Jottings

I’ve been subjected to network television for several hours today because of my affinity for college bowl games. I never have these stupid channels on. The absolute depth of intellectual cavity is incredible.

What’s this Fear Factor crap? They use the Bates Motel and house. Some chick is in the shower, handcuffed to the shower head, and covered in some blood-like substance. She’s screaming. Somebody else is inside a coffin full of bugs. It’s fake, people. You cannot sign any waiver or consent to an aggravated assault. Criminal liability still attaches. So why the screams?

I see Agent Cooper has a new series called inJustice. Cute name. Apparently he gets innocent people out of prison. Good premise – see my other blog (top right of my home page – prison labor). But I’m certain that ABC will overplay its hand. Prosecutors will be portrayed as overzealous, focused only on the win, and ethics be damned. I’ve known prosecutors like that in my defense practice. But they are frequently small town yahoos. As the stakes rise to big cities like Philadelphia or venues change to the federal level, the professionalism rises appreciably. The losers flame out. Unfortunately, in the simplistic world of network television, all of the prosecutors will be hacks and all of the criminals will be saints.

Wow. Some idiot named Jake just did what passes for a joke about a woman wearing a thong. It was an enticement, apparently, to watch his sitcom. “Break me off a piece of that biscuit,” he said as the camera closed in on her thong rising above her jeans. I guess if you define yourself by poontang seen then maybe Jake’s show will be worth watching. Personally, I find such humor to be lacking on several levels.

Ah, Jill and her Nokia. Slut. No further comments needed.

I’m watching the Notre Dame game. Three times now, three times, the producers have treated me to pictures of some chick. She is the ND quarterback’s sister, is dating some other player, and has a kid. Yeah. She’s dating a college student and has a kid. Fourth shot. And I care about her because … ? She breeds? She’s chasing the paycheck a future NFL player?

Stop the presses. Some football player just did a spot. “The best part of playing for Ohio State is that I am Ohio bred, been Ohio fed with Ohio roughage.” He sounded like he was on Quaaludes. The spot had no introduction and no following commentary. What the hell was that?

It’s raining. Not a warm spring rain that portends growth; or a cold November rain that gives me a lovely dark mood. This is a January rain. Cold, maybe ice, steady. Confining. Makes me feel caged. I work very hard at maintaining my demeanor at times like these; I act out easily.

I’ve been waking up at 400AM with a stuffed nose and dry mouth every morning for a week. All I need is some potato vodka to make for the perfect storm.

“Daddy’s going ballistic!!”
“Incoming!!”
“Fire in the hole!!”
“Man down! Man down!”

I’ll be good. I’m actually too worried to be bad. My neighbor and buddy, Chris, went to a store about 15 miles away. Not good weather for such a move. I hope she lets me know when she gets back.

Dancing with the Stars. Starring Jerry Rice, the football player? Make me puke. What is going on with these people? No wonder society is fraying at the edges and showing stress fractures.

Wife Swap? There aren’t words to describe how pathetic the concept is, let alone the execution. A neat freak goes into a home full of slobs. Great plot. This is real life? How depressing. The insufferable and the stupid get a SAG card. Well, that part isn’t anything new.

I’m amazed at the size of college athletes these days. Over six foot and well into 200 pounds is the norm.

Another Jake in Progress spot. “I got to second base last night,” says one guy. Jake rejoins, “I hope you took out your retainer.” World class, eh? Two spots, both completely defined by sexual content. Is America that sexually frustrated?

Just got an e. A magnitude 7.1 earthquake IN THE FIJI REGION has occurred at: 19.88S 178.23W Depth 579km Mon Jan 2 22:13:40 2006 UTC (Eastern Standard Time (EST) Mon Jan 2 17:13:40 2006). Location with respect to nearby cities: 100 km (60 miles) NNE of Ndoi Island, Fiji (pop N/A). Big shake, 60 miles from nothing. The subscription form for this service is located here.

OK, I’m bored. See you later.

Words without structure

My puppy is about 3 months old. Border Collie. Finally has the bell routine down. He rings the bells at the door to be let out for his business. He had just one fine tuning to do last week. He took a dump upstairs then can downstairs and rang the bell. We told him it was wrong and he seems to have listened.

It reminds me of when my boy learned how to use a straw. I think he was three. We are at the kitchen table. He has a glass of milk with a straw in it. He’s blowing into the straw and bubbles are frothing. He has a frustrated look. “The other way, Andrew.” He looks up, removes the straw from the glass, turns it completely around, sticks it back in … “No, buddy, I meant …” and he sucks in his milk. Double adjustment. Bright kid.

ESPN2 is broadcasting a spelling bee tonight. The title phrase “entire sports programming network” is being defined rather broadly. “Sports” is now synonymous with “competition.” What’s next? Maybe they’d like to consider traffic court, competitive quilting, or novel writing. Christa just told me that some channel broadcasting an eating contest referred to the slob participants as “sports figures.”

I betcha there’s a college somewhere with a course on 1960’s Looney Tune Cartoons as Social Commentary. Not a bad thought when studying humor, but dangerous when it is offered in the Philosophy major.

Our society is fractured, dangerously so.

A young Orson Wells looks like Harry Chapin without the smile.

My neighbor made a cake last night and brought some over. Deep chocolate cake, caramel icing, and shaved chocolate and grated nuts on top. Oh, it was outrageously good. I have one more piece that I need to eat before my son gets up. Privilege of being a dad, eh?

I need to start researching my juvenile justice lectures soon. Five six-hour lectures. Masters’ course. I haven’t scoped the topic fully yet. First lecture is to define a juvenile. Will develop competency issues and distinguish adult mental challenges. Certification upward. Continuing jurisdiction. Census and crime data. Need a lecture just on gangs – probably number four. Will work with criminal codes and status crimes; gives room to address revised civil rights of juveniles. I have to devote one lecture to the social theories of why people commit crimes and how we can work towards improvement. Need one more … think, think, think. Ah, I got it! No, no I don’t. Nothing. Oh well, got four down. Pedagogy as sausage. The last topic will emerge as I write the other four.

Another day

The new year comes and people get introspective. They make promises about behaviors to be changed. They tell their close friends and family how sorry they are for last year’s disappointments, and try to sell the highlights. It’s like a gentile Day of Atonement.

Within weeks, the promises are forgotten and the old behaviors have been repeated.

Nothing changes in a moment of commitment. No one acts a certain way because of a single wayward thought. We act as we do because of a life-long journey. Everything is cumulative. Nothing is wasted. Change comes over long periods of time. The only presumption is that time is available.

If time isn’t available, well, all things must pass, eh? A sunset doesn’t last all evening.

For those folks that don’t perceive their own mortality, those that only react within their world, a set of empty promises is a great thing. It gets them through the moment and into the next. A smile exists. That’s a wonderful thing.

Separate topic. My son – officially as of December 30, 2005, at the age of 15 years, 10 months, 25 days, and about 14 hours – has found his teenage angst. He has rewritten a brief moment of history purely to distance me. It doesn’t matter what I want, say, or am. I’m the dad and that ain’t cool. “Distance thyself,” thinks he. Another new reality in my life. It’s ok, it was a good ride whilst it lasted. I remember picking a fight with my father asking him what my favorite potato dish was. He said something. I yelled, “No! It’s mashed potatoes! See!! You don’t even know me!” I stormed away. I’m sure he was perplexed.