Nobody Right, Nobody Wrong

They say you gotta choose a side, but when it's done, there's nobody right, nobody wrong.

Time for News Round Up again. However, this time, I only did "Sounds Like"...mainly cuz I had to do an operation on a printer this morning.

Obama could name budget director next
Sounds Like: Obama’s next child, the budget director, may be named next. We think Reginald is a good name.

Make your picks for Obama's inner circle
Sounds Like: Wanna gamble? Lets start a Fantasy Inner Circle League bracket thing.

Ticker: Millions being spent in final '08 faceoff
Sounds Like: Those hockey players sure know how to spend money on their faceoffs. The last one was worth 8.2 billion pucks.

Brown: Students feel the economic pinch
Sounds Like: In Economics, students can no longer sleep due to that damn sneaky pinch.

Borger: Obama takes ownership of economy
Sounds Like: Bush signs the deed over to Obama, no he owns the mess. Let’s play home makeover!

WSB: Alleged church shooter caught in Georgia
Sounds Like: The paintballer that has recently shot churches was caught in Georgia today, right before 9 o’clock mass.

Pirates were 'animals,' ex-captive says
Sounds Like: “Those damn scallywags tried to make me drink rum all day long!”

No prison for 'sex-on-beach' couple
Sounds Like: Since the drink turned out so well, the couple who created it will not go to prison.

KHOU: Girl's homework gets dad a Bush pardon
Sounds Like: The bush that the girl wrote about for English class was presented to her father. It came alive like in the girl’s story and said “pardon me”.

SI: Trainer had Clemens' DNA, reports say
Sounds Like: CSI Trainer doll had Clementine DNA. How’d that happen?

Bad deal leaves Navy families in cold
Sounds Like: Messed Up.

Guy hoards year's trash in basement
Sounds Like: Best trash of the year was hoarded in man’s basement so he could win the Nobel Peace Prize 'O Junk.

Daredevil flies over gorge with jet pack
Sounds Like: Devil+Georgia+Jet Pack = FUN!

Need a job? Try the 25 best cities for work
Sounds Like: The headline right before “Most Dangerous Cities: Camden #2”

Amy Winehouse hospitalized for drug reaction
Sounds Like: Wino (drug addict) hospitalized for drug reaction to: heroin, ecstasy, marijuana, crack, cocaine and methamphetamines. Normal.

UFO in sight, then 'pfft -- it was gone'
Sounds Like: A plane.

iReport.com: Unafraid of holiday traffic?
Sounds Like: Not scared of holiday traffic? Well YOU SHOULD BE. Here’s WHY.

CNN Wire: Treasury, Fed act to boost lending
Sounds Like: In the second year of the play, the acting is more geared toward being better, so that ppl actually come to the show. In the trade that’s “boost lending”.

Death and All His Friends

So, today is a little morbidly fascinating. Capital punishment is a very complex moral issue for a lot of people. I was reading this article and thought I'd put an excerpt here so ya'll could read it. It is practically the same article from here, orginally on DeathWatch.org which is an anti-capital punishment site. The reason it is interesting: a first hand account of what it is like to walk towards a death that you were sentenced too. This guy killed someone 22 years ago when he was 18. P.s., he hasn't died yet.

This letter is to all the friends I left behind on Death Watch: Leonel
Rodriguez, Mangy Dogg, Chino Ruiz, K-loc(o), and Gilberto Guadalupe Reyes.

I haven’t been back from death-house two days yet and already you all have found a way to send me a card with all those touching words in it. One would think that I had died over there. But, you know what, fellas? It was real good to hear from
you guys.

Maybe I did die over there. The experience was life-changing, even borderline traumatic. The person that left to the Walls Unit on that day is definitely not the same person that came back. You all knew me, who I was, my beliefs (or lack of) and all the crazy things I did. If we could talk, like the many days and nights we did, you all would know for a fact that something happened to Moreno. Since we can’t talk, hence the letter.

OK, imagining that we were all talking again — which is a possibility, especially since I don’t know what kind of “stay” I received or what is happening with my case — all of you would be asking me questions about what it is like at the Walls Unit. So,
allow me to assuage your curiosity.

The drive over is less than an hour because I got my stay around 3, and by 4, I was back. When you finally get to the Walls, the transport vehicles are admitted through one gate after another, all the while driving through twists and turns, around huge buildings, like if you’re travelling through a maze. I felt like I was being swallowed by a huge beast. When they finally turn the van off, you are parked right outside the death chamber.

Let me back up a little, because I forgot to tell you what happens here (Polunsky) before you leave. When your final visit is almost up, the warden (Hirsch) comes to pick you up. From that point on, every officer that has any dealings with you is a sergeant or higher, mostly lieutenants and captains. When you come out of the visiting room, there is a lot of freeworld people there. I didn’t recognize any, except the wardens. From there, you are escorted to a cage where you are searched thoroughly (you know, lift your feet and wiggle your toes, bend over and spread your ass-cheeks, then with the same hands stick your fingers in your mouth and pull your mouth open so they can check your other cheeks!) and given all brand-new clothing and cloth shoes. From there (cage at E-pod) I am escorted back to the front for the metal detector machines. But at that time, I notice that not only is the whole building on lock-down, but they have a full response team all suited up, tucked away in one of the small side hallways, just in case the 20-30 ranking officers and civilians can’t handle the situation. After running both metal detectors over your whole body, you are taken out and to the cramped transport van. The last thing Warden Hirsch says to me is, “Thanks for being a man about all this.”

Now, getting back to the death chamber. Once they get you out of the van and walk you the few feet to the holding area right next to the death chamber, they lock the door and repeat the process of removing the leg irons, belts, handcuffs and hog chain. They strip you right there in front of them (no cage necessary because there’s about 12 built or big rank all around you — a major or two, captains, and lieutenants). After they search you and dress you in their brand-new clothing, they allow you to walk over to the finger-printing booth (two sets of prints) and walk to their holding cell. There’s a new mattress, pillow, sheets and pillowcase. All brand-new. Nothing but first-class treatment. Then you are told by the chaplain (Hart, likely) that we wait for Warden O’Reiley (?). It took about 10 minutes for him to arrive for me, and all during this time there is an officer sitting right in front of your cell and several others in the rest of the room. Off to the side there is a table with all sorts of goodies on it. You know those huge 10-gallon containers they bring our juice/tea to the pods? Well, there’s three of them on the table. One with coffee, one tea, and I think one of juice. Then there’s milk cartons chilling on ice and a BIG silver platter with all sorts of sweets on it: cookies, buns, rolls, pastries, etc.

When the warden shows up, I think he is there to gauge how you are going to behave. He starts off by telling you what is going to happen. At 3 o’clock they will let you walk out of your cell and walk to the next cell where you will be behind a screen so you can visit with your spiritual advisor. The spiritual advisor visit lasts about an hour. Then, at 4, they will bring your last meal. He has a copy of your last meal in his hands and he might ask you something about it, like if you have a lot of food on there (like I did). He might ask if you’re really that hungry? Then he tells you that he is going to leave and you won’t see him no more until 6, when he comes to get you. He will say, “It’s time.” At that point, you will walk out of the cell and directly through that door (you can see it from the cell, it’s only about 10-15 feet), that’s the execution chamber. You will then be placed on the gurney and strapped down. Then two medically trained personnel will stand on each side and inject a catheter into each arm. Then he (warden) will stand behind your head and ask you if you have a last statement. He will give you about two minutes but is flexible, depending on what you are saying. He has two rules: 1) No profanity or cussing, and 2) It must be in English.

Then he tells you that if you get a stay, the chaplain will come inform you. Finally, he asks if you have any questions. It is at this time you are supposed to ask him to use the telephone and smoke cigarettes as per the instructions you will receive from the chaplain the day before. He tells you that the chaplain will provide the cigarettes and that you can call as many people as you want but the person must be in the continental U.S., and all phone calls will stop at 5.

So the warden leaves and I get right on the phone. I get some very sweet tea, a milk, and wait for him to light me a cigarette. The first person I talk to on the phone is my oldest (longest-lasting) friend, Linda. But I wasn’t doing much talking because I was trying to choke down my sobbing. (Sobbing is uncontrollable crying). It
was at this point that it all made sense to me and I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

Now, let me tell you what made so much sense to me:
Everything I did as a bon voyage, all the letters I wrote, all the parties we had, all the substances I abused and enjoyed at that moment, my special Sho-out show with all my music, my very special visits, my friends on Death Watch, the cigarettes from the chaplain, the treats on that silver platter, my last meal, and even being able to call anyone I want — none of that mattered. I realized that at 5, I had to stop talking on the phone, then in the execution chamber, no one was going to be there with me except some chaplain I didn’t even know (not Lopez or even Vitela). Even if my family could hold me at the moment, I was making this journey by myself. And it wasn’t dying I was so scared of. It was GOD!

Instead of indulging in these materialistic gifts the state of Texas was using to distract me, I should have been on my knees praying. At about 3, the chaplain old me I got a stay, all my privilges immediately got taken away, and I was still reeling from the shock when Michelle Lyons came in and started asking me questions for the media. On the ride back, I realized that I almost died outside the grace of God.

By now, K-loc (and possibly Reyes too) is thinking that I lost it. But Leonel (and maybe Chino), on the other hand, is probably thinking I gained it. There was a lot of people praying for me. San Fernando Cathedral held a mass for me. My cousin works at Incarnate Word and he got the nuns to pray for me. People from all over sent me letters in those last days. Woody, Rivas, and even Big Tex said they were praying for
me.

Let’s forget Divine Providence. Leonel, do you remember how you told me that you should quit doing something for your jefita’s sake but it’s hard, because you enjoy it so much? Remember what Donnie Miller said about it? If, at any time in his life, now is when he needs to be clear-headed. He was right! This situation is very important. The last thing we should do is distract ourselves. What we have to do is focus so that we will be prepared and ready because in the end, nothing else matters. Instead of altering your mind, you need to purge it so that you can mediate, contemplate and figure out what it is you need to do so that you can be at peace on the day of your execution. That way you can face reality. Just in case Divine Providence doesn’t come to your rescue.

I will be praying for all of you and I hope that you all start praying for yourselves.
Peace, Moreno.

SEPTA made my toes hurt

I have been working on this theory since I've been taking the 10 Trolley to and from work every weekday. I think SEPTA is racist, as well as slightly unreliable, but slightly inelastic.

Let me explain...

The trolleys service a couple of different areas and are numbered 10, 11, 13, 34, and 36 - at least from Center City to Philadelphia. The 34 comes at least (I'm being generous here) 3 times as often as the 10. The 11, 13, and 36 come at least twice as often as the 10. I have a theory about this. Generally, when the 34 comes, most of the white people disappear from teh platform. Once the 11, 13 and 36 come, the rest disappear, or any that have recently come down the stairs.

With the 10, it's different. The first one comes, is packed jammed full and the trolley driver yells out the door that there's one "right behind me" and that everyone should get on that one. So then, 10 minutes later, after 3 more 34s and one 36 have passed, another 10 comes, but blows right past the station. Finally, after waiting 1/2 an hour and seeing the 34 come 12 times, another 10 comes, stops, lets everyone one, instantly becomes packed, and heads towards the next station.

I think the above example explains why I think SEPTA is a bit racist and unreliable. To explain inelastic, look back to economics class. It's inelastic because it is a pretty necessary service people will have to play for. For example, to get from 60th street to 13th street is difficult. It's either an hour or more walk (through the ghetto), a $15 cab ride, or ...? That's right. F-ing SEPTA.

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Btw, Srav. Read this.

What if it's a tie?

There's a possibility that there could be a tie tonight, after this whole election crap is over.

The only thing that has to happen are 5 different scenarios that would cause the electoral vote to be 269-269.

You would think in a country this big, we would have an odd number of electoral votes so this kind of thing wasn't even a possibility. (Not that it is a realistic possibility now anyway, for this election).

So what happens when there's a tie? The House of Representatives breaks the tie. I find it odd how f-ed up the whole thing is. In theory, it's a good idea, sorta. It doesn't really cater to the "people" as it does to the "intelligent people". I mean, technically, the electoral college doesn't have to vote with what the states go with. If the college guy feels as though the elected candidate is a complete moron or demon possessed, he can "protect" the "people" by casting the electoral vote to the "smarter" more "heavenly" person. I don't know if this has ever happened and I'm too lazy to look it up, but just be aware.

So go vote. Watch the election. Drink beer. And have fun. Tonight history is made. On a Tuesday.

You never know, tomorrow there could be a riot.
At least the headlines will be laden with murders, assaults, car crashes, and affairs again, instead of just McCain, Palin, and Obama.

Swearing, Cussing, and the Media

So Janet Jackson's wardrobe "malfunction" doesn't matter, but the F-word does. Basically, the FCC would rather have little kids see breasts than hear the F-word.

Janet Jackson did NOT get into trouble. Neither did the broadcasting network. The FCC decision was overturned by the Supreme Court earlier this year.

The Supreme Court will now hear some cases between the FCC and celebrities/networks. All involving the F-word. Cher said it, Bono said it, and Nicole Richie said it. So did the chairman of the FCC and the Supreme Court, but they didn't say it in front of a nationally broadcasted camera...so they won't get into trouble.

Chase Utley said it too. After the World Series he said "World F*cking Champions" (bleeped here from fear of FCC). Currently, Ebay is selling shirts that say "World Phucking Champions". Also, Cafepress.com is selling infant onesies with the bad word on it. What's the big deal? Hmmmmm...(I'm still thinking)...hmmm. Well, if Seth Rogan can't advertise his movie with the word "porno" in it, then I guess it's a big deal? I mean, come on, we can't actually EXPLAIN to kids that there are words they can't say, right?

Will Utley get into trouble? I fucking hope not.


In other news, dogs have a soup kitchen in Berlin. They also have a posh bus taking them to a 5-star resort day care.

happy monday.

P.S.: Septa's slogan, "We're getting there" cracks me up. The trolley was "getting there" a half-hour late this morning. Septa, please "get there" faster next time. Kthxsbi.