1108 Lincoln
Surprise! This is about the car, not the movie.
Ford, the only American carmaker operating without a bailout from the government and/or a deep pockets foreign buyer, made its way through the great Detroit upheaval by building relatively good stuff and carefully building up its bank account.
It’s remarkable, even more so, because the guy who kept them on track, Alan Mulally, a former Boeing executive, had zero background in the business, though you can argue that running a major aircraft maker is similar work.
As his era runs out -- retirement looms -- Mulally is leaving behind a winning record, but certainly not a perfect one. Two things loom beside his stepping down: the horrible electronic interface on the cars and the superannuation of the Lincoln brand, at least in the mind of potential buyers.
The slow-to-respond, geeky touch screen system they have is only slightly worse than everyone else’s. They’ll fix it after enough drivers get distracted using it and crash into something or someone.
Lincoln is another story. They’re re-imaging the brand and fancying up the cars but it remains to be seen whether this all is window dressing and whether it’ll work.
They’ve created a new mini ad agency called Hudson Rouge to promote Lincoln and it’s off to an awkward start with a print ad that asks “Does the world need another luxury car? Not really.” What? The ad -- black type on lots of white space -- also says “...this is how we will become great again.” An admission that it isn’t? Unusual. But not as unusual as “not really.”
“Not really” says “we’re making this car, see, and since you have a bazillion other choices, don’t bother with us.”
You think the guys who buy Lexus and Audi and BMW are going to swap those for a gussied up Taurus with a glass roof and leather seats? Not a chance.
In fairness, Cadillac no longer is much of a contender in the luxury field, either.
Why do people buy Lexus? Well... it’s pretty. It IS luxurious. But the main reason is all that plus when you turn it on, it starts. When you step on the gas, it goes. When you step on the brakes, it stops. Boringly, it does this time and time and time again.
Instead of bells and whistles and Benz Envy, Lincoln should look in the mirror. There, it might see a glimpse of their real competitor, the one great -- great -- car they ever built: the 1956 Continental. Small enough to drive. Practically handmade. A decent competitor against everyone else. Came wrapped in cloth. Did that boring start-go-stop thing better than anything else Ford built before or since.
That’s the benchmark, guys.
And by the way: Mentioning Edsel in print -- even if it’s only the guy, not the car? -- that’s not a good idea. Edsel Ford knew cars, alright. But the car itself remains a laughing stock.
Shrapnel:
--Why is it the shipping lines never offer free shipping? For that matter why is sending a package via the post office or one of the private carriers called “shipping” in the first place. And you can ship by train, but you can’t train by ship.
--Ahah! Half the packages for which you pay shipping and handling are never actually handled. They come from the factory pre-boxed for the carrier, picked from warehouse shelves and labeled by robots.
--The Stage Deli on 7th Av. is closing although someone surely will buy the rights to the name. They’d better hurry if they’re going to occupy the restaurant’s present space. That’s because the owners of the cholesterol pipeline are getting ready to close it down, a long and arduous process.
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
1107 Death Knell for Newspapers
#1107 Death Knell for Newspapers
(Note to readers: Our “Least Worst of Wessays” continues with this piece from December, 2007. If ordinary people saw the death of newspapers coming five years ago, even before the advent of smart phones and iPads, why have they only now started hauling out and using the defib machines?)
Paulie always said there'd always be newspapers because you can't take the computer into the bathroom. Paulie was wrong. Just ask him. He's got this mini computer, weighs maybe a pound and a half and has wireless internet. Now, his big worry is getting electrocuted. But he just shrugs: "how much electric can there be in that little battery. No worries."
He's right. You can take the computer into the john. You can take the computer on the line in the supermarket and read all about it without getting ink all over your hands.
This, says Paulie, is the end of the newspaper. "I paid 350 bucks for this thing. A year away, I've made it back by not buying the Post." Rupert Murdoch should worry. When Paulie says stuff like that, it's time to sell your stock in Ink-O-Rama and The National Newsprint and Tribune Company. That's because Paulie is always the last guy to latch on to the latest.
If he could have kept it going, he'd still have his '48 DeSoto on the road. As it is, he made it last longer than anyone else. The Last DeSoto.
Paulie isn't overjoyed with its replacement, a 1966 Oldsmobile. And he isn't overjoyed with the mini computer, either. But he's a man of his word and now that he can read it on the throne he's doing it. Even though the typing keys are much too small for his stubby, arthritic fingers. Even though you have to remember to charge up the battery at night. Even though the screen is only seven inches, which means there's some squinting involved. He's not complaining because he doesn't need the keys all that often, and he has to squint at the paper these days, anyway.
Paulie's particular interest in the newspaper centers around the stuff that's really important in this life. The racing and sports pages, the TV listings and the obituaries. He doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to the other stuff. And he recently got a geeky school kid to see if there's a way to make the box scores a little bigger on the page.
There isn't. But maybe the kid can figure something out.
Paulie doesn't quite trust the machine, so he hasn't canceled his subscription to the Racing Form yet. But he's come over to the tech side of life, and is ever discovering new things. Like e-mail ("these guys want to lend me money? Send me coupons? Enlarge my, um... well, you know.") And...
"Hey, did you know you can play solitaire on this thing? AND you can cheat?"
The only thing that'll change his mind about the machine is if it lands in the sink when he's washing his hands afterward. So far, he's been pretty careful. And he's invented his own security system for the thing. No one else who knows where it's been will touch it.
This is the final Least Worst Wessay in this series. New posts resume Wednesday, 12/12/12.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2007 This ran originally as #330 on December 6, 2007
(Note to readers: Our “Least Worst of Wessays” continues with this piece from December, 2007. If ordinary people saw the death of newspapers coming five years ago, even before the advent of smart phones and iPads, why have they only now started hauling out and using the defib machines?)
Paulie always said there'd always be newspapers because you can't take the computer into the bathroom. Paulie was wrong. Just ask him. He's got this mini computer, weighs maybe a pound and a half and has wireless internet. Now, his big worry is getting electrocuted. But he just shrugs: "how much electric can there be in that little battery. No worries."
He's right. You can take the computer into the john. You can take the computer on the line in the supermarket and read all about it without getting ink all over your hands.
This, says Paulie, is the end of the newspaper. "I paid 350 bucks for this thing. A year away, I've made it back by not buying the Post." Rupert Murdoch should worry. When Paulie says stuff like that, it's time to sell your stock in Ink-O-Rama and The National Newsprint and Tribune Company. That's because Paulie is always the last guy to latch on to the latest.
If he could have kept it going, he'd still have his '48 DeSoto on the road. As it is, he made it last longer than anyone else. The Last DeSoto.
Paulie isn't overjoyed with its replacement, a 1966 Oldsmobile. And he isn't overjoyed with the mini computer, either. But he's a man of his word and now that he can read it on the throne he's doing it. Even though the typing keys are much too small for his stubby, arthritic fingers. Even though you have to remember to charge up the battery at night. Even though the screen is only seven inches, which means there's some squinting involved. He's not complaining because he doesn't need the keys all that often, and he has to squint at the paper these days, anyway.
Paulie's particular interest in the newspaper centers around the stuff that's really important in this life. The racing and sports pages, the TV listings and the obituaries. He doesn't pay a whole lot of attention to the other stuff. And he recently got a geeky school kid to see if there's a way to make the box scores a little bigger on the page.
There isn't. But maybe the kid can figure something out.
Paulie doesn't quite trust the machine, so he hasn't canceled his subscription to the Racing Form yet. But he's come over to the tech side of life, and is ever discovering new things. Like e-mail ("these guys want to lend me money? Send me coupons? Enlarge my, um... well, you know.") And...
"Hey, did you know you can play solitaire on this thing? AND you can cheat?"
The only thing that'll change his mind about the machine is if it lands in the sink when he's washing his hands afterward. So far, he's been pretty careful. And he's invented his own security system for the thing. No one else who knows where it's been will touch it.
This is the final Least Worst Wessay in this series. New posts resume Wednesday, 12/12/12.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2007 This ran originally as #330 on December 6, 2007
Friday, December 07, 2012
1106 Grand Theft Dairy
1106 Grand Theft, Dairy
(MOOTE POINTE NY) -- It wasn't intentional. It really really was an accident. But shoplifting is shoplifting.
In the supermarket parking lot, lifting the bags of groceries into the trunk of the car, there it was.
A package of cheese.
And while not the exotically and sometimes criminally expensive gourmet stuff, the stealing of which might be considered grand theft dairy, not one of the cheapies, either.
How did this happen? How did a scrupulously honest long time resident of the neighborhood whose lawyer surely would ask for no bail because of deep ties to the community, manage to sneak out an item priced at something between seven and eight dollars?
Well... how about blaming those deep ties to the community, which in this case meant chatting with the cashier who is a near neighbor, with neither of us paying close enough attention to the checkout to notice the small, flat package sitting in the cart.
What to do.
There were alternatives.
Return the thing.
Take a chance and just make off with it? That's not right.
Go back and stand on line again for half an hour to pay for it? That's unbearable.
Buy a postal money order and send it to the store's headquarters anonymously?
Ah, but where IS the main office? It could be in East Islip, New York, or Montvale, New Jersey... or Melheim, Germany... in which case we'd have to buy the money order in euros.
How about donating the package to a food kitchen. A noble thought, relative to the other thoughts that you are hearing. But that doesn't answer the ethical dilemma which, by the time you read or hear this, is more than a week old.
The guilt is overwhelming.
How can a thief like this show his face back at the store?
Who or what to blame!
The lateness of the hour... the laxity of the staff?
Sure the cashier should have eyed the cart.
But it was near closing time and very busy.
No, really. It was just carelessness.
The nightmares begin: guilty with an explanation, your honor.
Wait, how about this for a solution. After all, what they don't know won't hurt them.
Next time before heading for the market, slip the loot from the heist into a shopping bag.... sneak it into the store... and when checking out, pay for it.
Unless, of course, store security discovers the theft and views the checkout videotape first.
In which case you shall hear the next broadcast version of these reports over a cell phone...
meaning a pay phone in a real cell.
Shrapnel:
--Semi reformed smokers unite! Slam your window shut, making it loud as possible. Maybe that'll teach the yutz next door when he smokes his two packs a day, others dislike the stink.
--There's going to be a federal summit on distracted driving. So, attendees, get behind the wheel, start the trip, put on your makeup, turn on the radio, and if you can't make a phone call, at least text someone. And please do it in that order.
--You gotta love the Iranian National Travel Agency. So welcoming are they that when you visit, they'll provide you with free accommodations. Tehran has more five star prisons than anywhere else in the middle east.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmil.com
©WJR 2009, 2012
(This post is a modified version of #581 which first appeared on Wednesday, August 5, 2009. Least worst reruns will continue for a few more days.)
(MOOTE POINTE NY) -- It wasn't intentional. It really really was an accident. But shoplifting is shoplifting.
In the supermarket parking lot, lifting the bags of groceries into the trunk of the car, there it was.
A package of cheese.
And while not the exotically and sometimes criminally expensive gourmet stuff, the stealing of which might be considered grand theft dairy, not one of the cheapies, either.
How did this happen? How did a scrupulously honest long time resident of the neighborhood whose lawyer surely would ask for no bail because of deep ties to the community, manage to sneak out an item priced at something between seven and eight dollars?
Well... how about blaming those deep ties to the community, which in this case meant chatting with the cashier who is a near neighbor, with neither of us paying close enough attention to the checkout to notice the small, flat package sitting in the cart.
What to do.
There were alternatives.
Return the thing.
Take a chance and just make off with it? That's not right.
Go back and stand on line again for half an hour to pay for it? That's unbearable.
Buy a postal money order and send it to the store's headquarters anonymously?
Ah, but where IS the main office? It could be in East Islip, New York, or Montvale, New Jersey... or Melheim, Germany... in which case we'd have to buy the money order in euros.
How about donating the package to a food kitchen. A noble thought, relative to the other thoughts that you are hearing. But that doesn't answer the ethical dilemma which, by the time you read or hear this, is more than a week old.
The guilt is overwhelming.
How can a thief like this show his face back at the store?
Who or what to blame!
The lateness of the hour... the laxity of the staff?
Sure the cashier should have eyed the cart.
But it was near closing time and very busy.
No, really. It was just carelessness.
The nightmares begin: guilty with an explanation, your honor.
Wait, how about this for a solution. After all, what they don't know won't hurt them.
Next time before heading for the market, slip the loot from the heist into a shopping bag.... sneak it into the store... and when checking out, pay for it.
Unless, of course, store security discovers the theft and views the checkout videotape first.
In which case you shall hear the next broadcast version of these reports over a cell phone...
meaning a pay phone in a real cell.
Shrapnel:
--Semi reformed smokers unite! Slam your window shut, making it loud as possible. Maybe that'll teach the yutz next door when he smokes his two packs a day, others dislike the stink.
--There's going to be a federal summit on distracted driving. So, attendees, get behind the wheel, start the trip, put on your makeup, turn on the radio, and if you can't make a phone call, at least text someone. And please do it in that order.
--You gotta love the Iranian National Travel Agency. So welcoming are they that when you visit, they'll provide you with free accommodations. Tehran has more five star prisons than anywhere else in the middle east.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmil.com
©WJR 2009, 2012
(This post is a modified version of #581 which first appeared on Wednesday, August 5, 2009. Least worst reruns will continue for a few more days.)
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
1105 Learning Outside the Factory
1105 Learning Outside the Factory Walls
(STATE COLLEGE PA) -- This town is home to the General Motors of higher education, a place with the stately name “The Pennsylvania State University,” Penn State to its friends.
Like GM, it’s huge, ungainly, hidebound, slow moving, over executived, awkward, garish. Like GM produces a mediocre product, but with an occasional and possibly accidental jewel like the ‘54 Corvette, the ‘71 Grandville, the ‘43 M-34 Light Tank and the Volt.
But by being the oversized center of this tiny universe, it has spread the gospel of learning outside its walls -- they’re porous, but only outbound -- and into the community.
First and foremost, this is a football place with more hotels per capita than any other community of its size in America. The local stadium holds almost 108,000 people. These people need places to stay for seven or eight Saturdays a year.
And despite the glut of hotel rooms, there’s often no room at the inn. So enterprising homeowners have long practiced renting their houses or parts of their houses or land to people who are too late to rent a hotel room or whose RVs are too big for the parking lots.
Now comes the education part. And the Department Chairman is a man named Rich Fornicola, the county treasurer. The name translates from Latin as something along the lines of “someone who lives in ovens.” And that he does.
Mr. Fornicola was quoted in the local newspaper as saying he’s on an education kick. By which he meant he wants people who offer their houses as short term rentals to learn they must file proof of insurance with the municipality, pass a physical inspection, pay the state a 6% and the county a 2.5% tax on the income.
That 2.5% goes to the convention and visitors bureau which nominally represents all business and all organizations in the region, but whose actual spending is skewed toward outfits that pay for membership.
The treasurer also says gracefully in that news item that he is concerned the locals might undercut the prices at the motels, most of which charge reasonable rates, some slightly inflated on football weekends and at times when there is a show trial going on... like when every reporter in the western world except Dear Abby and Marilyn Hagerty, food critic for the Grand Forks ND Herald landed here to cover the trial of pedophile Jerry “Tickle Monster” Sandusky.
Digression: The convention and visitors bureau has not acted on the membership application from Jerry’s Kids Tours. But the company already has purchased a bus and set out routes… economy, business class and first class. Visit the locations where the Tickle Monster got his laughs. The two higher priced tours include the homes of the fired bureaucrats and officials said to have been complicit in a coverup and you get an autographed picture of the defense lawyer, Joseph Amendola. End of digression.
But really, this is all about education. After all, this is home to General Motors University’s main campus and headquarters. The other twenty or so factories scattered around the state are just pocket change. And education is our middle name. Well, “Motors” is our middle name. But you get the idea, right?
Note to readers: Wessays™ will be taking a short holiday break. During that time, we will re-post a few “best of” oldies, many of which were in the storage box before the readership of this feature grew to its present size.
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
(STATE COLLEGE PA) -- This town is home to the General Motors of higher education, a place with the stately name “The Pennsylvania State University,” Penn State to its friends.
Like GM, it’s huge, ungainly, hidebound, slow moving, over executived, awkward, garish. Like GM produces a mediocre product, but with an occasional and possibly accidental jewel like the ‘54 Corvette, the ‘71 Grandville, the ‘43 M-34 Light Tank and the Volt.
But by being the oversized center of this tiny universe, it has spread the gospel of learning outside its walls -- they’re porous, but only outbound -- and into the community.
First and foremost, this is a football place with more hotels per capita than any other community of its size in America. The local stadium holds almost 108,000 people. These people need places to stay for seven or eight Saturdays a year.
And despite the glut of hotel rooms, there’s often no room at the inn. So enterprising homeowners have long practiced renting their houses or parts of their houses or land to people who are too late to rent a hotel room or whose RVs are too big for the parking lots.
Now comes the education part. And the Department Chairman is a man named Rich Fornicola, the county treasurer. The name translates from Latin as something along the lines of “someone who lives in ovens.” And that he does.
Mr. Fornicola was quoted in the local newspaper as saying he’s on an education kick. By which he meant he wants people who offer their houses as short term rentals to learn they must file proof of insurance with the municipality, pass a physical inspection, pay the state a 6% and the county a 2.5% tax on the income.
That 2.5% goes to the convention and visitors bureau which nominally represents all business and all organizations in the region, but whose actual spending is skewed toward outfits that pay for membership.
The treasurer also says gracefully in that news item that he is concerned the locals might undercut the prices at the motels, most of which charge reasonable rates, some slightly inflated on football weekends and at times when there is a show trial going on... like when every reporter in the western world except Dear Abby and Marilyn Hagerty, food critic for the Grand Forks ND Herald landed here to cover the trial of pedophile Jerry “Tickle Monster” Sandusky.
Digression: The convention and visitors bureau has not acted on the membership application from Jerry’s Kids Tours. But the company already has purchased a bus and set out routes… economy, business class and first class. Visit the locations where the Tickle Monster got his laughs. The two higher priced tours include the homes of the fired bureaucrats and officials said to have been complicit in a coverup and you get an autographed picture of the defense lawyer, Joseph Amendola. End of digression.
But really, this is all about education. After all, this is home to General Motors University’s main campus and headquarters. The other twenty or so factories scattered around the state are just pocket change. And education is our middle name. Well, “Motors” is our middle name. But you get the idea, right?
Note to readers: Wessays™ will be taking a short holiday break. During that time, we will re-post a few “best of” oldies, many of which were in the storage box before the readership of this feature grew to its present size.
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
Monday, December 03, 2012
1104 It's In the Book
1104 It’s In the Book
Okay, all you foul tempered, tantrum throwing maniacs, you’re about to go legit. Your loutish destructive behavior and lack of self control are about to be labeled a “condition” and now you can throw fits and blame it all on your mental disorder. Your health insurance will pay for your treatment, and your friends will look at you with sympathy and understanding, instead of branding you a body part that handles excreta and running and hiding or cowering in fear whenever they encounter you.
It’s in the book.
“The Book” is “The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” It is the bible of psychiatry. Many shrinks and all health insurance companies are fundamentalists.
That means if it’s in the book, it’s legit. If it’s not, it’s not.
A new revision is due out soon and there are two Big Things that have changed. First, and least: Asperger’s Syndrome will be incorporated into the ever expanding universe of Autism. Okay. Fine.
The second is the emergence of a new disorder, DMDD, which stands for Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder. In ordinary terms, “you have a hot temper and you can’t control it.”
This won’t be official until the Big Revision lands on the desks of the shrinks and the executives to whom you and the rest of society have ceded your medical decisions. That’ll happen in May.
And you can bet it will happen simultaneously with the introduction of some drug to fix the problem.
“Have DMDD? Ask your doctor whether Affabillify is right for you.” Then wait for the list of side effects, which ends: “... some cases resulting in death,” followed by the picture of a huge slob in a tattered pullover sweater with a toothless smile and a three-day beard and who is holding a pipe wrench in one hand and a daisy in the other who says “Affabillify fixed me up good. Now I’m a regular human being again.”
All of a sudden it will be cool to be an infant throwing a fit on an airplane or a young kid throwing a tantrum in class or a parent throwing a tantrum on the little league field or a road rager pointing a 9mm Glock at a little old lady because she was going 55 in a 55 zone but in the fast lane.
Or the commuter who takes a swing at the conductor of a train that’s 15 minutes late. Or the boss who yells all the time. Or the worker who brings a pickax or an AK-47 to work one day and destroys the office or mows down a dozen colleagues.
They’re not evil. They’re just sick.
Think of how different history might be if only we had known about all those murderers who just had Mood Dysregulation. Hitler. Stalin. Leona Helmsley.
Shrapnel:
--Shrink encyclopedias have nicknames and this one’s no exception. It will be called DSM-5. Most of us will wait for the paperback or Kindle edition.
I’m Wes Richards My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
Okay, all you foul tempered, tantrum throwing maniacs, you’re about to go legit. Your loutish destructive behavior and lack of self control are about to be labeled a “condition” and now you can throw fits and blame it all on your mental disorder. Your health insurance will pay for your treatment, and your friends will look at you with sympathy and understanding, instead of branding you a body part that handles excreta and running and hiding or cowering in fear whenever they encounter you.
It’s in the book.
“The Book” is “The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.” It is the bible of psychiatry. Many shrinks and all health insurance companies are fundamentalists.
That means if it’s in the book, it’s legit. If it’s not, it’s not.
A new revision is due out soon and there are two Big Things that have changed. First, and least: Asperger’s Syndrome will be incorporated into the ever expanding universe of Autism. Okay. Fine.
The second is the emergence of a new disorder, DMDD, which stands for Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder. In ordinary terms, “you have a hot temper and you can’t control it.”
This won’t be official until the Big Revision lands on the desks of the shrinks and the executives to whom you and the rest of society have ceded your medical decisions. That’ll happen in May.
And you can bet it will happen simultaneously with the introduction of some drug to fix the problem.
“Have DMDD? Ask your doctor whether Affabillify is right for you.” Then wait for the list of side effects, which ends: “... some cases resulting in death,” followed by the picture of a huge slob in a tattered pullover sweater with a toothless smile and a three-day beard and who is holding a pipe wrench in one hand and a daisy in the other who says “Affabillify fixed me up good. Now I’m a regular human being again.”
All of a sudden it will be cool to be an infant throwing a fit on an airplane or a young kid throwing a tantrum in class or a parent throwing a tantrum on the little league field or a road rager pointing a 9mm Glock at a little old lady because she was going 55 in a 55 zone but in the fast lane.
Or the commuter who takes a swing at the conductor of a train that’s 15 minutes late. Or the boss who yells all the time. Or the worker who brings a pickax or an AK-47 to work one day and destroys the office or mows down a dozen colleagues.
They’re not evil. They’re just sick.
Think of how different history might be if only we had known about all those murderers who just had Mood Dysregulation. Hitler. Stalin. Leona Helmsley.
Shrapnel:
--Shrink encyclopedias have nicknames and this one’s no exception. It will be called DSM-5. Most of us will wait for the paperback or Kindle edition.
I’m Wes Richards My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
Friday, November 30, 2012
1103 Casey Anthony Again
The hot babe America loves to hate is back in the news. An idiotic and probably libelous bunch of stories about the “tot mom” has surfaced recently, led by HLN Television in general and America’s two angriest women, Nancy Grace and Jane Valez-Mitchell in particular.
Here’s what happened: The accused and acquitted murderer of her two year old daughter, Anthony, apparently -- though unproven -- conducted a search on her family’s home computer using the term “fool proof suffocation...”
This happened on the day authorities claim the baby died. And this has provoked countless hours hammering away at Anthony, her parents, her lawyers and countless other people. Grace and Mitchell spit out gratuitous one-liners and parenthetical phrases, winks and nods that let you know that they really know... they KNOW that Casey killed the kid.
How? Somehow.
Anthony’s lawyers knew about this search, but the computer geniuses at the Orange County FL (Orlando) Sheriff’s office didn’t and the prosecution never brought it up.
The jury found Anthony not guilty. That’s the end of it. Period.
There’s no federal violation that would call for a new trial in federal court, and the state of Florida had its chance and couldn’t connect its dots to the satisfaction of the jury.
That’s it. She’s free. Did she get away with murder? It sure looks that way to many. Can anyone do anything about it if she did? No.
What’s the next legal step? If it’s possible to launch a lawsuit on the basis of innuendo, parenthetical expressions, scowls, winks and nods, Nancy and Jane would need lawyers of their own. So would Time Warner/CNN, owners of the sleazy HLN network.
It would be really nice to lock these two women up for awhile or at least put a dent in their assets. But, of course, that won’t happen.
In a way you can forgive HLN for Valez Mitchell. It’s always nice to have a somewhat attractive half-Hispanic un-closeted homosexual recovering alcoholic on your staff. Meets a lot of EOC standards.
Grace? Graceless. She gives journalists and lawyers a bad name, and we don’t need the help.
Shrapnel:
--Oh, and speaking of stupid law enforcement tricks as we were earlier, the Nassau County New York Police supplied some confetti for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and some of it had social security numbers and other private information printed on it for anyone who picked it up and looked at it to see. Now, there’s a “thorough investigation” underway. Who’s going to take the fall for this one?
--The guy who owns the factory in Bangladesh where all those people died in the fire? He says he wasn’t aware he needed more exits and exit signs. Absentee landlords of this ilk need to be taught a lesson and made an example of.
--Thanks to readers for all the suggestions for the upcoming WestraDamus 2012. It’s the 24th annual edition and will be here and on the 'Damus Website late next month. Since next month starts tomorrow, the wait is short and the suggestion box remains open.
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
The hot babe America loves to hate is back in the news. An idiotic and probably libelous bunch of stories about the “tot mom” has surfaced recently, led by HLN Television in general and America’s two angriest women, Nancy Grace and Jane Valez-Mitchell in particular.
Here’s what happened: The accused and acquitted murderer of her two year old daughter, Anthony, apparently -- though unproven -- conducted a search on her family’s home computer using the term “fool proof suffocation...”
This happened on the day authorities claim the baby died. And this has provoked countless hours hammering away at Anthony, her parents, her lawyers and countless other people. Grace and Mitchell spit out gratuitous one-liners and parenthetical phrases, winks and nods that let you know that they really know... they KNOW that Casey killed the kid.
How? Somehow.
Anthony’s lawyers knew about this search, but the computer geniuses at the Orange County FL (Orlando) Sheriff’s office didn’t and the prosecution never brought it up.
The jury found Anthony not guilty. That’s the end of it. Period.
There’s no federal violation that would call for a new trial in federal court, and the state of Florida had its chance and couldn’t connect its dots to the satisfaction of the jury.
That’s it. She’s free. Did she get away with murder? It sure looks that way to many. Can anyone do anything about it if she did? No.
What’s the next legal step? If it’s possible to launch a lawsuit on the basis of innuendo, parenthetical expressions, scowls, winks and nods, Nancy and Jane would need lawyers of their own. So would Time Warner/CNN, owners of the sleazy HLN network.
It would be really nice to lock these two women up for awhile or at least put a dent in their assets. But, of course, that won’t happen.
In a way you can forgive HLN for Valez Mitchell. It’s always nice to have a somewhat attractive half-Hispanic un-closeted homosexual recovering alcoholic on your staff. Meets a lot of EOC standards.
Grace? Graceless. She gives journalists and lawyers a bad name, and we don’t need the help.
Shrapnel:
--Oh, and speaking of stupid law enforcement tricks as we were earlier, the Nassau County New York Police supplied some confetti for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and some of it had social security numbers and other private information printed on it for anyone who picked it up and looked at it to see. Now, there’s a “thorough investigation” underway. Who’s going to take the fall for this one?
--The guy who owns the factory in Bangladesh where all those people died in the fire? He says he wasn’t aware he needed more exits and exit signs. Absentee landlords of this ilk need to be taught a lesson and made an example of.
--Thanks to readers for all the suggestions for the upcoming WestraDamus 2012. It’s the 24th annual edition and will be here and on the 'Damus Website late next month. Since next month starts tomorrow, the wait is short and the suggestion box remains open.
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
1102 Industrial Family Values -- History Repeats
On Saturday, March 25, 1911, someone tipped a cigar ash into a bin full of oily cotton scraps on the ninth floor of the Asch Building at 23-29 Washington Place in lower Manhattan and the Triangle Shirtwaist Company on nine, ten and eleven burst into flames.
Managers and owners had chained shut the exit doors. Workers -- 146 of them -- died horrible deaths. Most of them were girls -- not women, GIRLS -- according to the Yiddish press of the day which was the main source for coverage.
Of course, this could never happen today, right? Well, not on these shores anyway. Enlightened management and ownership? Nah. OSHA? Nope. We just don’t make enough clothing to have a factory that employs that many workers here anymore.
But then, there’s Bangladesh. Check the label on that pair of jeans or that t-shirt. You’re likely to find “made in Bangladesh” written there.
Oh, and by the way, did you hear the one about the shirt factory in Dhaka, Bangladesh? The death count was a bit lower than that of the Triangle fire, a “mere” 112, at minimum. Again most of them female, most of them girls. It happened on a Saturday, too. Four days ago.
Did the owners chain the exit doors shut? Yes. And they also made sure there weren’t enough of them to let the workers out as flames and choking smoke engulfed and murdered them.
Same scenario: people jumped from windows to safety or death, usually death. People couldn’t get out. The building has no emergency exit on the ground floor.
What company? Tazreen Fashions. Never heard of them? Well, they’re a subsidiary of Tuba Group. Never heard of them either? Not surprising. But that’s where Wal-mart got those eight dollar t-shirts you wear. In defense of the Wal-Monster: they had Orange-Listed this particular plant as unsafe. That means it won’t sell Tazreen products in its stores for at least a year. If conditions are so bad Wal’s won’t buy from them, you can only imagine how horrible they were. But then it turns out that Tazreen was still working for Wal-mart through a subcontractor. “We didn't know that!” cries a spokesman. “That’s a violation of our policy!” he moans. That’s almost as good as “I didn't know the gun was loaded.” Turns out Wally was still dealing with the factory through subcontractors. As, reportedly, were Sears and Disney.
The alarm sounds. The response? Get back to work! Like the fire extinguishers? They weren't doing much work, either. In fact, none.
The AP quotes a woman it identifies as a worker in a factory near the fire as “Yasmine” as saying “Oh Allah, where is... my son?” Good question.
At Triangle, the fire turned the fledgling International Ladies Garment Workers Union (now called UNITE HERE) into a large and powerful organization.
At Tazreen, something similar may be forming as thousands across Bangladesh’s vast and mostly female garment workforce.
So, more than 100 years after “Triangle,” what has changed?
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
On Saturday, March 25, 1911, someone tipped a cigar ash into a bin full of oily cotton scraps on the ninth floor of the Asch Building at 23-29 Washington Place in lower Manhattan and the Triangle Shirtwaist Company on nine, ten and eleven burst into flames.
Managers and owners had chained shut the exit doors. Workers -- 146 of them -- died horrible deaths. Most of them were girls -- not women, GIRLS -- according to the Yiddish press of the day which was the main source for coverage.
Of course, this could never happen today, right? Well, not on these shores anyway. Enlightened management and ownership? Nah. OSHA? Nope. We just don’t make enough clothing to have a factory that employs that many workers here anymore.
But then, there’s Bangladesh. Check the label on that pair of jeans or that t-shirt. You’re likely to find “made in Bangladesh” written there.
Oh, and by the way, did you hear the one about the shirt factory in Dhaka, Bangladesh? The death count was a bit lower than that of the Triangle fire, a “mere” 112, at minimum. Again most of them female, most of them girls. It happened on a Saturday, too. Four days ago.
Did the owners chain the exit doors shut? Yes. And they also made sure there weren’t enough of them to let the workers out as flames and choking smoke engulfed and murdered them.
Same scenario: people jumped from windows to safety or death, usually death. People couldn’t get out. The building has no emergency exit on the ground floor.
What company? Tazreen Fashions. Never heard of them? Well, they’re a subsidiary of Tuba Group. Never heard of them either? Not surprising. But that’s where Wal-mart got those eight dollar t-shirts you wear. In defense of the Wal-Monster: they had Orange-Listed this particular plant as unsafe. That means it won’t sell Tazreen products in its stores for at least a year. If conditions are so bad Wal’s won’t buy from them, you can only imagine how horrible they were. But then it turns out that Tazreen was still working for Wal-mart through a subcontractor. “We didn't know that!” cries a spokesman. “That’s a violation of our policy!” he moans. That’s almost as good as “I didn't know the gun was loaded.” Turns out Wally was still dealing with the factory through subcontractors. As, reportedly, were Sears and Disney.
The alarm sounds. The response? Get back to work! Like the fire extinguishers? They weren't doing much work, either. In fact, none.
The AP quotes a woman it identifies as a worker in a factory near the fire as “Yasmine” as saying “Oh Allah, where is... my son?” Good question.
At Triangle, the fire turned the fledgling International Ladies Garment Workers Union (now called UNITE HERE) into a large and powerful organization.
At Tazreen, something similar may be forming as thousands across Bangladesh’s vast and mostly female garment workforce.
So, more than 100 years after “Triangle,” what has changed?
I’m Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you’re welcome to them. ®
Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com
© WJR 2012
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4759 The Supreme Court
C’mon, guys, we all know what you’re doing. You’re hiding behind nonsense so a black woman is not the next Associate Justice of the U.S....
