My Obsession With the Casey Anthony Trial

I have finally succumbed to reality TV. The Casey Anthony trial is what did me in. My philosophy that there is no such thing as a "functional" family (i.e. that we are all from dysfunctional families) is amply demonstrated in the Anthony's, only in their case it was dysfunctionality on steroids. You may cavil with calling a murder trial "reality TV." Yes, it's true that the action reality TV shows in prime time can't get it all in one take. (Like Cops, reality is usually something between what is shown to the public and what is left on the cutting room floor. Reality TV shows are scripted, too, even if much of what we see is ad-libbed on the spot.) But the reality TV we see in the Anthony trial is more akin to the old "Playhouse 90" days, when ninety-minute dramas were presented live in prime time. Unlike reality TV, the Anthony trial cannot be rewound much less edited, but to me it is about as reality TV as I care to get.

The latest turn is that the prosecutor "opened the door" to (mentioned, thus allowed testimony about) evidence of Casey's prior record, including a felony. I think the prosecutor weighed a potential for reversible error against the mounting evidence that the Anthony's are testifying for Casey vicariously. That is, the defense is making its case by having its witnesses say what Casey cannot say, since any testimony by Casey herself would be impeached by the State, e.g. "Are you the same Casey Anthony who was convicted on ____ of the felony crime of _____," and it would be pointed out to the jury that a felony conviction means you cannot trust anything the witness has said since all felonies are, per se, crimes involving moral turpitude.

My feeling is, the jury will convict. The Anthony's story just doesn't add up. I think this silly, warped girl, ill equipped emotionally to handle motherhood, and tiring of its responsibilities -- it interfered with her partying -- suffocated her child and did her best to pin it on a nanny, and when the nanny story blew up in her face, she switched tales and had her being molested by her father and had her child, Caylee, drowning in a swimming pool. The one nagging question I have concerns the autopsies. Since I can only watch summaries of the trial on the news at night, I must have missed testimony about what was found in the stomach and lungs. A drowning leaves its mark. The tape found on the mouth is also very, very troubling. It may boil down to which expert the jury finds more credible.

One thing's for sure: this is the most sensational trial since O.J. took out his wife and a male acquaintance and got off with an acquittal because some gloves didn't fit. On the other hand, Casey Anthony is not a black male with a predominantly African-American jury. I understand that because of the method chosen, the death penalty is on hold in Florida. May I take this opportuny to bloviate a bit about that. Consider this silly girl, a person who harks back to the Butterfly McQueen character in Gone With the Wind (though I am misquoting her), "Missie Scarlet, I don't no nuthin' 'bout bringin' up no baby." What did she does during the 30+ days the child was missing? She partied. The death penalty, with appeals and all, will cost the state more than a life sentence (they feed these people on less than a dollar a day!). The death penalty will put Casey out of all her miseries. Life will have her wasting away while she thinks about the terrible, tragic consequences of what she has done.

I'm convicting the innocent until proven guilty? No, but I am convinced she did it. I think she may be convicted of the lesser included offense of intentional manslaughter, which would save the silly woman's life. But I am convinced the verdict will be guilty of something. As my friend Ellie always said, "Hide and watch!"

Three Little Pigs

Porky, Hammy, and Chops, official protectors of the tax break for the 2% of Americans who have all the nation's money....

Dick Cheney in Hell

Dick has had his final heart attack and awakens in Hell. Satan comes into his room and welcomes him to Hades, which looks something like a motel room. Satan welcomes Dick and says, "You did some fine things for me up there: casting the tie-breaking vote in favor of that huge tax giveaway to the super rich; sending all those nice young men to die in Iraq; outing that poor Plame woman the way you and Scooter did; talking that silly twit Dubya into torturing all those people. My God, man, you did us proud!"

Cheney smiles and, through the side of his mouth, replies: "Well, I suppose that means I am to be an honored guest here?"

Satan says: "Most decidedly. We're going to party! I've got a lot of blue agave tequila and some fine Culiacan coke, and we can look at some fuck movies and enjoy! We can fuck ourselves, lots of good orgiastic sex."

Cheney says: "You want me to come to your place for the party?"

Satan says: "Oh, no, no, don't bother. We can do it right here. Just gonna be me and you."

Granholm for President

Michigan Gov. Jennifer Granholm is hot. She should be nominated by the Dems for the Top Job.

Pontiactus Non Extantus

In the mid to late 60's and early 70s, I owned a Pontiac Firebird. It was a classy car. I might have bought it to impress my friend Stephen Silverman, who drove a Datsun 340-Z, which I personally thought a piece of shit but never mentioned it to him, as he let me borrow it a time or two. I liked the Firebird and drove it through the early 70s gas crisis, with the long lines only to arrive at the pump posted with a sign: SORRY, NO GAS. Now that GM is going on the dole (and I don't mean bananas) they've promised to put their Pontiac division to rest. Pontiac had a huge reputation from its manufacture of aircraft engines during the war. The car ran well, but pseudo-sport models of any brand all were gas guzzlers. I eventually sold it to my brother Terry for about $75, informing him that it would cost a lot of money just filling it up with oil: it had a major leak and was virtually irreparable. Such is my experience with Pontiac. Sad, sad, sad....

My Chat With Wen Jiabao

I had a good long "talk" with the Chinese premier the other night, having stumbled onto him in the chat room, "Pacific Interests" by utter coincidence. I was asking how to make a good kung pao shrimp and he IM'd me with his own version, plus some advice for the United States. He said, "Your country must learn two new rules. One, quit having so many babies. Two, your next war of choice will be at someone else's expense. We can't half-sole Mr. Bush's shoes." When I protested that the economies of China and the U.S. are mutually dependent, he said, "then why are you asking me about kung pao shrimps?"

Wen coaxed said "We are puzzled by democracy. In a country that would re-elect Bush, if that is will of people then you only get president you deserve. Cowboy person. The only reason al Qaeda has not attacked you is because you redirected their attention to problems with Shias in Iraq once the U.S. invaded and allowed a Shia government to execute Saddam. You forget, bin Laden bides his time. He has time and God on his side."

I asked him what he thought of Citizen Dick Cheney's claim that the Obama administration will fumble the ball on security, allowing another mass attack by Jihadists. Wen said: "He knows that is bunk. If terrorists hit you again, look to Mideastern sectarian squabbles. By dividing Shia against Sunni you give Israel a bit of time is all."

The Time Has Come

It's time we nationalized our banking system in the manner of the Swedes.

The Short Goodbye

It wasn't even mildly amusing to see George W. Bush almost bump his head, Gerald Ford-style, in the door of the presidential helicopter whilst making his much anticipated departure from the White House lawn; flying to a nearby base, he would there be taken to his last stay at Camp David. It was the departure of a pagliaccio on his way to a final aria, or, if the Italian is inappropriate, then perhaps a bit of Spanish slang, a payaso. (Some might cavil it should be pendejo, but that's another matter.) This was the Bush who couldn't open doors, said "nuculer." and doesn't know the difference between a "character" and a "characteristic." English teachers wanted to cover their students' ears every time Bush gave a speech. He's a good ol' cheerleading boy only a father could love. How else could he get into Yale and actually graduate?

The detritus in his wake manifested itself immediately, with House minority leader John Boehner equating the Gitmo closure (which actually has a 12-month deadline) and criticizing a supposed lack of planning with, e.g., the Iraqi Misadventure, using rhetorical sleight-of-hand in a silly attempt to be the first GOP to draw and fire on Obama. An equally obnoxious Louisianna senator, caught red-handed screwing prostitutes while his wife was home playing trophy mom, dissed Obama's finance nominee. And then there is that smug, sappy-faced Mitch McComical mumbling about one thing and another -- don't the voters in the states that send these people to D.C. realize they're voting for self-serving snake oil salesmen? Their only virtue, these hacks, is bringing home the pork, and that would appear to be overdrawn at the bank, Obama signaling as much with his ban on lobbying by ex-staff members.

Then, there's that jackass John Cornyn. I begged his opponent's staff by email exchange to beg, borrow, or steal the footage of the John McCain photo op where he introduced, and was introduced by, his then "spiritual advisor," the Rev. John Hagee. There was Cornyn, that silver-haired serpent himself, standing all goofy-faced with Hagee and McCain. Shortly thereafter, Johnny Boy would have to throw Hagee under the bus: it came out that the "reverand" thought Hitler was a gift from "God" because the Jewish diaspora brought about the establishment of a Jewish state in the "Holy" land. Hey, folks, that is a necessary step in the Rapture scenario, which about a third of Americans believe. I still want to print a bumper sticker saying, "I DON'T MIND RAPTURE, I JUST DON'T WANT TO BE THERE WHEN IT HAPPENS." (Yeah, I know, a rip-off of Woody Allen, but it works.)

It did Michelle no good to kiss Bush. Condi has been doing that for years (as well as other things we may never know). It is hard for some to grasp an administration that holds a meeting to approve of the torture of various specific detainees, enemy combatants, and so forth. Ms. Rice has been quoted as having Freudian slips in which she has imagined George W. to be her husband. Perhaps she could get a job at the Supreme Court, where one of the current justices has the best porn collection outside the Vatican and likes to force himself on co-worker women by saying things like, "Is that a pubic hair on my Coke can?"

God Damn! I am glad to see this bunch take a hike.