Denny Crane: Why Is It Called a Bar Association If You're Not Supposed to Be Drunk?

 

Is Barney Gumble from The Simpsons a member of the Illinois Bar?

RBG

MOVIE TITLE: RBG

DIRECTORS: Betsy West and Julie Cohen

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Documentary

RATING: PG for language and politics

GRADE: Extra Credit

RBG documents the multi-decade career of women’s rights lawyer and Supreme Court justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Growing up as a second class citizen by virtue of her gender, she knew right away what she wanted to fight for when she tried her cases. Her legacy laid the groundwork for equal pay, equal opportunities, and equal treatment between men and women. Though we still have a long way to go as a society in terms of how women are treated, Ruth Bader Ginsberg will always be seen as someone who got the ball rolling in the right direction. Even today in her old age, she remains a pop culture icon among liberals, women, and youngsters, even being jokingly called The Notorious RBG, a parody of hip-hop artist Notorious BIG.

Ruth’s quiet and introverted nature was a focal point throughout the movie and makes her come off as likable and trustworthy even among her political opponents. She doesn’t believe in raising her voice or being nasty when arguing a case. As a matter of fact, yelling at somebody to win an argument will always turn the other person off rather than bring them in. If you need further proof of Ruth’s diplomatic approach, she was close friends with Antonin Scalia, a Supreme Court justice and rightwing advocate. If those two clashing personalities can get along, imagine what other kinds of barriers can be broken among our people. Breaking down social barriers is important in Trump’s America due to how divided and venomous we as a society have become. Watching Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s peaceful interactions among her opponents is inspiring to watch and makes me believe in hope all over again.

As a matter of fact, any political documentary that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside will always earn an extra credit grade from me. That’s the kind of feeling we need in today’s world. It’s easy to feel angry and disenfranchised with everything going on and I’m not immune to any of that myself. Stripping you of your hope and your happiness is exactly what the extremists want. When you lose sight of what’s important in life, you become bitter. Bitter words will never bring us together no matter how loudly we yell. Even though I’m a proud liberal, I wouldn’t trade any of my conservative friends for the world. Some of them have been there for me during the darkest times of my life and that’s a debt I could never repay. Ruth Bader Ginsberg will never raise her voice, but she will fight for everything the world needs. That alone makes her a role model we can all be proud of. In fact, some her fans are so proud that they got T-shirts, coffee mugs, and even tattoos in dedication to her. Tattoos? Really?

Back in February of 2018, I saw a one-man show depicting the life and legacy of Thurgood Marshall, another Supreme Court justice who fought for equality, but among races. Ruth Bader Ginsberg showed the same heart and dedication when she built her legacy around gender equality. These two performances have a lot in common, particularly in the way they show how powerful a good debating strategy can be. In their cases, the lawyers were so influential that they became Supreme Court judges. It’s not a role to be taken lightly. It can be the difference between living in a civilized society and throwing everything back to the Dark Ages. Sometimes it feels like we’re living in the Dark Ages all over again, which is why it’s so important never to give up hope or give up the fight for the common good.

Watching this documentary will empower you to levels you’ve never imagined. It’s a wakeup call for everybody involved whether they want to be woken up or not. As I’ve stated earlier in this review, I’m giving the documentary an extra credit grade for being an empowering life lesson without preaching to the choir. It’s not just a pat-on-the-back for ninety minutes. It’s something we could all use at least once in our life.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 19

Scott could have spent eternity in the blackest of visions. His body could have numbed out until time itself stood still. Death was his most welcome visitor. If there was a heaven, he wanted a limousine ride to the pearly gates. If there was a hell, at least he could stay warm when everyone else’s hearts were cold as shit. In his mind, not even hell could match up to the evilness of this green and blue earth. Was the devil a cool guy to hang around? Scott banked on it since a lot of the “sinners” hung out in that fire pit apparently.

But instead of a poker game with the devil, he survived another round of Russian Roulette in the real world. As he awakened in his hospital room, his head and nose ached with explosive pain. His ribs stuck out further than his skin would allow. His depressed and anxious mood destroyed his brain like a forest wildfire. His wrist was purple with tightness as he discovered he was cuffed to his hospital bed. The pounding feeling in his head and nose was because he had an IV tube stuck in one of his nostrils (presumably because of malnourishment). To Scott the IV tube was just a clear-colored worm from a Floydian nightmare.

The judging eyes never took their gaze off of him despite the courtroom backdrop being replaced with hospital whiteness. A uniformed police officer stood over his bed and scowled at him, nearly making Scott empty his bowls of the worms that invaded his system. “Just so you know,” said the cop. “That stunt you pulled in the courtroom isn’t going to get you out of this mess. The trial is going on without you, which is smart on your part since your lawyer has advised against you taking the stand.”

“But…but…” stuttered Scott. “Don’t I get to see what’s going on at least? Don’t I have the right to defend myself?”

The cop gave a smart-assed smile and said, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. Your lawyer is quite the standup guy for someone as low on the totem pole as him. Not bad for a public defender. But for every point, there’s a counterpoint. The prosecutor is running circles around him. It doesn’t help matters that all of the witnesses in this case can’t save your sorry ass no matter what they say.”

“W…witnesses?”

“Oh yes, Scott, there are plenty of witnesses to your crime even though you and that little girl were probably alone wherever it was you did the dirty deed. Some interesting characters, to say the least. Principal Linda Williams? She can’t even put a sentence together without that MSNBC bullshit filtering through her lips. Adrienne Simpson, the girl you slept with? She had so many tears in her eyes that it was amazing she didn’t flood the whole damn courtroom. Now Tom Simpson, her father, that guy’s a true character if I’ve ever seen one. He gave quite the Oscar-worthy performance. Too bad you couldn’t see it. I would have loved to see the look on you face after all the things he called you.”

Tugging on the handcuffs in vain, Scott’s expression turned angry when he said, “Why are you taking so much joy in this?”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the cop said, “Because it’s my job to take pride in my work, which is bringing justice to a place that doesn’t care about it. All these people cry and whine that you’re not getting a fair shake. Well, guess what, toots? Life is unfair. The sooner you accept that, the less disappointed you’ll be with your own failures.”

Scott clenched his fists and gritted through his teeth, “You sound just like my bastard history teacher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of you were gay lovers at one point.”

The cop wagged his finger and said, “Careful, Mr. George, you’re bordering on the edge of slander.”

“I don’t care!” shouted Scott. “And as long as I’m all out of fucks to give, let me lay some more truth on your sorry ass! You know why life is unfair?! It’s because jackasses like you intentionally make it that way! You beat the shit out of minorities and then turn around and say that they shouldn’t have broken the law, even though most of the time they fucking didn’t! The whole world is onto you and your kind! I don’t care how poorly I’m doing in history and I don’t care what generation I come from: I’m not stupid enough to believe your horseshit! I’m more than mediocre! In fact, between the two of us…I’m the only one who makes any sense at all!”

The cop gave a sarcastic golf clap and said, “That’s a pretty ballsy statement coming from someone who’s cuffed to a bed. But you know what the sad part about all that is? You’re dead on, buddy. We do keep people down. You know why? Because that’s how we maintain order around here. Without order, society would spiral into chaos and you liberal hippie rebels would only have yourselves to blame. Besides, why do you care so much about what I do to minorities? You’re a white guy. You don’t have much to hide other than the fact that you’re a fucking pedophile. Why all the fuss?”

“Fuss? Fuss?! You want to know what the fuss is all about?!” Scott’s eyes glowed with rage as he stared a hole through the cop’s soul. “It’s called having empathy. You may want to try it sometime. I know other people have hopes and dreams different from my own, so I try my best to either nurture those dreams or stay the fuck out of those people’s ways! I don’t see any benefit in conforming the population into one zombie mind. But that’s just my opinion, of course. You’re entitled to your own even though you’re an ass clown.”

The cop smiled and shook his head before saying, “You’ve got a mouth on you, pal. If I had some medical tape around here, the only letter coming out of that sewer hole would be M. Lots and lots of M’s. And then I could make a joke about how your favorite candy is M&M’s. And then I could also make a joke about how you like to say MMMMMMMMM after you’ve eaten them.”

“You have the IQ of a packet of ketchup. No wonder you hate thinking so much: it’s not your strong suit.”

The cop stood up and slammed his knight stick against the railing of the bed, sending a fearful jolt throughout Scott’s body. Instead of sarcasm and corny smiles, the uniformed “ass clown” was all business and sneers. “By the time this trial is over, you’re going to be found guilty, mark my fucking words, dip shit. And when you put on that orange jumpsuit for the very first time, it won’t be a matter of if you get your ass beaten. It’ll be a matter of when. Prisoners and CO’s alike don’t care for smart-mouthed little bitches like you, Scott. The minute you start preaching about anti-conformist BS, your bones will crack so fucking loudly that the whole world will go deaf.”

Undeterred and unafraid, Scott leaned closer to the cop’s face and said, “If you’re so certain I’m going to die, why don’t you finish the job yourself…ass clown!”

The cop backed off, smiled, and said, “Nah, I’m not going to do that. I wouldn’t deprive my colleagues at the big house of their feast of fresh meat. And that’s what you are, Scott: fresh…fucking…meat. And speaking of meals, enjoy the nose buffet you’ve got going on there.” With a final chuckle, he exited the room and left Scott in a cesspool of his own rage and hatred.

“What a fucking jerk,” Scott muttered out of earshot of the cop. He believed that statement could apply to anybody who spoke out against him in that courthouse so many blocks away. He didn’t want to dwell too much on what they were saying behind his back. After all, that was when anybody was truly safe from his wrath: when it was all behind his back.

Alan Young couldn’t hang with Scott. Aloysius Striker was a crocodile tear away from loony land. The prosecutor’s bar exam results might as well have come back negative. Tom Simpson? He couldn’t control his own daughter, let alone a classroom full of free thinkers and wild dreamers. Beth George might as well be called The Artist Formerly Known as Mom. The undertaker guarding Carter George’s grave probably related more to corpses than he did living human beings.

“Is there anybody I’m leaving out?” asked Scott to nobody in particular. “Eh, I’ll think of them later.”

Knowing he couldn’t be touched even when he was at his lowest moment, Scott closed his eyes comfortably and attempted to get some shut eye before he would eventually hear his final verdict. If there was any truth to what the cop said about a guilty verdict, then Scott might as well have taken a one of the doctor’s stitching kits and sewn his eyelids shut. No sense in waking up to another nightmare. No sense in contending with people who were and will always be full of shit.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 18

“In the case of The People vs. Scott George, how does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Every eyeball in that courtroom gazed upon Scott with judgment and scorn. Dressed in a suit and tie passed down from his father, Scott could feel their hatred radiating off of his soul. His defense lawyer said not guilty, but his mind said otherwise. His face was more readable than Mr. Simpson’s desecrated chalkboard and the message written on it over and over again. So this was what defiance was like, Scott thought to himself. This was what happened to anybody who dared to be more than mediocre and ordinary. He could feel his dreams being crushed like poison pills under the weight of this courtroom’s table knife. His face drooped with depression and self-loathing.

The judge banged his gavel and said, “We will now hear the opening arguments from both sides. Mr. Prosecutor, you have the floor.”

A lanky gentleman who towered over the rest of the courtroom personnel took the center stage and held his hands in front of him, eyeballing everyone with seething persecution. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he started. “The defense will have you believe that this is just a simple case of a vengeful teacher lording it over his pupils. But I now ask you, who is the vengeful one here? A man who gives out C-minuses like it’s Christmas or an even younger man who plays mind games of his own by having sex with that man’s daughter? That’s really all this is: mind games.

“And guess what? Judging from Miss Adrienne Simpson’s absence from this courtroom, I’d say those mind games are working. Don’t forget that she is the victim in all of this, not Mr. Scott George. She is the one who will live with this mistake for the rest of her life. Fifteen years old is not an age for losing one’s virginity. It is an age in which she should be exploring the world around her. It’s an age in which she learns from greater sources of wisdom than an 18-year-old boy posing as a grown man.

“Members of the jury, don’t let the defense minimize this incident as some kind of BS technicality. This is a serious offense Mr. George committed and he must pay for all of the damage he’s done. Thank you, your honor.”

As the prosecutor took his seat and straightened his tie, Scott absorbed his harsh words like a sponge soaking up toxic chemicals. His posture grew worse, his saggy face became less defined, and it wouldn’t be long before the floodgates underneath his eyes opened for the final time. Final seemed like an appropriate word to him, whether that meant getting stabbed in prison or doing the job himself. The not guilty plea sounded less and less genuine with every second that passed.

The defense lawyer, a stocky man who would measure up to his opponent’s chest easily, took his turn at center stage and engaged his audience with a stern tone. “And why shouldn’t I minimize it?” he asked. “Is it because the status quo needs to be satisfied? Is it because technicalities are more important to us than the real issues of today’s justice system? Let’s not forget the real reason Adrienne Simpson isn’t here today. It’s not Scott George she’s afraid to face. It’s her own father, the one who made this 9-1-1 call to begin with.

“This is HIS war. All is fair in love and war, right? No tactic is too underhanded. No victory is too minor. As a history teacher who specializes in the art of war, Mr. Simpson lives by these mantras. But let’s be honest: if Scott George was only seventeen years old and Adrienne Simpson was fourteen, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. What is Mr. George supposed to do: break up with her and then start their relationship over again once she’s of age?

I know that this argument gets thrown around a lot in legitimate rape cases and for the most part it’s a valid statement. So let’s keep that statement valid by giving Mr. George a fair shake. Save your judgment and vitriol for someone who truly deserves it. Thank you, your honor.”

Scott picked his head up and wiped the sadness out of his eyes, if only for a minute. His lawyer patted him on the shoulder and assured him it would be okay. Would Scott believe such a thing was possible? Would anything be okay ever again? Would the damage continue even after the not guilty plea became an undisputed reality?

“Mr. Prosecutor, you may call your first witness to the stand,” ordered the judge.

The skyscraper of a human being took center stage once more and said in a commanding voice, “I’d like to call Ms. Aloysius Striker to the stand, please.”

Scott mouthed the words, “What the fuck?” as the living presence of his most brutal nightmares skulked to the witness box. Sure enough, there she was: no puppet strings, no puppet body, no worms, yet she still gave Scott violent shivers throughout his system. He could feel the maggots swarming in his intestines like villagers running away from a fire-breathing titan.

“Ms. Striker, I’ll start off by asking how you’re related to the defendant,” said the prosecutor.

“I’m Alan Young’s step mother,” she said in a trembling sob. The maggots grew even more restless inside Scott’s bowels. He didn’t know whether to shit himself or projectile vomit across the room.

“And who is this Alan Young you speak of?”

“He knew Scott George ever since they were in elementary school together. My step-son never got the education he wanted and it was all because of Scott’s vindictiveness. Alan never stood a chance. He was always sent to the principal’s office over minor occurrences. Scott used the system to his advantage and made sure my baby boy suffered for as long as humanly possible.” She wiped a singular tear from her eye and asked, “How is my step-son supposed to learn anything when he’s being held down?”

Scott whispered the word, “Bullshit!” and his lawyer patted him on the back to calm him down.

The prosecutor leaned on the edge of the witness box and said, “So what you’re trying to tell the jury here is that Scott George is a powerful man. He has so much power that he can use it for anything he wants, whether it’s for good grades or for making sure those he deems unworthy feel his wrath.”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Overruled. Please, Mr. Prosecutor, continue.”

“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to ask you, Ms. Striker: based on your interactions with the defendant as well as your step-son’s interactions, do you believe it’s possible for Mr. Scott George to be manipulative enough to take a young girl’s virginity out of spite?”

“Objection, your honor!”

The rest of this conversation became a cluster-fuck of gibberish to Scott as he paid more attention to what his intestinal worms were going on about. They slithered around like spitting cobras and hurled their venom about. Scott’s head felt like a balloon ready to pop. His mind was also crawling with these toxic worms. And cockroaches. And faceless cheerleaders who proudly proclaimed they wanted to, “Bring out the gimp!” Sweat drizzled down his forehead and into his eyeballs, which were already going blacker than the lungs of a coal miner, an appropriate analogy for someone who could barely breathe.

And then it happened. Scott George plopped onto the floor limp as a noodle. The cacophonic rage swirled around him some more as he overheard his lawyer shouting, “Get some paramedics! He needs help!” Scott believed no amount of medical attention could give him the help he needed. An oxygen mask was only a fashion accessory. An IV needle was more of a weapon than a bastard sword. The paramedics could flood the courtroom with all of the equipment they wanted, but he made no mistake about it: nobody was coming to save him.

If there really were maggots and worms in his system, they would cannibalize him and leave him on the side of the road as a gigantic turd. How appropriate considering he felt like the lowest form of human shit imaginable. He didn’t know whether the judge wanted to send him to prison or a bottomless toilet. Either way, the future was dead, just like the democracy Mr. Simpson always rallied against.

He could hear Adrienne’s voice in the back of his head comforting him with soft, unintelligible words. How he wished for the feel of her silky hands against his cold skin. Fuck the legality of it all: love was love. But the judges and juries didn’t care about love in the first place. To them, it was just as expendable as democracy and the future themselves. Scott wanted to awaken from his blackness and check to see if Adrienne was really there, but what was the point?

Silent Warrior, Chapter 16

Linda Williams sat comfortably on her couch enjoying a bowl of wheat cereal while watching her daily dose of MSNBC. While her “pet project” Scott George no doubt spent his Saturday in misery, Linda felt guilty about being able to enjoy hers, so much so that she could barely concentrate on the world news. “I sure hope Tom is enjoying his little triumph,” she said softly to herself before taking another bite of cereal.

The rampant pounding on her front door jolted her so much that she spilled her food on the hardwood floors. Her spine tingled at the sounds of a familiar voice screaming, “Linda! Open the damn door! We need to talk!” The pounding grew progressively louder with every second Tom Simpson was forced to wait. “I know you’re in there! No sense in hiding from me!”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” belted Linda as she marched over to the front door in bare feet and a nightgown. Sure enough, Tom stood there with his fists balled up and his teeth gnashed together like a venomous snake waiting to pounce. “This better not be what I think it’s about.”

Taking labored breaths, Tom let himself in the house much to Linda’s confused dismay. He said, “You need to have a little chat with Scott George. Oh, he showed up to detention like he said he would. It’s what he did after that made me so...UGH!”

“Two things,” said Linda with her arms crossed. “One, you don’t come barging into my house without me letting you in first. And two, once you’re in my home, you don’t demand things from me like you own the damn place. Both of those things could have gotten you arrested today and I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a cage, quite frankly.”

With a sickening smile, Tom said, “Arrested?  You’re going to have me arrested? Well, you better bring the entire police force and the SWAT team, because you’re going to fucking need them!”

“Well, look at you, tough guy. The same Tom Simpson who’s so anal retentive about swearing is suddenly unleashing some nasty words at me. If hypocrisy was against the law, your ass would have been gone a long time ago.” Linda pointed at her front door and barked, “Seriously, you’d better get out of my home before things go south. Get a massage. Sit in a hot tub. Meditate. Do something relaxing for the first time in your life and quit acting like a small child!”

“Speaking of small children, guess what your teacher’s pet did to my daughter,” said Tom while grabbing his boss’s arms. “They had sex behind my back. Lots and lots of sex! Can you imagine that slimy little creature Scott putting his lips and other body parts on someone else?” Tom shivered for extra dramatic effect.

Linda ripped her arms away from Tom and said, “That’s not my problem, Tom, so quit trying to make it mine. While I don’t condone underage sex, there’s not really much we can do about it. If Scott and Adrienne are in love, so be it. Don’t forget: you were in love at one point in your life. And then you threw it all away in a disgraceful divorce. Is that where you’re getting this attitude from?”

Tom pulled his glasses off and shouted, “You don’t know a damn thing about my marriage!”

Linda remained stone-faced as she stood up to her employee. “So why don’t you educate me about why you’re so upset. You are an educator, after all. That’s part of your job description. Tell me why you suddenly care about your daughter’s life now that she’s completely out of yours.” Tom’s haunted face stared off into the distance as he refused to respond. “Tom! Tom! Ground control to Major Tom! Hello?!”

“How old is Scott?” asked Tom.

“Eighteen. Why?”

Tom’s insane smile widened and was accompanied by clownish chuckles. “I got him! I got him by the balls!” He grabbed Linda’s arms once again and excitedly explained his viewpoint to her. “Think about this for a minute: Scott George is eighteen years old and Adrienne is only fifteen. The two of them openly confessed to having sex. That means…Scott just broke the law! Oh, this is too good! This is too fucking good!”

Once again shoving Tom away, Linda said, “Give me a break, you sick freak. Scott’s no more of a pedophile than you are a good history teacher. Three years difference between them doesn’t mean a damn thing in today’s world.” Shoving a finger in his face, Linda said in a low, angry tone, “I’m warning you, Tom, don’t you go through with this so-called case of yours. This is beyond vindictiveness. You’re talking about ruining a young man’s life before it even has the chance to begin, all because of a stupid technicality that shouldn’t be there!”

“Oh, Linda, you’re just as naïve as Scott. For better or worse, the justice system in this country doesn’t care about circumstances. It doesn’t matter when young people are applying for a job. It doesn’t matter when they get suspended from school. It won’t matter when they’re sitting in the defendant’s chair with all eyes of the world judging them. The law is the law and it will be enforced. If you don’t believe me, ask any war protestor who’s sitting in jail over causing a traffic jam.”

Arms folded and death stare locked on her target, Linda sneered, “I’m warning you, Tom, if you press charges against Scott and turn his life upside down, I will fire you. I’ve been waiting a long time for an excuse to give you a pink slip. I think I may have just found it.”

“Well, look at you, Miss Social Justice Warrior,” said Tom with his hands on his hips. “You’re all about getting justice for women on college campuses who get gang raped at frat parties. You’re all about sending Alan Young to jail for trying to get away with less. But the minute statutory rape takes place and it involves one of your favorite students, you’re so quick to cover it up. Who’s the hypocrite now?”

“There are degrees, Tom!” shouted Linda. “There are circumstances! I don’t give a damn what the law says! Everybody is different! Every case is different! You can’t just paint them all with the same brush! Lord knows what else you’re applying that twisted logic to! Is that how you teach slavery in your history class?! By painting all black slaves with the same brush?!”

“Wow, your naivety really does astound me, Linda,” chuckled Tom while shaking his head. “Don’t you get it by now? This country has gone through the ugliest history imaginable and not a goddamn thing has changed. The ugliness never went away, Linda. It just showed itself in a different way. The same applies to the law, for better or worse. Unless Scott has the debating skills to back it up, he’s not going to make it with the wolves in that courtroom. I’ve tried to toughen him up to the world around him, but he’d rather be sheltered. Well, they don’t shelter people in the darkest parts of prison, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Just know this, Tom…” said Linda with a trembling voice. “You will not have the support of this school or any of its officials. And just like your classes, you won’t have the support of your own pupils. You want to win this war? You’re going to win it on your own. Clean your belongings out of your office first thing Monday morning. You’re fired, Tom. Get out of my house!”

Tom’s maniacal chuckling caused him to double over before he said, “That’s okay, Linda. I don’t need anybody’s help to win this case. The law is on my side and that’s the only ally I’ll ever need. I don’t need you. I don’t need my ex-wife. I sure as hell don’t need my daughter’s help. Scott George is going to crash and burn because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants like our sex ed program says to do.”

Before Tom could cross the threshold to the outside world, Linda stopped him with one last thing to say. “No matter how this court case turns out, whether you’re triumphant or defeated, just know that you’ll have nothing you want by the time it’s all over. Once Scott George is behind bars, there will be another rebellious and open-minded student to take his place. And another. And another. You’re not going to send a good message to your students by going through with this petty trial. One of these days, Tom, the hate alone will be enough to give you a stress-induced heart attack.”

Fiddling with the door knob, Tom looked down at his feet and said, “You know, Linda, some people prefer to die while having the best sex of their lives or doing some kind of extreme sports activity. Me? I think you just gave me an idea of how I’d like to die someday. See you soon!” Tom closed the door behind him and walked back to his car, leaving Linda Williams in a cataclysm of her own tears.

"Alley Kat Blues" by Karen Kijewski

BOOK TITLE: Alley Kat Blues

AUTHOR: Karen Kijewski (pronounced “key-EFF-ski”)

YEAR: 1995

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Murder Mystery

GRADE: Pass

Kat Colorado is a California-based private investigator who suspects that an ex-Mormon college student named Courtney Dillard was murdered rather than the victim of a car accident. Kat’s boyfriend Hank is a Las Vegas detective who’s obsessed with finding a serial killer known as the Strip Stalker. Kat and Hank’s relationship hits several pot holes when Kat finds a stripper named Amber Echo in Hank’s bed and also when Hank can’t make time for his girlfriend anymore, constantly working the Strip Stalker case. As Kat digs deeper into both cases, she finds how much in common they have with each other and how they could both potentially destroy not just a relationship, but also Kat’s sanity.

In pretty much every detective book I’ve read in my life, the narrator always feels the need to point out that the mystery isn’t as easily solved in the book as it is on TV. DNA evidence, quick legal procedure, technological superiority, and open-and-shut cases can all be thrown out the window for Alley Kat Blues, because this is another example of that. As cliché as it is to rip on TV crime dramas, I also agree with this method of writing. Mysteries should be well-researched. Laws and procedure should be known by heart. Kat Colorado comes off as someone who could easily pass the bar exam if she wanted to. She also knows when to tell little white lies and how to get information out of her suspects in a deceptive way. If you want to read about a woman who knows what the hell she’s doing, this book is for you.

Another thing I enjoy about this book is Kat’s narration and dialogue throughout. Hard-boiled detectives have always been portrayed as fast-talkers and smart-asses, so why should it be any different with Kat Colorado? When someone in the book says she doesn’t look like a private investigator, she says, “I left my trench coat and fedora at the dry cleaners.” It’s not just one-liners that will grab the reader’s attention, but also the intrapersonal dialogue she has while having conversations and confrontations with various characters. And then there are certain attitudes she takes with the more difficult characters, often coming off as sarcastic, condescending, and clearly in control of the conversation. She doesn’t back down from anybody whether it’s a posturing male, a filthy gun salesman, a religious zealot, or even a guy on the edge of killing her. There are a lot of qualities one could enjoy about Kat’s character profile; pick one!

I’ll tell you something about the book you won’t like, but only in the sense of discomfort and not because you genuinely hate it: the way Karen Kijewski portrays rightwing fanatics. I’m not just talking about run of the mill Republicans who are all about family values and lower taxes. I’m talking about the fringiest of fringes and the cringiest of cringes. I’m talking about cult-like atmospheres where the men are in charge, the women and children are obedient, and anybody who questions the men’s authority will be beaten, raped, or psychologically tortured. Education is stripped away and all that’s left is brainwashing and zeal. The men in charge don’t need all the guns that they have, because they’ve already got enough power over their families to turn them into weapons themselves. It’s scary to think about, so much so that even Kat got rattled a few times in the story. No matter what your political stance, you will be shaken to the core. Why? Because zealots in the real world are just as terrifying. Remember, folks: this ain’t HBO.

Alley Kat Blues is a fun little read that goes by rather quickly despite the three hundred plus pages. Sometimes you might have to think carefully about how the clues connect with each other, but that’s why we read in the first place: to think critically, unlike the Mormon cults portrayed in this story. Once you think you have the answers, Karen Kijewski pulls the rug out from underneath you and you’re all out of whack. A passing grade will go to this wonderfully-crafted mystery that leaves no stone unturned.

I'm an American

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

VERSE 1

I don’t need the police to tell me how to eat

If it’s a candy bar or a mountain of meat

Chewing on the treat with my mouth wide open

You can do nothing about it, just remain stoic

Will you make an arrest for the way I eat?

Surrender my ass to the nearest precinct?

Good luck finding a jury who gives a shit

Good luck finding a judge who cares just a bit

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

VERSE 2

I don’t need the law to tell me how to dress

I have no responsibilities or people to impress

Sweatpants and Pink Floyd shirts are my style

Take selfies and post them online for a while

Will you put cuffs on me for the way I dress?

Did you actually pass the fucking bar test?

Good luck finding a jury who’ll find me guilty

Good luck finding a judge with a heart so chilly

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

BRIDGE

This is America, not North Korea

This is free speech, not verbal diarrhea

This is free expression, not acting like a clown

This is America, not Putin’s hometown

VERSE 3

I’m not a member of the Washington Bar

But I know your case won’t go very far

Nothing illegal about chewing like a beast

Nothing immoral about sweatpants in the least

The case is closed, just like your mind

A not guilty verdict is what the jury finds

You wasted the taxpayers’ time and money

In the land of opportunity, milk, and honey

CHORUS

I’m an AmeriCAN, not an AmeriDON’T X4

Rhys Jambi

Pirate culture was something I wasn’t always emotionally invested in. Even after watching two movies from the Pirates of the Caribbean series and watching an anime called One Piece, I couldn’t get behind the culture. What finally changed my mind about it was joining a Good Reads group aptly called Weekly Short Story Contests and Company, which I’m still a proud member of. We posts stories and poems and get awesome feedback whether it’s in the form of praise or critique. But more importantly, this Good Reads group has a pirate motif. It’s not just an internet group; it’s a pirate ship complete with talking mice, roughhousing, and swashbuckling. God, I love the internet!

Which brings me to Rhys Jambi, who would have been lost in the dark recesses of my character archives if it wasn’t for me joining the WSS group and being influenced by piracy. Not much is known about Mr. Jambi except via a crappy drawing I did of him in 2006, a time when the men looked like sticks, the women looked like men, and neither of them had a lot of extraordinary details. Rhys didn’t have a story to be a part of, which is probably why he’s only known through that crappy drawing. From what anybody could gather, he had tall spiky hair, baggy pants, sandals, and a giant sword with a crescent hook at the end of it instead of a point, much like the one owned by Tidus from Final Fantasy X.

So now that Mr. Jambi is known only through the drawing, it’s time to give him a personality of some kind. The pirate is not an official Dungeons & Dragons class (at least according to 3.5 edition standards), but if it were, the characters who portrayed it could be any alignment it want as long as it was non-lawful. As it turns out, hostile takeovers of other people’s ships don’t constitute the behavior of people who obey the law. Isn’t that right, Captain Phillips? Okay, that was in poor taste, but you get the point, right?

Despite freely breaking the social contract, pirates can still be either good, evil, or neutral. Once a decision is made in that regard, there still needs to be a decision made whether Rhys Jambi will be chaotic or neutral. Since I only have a small space to make those decisions, I elect that he be a mixture of all those non-lawful alignments. He can rape and pillage one minute and save a kitten from a tree the next. If I’m going to have him undertake an ambiguous alignment like that, it means he can’t do something so horrible he crosses the Moral Event Horizon. Otherwise, Mr. Jambi won’t be believable. I could make him believable if I gave him Multiple Personality Disorder, but I feel like that would be exploiting people with mental illnesses.

Aside from what I’ve already said in this post, Rhys Jambi is a clean slate. I’m sure he’ll adapt comfortably to whatever role I assign him. What could possibly go wrong? It’s like hiring a guy with no job history but a reputable education. Yes, it’s true he’s never had a job before, but he’s young and a go-getter. Shouldn’t that be enough? It sounds like I’m trying to sell this talking point to a future employer, but that ship sailed when I terminated my contract with the Department of Vocational Rehab years ago. Wait a minute, did I just make a ship analogy in a blog post about a pirate? I swear that was an accident. However, if he’s going to be a chaotic pirate, he needs a ship.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Careful where you shoot, because you might hit what you aim for.”

-Linkin Park singing “Keys to the Kingdom”-