chinese?
By the way, how cool was Jack's snapping of Bierko's neck?
In April, Ohio Sen. Mike DeWine introduced a special bill to help Manuel gain legal status.
"In my opinion, Manuel's status in this country must change," the Republican senator said. "Through no fault of his own, Manuel is not a legal resident of the United States. Had his step-grandfather adopted him, Manuel would be an American citizen today. And, if his step-grandfather had moved to legalize Manuel's status at some point before he turned 18, he would not be subject to deportation today."
If ifs and buts were candies and nuts we'd all have a party.
Anyone get the feeling they are just arresting people to get the girl's mom to shut the hell up?
But is Ed Koch running for Mayor as a Republican? Or was that just a dream?
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Noon: Dawn groggily answers the phone.
1 p.m.: Dawn picks up mom.
Me: "What time is this thing supposed to start?"
Her: I don't know, I told people to come between 2 and 4.
Me: And so why was I woken at noon?
Her: You sleep too damn much.
1:30: Arrive at supermarket.
Me: Am I going to have to drive people home after this thing?
Mom: No. Why?
Dawn grabs another six pack of Seagram's.
2:15: Mom insists we "put the coals in the thing."
2:16: Dawn gets the fire extinguisher.
2:17: Dawn fills a bucket of water.
2:18 Dawn fills another bucket of water.
2:38: "Oh my God. Should I call 911?
2:53: Flames die down and coals are ashy gray.
2:54 Dawn reads coal bag instructions. "Hey, the flames were supposed to look like that!"
3:00: Burgers hit the grill.
3:01: Burgers fall apart and start to hit the coal. "Crap. I think we need breadcrumbs or something."
3:24: "Mom, you don't cover the food on the grill. It needs oxygen."
3:25: "Dawn, you have to put the cover on for it to cook." Me: Do you ever see Homer putting a cover on when he's grilling? You have to be able to flip stuff.
3:26 Dawn reads grill instructions. Silently puts the cover back on the grill.
4:02 One double cheeseburger, two seagram's berry coolers down. mmmm
4:07 "Good thing I brought my Tums."-My mom, three burgers, two dogs and three beers later.
4:43 First guests have arrived! That's right. No one hit the 2-4 arrival time. Coals are pure ash now...must reload.
5:02 Ignition the remix: success. Much less scary than the first time. Isn't everything.
5:10 Smoke is every.where.
5:32 My cousin: "Well, I remember when Dawn was born, so that's how old I am."
Me: Umm...somehow you managed to make that sentence about how old I am.
5:45: Realize my mom locked the door to my guest room. My eleven year old cousin promptly takes off his shoes and breaks in through the window. More than a few eyebrows raise.
6:01: One hour into the coolest playlist I've got --(song after song of
Generational mixing. No good.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Hey, look at that, Iocaste... I'm Friday cat blogging!
via High On Poker
The country's busiest border crossing reopened early Friday following a nine-hour closure after federal authorities shot and killed the driver of a sport utility vehicle headed for Mexico, officials said.
Border agents had pulled over the SUV after reports that the driver had picked up what appeared to be a group of illegal immigrants. When the driver tried to veer back into traffic on Interstate 5 Thursday afternoon, the officers fired.
I thought police officers couldn't shoot someone just for fleeing?
"And by the way, when you see my dad / Tell him that I slit his throat in this dream I had."
It probably says something that as I read this post, I was thinking 'eh, he's still better than my father.'
Frankly, except for those asshole fathers who shake their babies to death, (or drown them) it's pretty much a given that all fathers are better than mine, so I rarely ever think about it.
But lately, as I've been flailing about in the land of home improvement, I've been thinking about my father a lot. How he should be the one dragging the lumber back from Lowe's, and smashing his thumb with a hammer while hanging the pictures on his daughter's wall. Fo sho, he should be dealing the string of surly repairmen stomping through my apartment.
It's highly reminiscent of when I was learning to drive, but didn't have any cars to practice on -- even though my father is a mechanic and prides himself on restoring old cars. Back then I decided I was tracking him down, just so I could kick him in the shins.
Mmmm....the shin kick.
Anyway, just thought you should know, if you wanna read about good fathers, go here or wait for Drobb to guest blog, cause my father sucks ass.
Really? I totally thought those crazy kids were gonna make it.
Jennifer Wilbanks has broken up with the man she was to marry once before she had a famous 11th-hour change of mind.
Wilbanks, 33, said she recently split with fiance John Mason and she has a new job as a receptionist in an Atlanta medical office.
To the geniuses at ABC that decided that what Alias needed was yet another time slot change for the series finale and that said time change should be opposite 24, I would like to give you the patented Dawn Summers three finger salute.
Pick just one. No, not that one. Yes. That's the one.
I bought my apartment from an elderly couple who was retiring to Florida.
Since they were leaving the country, they actually left me all of their furniture and appliances, etc.
I have given most of it away, but I used their master bedroom set, to furnish my guest room rather than buying new stuff for it.
Of course, since the master bedroom is a tad larger than the guest room, I have had some issues fitting everything inside.
One piece, in particular, a triple dresser with a huge back mirror, has been a complete pain.
Depending on where you move it, one or anotehr of the drawers gets blocked by the foot of the bed and not only can you not open the drawer, you also can't squeeze past the bed to get to the other side of the room.
And we have moved it everywhere. And by "we," I mean my cousins.
I'd say they have moved that dresser seven times already -- and considering that the mirror alone weighs fifty pounds...well, wow.
Anyway, they came over last night to build my grill and of course, my mom asks them to move the dresser again.
"It looks funny the way it is."
So once, again, they set about moving it left and right until my mother was happier.
When they were done, inspired by Gib's post, I asked them what was worse -- building the bookcase for me when I lived in Manhattan or moving that dresser around.
Without any thought, they both said the bookcase was far worse and they would rather standstill with that dresser on their heads if they never had to so much as look at another bookcase.
This may be one of those blue state/red state things, but you're not truly a member of Gen X on the East Coast until one of your classmates or childhood friends has had a sex change operation.
That's just the way it is.
And for years and years, I've waited on the sidelines for my shot to become part of my generation.
And finally, it has come.
Yesterday, I was out a Costco, when a woman, with an Amanda name tag firmly affixed over her left breast greeted me at the door.
My mom flashed our membership card and I headed for the elevators.
"Hi...umm...I don't know if you'll remember me, but we went to high school together. Robert. From AV club."
And sure enough, somehwere behind the blond bangs and faint blue eyeshadow, I kinda saw traces of the boy who used to wheel the VCR and TV around whenever we were ready to showcase our retarded "class videos."
Be cool, Dawn.
"Uh...how you been?"
"Good, good. I'm in the manager's program here."
"Great. You ever go back [to our high school.]"
"Not really, I went for my five year, but not since I changed."
And then, and this really surprised me, because out of all the times I ever imagined this defining moment, I have never seen myself asking this question:
"So, how much does a change like that cost?"
How much does it cost!!!!??? What is wrong with you?
"Well, the whole thing ---about 40. But my mom paid for it, as a college graduation gift of sorts."
"Oh, that's cool."
There was a line growing behind me, so I waved goodbye to Rob-Amanda and went about my shopping duties.
But there you are. Dawn Summers: Gen Exer.
You know, this picture poses something of a dilemma for me...one the one hand, I do not like animals; one the other, I do not like guns. Discuss.
via High On Poker
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Lionel Tate, on probation for murdering a younger playmate in 1999 when he was 12 years old, was sentenced today to 30 years in prison for violating the terms of his probation. But Mr. Tate, whose original life sentence in the killing set off a nationwide debate over sentencing of youthful offenders, still faces the possibility of life in prison for the act that constituted the probation violation, robbing a pizza deliveryman at gunpoint in 2004.
A former gym teacher pleaded guilty to taking $1-a-day bribes from middle school students who didn't want to change their clothes for class.
My favorite line:
"I'm ready to get on with my probation and get back to teaching," said Braxton, of Atmore, Alabama. "It was a mistake, my first job. I regret doing it."
Your honor, I didn't know you couldn't exchange money for grades. It was my first day.
I don't ask if it's good or bad, I just want to see my face on screen for 30 seconds.
Has anyone seen the Eliot Spitzer ads running on NY1? Don't they hire focus groups to vet these things anymore?
Have fun clicking the links! Cliiiick theeeeeem.
Fisch writes about winning a boxing fight in his youth, but I'm still fairly certain I could take him.
Karol is jealous of my poker blog. She also manages not to call me a douche.
Robert George muses that George "The Decider" Bush is channeling Bill Clinton. I disagree. I knew Bill Clinton, he was a President of mine, George Bush is no Bill Clinton.
Jessica chronicles her adventures in Japan. I wanna go to Japan. When will they invent the teleporter technology that'll make air travel unnecessary? When.
Blog Amy is bashing Christians/Believers/Evangelicals/Catholics in a hotly worded memo about how she's going to see the Da Vinci Code just to spite them. If I were Catholic, I might take satisfaction in knowing that given the subpar reviews the movie has thus far received, seeing the movie may be punishment itself.
Jason recounts his trip to the city to meet me and I dunno see Julia Roberts in a play and bike around the city, but mostly to meet me.
Esther writes about the only hot show I am not watching (after American Idol and the OC). I will assume that the girl chooses the other guy and then in half a season she'll cheat on him with Patrick Dempsey.
Michael, as usual, has one of his impressively quick, well written and interesting posts about hot shows that I do watch. Frankly, I have been looking more forward to his posts about 24, than the show itself. This one is about Lost. Personally, I think this episode should have aired last week. We knew that Michael is not so good three weeks ago, I don't wanna have to wait this long to find out why. HA. I meant Michael on Lost Michael, not Michael from Big Orange Michael. You know, there aren't really any TV characters named Dawn anymore.
Ginger teaches me the value of physical violence in order to get guest bloggers. Sleep with one eye open pearatty.
Paul teaches us all the value of the "remember me" feature in Windows.
Since no one knows Yaron better than I do, as evidenced by infallible blog quizzes, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that he does not approve of the farm taking.
Gertie poses a question for the ages. Oh, and since this about me, I will offer that none of my clients has ever been at all attractive. There was however an opposing counsel once...
Is Randy Jackson poetry in motion? Annika says yes!
Iocaste stopped watching 'One Tree Hill' on principle. I can only surmise that it was drugs that got her started in the first place.
Uhmmm...Ari burns my eyes. I think there's some Grey's Anatomy blogging in there somewhere though.
Stay Free opines on the rights of the unborn to listen to our phone calls. Again, on my own behalf, I would like to call for an end to creepy baby photos on blogs.
George Bush hurt Judge Luttig's feelings. He will soothe the pain with cash. Lots and lots of cash. Also my drug of choice.
My friend T-bone used to have a blog. Now he doesn't.
Jason makes me feel like crap by actually having real problems to worry about. Hope everything is ok with your mom.
Michael (another one!) has an unorthodox way for dealing with blood thirsty pro-deathers. I only believe in the death penalty for people who have wronged me. And in that case, I think it'd be good for my young cousins to watch me do it. You know, cautionary tale and all that.
Umm...Murph makes me wonder if I'm really up for another June without television...
In the latest installment of his "America can't be trusted with democracy" series, Gib is trying to jinx things by predicting a Democratic Congress. I scoff and say that the Republicans will sweep every race in November. Democrats have no chance whatsoever. Weld '06.
F-train does indeed sing at the poker table. Which is fine. It eliminates any and all guilt about playing whole Clay Aiken Christmas albums the next time he is trapped in your car as you drive 55 mph on the Garden State Parkway.
Up Your Nose mocks dictators. I say, for shame, too easy. You want real comedy bash a nun. You know, metaphorically. Otherwise, you'll go to jail. Although, there is some really funny jail jokes.
Umm...I don't know what truth out is, but I have undiagnosed OCD and can't stop something once I've started.
Petite Dov thinks I need more ways to procrastinate. I kill her.
I'm a squirrel just trying to find a nut(s).
Just to hear Alceste head explode somehere in Texas, I present Dawn's list of the best songs from 1991:
From a Distance Bette Midler
MOTOWNPHILLY Boyz II Men
(EVERYTHING I DO) I DO IT FOR YOU Bryan Adams
After The Rain - Nelson
Black Or White - Michael Jackson
Gypsy Woman (She´s Homeless) - Crystal Waters
O.P.P. - Naughty By Nature
Rico Suave - Gerardo
Unbelievable - EMF
Walking In Memphis - Marc Cohn
You're In Love - Wilson Phillips
Of the mind used to have a blog, now he doesn't. I have also been toying with the idea of calling it quits on blogging, but every day I just seem to have something to say about something that I think you all need to see.
Batesline points out that our neighbors to the North hates like Filipino kids. Yet one more item to add to the declaration of war.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
I have been good all day. All day. And then my blog surfing takes me here.
You know how parents/teachers/coaches always tell children "you're better than that" when they do bad things? Yeah, I really never was.
So yes JD. I have had evil thoughts lately. Lots and lots.
Howdy Doody clown dead at 84
There'll be one clown born in this world, to carry on. Baby clowns. Shudder.
If you're linking to Clareified (or plan to in the very near future) and would like a reciprolink, drop me a comment or email (click link on right hand sidebar.)
If you're all done with blogging and I am still linking to you and you would like that to stop immediately, let me know that too.
Rumsfeld tells Congress that border deployment will not stretch Guard.
The bright and beautiful 26-year-old Wesleyan University graduate was shot to death Sunday in the Prospect Lefferts Gardens apartment she shared with her new boyfriend, Keeve Huggins.
Huggins, 23, told police three men burst into their home early Sunday morning while he was sleeping. The trio tossed a sheet over Sargeant's head and shot her about 1:30 a.m. before fleeing with $5,000, he told cops.
Huggins later admitted to police that he dealt marijuana out of the Bedford Ave. apartment while Sargeant was at work in Manhattan. Sargeant's friends are devastated by her death.
"She was a star. Ambitious, motivated, beautiful, kind. It is just unfathomable to all of us," said her friend, Korin Mills, 27.
Mills and Sargeant met when both were given scholarship as young girls by Prep for Prep, a Manhattan program that identifies talented minority students and helps them get into topnotch private schools.
I wonder if this made the Prospect Lefferts Gardens list serv...
This time, his candidacy has galvanized Republicans disgusted with a party leadership they believe has not only steered too far to the center, but also tried to anoint Mr. Weld as the nominee despite his positions on abortion and gay rights.
"We have a whole history of people saying what they think we want to hear, and then we get them elected and they are something different" said Robert Smith, the Republican chairman in Onondaga County, which includes Syracuse. "We're in a state where we don't even have our identity anymore. Even if we lose the election, I am going to feel better running a candidate who represents our core."
That's right, guy. There is more than winning. Stop with the winning. Republicans need to stand on principles for a change.
DNA study: Human-chimp split was messy.
On the plus side, we got the opposable thumbs and they got the hairy kids.
Rudy Washington, who was caught in the plume of dust and debris after the first of the Twin Towers fell and who worked tirelessly downtown for weeks, is the highest-ranking official known to have fallen ill from a suspected WTC-related ailment.
Washington's claim for his rising medical expenses, filed about a year ago, was approved recently after a state Worker's Compensation Board hearing, the sources said.
The Bloomberg administration has told Washington it plans to appeal the approval.
Classy, dude, classy.
Well, ok, it might be more of a "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" story.
The other day my mom got a knock on the door.
It was the man from next door. He and his wife and their two kids moved in about six months ago.
He said "hi, the mailman has been putting a lot of your mail into our box lately. My wife said I should just throw it out, but I figure I'd pass it along."
My mother thanked him, took the mail and went inside.
When she repeated the story to me later though, it ended with:
"He should never have told me that his wife was going to throw my mail away. If I ever see that fat bitch in the elevator I am going to give her a piece of my mind."
Instead of bring so quick to increase postage rates, perhaps the United States Postal Service should work to increase efficiency of current operations. A few quick examples for your reading pleasure:
Several weeks in advance of an expected move I filled out the on-line USPS change of address form and even paid the $1 fee. While filling out a change of address card would have been free at the post office, if I paid for it, I figured the USPS would be more likely to do the job correctly. Oh how wrong I was.
Though all my mail should be forwarded to the new address, some is forwarded, some is sent to my old address. Why? No idea. I called my old post office today three times to fix the problem. At first, the employee took down all my information and placed me on hold for 10 minutes. (I have speaker phone and kept working while I held.) I hung up and called back a second time, reaching the same employee. I told her I was worried she wasn't coming back. She made no apology, and ordered me to hold on. Silence. Fifteen minutes later I hung up and called back. This time I asked to speak to a supervisor. She said she was the supervisor, and suddenly became the most useful postal employee ever. She told me there was no excuse for the regular carrier's failure to forward my mail and she would make sure it was all forwarded in the future. She then asked me to hold and I heard her shouting to my old mailman to "stop messing around with the mail at [my old address] and forward it all! This is the fourth complaint this month!" I thanked the woman, wished her a good day, and hung up. Efficiency Rating: C-. 25 minutes on the phone and 2 minutes of shouting to resolve something that should have happened automatically after I submitted the on-line form. Humor rating: B+. The shouting was pretty funny.
The letter carrier at my new address also can't seem to figure out that mail to my unit number goes in the box associated with my unit number. It's pretty simple, but somehow it keeps getting fouled up. No mail is in my mailbox, but other people get my mail. I have called the USPS toll free number twice now to report the problem and request improvement. The operators are wonderfully nice, and the process of helping them spell my last name is priceless. But I'm not looking for nice or for priceless. I'm looking for results. Efficiency rating: F-. Humor rating: A-.
Old man Taylor gets the boot tomorrow.*
*No I don't watch the show, but as long as they continue to bleed the last few minutes into my recording of House, I will commentate on what I hear.
New federal guidelines ask all females capable of conceiving a baby to treat themselves -- and to be treated by the health care system -- as pre-pregnant, regardless of whether they plan to get pregnant anytime soon.
Among other things, this means all women between first menstrual period and menopause should take folic acid supplements, refrain from smoking, maintain a healthy weight and keep chronic conditions such as asthma and diabetes under control.
While most of these recommendations are well known to women who are pregnant or seeking to get pregnant, experts say it's important that women follow this advice throughout their reproductive lives, because about half of pregnancies are unplanned and so much damage can be done to a fetus between conception and the time the pregnancy is confirmed.
But I'm too busy hiding my bottles of wine and candy bars under my bed to think of it.
These days, however, the firm finds itself on the hot seat as it faces the possibility of an indictment in connection with a six-year federal investigation into whether the firm made illegal payments to clients. An indictment, while it would not prevent the firm from practicing law, would have dire consequences for its business.
Negotiations to avert an indictment of the firm have stepped up in recent weeks. But by this week, hopes for a settlement were quickly fading as both sides remain far apart on several crucial points surrounding any so-called deferred prosecution agreement, including the waiver of client-attorney privileges; new compliance and monitoring systems and personnel the firm would be required to put in place; and the size of any potential payments, according to several lawyers involved in the talks.
Prominent plaintiffs' "watchdog' firm facing federal indictment.
Oh, if only they had publicly traded stock. I would so be filing suit tomorrow.
The City Council has rejected a measure allowing unmarried couples with multiple children to live together, and the mayor said those who fall into that category could soon face eviction.
Olivia Shelltrack and Fondrey Loving were denied an occupancy permit after moving into a home in this St. Louis suburb because they have three children and are not married.
Is Black Jack anywhere near Georgia? This just feels like something Georgia would do. ;-)
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
"Nobody takes things more personally than me. When somebody says something about me I hate them for the rest of my life. It's probably wrong. But I hate people. Do you understand? I hate 'em."
Woman in jail for tossing puppies on road
A woman was sentenced to a year in jail for dumping 10 puppies along county roadways.
What's next? Locking people up for failing to recycle?
Prosecutors said the teen is a material witness. They wanted her girl jailed "so that she is not on the streets where we can't find her or she's doing things she shouldn't be doing," said Mary Ann Kovach, who heads the Summit County prosecutor's criminal division.
Common Pleas Judge James Murphy ordered the girl held indefinitely. The girl has requested a lawyer, according to court records. But jail officials said she isn't permitted contact with anyone unless county prosecutors approve.
Sanchez-Pesantes, of Akron, is accused of having unlawful sexual conduct with the teen in January. He is free on bond and had a pretrial hearing scheduled Tuesday.
Aw, so close.
Get her a talk show.
If Curtis and Audrey don't meet some horrible fate in the next two hours, I am going to be pissed.
"Still, Brooklyn felt leafy and safe," Mrs. Ehrhardt said.
Her husband added, "It took me just 48 hours to open up to the trees, the space and the light — the sky was so big it was like being in Montana."
White folks waxing poetic about Red Hook.
Ain't gentrification grand.
Bush: U.S. does eavesdrop on phone calls of ordinary Americans
Tuesday, May 16, 2006; Posted: 12:27 p.m. EDT (16:27 GMT)
WASHINGTON (AP) -- President Bush insisted Tuesday that the United States does not listen in on domestic telephone conversations among ordinary Americans.
When I was in college, I developed the theory that in every class, there is one student who makes you question how they got in, and I don't mean the admissions process, I mean how did he figure out how to open the door to get into the room.
I saw this show on the night before the transit strike.
It is truly amazing. I read the book the Color Purple in some grade in junior high -- it was ok. I saw the flick some years later, again, eh, ok.
But the musical. The musical finally gets it. Celie's struggle was meant for a top of your lungs power ballad, not Whoopi Goldberg's weird face glances.
While I think they are missing out on an opportunity to have Sug Avery played by an actual aging R&B star...(hello Diana Ross? Whazzzup), the casting is mostly perfect. As with the Color Purple in all its incarnations, the Africa stuff is the worst, but the musical happily truncates it and if you close your eyes, you can take a quick nap and it'll all be over.
The Harpo/Sophia relationship is perfect! Funny, touching, beautiful, broken. Their duets are some of the best numbers in the film. Oh, and Sophia's solo on whether she'll tolerate being hit by her husband (Hell, No!) will give you chills just thinking about it months later.
I hope this show wins for best musical (doubt it), , I hope it lasts (also doubt it), but most important I hope it's remembered.
For now, as Celie says "I'm poor, black, I may even be ugly, but dear God I'm here, I'm here!"
Monday, May 15, 2006
You know what's wrong with this country?
People with domestic violence convictions find it too damn hard to buy a gun.
hahahahahahah. Iocaste so needs her own cable show.
When I was eight, my best friend lived across the street. She was nine and her name was Anissa.
Well, she wasn't my best friend -- but my mother sort of decided that it would be good for me to hang out with her. She wore pretty dresses, her hair was always combed and dirt was never, ever to be found under her fingernails.
That summer, Anissa and I both went to the same day camp. We walked there and back home together. I can't remember what we talked about -- looknig back, I am seriously struggling to figure what we could have possibly had in common. As you can imagine, with me, dirt was never, ever to be found only under my fingernails.
But we had fun. I remember one day, a car pulled up to the curb near us as we were walking back home.
A man leaned out the driver's side window and asked us where some street or another was - Anissa started to answer him, when I screamed "kidnapper!" And we both ran full speed all the way back home. From then on, whenever one of us would yell kidnapper, we'd both take off in a flash and collapse into giggles at the doorstep of either home or camp.
We always played together at recreation -- although she was much more of a jump rope, hoola hoop girl and I was secretly eyeing the Duck Hunt videogame machine.
We were assigned to the same camp counselor, along with six other girls. We never spoke to the other girls, but we were cool with the camp counselor. I used to think of her as "the woman who was our counselor." But in reality, this was probably her first job, so she must have been about fourteen.
She and Anissa got along famously. They would talk about hair, and boys and how lame everything was. I'd sit cross-legged and listen and nod and try to talk about how lame everything was too...except Frogger, though, right? Frogger was cool? No. Frogger was most definitely not cool.
We started hanging out with the counselor more and more. At lunch, we no longer ate with the other kids -- instead we went to McDonalds or Kentucky Fried Chicken (when did they become just KFC anyway?).
When she walked home with us, we never played kidnapper.
One night Anissa called me to say that our counselor had gone out with one of the other counselors. We chatted for a bit before I went to bed.
The next day, our counselor asked me if I would come speak to her outside.
I said sure.
"Dawn, I have to talk to you about something."
"Oh, I already know. Anissa told me," I said, assuming this was about her date with that guy. And really, I'd heard about it once and I so didn't need to hear about it again.
There were two pairs of braces involved, for heaven's sakes.
"Oh, Anissa told you. OK. Well, good. I just hope that from now on when I tell you to do something, you can be more respectful and do it. It's my job to make sure you don't get hurt."
Of course, I had already boxed myself in by telling her I already knew what she was going to say.
I managed to stammer out "respectful?"
"Yes. I know we spend a lot of time together outside of camp. But here, you need to listen to me. It's important, I am your counselor."
I can still see myself standing on the day camp steps in front of her looking very much the fool. She didn't use the word braces, once!
Somewhere along the way I made my counselor my friend, but she just wanted to be my counselor.
A counselor that didn't even like me very much, at that.
I went back inside and headed straight for Frogger. My only friend in all the world.
I walked home by myself that day, but a couple of blocks into the walk, Anissa had caught up to me.
"Why did you tell Marcie that I told you she was going to speak to you?" She was angry.
I didn't answer.
"Well? Cause I didn't even really know what she was going to say. She just told me she had to talk to you about your behavior at camp."
So, she knew and she didn't even warn me.
I couldn't tell her about my misunderstanding, it would have just been too humiliating.
So, I ran.
I stayed home from camp for a few days and when I returned, I spoke to no one. The other girls in my unit assumed I was one of those bitches that had been complaining about camp and not talking to them all summer, so I couldn't very well be friends with them now and for sure, I was done with Anissa and Marcie.
I spent the last three weeks playing checkers with the camp director, who was a friend of my mom's.
But that summer completely reshaped how I deal with people. I am always watching, listening, observing. I never volunteer information and have mastered the question that sounds like an answer. I never again want to be in the position of being where I am not wanted, with people who don't want me around.
So it is that I don't make friends easily. And I have no delusions that any relationship is permanent.
People come and they go and all you can hope for is that you notice when they've left.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
"You think because everybody always comes to your rescue, it means you're loved. Well, it doesn't. It means that you're helpless." -Edie to Susan on DH
Saturday, May 13, 2006
"Thank goodness technology has progressed to the point where we no longer have to deal with our issues privately." -Alan Shore about a website where people can post about their bad dates.
But really, I think it applies to pretty much life in general these days.
How many times do you have to start and stop a post before it becomes evident that you either must write it or must not.
On a related note, how much draft storage space does blogger give you?
Friday, May 12, 2006
Gayle King is definitely angling for a spot on "The View" despite her claims to the contrary, our spies swear.
"Gayle really wants the job in a big way," says one source. "It's her absolute dream situation. She thinks it's perfect, because there are others to share the spotlight with and she wouldn't have to deal as much with the 'Oprah's Best Friend' label that follows her everywhere. She just wants to be 'Gayle King, television personality.'"
If any random black woman who used to have her own talk show is going to take over from Star Jones, it should be Iyanla Vanzant!!!!
People just ain't no good.
And just like that I remember why: a conversation about me already in progress.
Cabbie witness arrested for shoplifting.
A cab driver who has supported an alibi offered by one of the two Duke lacrosse players charged with rape has been arrested on an old shoplifting warrant.
The warrant accuses Moez Mostafa of stealing five purses worth about $250 from a Durham department store in 2003, which he denies. Mostafa told The News & Observer of Raleigh he helped store security locate a woman after he had picked her up from the store and drove her home.
"So, tell me about the case?" The grilling had begun. As I wrote, my adversary began to talk. "Well, there is an appeal pending right now." "So it isn't going to settle." Now I look up, but she talks first, "Probably not." The judge looks down at his papers. "Okay counselors, do you want to come back here or should I remand?" He looked at me.Now, here is the thing. I had an imperfect amount of information. My Team Leader told me that he didn't want to go back to the Court for another conference, and that we were ready for trial. However, I only knew the term Remand in one context, and this wasn't it. What to do? I evaded his question."Well, Your Honor, we are ready to go to trial." "Okay," the Judge replied, "Remanded!" STAMP! "Um, thank you, Your Honor." I scurried out of the room. Boom, I'm on my cell phone, talking to one of the partners. "Hey, ________, I'm at the courthouse and the Judge just remanded the case. Um, what does remand mean?" It meant that we were going to trial.
As the good Lord intended it; well done Jordan.
"I do believe he's saying your crazy is genetic," - Ugarte after Alceste called my mom insane for buying me a bar.
Note to self: Owe Alceste one arse kicking.
Kaz, a year older
Still she has little girl hair
That's totally cool
And yes, it is nothing to the girl with the coolest new birthday song since that one Stevie Wonder did for MLK:
will you be sharin'/ some of your birthday cake with me/cause it just looks so delicious/i would really like to see/if you can blow out every candle/and if your every wish comes true
I love that song!
Thursday, May 11, 2006
We all know that money influences politics. We all know that campaign contributions buy access to politicians. And we all know that, right up until he resigned from Congress, Tom DeLay claimed campaign contributions had nothing to do with the bills he helped move through Congress. (If you believed DeLay, I'm sure Dawn can find a nice bridge near East Coco Beach to sell you as an amazing real estate investment.)
Is it illegal? Possibly. Will anything happen to people breaking these laws? Who knows? But it will be interesting to watch that unfold.
Now we see the same attitude bleeding over into government contracts. We could draw inferences from the political connections of some of the major contractors receiving massive no-bid FEMA contracts in the aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita (contracts FEMA had to recompete following allegations of croneyism and ineffective leadership).
But now we have a cabinet secretary on record saying he doles out contracts, or at least cancels them, based on political ideology. Is that illegal? Sure seems that way. (Public money cannot be awarded on the basis of political party, and contractors are flatly banned from engaging in lobbying activity with any public funds). Will anything happen to this Secretary?
Whenever a visually white candidate asks me about diversity at the firm, I always have to resist the impulse to say "why? are you something?"
Today a number of girls are shaking off a few time-honored quinceañera traditions, like the Catholic Mass that typically precedes the party, and adding new ones, like arriving as Belle from "Beauty and the Beast" or choreographing dance moves to hip-hop. Some teenagers, like Cathy, a 10th-grader at Sewanhaka High School on Long Island, are choosing to wait an extra year so they can ditch the old-fashioned "quinceañera" label for the hipper, more acculturated "Sweet 16" tag.
Who needs church when you've got MTV?
Chris booted off Idol.
The other one, Karol, is safe.
A rare germ that killed four California women who took the abortion pill RU-486 has been implicated in the deaths of even more women after childbirth or miscarriage, broadening the debate beyond abortion on the eve of a meeting to examine the bacterial mystery.
While the abortion link has grabbed the most attention, Clostridium sordellii has killed at least 11 other women, women's health experts said in interviews. That's more than twice as many as have died of infection after taking the abortion pill, also called Mifeprex or mifepristone.
Although "ha ha any woman can die from this at any time" isn't quite the victory I was looking for.
I'm stopped at a light. The light turns green, but there is a truck in the middle of a left hand turn blocking my way through the intersection.
Cop raps on my window.
Holy mother of God...did I forget to put my lights on? Is there a dead body hanging out of my trunk? Did someone plant a kilo of coke on my backseat????
"You listening to Pulp, ma'am? They suck."
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Isn't it funny how you can totally keep someone's confidence, but the minute you have a fight with them, you can't blab their secrets fast enough?
A band manager who started a nightclub fire that killed 100 people in February 2003 was sentenced Wednesday to 15 years in prison with 11 of them suspended, meaning he will serve 4 years. Daniel Biechele admitted 100 counts of involuntary manslaughter for igniting a fireworks display that caused the deadliest blaze in Rhode Island history.
This is sad. He obviously had no intent to hurt anyone. He is basically going to prison for an accident that he could not have possibly forseen.
Dawn (3:19:28 PM): Not to put too fine a point on it, say I'm the only bee in your bonnet
Dawn (3:19:45 PM): say it
Karol (3:19:45 PM): Bush is the only bee in my bonnet!
Karol (3:19:47 PM): any Bush
Dawn (3:19:54 PM): Billy?
Karol (3:19:59 PM): oh yeah
Dawn (3:20:18 PM): Neil?
Karol (3:20:26 PM): welllll
Dawn (3:20:27 PM): crazy mexican woman with the drugs?
Karol (3:20:27 PM): ok!
Karol (3:20:34 PM): dude, she's our favorite
Dawn (3:20:39 PM): hahahahahhaah
I POOP ON YOU
The pigeons are actually crapping on my owl now.
via Kaz (Doesn't that look yummy?)
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Saturday I woke up inexplicably early, something that is happening with increasing frequency. I think it's nature's way of saying "get your butt to a gym." Instead, I heard "watch some netflix DVDs."
So, I watched the first two "ultimate challenge" DVDs and got dressed. I was supposed to meet Kaz for brunch at 1, she said to call before I came over, so at 12:40 I gave her a ring.
She answered. Barely.
"Are you still sleeping?"
"Ok, then, I guess I'll call you later..."
About half an hour later, she assured me that she was up.
I drove over to her house and waited outside while she and her roommate, F-train, who insists on waiting till I get to his front door to deal with his cat maintainence issues, got ready.
On the way to the diner, F-train casually remarks that he doesn't think we've "ever really seen him drunk."
"Uh, dude, you only have two states: drunk or surly."
When we finally got to Red Hook, which I somehow confused with Williamsburgh -- seriously, I swear, I was born and raised in Brooklyn, I just wasn't allowed to leave the apartment, we waited a little while for a table.
F-train and I both got the most deliciousess non homemade pancakes I have ever had (no pancakes can touch my homemade banana pancakes).
Kaz, who foolishly ordered some kind of spinach/mushroom omelet, tried to trick me into trying some, but I recognized it for the ploy to get my pancakes that it was, and triumphantly pointed out that I had already eaten all my pancakes!
So's her face.
Kaz mentioned that she had seen Seth recently and I asked if it was Seth Weinberg from law school.
"No, Seth Goldberg."
I laughed. Really hard.
"Was that just an anti-semitic laugh?"
"I can't be an anti-semite. Some of my best friends are Jewish."
"Oh, not anymore."
"Shaaa, if I lose you, I've got back ups!"
"If you're talking about Dawn 2, she'll be on my side."
After brunch, which at alternating points involved Kaz planning to ninja assasin F-train and pin it on the cat, F-train deciding he desperately needs a girlfriend to save him (ostensibly from being forced into going to a French parody rock concert with Kaz) and someone being offended that someone they used to date is now retroactively insulting them by dating an ugly person. I was then told not to put that on the blog.
To which I replied "Dude, Clareified has better things to write about than your ex's [ugly dates.]"
I guess I was wrong.
We left to go to my apartment, where I held my very first strawberry daquiri party.
We played Scrabble on the balcony and listened to TMBG and Tiffany.
F-train was all "Scrabble? Hmmm...how does that go again?"
And then on his first play he like dropped a 32 point word and then proceeded to say things like "well, I could do that for 28 points, but then I would open a triple word play, so instead I'll make this 17 point play that will screw you both! MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"
Happily, I managed my very first non-cheating involved win. (There was some dispute about that claim, but Kaz managed to confirm that 'hap' is in fact a word. Who knew?)
I finished first, leaving F-train with a Q on his rack! Then, he was sad panda.
"Without that 50 point bonus[for using all my letters to spell herniate] you'd have come in last."
By the time we left my house, I had like twenty minutes to get to Manhattan where I was meeting fellow blogger Jason, his wife and Karol for dinner.
Nevermind that I was still stuffed from shoving pancakes in my face at brunch.
I actually managed to make it to Manhattan only ten minutes or so late, however, I blew right past the pizza place and ended up on the West side highway.
I make one of my now all-too often calls to Karol.
"Dude. Where the hell is Houston? I am on the westside."
"You passed it, go back the other way to Houston."
Of course, by now all the streets are one way and there is no "going back the other way" to be had.
I drive and drive and drive. I am going to kill whoever picked a restaurant in the freaking village!!! arrrggghhh, this is the neighborhood where there is an intersection of W3rd and W4th for goodness sakes.
I finally make it to DeMarco's an hour late.
I apologize to our guests and then give Karol my best "who the hell picked this joint?"
"Uh...that would be you."
Huh. Right. Yeah. OK, so no harm, no foul, then.
Turns out Fisch was also at dinner. No doubt just to collect his shoelaces.
Jason and his wife were in town to do the NYC bike tour.
"Really? Like voluntarily?" I asked.
They said yes.
"And it's not like to complete some kind of community service requirement for robbing a bank or anything?"
"Fisch said the same thing!"
"So, did you end up getting a new car," Jason asked.
"NO!! Of couse, not. Why? Because I do not need a new car!!!!"
His wife laughed.
"I liked that post. Jason always sends me the good ones, so I don't need to read [all the rest of the crap]"
Hmmm...that is the second best reason I've yet come across for marriage.
I was also crowing about my devastatingly decisive Scrabble win.
"Hey, we were just watching a movie about Scrabble that we got from Netflix," Jason says.
"Really? What's it called?"
"I think Word Wars or something like that."
Karol looks at Fisch.
"You were in that weren't you," she says accusingly.
"Yes," he admits.
The Jasons think about it and they realize they kind of remember him.
"Yeah, I was playing the 14-year-old kid in the movie. And I beat him, but they don't show that part," he says bitterly.
The rest of dinner was great, but all too short, since before they tortured themselves on a two wheeled pain chamber, they planned to torture themselves by attending Julia Roberts' weather play.
They really are very nice people, why they insist on subjecting themselves to such suffering, I will never understand
But now I've got someplace to stay when I go to Kansas to see the world's largest ball of twine. So, win-win for Dawn.
And I've added Word Wars to my Netflix queque.
After all, I need something to do when I wake up at 7 a.m. next Saturday and Fo sho, I ain't going to the gym.