The Trial

There he stood in his newly acquired wire-rim glasses, button down and v-neck, listening to the jury foreman read the verdicts of some 40 charges. He hardly blinked as he heard the word GUILTY repeated over and over and over. His court-appointed lawyers put on masks of disappointment. The prosecution kept their faces as expressionless as possible. Their celebration will no doubt come later. The victims' families received the verdicts in silent dignity, save for an occasional fist pump from Cowboy. The defendant's family...well there didn't seem to be any.
But come tomorrow, as part of the process, the members of Davidson's family who could be talked into taking part in the IMPACT STATEMENT segment of the trial, will one by one get up on the witness stand and tell the jury why their cousin/brother/nephew's life should be spared. Likewise, Channon Christian's family and Christopher Newsom's family will take the witness stand to beg the jury, who already decided that Lemarcus Davidson with forethought and malice did kill their children, should die as well. Anything less than the death penalty won't satisfy the Christian's or the Newsom's. The pain must be unbearable for them.
Think of it this way: To lose a child to cancer is a tragedy, but you would still want a cure for cancer to be discovered even after your child's death, so that other parents would not have to suffer as you did. I think what these parents are saying is this: "Don't let the monster who murdered our innocent children live because he is the cancer of society and there is a cure for this kind of cancer. Kill the bastard."

True Colors

I was watching a movie in the wee hours this morning, 'cause that's what I do when I'm awake at some ungodly time, due largely to the fact that my hours are discombobulated and I can't seem to get them back to normal (whatever that is). As my grandmother would say, "I go to bed and get up with the chickens." It's hell.
Anyhoo, back to the movie. I have no idea what the name of it was or really, what it was about. But I did watch for a while, and one of the characters was a psychiatrist...an older man. He was conversing (or conversating, as my niece would say...is that even a word?) with a young man, a friend as it were, and he was giving him advice on love, or more specifically, who not to marry. I only remember one cautionary sentence. "Never marry a woman who doesn't like dogs." I guess he was insinuating that a woman who doesn't like dogs would be heartless and cruel. Okay. Fair enough. I like dogs. I don't love dogs. My family thinks I loathe dogs, and that is just not true. I've never gotten terribly attached to one, I admit, but that's not to say that I couldn't. I just haven't. Yes, we have Fred, a once cute, scruffy little mutt, who is now beyond scruffy. He's old and his back is all lumpy, and he has a big red protrusion of some sort jutting out near his eye. And while I never officially bonded with Fred, I do care about him. I know his time on earth is drawing to a close, and I know I'll miss how he serenades me with his snores while I read the paper and drink coffee every morning. And back when he could still hear what I was saying, he did mind pretty well, which is why he was ever allowed in the house in the first place. And just yesterday I was looking at his nasty corroded water dish, thinking that I might actually replace it. Doesn't that show how damned dog-friendly I am?
Luckily for Fred, he has one devoted owner who loves him unconditionally, warts and all. He is Ron's dog. I dread the day he takes his last noisy breath. And sadly, I don't think that day is too far off. Ron will be broken-hearted. Fred is his buddy. His sidekick. His companion. He'll be lost without him. Christ. Will we have to get another damned stinky dog?

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Looking through some old pictures last night, I found one of Ron taken back in the day, and just for the fun of it, I thought I'd post it and one taken recently.

Yes, he shaved off the mustache, and yes, he trimmed up his hair , but the most telling (and important) thing is that at some point along the way, he started wearing clothes. We can all be grateful for that.

Definitely Changed Horses In The Middle Of The Stream

Actual text between me and PhillyTwo:

Her: Effin' fleas
Me: Fleas not welcome over here.
Her: How many r in house of reps?
Me: Not sure. Have they exterminated lately?

Sitting Out

On the right side of my blog, I have my blog list, which is a list of the blogs that I follow. Any time one of the writers posts a new story, the list shifts. The blog with the latest update goes right to the top of the class. A blog that hasn't updated in a while will stay down at the bottom. That's where my blog would be if I were on my own list. It's been a boring week. Nothing inspired me. Apparently the writers of " The Office" were experiencing a similar lull, but they still had to produce a script. And that's a damn shame for everybody.

She Made It Look So Cool

I truly hope that supermodel of the 40's and 50's, Lisa Fonssagrives, held stock in R.J. Reynolds Tobacco because she was probably responsible for half the women who started smoking back then. Her favorite prop was a ciggie.

See here:

And here:

And here:

And finally, here:

What woman could resist? And if all it took to look that glamorous was a nifty hat and a little innocuous cigarette, well most were eager to sign on. Then that nasty ol' Surgeon General's warning popped up and the shit hit the fan. Or the smoke hit it, and blew back into the faces of the millions of women who were hooked. Turns out, it wasn't so glamorous after all. It was a disgusting and deadly habit. Still is. Except in pictures.

Job Interview No-No's

Here are a few things that a person might want to avoid saying/doing during a job interview: (and just for the sake of righteousness and to match the picture, the job seeker is a guy)

1. Pointing to a picture on the interviewer's credenza, that is in all probability his wife, nodding your head and saying, "Oh, yeah, I'd do 'er."
2. Answering the question, "What do you see as your biggest strengths?" with things like, "I'm a take-charge kinda guy. Nobody fuckin' messes with me!" or " I give great back rubs...here, let me show you" or "I don't need breaks...not even to go to the bathroom...well, except for every once in a while, then it's usually a case of CLEAR THE BUILDING, if you know what I mean."
3. Opening a brief case to pull out your resume, and having Happy Meal toys fall out all over the floor.
4. Responding to everything the interviewer tells you about the company with, "No shit? Wow!"
5. Seeing if the start date could be moved up a week so, "I can make one last run down to Florida for some really good ganja before I settle in."

The Monthly Freeze-Out

Last night I played in the monthly Texas Hold 'Em freeze-out tournament at the Mad Scientist's house that I've been participating in for close to three years now. I didn't win this time, but as usual, I enjoyed the play. The list of invitees has dropped considerably...to around twenty-five. It used to be closer to forty-five. We started out with twelve players last night. In the past we would start out with at least twenty. There also used to be several other women who played. Now there are only three on the list. Many times I'm the only she that shows up to the den of iniquity, but it's a pleasant group of guys and the Mad Scientist puts out a nice spread for grazing. The buy-in is low enough ($40) that nobody gets bent out of shape when they get knocked out, and while the level of play is above average, it's not the World Series of Poker. We also have a point system that has a six-month run, with a side pot as an incentive, to reward consistent play. Right now, I'm in second place in points behind the Mad Scientist, with two months to go. The points winner usually gets upwards of $350. If I were to win it, it would be a first.

Here's the thing: People (my friends and family) imagine all sorts of things when you tell them you play poker with a bunch of men.
They think:
1. Smoke-filled room
2. Heavy drinking
3. General debauchery
In a way, I hate to ruin the image, but here's the reality, people:
1. Smoke breaks: There is NO SMOKING indoors, so we take short breaks so the smokers can go outside on the patio to burn one.
2. Adult beverages: It's bring your own, and no one over-does it. Who can carry that much?
3. Debauchery: If that's what you want to call chicken salad or ham on crackers, chips and dip, mixed nuts, cookies and the ever-present Peanut M&M's, then yes, there's a certain level of debauchery.
We're like a bridge group on crack.