Casey Anthony: Not Guilty?

In the movie "Legally Blonde," Elle Woods' professor asks her if she would rather defend a client who committed a crime malum in se (a regulatory or civil crime) or malum prohibitum (a crime that is inherently evil or violent).

After listening to her rival Vivian answer malum prohibitum, Elle changes her mind and says she chooses to defend a client accused of the "dangerous one" because she is not afraid of a challenge.

Apparently, Casey Anthony's defense team was not afraid of a challenge either. The prosecution in this case had a lot of DNA evidence, but were unable to connect it to Ms. Anthony. They might have been able to establish motive and opportunity but they did not connect Ms. Anthony to the crime itself, in they eyes of the jury.

Whether you think Ms. Anthony committed the crime (I believe she did), the defense in this case drummed their mantra of reasonable doubt, and it resonated with the jury.

I liken this trial to the OJ Simpson trial, as have many talking heads of late. The prosecution had all of the tools it needed (I'm looking at you, Marcia Clark) , but was unable to establish its case without reasonable doubt. It is a tremendous lesson in our justice system and the US Constitution.

Again, regardless of whether you think Ms. Anthony committed murder or manslaughter, there was room for reasonable doubt, which is the basis of our legal system. The prosecution had a burden of proof, and it did not air tightly demonstrate its case.

The differences in strategies of the defense and the prosecution is striking. The prosecution sought to portray her as a party animal and a whore, but the defense kept to it's mantra of reasonable doubt. The prosecution's major witness, the coroner, apparently did not do an adequate job. Really? An inability to establish cause of death? Didn't even open the skull of the baby? The prosecution did not once say, "This is, with certainty, how Casey killed her baby."

And the hiker who "found" the body? His story changed more often than the horse in Emerald City changed colors in "the Wizard of Oz." although Casey Anthony is clearly a liar and a sociopath, she still worked with her defense team. Whatever happened to Caylee, whether it was drowning or asphyxiation, the defense was able to show to the jurors that there still existed reasonable doubt.

It's unfortunate about the outcome for those who believes she is guilty, no cause or manner of death was established. There exists reasonable doubt. This case will likely be studied in law school for years to come, and perhaps The prosecution will appeal. Oh wait! Can we say double jeopardy? Maybe Casey's parents will be tied to the crime or cover-up. Who cam say? But until then at least one can say: Casey is innocent until proven guilty. And the prosecution couldn't do that.

Don't read too much into it. Take the outcome for what it is: the American justice system at work. like it or not, we want to adhere to the Constitution. It was written for a reason. And to all the lawyers and talking heads offering their two cents, you weren't at the trial; nor were we. The media crucified her, but the sequestration of the jurors clearly, along with the defense's case, led to a conclusion to this circus. You may not like it, but them's the breaks. 

True Blood Recap: She's Not There (HBO)

Well, truebies, we waited for what seemed like a long time (although what if we were in the fairy plane?) but True Blood finally returned for its fourth season premiere last night with a vengeance. Read no further if you do not wish to know the events of last night's episode. SPOILERS AHEAD...

In an amazing attempt at revitalization, we last left our heroine Sookie Stackhouse as she vanished suddenly into the light that on last season's finale that Nadine worried vampire Bill Compton would take from her. Last night's episode picked up where we left off, with Sookie inhabiting the fairy plane.

She sees a fairy eating a glowing fruit and recognizes him as the telepathic bellhop from season 2. She is told by the fairy queen to mingle and eat the light fruit, which looks like luminescent peaches. She does not eat the fruit but recognizes her grandfather in a corner grove by himself, also eating a glow fruit.

She tries to communicate telepathically with him, suspecting they are in danger. The other fairies hear her and the alpha approaches her. As she had done in past seasons, Sookie uses her light to rebuff the fairy and fling her across the field. However, in a "Lost" season 5 moment, the time seems to shift them to a different place. Fairies begin fighting and Sookie and her grandfather are momentarily brought to safety by two rebel fairies.

They are soon standing at the precipice of the real world and the fairy world which is rapidly closing (and apparently this was what the fairies desired...complete separation). Sookie and her grandfather jump through and are transported to the cemetery in Bon Temps. Her grandfather, having eaten the glow fruit, loves long enough to see Adele's grave and then vanishes.

Sookie returns to her old house only to find that someone Jason has sold it. She refuses to leave when the workers tell her to, and the police are called. Who shows up? Officer Jason Stackhouse, who is ecstatic to see her. In tow is Sheriff Andy Bellefleur, who we find out is now addicted to V. Bill and Eric also show up because they sense Sookie's presence, but not before Jason tells her she's been gone for twelve and a half months, even though in fairy time she was only gone twenty minutes. Time works differently.

Bill and Eric leave, along with Andy B addicted to V, and it is clear that Jason does not believe her story. That is, until she gives him a watch from her grandfather that he had with him in fairy land.

So as not to make this too wordy, let us visit other character's arcs.

Jason: Now a full-fledged cop, he is helping to feed the were panther family. he brings them food and one of the were panthers tricks him into thinking the box freezer is broken. Jason is then pushed inside and locked in. Still no sign of Crystal. What's up with that?

Tara: now a female boxer in New Orleans. In the only sex scene of the episode, we also find out that Tara now has a girlfriend apparently. When Lafayette texts her that Sookie has returned to Bon Temps, she quickly lies to her significant other by saying that her grandmother died. Will she return to Bon Temps to see Sookie?

Lafayette and Jesus: these two are exploring Jesus's witch inclinations and visit a coven in Bon Temps. The witches are sitting in a circle, holding hands, and chanting. Who is their leader? Why none other than Irish actress Fiona Shaw (Petunia Dursley from the "Harry Potter" movies).

The coven eventually gets Lafayette to join their circle after Shaw's character Marnie grabs his hand and channels Eddie, a character from Lafayette's past.

The coven eventually bring back to life Marnie's familiar, a bird, for a few minutes only to have it die again. Everyone is mystified and Marnie is very excited. To be continued, for now I guess.

Hoyt and Jessica: after a lover's quarrel over food, Jessica angrily scrambles a dozen eggs, shells intact. Hoyt eats them to make his point, and long story short they make up and go to Fangtasia. Once there, though, Jessica meets a mysterious fan anger albeit briefly, runs to the bathroom, and is berated by the lovable but mean spirited Pam. Pam mocks the idea of monogamy and Jessica dating a human.

The best of the rest: Nan Flanagan and the American Vampire League are trying to remarket themselves post Russell Edginton  with Eric and Sam as mouthpieces. Sam has joined a drinking klatsch of other shape shifters to deal with his anger management after shooting his long lost brother Tommy last season. Tommy has apparently been taken in by Mrs. Fortenberry who needs a son to take the place of her beloved Hoyt.

However, and most importantly, we come upon the last fee scenes of the episode. Sookie had earlier gone to a lawyer (Portia Bellefleur, no less) to try to get her house back. Later we see Portia enter a highly fortified compound not unlike bin Laden's in Abbotabad to meet with none other than Bill Compton, the apparently new Vampire king of Louisiana. How eerie.

As we leave the episode, we see the person who bought Sookie's house: Eric. He bought it so that he could own Sookie. This looks like it will be quite an interesting season and I will keep you posted. Hopefully the were panthers, witches, vampires, and fairies can all just get along, but I doubt it.

Who Wants a Clean House?

The other day, I got a short email from my father telling me that "the trailer" had sold. The trailer refers to the place owned by my grandfather and uncle. Both have now passed away. Our family "inherited" this trailer in Millsboro, DE, aka Nowheresville, and all of the work associated with it, after the passing of my grandfather in 2008.

I will say this: when I think of the trailer all I think is ugh. It had always been half finished and messy to me.  We used it as a home base sometimes to go to the beach when we were growing up.
I had not been in almost ten years (as I went to college and grad school in MA), and when I went to help my uncle with it after my grandfather had died, I was in shock. I am not one to throw labels around lightly, but it was clear my grandfather was a (mild) hoarder/pack rat/clutter bug. It was not as extreme as the cases I have seen on the TV shows "Hoarders" or "Clean House," but let us say that Niecy Nash would not have been pleased with all of the foolishness.

I can't even tell you all of the trips we made to the dump with useless clutter saved for no reason, and the tons of cleaning up we had to do. Want to know what is even worse? Two years later, when my uncle died, we had to go back. History had repeated itself. I was angry and hurt.

Work began anew and after countless time spent there removing clutter, mounds of unopened mail and catalogues, I had had it. Never one to be a clutter bug, I threw myself head on into the project of who could get rid of the most stuff.

Envelopes, mail, expired medicine...you name it, it was there. We finally got the house ready to sell and it was a job well done, especially by my brother Dennis, who was there more than I was doing all kinds of tasks to make it more saleable. The times I was there I often ran into opposition from my father as to what could be thrown away, so eventually I stopped asking and just tossed what I knew to be useless.

It had been on the market for almost a year and a half or so with few offers, some insulting. But we finally got one for real the other day and the process to eliminate this burden from our lives was underway. To say I am ecstatic is an understatement. We worked long and hard and when I say we, I mean my father, mother, brother and myself. My cousin Brendan on my mom's side even came down a couple of times and helped us with various tasks.

Now those of you who know me must be thinking, hey Jack, what about the three able-bodied siblings of your dad? I say to you, remember the fable of the little red hen. Who will help me clean this trailer and prep it to sell? Not us. Ok, now that it is done who will help me reap the rewards? We will.

They did not help us clean it out, and what is worse, all (including my father) had been there several times over the past ten years and did not (want to?) recognize what was going on. They were compiling some of everything. Towels, pans, sheets, dishes, or new unopened cabinets sitting on the floor.  It was all there. Did I mention that there were at least 10 black bags overflowing with cans sitting in the shed? It infuriates me to think about everything we got rid of but if you want more details you can ask me.

But now that the hard part is over, I am thrilled. And in parting let me offer you this: if you have relatives who are older, don't just call them on the phone or visit them once in a while. Observe when you visit. Is there an inordinate amount of clutter or other useless items? If you care about them you will intervene now to save a headache for later. Chances are, you will deal with someone older in your family who dies, and it will fall on you to clean out their old possessions.

Do it out of love. Don't let things get out of hand. Don't turn a blind eye because it's easier. Trust me. You will be responsible at some point for cleaning out the living space of someone in your family. And if you can make life easier on yourself by starting now, do it. Your angle can be that you're trying to help anyone older in your loves live more healthily. It doesn't have to be a showdown.


Finally, get a will made. My grandfather and uncle did not have one. No one stepped up except my dad to be administrator for my grandfather after he died. It was a pain and despite this, it didn't inspire my uncle to get one, or even change his beneficiaries.

Two years after the fact, the beneficiaries on his accounts were my grandfather who had already been dead for two years. It did not mean enough to him to change his accounts to have say, his only niece and nephews on those accounts so that they might have some money to invest later on in life.

Get a will, for yourself or your parents or whomever, and spell out your preferences. Think of the future of your children or other young relatives you have who may need some money later on, especially in this economy.

In your own life or those of older relatives, if you or they haven't used something in two years and justify keeping it by saying "I will use it someday," I doubt you will so get rid of it now. Pretend you're moving. Would you really take it with you?

  Tomorrow?  I write about the exciting return of

A Case of Mistaken Identity

This post tells the story of New Year's Eve 2007. The only people currently aware of what actually happened are my grandmother, my aunt, my cousin, and my brother whom I told only last year. For those of you reading, this is not a pity me entry but I came across my old journals and found the entries. This is what actually happened and I am only writing about it now to gain some closure. The following did occur.


Picture it. Worcester, MA. I was driving on an eight hour trek to the apartment I lived in near Becker College. It was snowing, and I was running very behind schedule. I returned to my apartment, the second floor of a triplex behind Ernie's pizza on West street, near Elm Park.
I had gotten back later than I thought, around 8:30 pm.

My plan? Unpack, feed Oreo and Battlecat (my two feline traveling companions), and maybe drive another hour east to my friend Ryan's house in North Reading for a party he was throwing in honor of the new year. After unpacking and feeding the cats, I felt tired and called to leave Ryan a message that I was not going. I did not think much of it.



I had some beer in the refrigerator, and a bottle of champagne in case I decided to go to Ryan's. However, now that I was not going I decided to shower, eat a snack, have a few beers and watch TV. I called Ryan around 9 and it was now 9:30. I had not heard back so assumed he got my message and was OK with me not going.



I opened a beer around 9:45 and after a few sips, the buzzer to my apartment began ringing nonstop for five minutes. I had no friends in the area and think the people above and below me were gone for the holidays or out at the bahs. My roommate was in New York City with his family. I ignored it, at first, but it kept ringing.



I looked outside from my upstairs window and went downstairs. There were three people who were banging on the door asking if Sean lived here. I said I didn't know and they said they had something very important to tell him. So I opened the door and said "I think he lives on three." They thanked me and I went up the stairs, with them behind me.



As I went to open my door on the second floor thinking they would go upstairs, all three followed me into my apartment and kind of pushed me inside. They closed the door. My heart was racing as they confronted me and demanded to know where Sean was. I told them I had no idea, and that I lived here with my roommate and two cats. The lone female obviously noticed how scared I looked and told me it would be OK. I just had to tell them where Sean was.

As I was about to repeat my story she interrupted me and said "I'm feeling a little full right now. Do you mind if I "blast" in your bathroom?" I thought she was either going to throw up or go to the bathroom so I said OK. She walked inside, did not close the door, and whipped out a pipe and tossed a crack rock in. She began smoking and offered me some. I refused. Then the two other men who were with her and were looking in my room and my roommate's room came back and finished it with her.


The African-American guy then came up to me and asked again where Sean was. I told him I didn't know. I repeated my story, and stood my ground. He asked me if I thought I was being funny saying I didn't know where Sean was and that my roommate worked for a bank in Worcester and I was back from Christmas vacation. As the female was asking me more questions about why I was so nervous I was trying to watch the other two in the bedrooms as I thought they were going to rob me. They had gone into the kitchen at this point. They were looking in the cabinets, on my deck outside and in my refrigerator.

I repeated my story to the female as the other two came back to the little foyer from which the bedrooms and kitchen were semi-visible. I said i thought this Sean might live upstairs and I carefully moved myself near the door into my apartment. I opened it and repeated my story and pointed to the third floor apartment where I thought this person could have been. I was almost paralyzed by fear. My phone was in my pocket but I wanted to make no sudden moves. They all appeared agitated, and were most likely high on something.



The girl in the group told them I was probably right and that Sean was upstairs. I had no idea how long this interaction had gone on. The minutes felt like hours. They could have been there ten minutes, a half hour. I have no idea as I had no way to see a clock. But all I know is, for whatever reason, they agreed and looked like they were about to leave. As the tall, African-American was walking out the door Oreo (I have no idea what the cats were doing during this ordeal) darted out after him up the stairs.



Here's the dilemma: I wanted my cat but did not want to get hurt. I was about to close the door and worry about it later when the big dude reached out his long arm with a massive mitt at the end, and scooped her up. He turned to me and said with an eerie smile "this little n***a tried to get out. I grabbed Oreo back, said thanks without thinking, and slammed the door.



As I was reaching for my phone to call...who? My parents 600 miles away? My friends partying in North Reading probably annoyed that I had backed out of going to their party? As I was pondering this I heard the three people come back down the stairs. They began pounding on my door telling me to open up. I had to know where Sean was. Bang bang bang went my door. I was naive in opening the main door to the triplex initially. But after they saw how scared I was did they really think I was going to open up again? I might be stupid, but not that much. They went downstairs and outside but soon came back again, buzzing my apartment saying "We know you're in there."



After that I just stood by the door which I had now dead bolted, and my head was swimming. My heart was racing and I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't know what to do so I called my roommate in NYC. He was buzzing already (his words) and told me to call the police. I asked him another question and he said hold on, and shouted something to others in the room where he was, and basically said he hoped I was OK and he had to go.



So who to call next...my parents? Who I'm pretty sure would ask why I opened the door in the first place? My friends partying in North Reading who were probably pissed that I didn't come to their party? So I called the police. Waste of time.

So since I thought Ryan was mad at me, I called another friend who I knew would be at the party. He picked up, asked where I was, and I told him what happened. It was now around 11:15 and it was clear he did not believe me.



I asked him to get Ryan or anyone else, and he told me that he was disappointed I didn't go to the party. Speech was slurred like I wish mine was, as it was New Year's. I told him what just happened again, and he laughed and said he had to call me back. He did not. I called him again and he did not pick up. I thought I would try Ryan's house phone which went unanswered. It was a party. I doubt anyone heard it. So I stopped calling people.



The bottom line is that it was the worst New Year's Eve I ever spent and I spent it alone. I was exhausted from driving and should have gone to Ryan's, been a man, and sucked up the extra hour more to see friends and have a good time. Instead of the party, after this incident, I put on the TV, watched the ball drop, drank my beers, and my champagne. I put on my iPod loudly to block out any noise, wondering, until I was too drunk to care later in the evening, if those people would come back looking for Sean.

How are YOU here right now?

SPOILER ALERT: FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO STILL DO NOT KNOW HOW LOST ENDED (and I've met a few of you) do not read the first paragraph or two.

The title of my post refers to what Christian Shephard (his name is Christian Shephard?) said to his son, Jack, right before Jack discovered he was already dead. Christian claims that it is possible for everyone to be in the church at the end of the show because they created the place together. They were the most important people in each other's lives, and their time spent together was pivotal.

I won't get into a debate about whether what happened on the island was real (although I think that it all did happen, and Ben succeeded Hurley who replaced Jack). But I believe that the characters on "Lost" all needed each other to move on. They were family, and their most important moments were spent on the island together.

That being said, this past weekend I attended a wedding at Crest Hollow Country Club in Woodbury, Long Island, NY (see picture at top of page).

When I was at the reception, I felt like it was the last episode of Lost. We were all in a particular place, and we were together. While I was there I got the sense that I meant a lot (more than I thought I did) to the people in attendance, and I learned they certainly meant a lot more to me than I realized.

I felt like these were some of the most important people in my life, and that the time that I spend with them is tantamount to living a full life.

I hadn't seen many of them in a long time. Them refers to people that I roomed and went to school with at Holy Cross, in addition to my friend Pete's friends from Pomperaug Regional High School in Southbury, CT that I had inherited from Pete. They had been to Holy Cross many times to spend the night and party with us, and we had all seen each other a few times since college. The Pomperaug and Holy Cross crew were just as close in Long Island as in college. It was very humbling and gratifying at the same time to know that.

I took the Amtrak from Wilmington up to Manhattan that day into Penn Station. I had never taken the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) before but had taken New Jersey transit. I figured, how different could it be? As it turns out, not very.

After a mad dash to the train after the announcement of which track was posted, I grabbed a seat and went to Huntington station, a hub according to my friend Jesse, to then go to the hotel. Little did I know that I should have gotten off in Hicksville two or three stops before so as to save money on what turned out to be a more expensive cab ride than I thought ($27), but no big deal.

After rerouting the taxi at the request of probably who I, even though I don't see him as often as I should, consider to be my best friend, Ryan, to the Main Event sports bar, I had finally made it. It would be weird to see people I hadn't seen in a year since the last wedding in Jamaica in January 2010 (for Ryan, incidentally), but as soon as I walked into the restaurant it was not. I was immediately welcomed and it was like no time had passed at all.

After some brews, lunch (I ordered sliders, as I tend to do), and Red Sox talk (they talked, I tried to pay attention to the Phillies game to distract myself), we went to the hotel where we chilled in the room Ryan had so kindly let me share with him and his brother-in-law, Mike. I was very lucky that after a change in plans at the last minute that Ryan was nice enough to reach out to me and offer me the option of crashing in his hotel room. He could have just as easily told me to get my own room. But he didn't.

After a parade of people stopped by to visit us while we watched the end of the Red Sox game and later for some reason, "50 First Dates," we eventually got ready for the wedding. I saw my friend Sean, who was recently appointed to head the State Democratic Party of New Jersey. I was glad when I found that out, since the organization within state Democratic parties since the 2008 election has been horrendous. Having worked for the MassDems in 2006 I can also relate to the dysfunction and disorganization that has become rampant. The party needs someone organized and with experience like Sean to turn it around.

Nicely enough, my friend John's wife Casey and my friend Bill's wife Mary (who both happened to be pregnant), offered to drive us to and from the reception so that we didn't have to take the shuttle.

The wedding itself was lovely. Eric, Pete's best friend from home, was the best man, and he gave a great speech. It involved Super Mario Brothers, Pinochle, Holy Cross, and you had to be there. I'm not going to relive it here but needless to say the Holy Cross people got a shout out for being a family that Eric "inherited" when Pete went to Holy Cross.

The whole fun of the entire night lay within the reception. I sat at table 10 with Ryan, Sean, his girlfriend, John, Casey, and some of Pete's relatives. The food was interesting to say the least. I ordered chicken wellington for my entree, but it ended up looking more like the turkey footballs we used to order at Kimball at Holy Cross.

But the drinks were free flowing, and we all tipped generously so the bartenders served us the most, even when they were in another part of the room. When they saw us, they would come back and get us what we needed. Since I had bought my ticket on the LIRR with a $20 bill (the cost was $9.50 off-peak), I got $11 in Sacajawea dollars as change. To get rid of those, I would tip each time I got myself or someone else a drink. Coupled with the ones that we were tipping, the bartenders made out well I'd imagine.

Other people were not tipping, or being drunk and surly to the bartender. Then they wondered why they didn't get served. Gee...

There was a lot of dancing, and at one point the Pomperaug crew wanted to put Pete on a chair and dance around singing Hava Nagila. However, this was never able to materialize. Perhaps the Bar-Mitzvah occurring downstairs from us had something to do with it.

Either way, we all had a great time and I was humbled by the love I got from everyone. Especially mad props to Ryan for pointing out that I deserve better, and that I can always count on him. He pointed out that at times I relied on people under false pretenses who really didn't have my best interests at heart or didn't really care about me to begin with since college. We talked for a long time and he was right that I need to reach out to him and the rest of my friends more.

After the dancing ended and it was time to go home, Mary and Casey drove us back to the hotel where Ryan and I went back to the room and changed (Mike, who was also staying with us, went to bed). We brought some beers outside and went to hang out with Dumpie, Eric, and whoever else I now forget. We just talked (or, as Dumpie pointed out, there was a span of 20 minutes where I didn't say a word as I tend to do). It was great. Then the alarm went off and suddenly it was time to go.

It was a great weekend with great people. I wish this blog could have been more succinct and contain a cooler story. But it was cool to me, and I guess that's what matters for now. Peace.

The Big Big Bang

(from left to right: Karen Gravano, Drita D'Avanzo, Carla Facciolo, Renee Graziano)

For some reason, every Sunday night around 12am as I am flipping through the channels, I have ended up on VH1's Mob Wives. This new show is like the Real Housewives of New York City, minus the "class" and with exponentially greater profanity. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it, other than to wonder, are there no Carmela Sopranos anymore?

The four women showcased are Renee Graziano (daughter of mobster Anthony Graziano, ex-wife of "Junior" who is currently incarcerated), Drita D'Avanzo (wife of Lee DiAvanzo, currently incarcerated), Karen Gravano (daughter of Sammy the Bull, who turned informant and brought down John Gotti), and Carla Facciolo (wife of Joseph Ferragamo, currently incarcerated).

Now, I've always had a fascination with the mob predating "The Sopranos" on HBO.

But these women defy the traditional stereotype I had of Mob Wives from fictional television and movies. When I first heard that VH1 was making a show called "Mob Wives," I envisioned tough, but semi-classy women like Carmela Soprano or Karen Hill of "Goodfellas." These women, although accustomed to a pampered lifestyle, were tough and often took their husbands to task, even if only in the realm of the domicile.

However, the Mob Wives VH1 is portraying seem to be foul-mouthed, spoiled, and very self-centered. I consider Carmela Soprano to be spoiled, but she certainly is more refined than these women. Carmela cared about her family, while these women seem to treat their children or husbands as an afterthought.

The women on Mob Wives hurl expletives not only at one another but also use them excessively in their everyday conversations. They think they are better than everyone else and that they deserve respect, lest whoever offends them or gets in their way face the wrath of their husbands or exes.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I rarely remember Carmela pulling the Tony card so readily to get what she wanted. That is not to say she didn't use it, or use her influence over her to get something. But she seemed more real to me. I could sympathize with her sometimes. Karen Hill and this new generation of Mob Wives on VH1, not so much.

I feel no sympathy for them. They may have gained a level of class through wealth, but that does not make them good people or classy for that matter. I enjoy watching to see what happens, or what ridiculous drama they can create for themselves.

However, these women, despite having husbands in jail, do not seem to be portrayed as having "real people" problems. Yes, some of them find it difficult to deal with being single mothers, but they have the money and resources (maids, chauffeurs, etc.) to be able to balance that out.

In one episode, Renee reacts to a drunk guy in a bar coming up to her and Karen while making disparaging comments about sex. She freaks out and rather than let it go, calls her ex-husband "Junior" to come down to take care of the problem. That, to me, seems like she is wielding her "influence" in a situation that can easily be remedied through turning a blind eye. Yet, this was the whole last 20 minutes of a 60 minute episode with 15 or more minutes of commercials most likely.

Carmela would have told the guy to eff off and left. She might have told Tony about it afterwards, but she certainly wouldn't let it ruin her life like Renee pretended it to do.

It's a train wreck, I guess, and I can't stop watching. I don't know if it's because the women are all so vapid ("Oh my gosh. Thank you so much. You're like the hundredth person who's told me that.") or if it's because just the word "mob" for me conjures up all of these late night wheelings and dealings where it is agreed who needs to get taken out, who needs a talking to for not bringing in their cut, or what. But it seems to me the old mob wife has been replaced by the spolied, entitled, self-centeredness that has become rampant in America today. I will probably keep watching just to make myself feel better about my life and to make fun of these chicas loca. Until the next blog post...

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished (With apologies to "Wicked")

One question haunts and hurts too much, too much to mention:was I really seeking good or just seeking attention? Is that all good deeds are when looked at with an ice-cold eye? If that's all good deeds are, maybe that's the reason why no good deed goes unpunished.

Once again I re-learned for the umpteenth time that it is impossible to rely on anyone to help you. No matter how nice you are, no matter how much you do, it doesn't seem to matter. You help your family, friends, co-workers, but some days you just wonder why you even bother.

I thought I was having a good day today...visiting my grandmother, tutoring at school to earn some extra money before summer session starts next week. But when I visited my mother, that day seemed to go downhill.

I apparently didn't do enough to help her while I was there, and she took it out on me a bit. I pretty much helped her run the household when I lived there, and somehow it's my responsibility to help her run it when I no longer live there. I don't do a good enough job, surprise.

The electrician is coming tomorrow to install some lighting and do some rewiring. My mother had me put out the boxes of lights, cords, etc. that had been ordered for them to use. Thinking I was saving my brother time by taking them out (since he has to go over to let them in tomorrow), I texted and tweeted him to let him know what I had done.

I was looking for no prize, no overt "Oh, you're so wonderful. I don't know what I would do without you." And what did I get? Him accusing me, via text, of giving him attitude and "coming at him" angrily. I love it. Only he could interpret something that way (although he learned it from my father) and compound the ruin of a perfectly good day that began after I left work.

I don't understand why people always feel the need to be so cruel. I'm sorry that it's not enough that I work full-time, help my mother with her house, help my grandmother, pretty much singlehandedly help organize everyone's affairs.

Often I believe I was born in the wrong time period. Chivalry is dead. Women look at you like your nuts when you try to hold doors for them or do anything courteous in any way. Family members think you never do enough. Co-workers, although they may not say it, do not think you are adequate.

I try to be a good person and help but as I mentioned in the first paragraph, it is all for naught. There's no point in being nice to anyone or expecting anyone to be able to help you. In the end you are all alone. No one cares. They may say the right things, even sometimes marginally do the right things for show, but that's what it is. A show. An act. Smoke and mirrors.

I don't know if it's because I live in the US that I constantly feel out of place, or if it's because I truly was not meant to live successfully in this era because I am stuck in outmoded, obsolete ways that no longer matter in this world. I guess I'll never know. Which is why even though I smile and act the nice boy, I'm starting to mean it less and less because people care less and less.

The corrupt, the conniving, the evil always seem to get rewarded. Wall Street bankers. Hedge fund managers. No one has any sense of ethics or morality any more and sometimes I wonder, why should I? Then I realize that it's small time people like me who would probably get caught or get comeuppance in some form.

But no good deed goes unpunished, and I guess that is the lesson for today. Good night all.