Maybe or Maybe Not

Maybe, or maybe not
Apr 30, 2006
by Paul Jacob ( bio archive contact )

A man's life hangs in the balance. Whose judgment do you trust, twelve duly appointed jurors or one lone blogger?

Normally, I'd say "the jury," but in the case of Cory Maye things may not be what they seem.

Cory Maye is a 25-year-old Mississippian on death row. He was convicted of murdering a police officer during a raid on his Prentiss, Mississippi duplex apartment in 2001. He pleaded self-defense, but the jury impounded for the case in neighboring Marion County didn't buy his plea, and the judge sent him away to be executed instead.

It's not certain he will die by lethal injection, though, since he is preparing to petition for a new trial. But it is certain that officer Ron W. Jones is dead. Though the officer wore a bulletproof vest, one of the three bullets that Maye fired in the dark hit below the vest; that bullet proved fatal.

Cory Maye has expressed his sorrow at the shooting, and his respect for the officer he shot. But he does not consider himself a murderer, and he feels the injustice. "We as citizens sit back and say well this would never happen to me," Cory wrote a supporter. "But truth be told it's happened before and if we don't take a stand it's gonna continue to happen."

Maye's prospect for a second trial is not the result of his own writing, however. Had not a certain blogger picked up the story and publicized the case, Maye would lack not only a Wikipedia entry, but any hope of exoneration. The blogger's name is Radley Balko, and his blog is The Agitator — which is certainly named in the blogosphere spirit. Before Balko's blogwork, Maye was just another black man on death row.

Now he's widely believed to be something more than that: another American victim of racism and outrageous abuse of police power.

Obviously, Balko's posts on The Agitator have agitated a significant portion of the blogosphere, with bloggers from across the political spectrum coming to Maye's side in the case.

Why?

Well, it's not just because Balko's no ordinary blogger, being an employee of the Cato Institute and a columnist for Fox News and all. Mainly it's because the facts almost scream out for themselves. The case has a distinct odor.

First, there's the issue of self-defense. According to Maye's testimony, he was awakened from sleep when someone burst into his apartment by forcing open the back door. Maye fired three times when that someone entered. Then he heard screams of "Police!" and laid down his gun.

At trial, the police said they had shouted their identity before entering. Also at trial, one officer admitted he couldn't hear much of anything that happened outside from inside the apartment.
It turns out that Mr. Maye wasn't even named on the warrant. His neighbor in the duplex, Jamie Smith, was. The police claim to have legally obtained permission to search both apartments, but since Maye wasn't named on the warrant it is obvious that the police work here was spotty at best. Maye was probably not even on the police's radar — he and his girlfriend and their daughter had moved in not long before. Since Smith had been captured before Officer Jones entered Maye's apartment, there's no reason to believe that Jones shouted anything — after all, the subject of the search warrant had already been nabbed. There's also reason to believe that Ron Jones entered Maye's apartment thinking it was an alternate door to Smith's; nighttime raids can be confusing.

Reviewing the case, I've little reason to doubt Maye's story. Awakened in the night by someone storming into your house, what would you do?

Of course Maye shot the intruder.

As is his right.

Police, when rushing into homes, take their lives into their own hands. No-knock raids are dramatic, and years of television shows portraying criminals rushing to flush drugs down toilets have prepared us to accept such horrendous erosion of civil liberties. One's home is supposed to be secure from such outrageous violence. That's one reason for constitutional protections against unreasonable search and seizure. And that's one reason we have a right to bear arms. But with the drug war, many Americans have come to accept, albeit reluctantly, quite a lot of reductions in their liberties. And quite a lot of violence.

Jones was the officer who got the original tip that one Jamie Smith was selling marijuana from his apartment. He handed over the tip to the narcotics squad, and was then let in on the bust. Unfortunately, he is unable to testify, so we cannot now clear up what he knew about Smith or what he suspected of the inhabitant of the other apartment in the duplex, if anything.

But, from police reports and testimony, Jamie Smith is said to have been found with a huge quantity of marijuana in his apartment (you can only flush so much — especially with these confounded low-flush toilets mandated by Congress).

But we also learn that Jamie Smith was never charged with this crime.
Further, Jamie Smith is nowhere to be found. He was not a witness in the trial. In fact, he's disappeared, and does not seem to be on any wanted list.

The odor you smell? Not burnt weed. That, friends, is the stench of a cover-up.

But the missing target of the original search is just the tip of the fiery cinder block. It gets worse. The original public defender, Rhonda Cooper, mounted a pathetic case. Several jurors interviewed afterwards admitted that dislike of Ms. Cooper's closing statement, with her use of a threat of hellfire, was a deciding factor in turning against Maye, as was their belief that Maye was "spoiled" by his mother and grandmother. Understandably, Maye's family fired Ms. Cooper.
Bob Evans, public defender for the town of Prentiss, was warned by town officials not to represent Maye in his appeal. Evans didn't obey, and he got fired . . . by the town. Evans relates that Mayor Charlie Dumas told him that representing Maye was the reason. Evans is now Maye's private attorney.

I don't have space to tell you how much weirder it gets, though in all honesty I should mention that while Maye himself had a clean rap sheet (free even of misdemeanor charges), the .38 he used had been reported as stolen a year earlier. He said a friend had given it to him.

The main point remains, however. Maye was not guilty of Smith's crimes. It's quite possible that he was guilty of nothing more than defending himself and his daughter.

So Maye looks innocent to Balko, and to bloggers across the Net.

But in Mississippi?

Well, Maye is a black man. Jones was a white officer. And Jones was also the son of Prentiss's chief of police.

The conclusions almost draw themselves.

Copyright © 2006 Paul Jacob

Maybe it's in their Contract?

From PopBitch:
Jessica and Ashlee Simpson stayed at the Hilton hotel in Sydney on their recent MTV-funded trip. The hotel has one of the city's best restaurants, the Glass Brasserie, run by one of Australia's top chefs, Luke Mangan. The sisters went for dinner there one night, but wouldn't eat anything on the delicious menu (steaks, oysters, baby barramundi, chocolate tart etc). So what are two spoiled, hungry celebrities to do? Well, you sit in the restaurant in silence, surrounded by four enormous bodyguards, and order in from Pizza Hut - a large pepperoni and double cheese.

I'm a picky eater even when I'm not watching my fat grams but I think I could manage to find something I could eat on the menu at the Glass Brasserie. They have steak, they surely have a side salad if calories are the issue (but with the selection of a Pepperoni/Double Cheese, I don't think so), and the kitchen would have surely preferred leaving icky stuff (mushrooms, etc.) off a diner's plate to having someone order in from Pizza Hut.

That's just tacky and rude and if you want take out pizza, eat it in your room.

Maturity

"Katie is a young girl's name. Her name is Kate now; she's a child-bearing woman."
- Tom Cruise on the new status of Kate Cruise

Threats or Honesty?

Is it a threat if you tell someone you'll leave them if they don't step up or is it an honest declaration of one's intentions? I guess it depends on whether you're saying it to manipulate or you're saying it to be clear about your requirements.

Diaper Duty

"I change diapers all the time. I have to tell you I love it"

Oh, you do not!! No sane person...never mind.

Hmmm....

So I have two choices: 240 hours of community service or 14 days in jail.

I think I'd be washing dishes at the old folks home or picking up trash by the highway but maybe Michelle Rodriguez is going for that Little Kim cred?

Or maybe it's just a good way to meet women?

Train Wrecks Again

{It's never him. He's fine. Whatever he does, from screaming at a woman in public to punching through a wall, is understandable, acceptable, and normal and anyone who objects is a crazy person who needs to be under a doctor's care. Welcome to AlecWorld}


April 26, 2006 -- EXCLUSIVE

AN ACCLAIMED New York theater actress has quit the Off-Broadway play "Entertaining Mr. Sloane," charging that the volatile behavior of the show's star - Alec Baldwin - has "created an unhealthy and oppressive situation" on stage and off.

Jan Maxwell, who won rave reviews for her performance in Joe Orton's black comedy, wrote in an e-mail to a friend that Baldwin's frequent temper tantrums - including putting his fist through a wall because the air conditioning wasn't high enough - also caused her to fear for her "physical safety, mental health and artistic integrity."


In an interview with The Post yesterday, Maxwell said that while Baldwin can be "very compelling, funny and enjoyable, when something clicks in him, I don't want to be around."
Baldwin, responding to Maxwell's charges, said the actress "has been unhappy" in the play from the beginning for reasons that "only Jan's doctor knows."

He said she never bothered to learn her lines correctly, complained about her role and was "indifferent at best" to the needs of the rest of the cast. In the play, Baldwin and Maxwell played a brother and sister who each fall in love with a young man renting a room in their house.

"For her to pin all that on me is unfair," Baldwin said. "You'd think she was on the payroll of my ex-wife's divorce lawyer, pushing every button you could find," he added, referring to his ugly divorce from actress Kim Basinger.

Maxwell says she began to fear for her safety a few weeks ago.

In the e-mail to her friend - cable talk-show host Stephen Holt - she wrote that Baldwin was "throwing things around with all of us cowering. I locked my dressing room, not knowing why he was going crazy. The reason? The air conditioning wasn't high enough."

Baldwin admits he punched the wall because of the air conditioning, but says, "I had told people I wanted the temperature of the theater set to my comfort level, because I was sweating profusely onstage. I had asked them several times, but they didn't do it. Maybe I should not have gotten that angry, but all that I ask for is what I need to do my job. This is not about getting M&Ms in my dressing room."

Baldwin says he apologized to Maxwell about the incident and, after she gave her notice, asked her not to leave.

But the tension between Maxwell and Baldwin reached a head onstage at last Sunday's performance. Baldwin, Maxwell claims, would not let her exit the stage the way she was directed.

She was supposed to slam the door, but Baldwin held the door so tight, she couldn't close it.

"He made a drastic change in the blocking," she said. "He was showing me the door, metaphorically. The stage management apologized to me about it later."

Baldwin said, "If, in one show out of the scores of shows we have done, I changed the blocking in some modest way that wasn't to Jan's liking, I sincerely apologize. But Jan never said the lines in the play as Orton wrote them, and it wasn't my inclination to tell The Post."

Maxwell insists she knew all her lines: "Did I ever make goofs onstage? Yes. Did Alec? Yes. That's just live theater."

Maxwell has been replaced by Barbara Sims.

michael.riedel@nypost.com

Just Once

I did my best

But I guess my best wasn't good enough

'Cause here we are back where we were before

Seems nothing ever changes

We're back to being strangers

Wondering if we oughta stay

Or head on out the door

Just once

can't we figure out what we keep doing wrong

Why we never last for very long

What are we doing wrong

Just once

can't we find a way to finally make it right

Make the magic last for more than just one night

If we could just get to it

I know we could break through it

I gave my all

But I think my all may have been too much

'Cause Lord knows we're not getting anywhere

Seems we're always blowing

whatever we got going

And seems at times with all we've got

We haven't got a prayer

I want to understand

Why it always come back to good-bye

Why can't we get ourselves in hand

And admit to one another

That we're no good with out the other

Take the best and make it better

Find a way to stay together

Just once

can't we find a way to finally make it right

Make the magic last for more than just one night

I know we can break through it

If we could just get to it

Just once

Promises. Promises

I promise myself I'm going to kick him, pull away, ignore him, distance myself, let go, move on, live through the hurt till it stops, walk away, focus on the negative till I can't see the positive anymore.

And then he needs me.

And there I am.

Public/Private

When you live with someone who yells, hits, screams, beats, and routinely threatens death, it's always...interesting...to be out in public and have an aquaintance tell you how wonderful the yeller, hitter, screamer, beater is.

What do you say to that? What do you say when someone says 'Your Daddy/Husband/Boyfriend is such a great guy! It must be so wonderful having them as a Father/Husband/Boyfriend!'

You could tell them the truth, but who really wants to hear that? You could agree with them, but that's a lie that sticks in the throat. You could laugh hysterically at the difference between their perception and your reality, but then they'll think you're crazy and go away feeling even more respect for your Father/Husband/Boyfriend for having to put up with you. Or, worst of all, you start to wonder if they're right, you're wrong, you really do live with a great guy, you're the problem.

The thing is abusers look normal. They're your minister, your doctor, your psychologist, your lawyer, your cop, your real estate guy. It would be easier if they all looked like future guests of the Jerry Springer Show, then you could avoid them.

You Sweet Talker You

Tuesday, April 19, 2005, 11:28 a.m.
Yeah, I just got Laura’s letter regarding everything, blah, blah blah, and I can’t get a hold of my lawyer so I thought I would try to call you directly. Um, it’s really f–king sad. It’s just sad and I am really angry and I don’t think it’s f–king fair, and I don’t know what you’re trying to do and I just, um, am so disappointed in you. I’m so disappointed. You’re such a f–king disappointment. You’re such a f–king asshole and if this time you want to f–king deal with each other, you know, you’re saying one thing and then you do the other and it’s just, you know, f–k you.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005, 12:46 p.m.
I guess I should just get used to the fact that you know you fire off your nonsense and your lawyer bulls–t and your f–king emails, and then you don’t answer the phone and, you know, you don’t have the f–king courage or the wherewithal to, like, confront me or deal with me or just be f–king honest and forthright. And I guess I just gotta stop being disappointed by that because that’s just who you are and what you do, and I guess once I accept that I won’t be frustrated by your chickens–t f–king behavior, so whatever. I’m just really f–king mad and you owe me a phone call. OK. ‘Cause, again, if I did the same s–t to you, you’d be f–king furious. All right, so whatever.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005, 1 p.m.
Yeah, I just got your other e-mail and I am a little confused because, ah, you told me that was something you only told a couple of people and this and that, and I just — again, you continue to be deceitful and mischievous and sneaky and you’re a f–king liar. OK. You’re a f–king liar so you know what it’s like. . . . F–k you. OK, I hope you rot in f–king hell. You’re a piece of s–t of s–t-f–king liar and I hope you f–king rot in hell. So f–k you. I hope I never f–king talk to you again, you f–king c–t. F–k you. You’re a coward and a liar and a f–king n-gger, all right. So f–k you.

Tuesday, April 19, 2006, 5:41 p.m.
You know, if you don’t have the balls or the courage to f–king call me back after you do your sniveling f–king bulls–t crap through your f–king sniveling bulls–t lawyer. Two pregnant c–ts like plotting against the rest of us. I just think it’s just f–king low you can’t even, like, return my f–king call. You know, it just says so much about you. It just says so much about who you are and I’m not surprised anymore. OK. So whatever. I hope I never talk to you again. You’re a f–king creep. F–k you.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005, 12:50 p.m.
You need to call me back. OK. I need to figure out when I am gonna see Sam. What’s going on there? You can’t do these things and then hide. OK. So I am going to meet my lawyer today and I’d like to talk to you ahead of time because there’s some things that you did that I need to know about to discuss, so the least you could do is give me the courtesy of a phone call and don’t be a f–king coward a–hole. If I was doing this to you, you’d be livid. OK. So I’m gonna start doing some s–t and you know, have fun getting a hold of me. OK. If this is how you want to play, fine. Call me.

Sociopaths

not learning from experience

no sense of responsibility

inability to form meaningful relationships

inability to control impulses

lack of moral sense

chronically antisocial behavior

no change in behavior after punishment

emotional immaturity

lack of guilt

self-centeredness

Who does this remind me of? Hmmmm?

Seriously, can Sociopaths form groups? When they find one another do they form units like the characters in Heathers, or the Huns?

Cyber Stalking

"You're harrassing and stalking me because you mentioned me on your My Space page...you know, the one you didn't tell me about...the one I did an Internet search to find...the one I read every day to see everything you say and do...the one I send comments about to my cohorts, I mean friends...the one I have bookmarked to my Favorite Places...that My Space page."

Tagging Along

{tagging along}
The feminists will not like you reading this book
{and I wasn't too impressed by your review either}
Apr 22, 2006
by Doug Giles


Carrie Lukas’ new book, The Politically Incorrect Guide to Women, Sex and Feminism, just dropped, and I predict that it will get all the feministas’ big panties in a major wad. {and you assume feminists have 'big' panties? Maybe they have skimpy panties? Maybe they go commando?} Carrie has done her homework in this easy to read, all bases covered, truly pro-women, hot and pithy tome; and you need to fear, lunatic liberal ladies {after all, one cannot be a liberal lady and not be a lunatic}, because she has facts that are going to challenge your fiction.

I’m sure right now all the anonymous Amazon.com book review attack weirdoes, who do not have a life and won’t actually read the book {oooh, he read a book!!} but feel compelled to write their inane and uninformed critiques, are queuing up to lay into Carrie {unlike you who condemns an entire class of society}. They’re sweating. And they need to sweat, because in this soon to be New York Times best seller, Mrs. Lukas shreds the lies which the female chauvinist pigs (FCP ) have sold our nation’s fair ladies—I’m talkin’ wood chipper style {you like the image of women in woodchippers, don't you, Doug?}. She shows the women who would be women the true identity of postmodern day feminists: misogynists with vaginas . . . womyn who not only hate men, but women also.

BTW . . . have you ever seen a feminist around a womanly woman and not one of her butch buddies who's sporting a Tim Allen haircut? (Question: If feminists and lesbians hate men like they do, why do they try to look like us?) They always have that tsk-tsk, you poor oppressed dupe look on their face . . . y’know, that furrowed brow stare that’s a combination of pity and derision. Anyway, back to Lukas’ book. {but...but I was learning so much about the requirements of being a real, womanly woman!!}

Another cool thing about The Politically Incorrect Guide to Women, Sex and Feminism is that it was a young, accomplished woman, who also happens to be a happy wife and mother, who penned this work of non-fiction. These are not the crayon scribblings of some repressed, backwoods, barefoot, unenlightened Ellie Mae Clampett {because it's not enough to insult women with short haircuts and feminists, Doug feels the need to insult rural people, southern people, and people who love The Beverly Hillbillies}, but rather a girl who got her bachelor’s at Princeton, her Masters at Harvard {and everyone who didn't attend an Ivy League school} and did it without drinking the lesbians’—I mean the feminists’—Kool Aid.

This book is going to liberate ladies to be ladies {because we're too stupid to have figured out how to do it on our own?}; and contrary to the propaganda belched forth via our universities and MSM {Think Doug's doing some belching his ownself}, there are a whole lot of lassies who:

1. Like being a woman, in a traditional sense. *I’ll take a Katharine McPhee over a Hillary any day.

2. Don’t think men are the enemy. {Seriously, what woman thinks men are the enemy? There are some insecure men who are convinced women view them as the enemy. Usually they are either desperately trying to find an excuse for why women don't like them.}

3. Like a guy to be a guy, i.e., masculine and not metrosexual. Men who don’t have a feminine side. A guy who hasn’t “learned to cry”. *I tried crying in front of my wife one time. It moved her for about twenty seconds. Then she told me to cut the crap and get my act together because she was not going to be married to a poodle. Yes, there are millions of girls who celebrate the difference! {Doug, if you were sobbing because a ballgame got rained out, you needed to man up. If you were crying because a family member died, you're married to a cold bitch}

4. (Believe it or not) Like men to the bread winners, who are intellectually robust and who can kick some punk’s butt if it needs kickin’. *The other day, me and a buddy of mine nearly opened up a big can a whup a** on a couple of guys who were making obscene gestures towards my wife and daughters. All my girls loved it, and my wife thanked me later. {maybe the important word here is 'nearly'? Women want to feel that they can be protected if necessary. They don't want to be married to a bully who goes around looking to pick fights}

5. Look to their husband’s to provide rather than looking to the feminists’sugar daddy, Uncle Sam.

6. Would like to see a return to chivalry and romance. Who like being courted, pursued, cherished and honored. Who like the guy to pick up the tab (every tab), open the door for them and are not suspicious of flowers and thoughtful gifts. {except for the very early days of the feminist movement, I've never heard of women being suspicious of those things...except when they come with an obvious price tag. Every woman with sense recognizes the 'I fucked up' bouquet and we aren't that thrilled by them. Men, however, love to blame feminism and their terror of hearinga discouraging word as an excuse for not doing something -- flowers, door opening -- that they never had any intention of doing in the first place}

7. Don’t want their vagina turned into a sexual turnstile. Who don’t want to be the village bicycle. Who see the benefits of serious sex verses casual sex. Who’re not buying the Paris Hilton/Courtney Love/Madonna whore thing. Who can be sexy without being a skank. Who like to retain their respect and power and require a man to show some commitment before he gets to run the bases. {Um, Doug...I thought all feminists were lesbians? Lesbians or the community dor handle? You gotta kinda pick one.}

8. Want to get married to a man versus a career. Who still believe that being married to the right guy is good for the soul, the body, the pocket book and their sex life no matter what pop culture and the FCP’s have tried to shame them in to believing.

9. Want to have a baby before half of their life is history. Who don’t want to be in diapers when their child is. *BTW girls, the longer you wait the more difficult it’s going to be to get pregnant. If you’re waiting strategically ‘til your mid 30’s–40’s well, uh . . . good luck.

10. When they have the baby, they actually want to raise it themselves instead of tossing it into day care or giving it to some nanny who shakes it like a maraca while you’re at work. *Speaking of babies being pro-life is not being anti-woman.

11. Don’t feel like they must vote for a woman just because she’s a woman.

12. Don’t believe being a woman makes them a victim.

I could go on and on singing the praises of this tour de force. This book is destined to do damage to 21st century feminism . . . major, irreparable damage to the likes of NOW, FCP professors and their parrots whose rhetoric and recipes have wrecked the lives of so many, many women around the world.

Do yourself a favor, women who would be women: buy it, read it, get freed by it and then let your voice be heard, girl friend.

{You know, it might be a great book but ol Doug doesn't make me want to rush out and buy it}

Boundaries

Over lunch I hear a story about a family we know. The single mother gave her now teenaged daughter the larger bedroom when they moved into the house a few years ago. Not a choice I would have made but hey....

So the years pass, the mother starts dating and wants to have a sleepover with the new boyfriend and she tells her daughter she needs the big bedroom since she has company and the daughter needs to stay in Mom's room for the night while Mom and (married) boyfriend stay in daughter's room.

Eeeeeeew!

Just Eeeeeew!

If I had sex in Zelda's bed she'd want to burn the mattress. Parents don't need to be having sex in their kid's beds. Kid's don't need to be having sex on their parent's beds. Maybe I'm being a prude...no I'm not...everybody came have as much sex as they want...just respect each others space and privacy...at least enough that you don't announce your intentions to have red hot monkey sex and you need extra room to do it to your child. In the bed they sleep in.

How's The World Treating You?

I've had nothing but sorrow

Since you said we were through

There's no hope for tomorrow

How's the world treating you

Every sweet thing that matters

Has been broken in two

All my dreams have been shattered

How's the world treating you

Got no plans for next Sunday

Got no plans for today

Every day is blue Monday

Every day you're away

Tho' our pathways have parted

To your memory I'm true

Guess I'll stay broken hearted

How's the world treating you

Do you wonder about me

Like I'm hoping you do

Are you lonesome without me

Have you found someone new

Are you burning and yearning

Do you ever get blue

Do you think of returning

How's the world treating you

(Louvin)

Gossip 2026

PAGE SIX 2026
A FRIGHTENING LOOK INTO OUR FUTURE

Newsletters
April 20, 2006 --

Wedding is a Suri thing

The long-feuding Cruise and Shields clans made peace this weekend with the surprise wedding of Suri Cruise and Grier Shields Henchy, who both turned 20 yesterday. The lavish lesbian ceremony was held on the grounds of John Travolta's Battlefield Earth Theme Park (formerly St. Patrick's Cathedral). But our spy, Webster Hall archeologist Baird Jones Jr., offered an exclusive account of the nuptials officiated by Pope Bono.

The brides wore matching white Wal-Mart Wang gowns trailed by 20-foot trains carried by miniature Chihuahuas, all descendants of Tinkerbell Hilton.

They exchanged rings - gifts from Oprah Winfrey, Omega Thetan IV, the peacemaker who brought Suri's dad, Tom Cruise, and Grier's mom, Brooke Shields, together to bury the hatchet in a very special "Oprah" Super Bowl LIX halftime show - the highest-rated program ever.

The happy couple met in a Beverly Hills prison, after Grier was arrested for peddling anti-depressants. Suri was in the next cell, recovering from an overdose of Zoloft. Two days later, Suri was trampolining on couches at the "Late Nights with Lindsay and Dina Lohan" show.

Tom Cruise said the wedding was "extraordinary!" "Amazing!" "She's an extraordinary woman!" and "Xenu-rific!" Katie Holmes was silent, as she has been for the past two decades.

Guests were disappointed, however, when the placenta puffs were gobbled up by an out-of control and uninvited Kirstie Alley (star of the reality hit "Nearly Dead From Advance Complications due to Type II Diabetes Actress"). Two paparazzi were killed by surface-to-air missiles (legal under Patriot Act 79) when their jetpacks drifted too close to the proceedings.

Cruise-Henchy sold the exclusive photo rights to Jill Johnson, 12, who leads the MySpace rankings with 92 million friends. "This rulz, LOL!" Jill wrote.


Cruise-Henchy will honeymoon at Brokeback Mountain National Park, formerly Wyoming.

Sightings

CALL him a cougar hunter - Kal-el Cage leaving Sen. Tara Reid's party boat in the wee hours of the morning ... Rocco Ritchie and Sean Preston Spears Federline do their mamas proud by locking lips at MTV's 45th annual Video Music Awards ... At least a dozen of the confirmed 15 Jolie-Pitt children were seen buying 100 appetizers from '21' Club and giving them to the homeless, who, unaccustomed to the richness of foie gras poppers, mostly threw them right back up.

Just asking

WHICH aging lothario rates Apple Martin a "5," Lourdes Ciccone a "7" and Moses Martin a "9"? Naughty. . . WHAT pouty-lipped celebrity offspring is renouncing her American citizenship to run for president of Namibia? . . . WHICH poptart spawn was arrested for driving without a seatbelt for the third time this month? "Mom never strapped me in to car seats or high chairs, so I guess I just never got in the habit," he told our spy.

Isn't he Love-ly?

PROPS to Lawrence Cobain- he might only be 6, but he's sharp as a tack. When his granny Courtney Love lost consciousness at her Chelsea loft on Tuesday, the quick- thinking youngster - who's staying with Love while mom Frances Bean is honeymooning on the Icelandic Riviera with new hubby Wilmer Valderrama - calmly dialed 911 and administered CPR while waiting for an ambulance to arrive. Then, as she was being loaded in to a stretcher, the modest tyke delicately covered his granny's exposed bosom with a blanket. "You'd almost think he's done this before," said one impressed paramedic.

Parisopolous now

Paris Hilton III, grandaughter of the original post-millennial celubu-tard, was seen canoodling with Martian shipping heir Spiros Kyripoulos at the exclusive club Pancake in the Siliconpacking District.

"He's so hot," said Hilton Sr., back in the news because of her "One Night in Uranus" sex tape.

"And Mars is so hot. The lava. It burns."

Hilton Sr. arrived with the newly refriended Nicole Richie, now just a feeble 32-pound head and the new face of Loréal.

The two are starring on "The Severely Simple Life of the Clinically Brain Dead 27," where they have to follow shiny objects with their eyes. The objects also make noises.

Richie really did look fantastic.

Hilton III glided in on her Maybach Segway and stayed only long enough to exchange smooches with the space-hunk before she had to catch a shuttle to Jayoncé's Sweet 16.

Our spy reports that daddy Z will be performing for his booty-ful daughter - coming out of retirement for the 17th time this year.

Red-faced Barron

RIGHT after being told "you're fired" by Sunglass Hut, Barron Trump's aggressive courtship of Violet Affleck screeched to a halt when the well-coiffed kid's AMEX card got shredded at Bungalow 12.

Apparently the elder Trump hadn't told his heir that he'd mortgaged Barron's entire portfolio and tapped out his son's credit to make payroll at the Taj, the fading Trump empire's sole real estate holding.

Donald, meanwhile, eagerly awaits the birth of his ninth child, Jesus Christ, by the loins of his Pakistani supermodel wife. His previous wife, Melania, was rendered immobile by a severely incapacitating Botox accident. Doctors say she swallowed yesterday - a good sign.

We hear...

THAT Jennifer Aniston insists she really is fine, definitely hopes to start a family this year ... THAT Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen will enter their junior year at NYU in the fall ... THAT Derek Jeter IX, clone shortstop, making out with Miss Intergalactic after the Philadelphia Yankees' win over the Mexico City Marlins . . . THAT writers Raakhee Mirchandani, Eric Torbenson, Chris Erikson, Michael Kane, Mandy Stadtmiller, Maureen Callahan, Billy Heller and comedians Susie Felber, William K. Scurry III, Christian Finnegan, Andy Borowitz, Anthony DeVito and Leslie Gold put this page together.

Getting Too Old For This

The big problem with plans, dreams, fantasies too long delayed is that at some point you get too old for this shit. Swinging? Sex Clubs? Vacations at exotic nude beaches? Sounds like fun but do you really need to be doing that when you're 85?

Addicted to Pain

Do humans become addicted to pain? Physical pain, of a certain sort, when you get used to it is hard to do without. Isn't it even harder to give up the addiction to emotional pain?

Blink

Whoever talks first loses.

Is silence one of the oldest tactics (games?) in the book? Probably. Shortly after people started to grunt, they started to understand the power of refusing to speak. Lips sealed tightly, head averted so even a nonverbal signal is denied, words pinging through the mind and not being allowed out through the clenched jaw.

Whoever caves first cares most, wants more, needs more, is weaker, more vulnerable, has less power, or maybe is just admitting their fault.

Spring

Green...fresh...hot...sunny...bright...new

New starts, new directions, new people, new ways, new days ahead.

The Upside of Anger

How freeing it must be to openly express anger...throw something...yell...spit...say the angry words that women so often...turn inside...repress...don't express..repress...deny

Flight 93

So we're all settled in for the 'Pre-Show Entertainment'. That's become a routine part of our moviegoing experience. We do the Kiosk Shuffle where Brick and I move in our established pattern: step forward with debit and moviewatcher card, step back as Brick steps forward to catch the printed stubs. We've done the Concession tag-team: he takes and butters the popcorn, I take the change and diet Coke. It's time to count the amount of commercials that will be disguised as enjoyment for the whole family.

Movietickets.com: check. Featurette on The DaVinci Code: check. Extended commercial meant to convince that time is being wasted at the theater when you should be home watching TNT: check. Flight 93: I didn't sign on for this.

It's one thing to choose to go to a movie. I don't think anything should be banned. I just don't want to be forced to go. Y'all want to see Rocky XXII, Bitches and Hos, Dead Teenager Movie? Have fun. Don't save a seat for me.

It's another to have a long, and excruciatingly smarmy, commercial thrown at you out of nowhere. To sum up the commercial: Ok, we know none of y'all want to see this movie. But you have to because that's what the grieving families want you to do. Look at all these grieving family members who want you to see our movie!

If this is what they consider sensitive and caring marketing, I don't even want to see what they can do with two hours of film. And if you're dragging out relatives, couldn't you have found more sympathetic ones than a brother (is it a ne'er do well and no one else in the family would get near this thing?) and a widow who appears to have been 30 years younger than her late husband?

I considered walking out of the room while the thing was playing but I hate it when people condemn something they've never seen (listen to a description of what happens in Brokeback Mountain by someone who has never seen it but their Preacher told them about it sometime). So I watched the whole thing and I now have the right to condemn it just as loud and long as I want to.

The people who made this thing may be perfectly lovely people. It may be a wonderful film. The filmakers may be sensitive and caring and unfortunately saddled with a gawdawful advertising department. I don't care. I'm not going to see it.

Black Comedy Ain't for Everybody

I love black comedies. There's something about acknowledging the foibles of human beings and finding the humor in it that I find irresistible.

People do stupid things. We're greedy, hypocritical, flawed, silly, illogical, selfish, and foolish and that's amusing to me. Maybe it's that you have to either laugh or cry?

Deeper Secrets

Sometimes the 'secrets' on postsecret just raise a bunch of questions.

Why is this woman (man?) not the girlfriend? If it's a man that's a simple, and more complicated, answer. But, if it's a woman, is she in a relationship and the guy is her side thing? Is she not pretty enough to be the girlfriend but pretty enough for a Buddy? Why has she stayed with the guy through at least two girlfriends? Doesn't want him full-time? Isn't wanted full-time? Doesn't believe in full-time?

Whatever the reasons, I don't think it's something I'd brag about.

The Evils of Polygamy

on the next Geraldo.

How many times has he been married? And was he faithful to any of them? But he's going to get on his sanctimonious high horse and educate America about how evil polygamy is.

Because it's supposed to be one man and one woman till death does them part forever and ever, amen.

Just like Geraldo.

The Right Guy

Everyone has deal breakers. The trick is knowing which ones are yours and which are the ones society says you should have.

A sports fan is a deal breaker for me. I can picture few things more boring than a man who would willingly arrange his schedule around his team(s) of choice. I don't want a guy who loses his mind to March Madness, hibernates during Bowl Season, or owns a block of cheese to wear on his head.

It's not that I hate sports. I can spend an occasional afternoon vegging out to baseball or hockey if I have nothing better to do. It's the mindset that there is nothing better to do that I can't handle.

I Don't Hit Women

There are guys out there that bombastically declare they don't hit women. They may push them, shove them, grab them, all to the point of leaving bruises. They may scream at them, call them vicious names, go at them verbally for hours, taking them apart word by word. But none of that counts because they didn't hit.

I'd rather take the slap, or the punch. I'd prefer a man that hits. It would have to be better than a weasel of a bully who doesn't even have the balls to throw the punch and take the consequences. Because as long as he doesn't hit, he lies to himself and everyone he can get to listen that it doesn't count. It was just wrastlin, things just got out of hand, everyone says things they regret. It's not like he hit her or something.

Here We Go Again

Here we go again

She's back in town again

I'll take her back again

One more time

Here we go again

The phone will ring again

I'll be her fool again

One more time

I've been there before

And I'll try it again

But any fool knows

That there's no way to win

Here we go again

She'll break my heart again

I'll play the part again

One more time

Thank Heaven

when little girls get bigger they leave their bedrooms behind

All Mine

Mine..my home....my way...my keys...no one enters unless I want them to...my dream

Anatomy of Dysfunction

Occasionally I think every problem I have with Brick is my fault. If I were more open, caring, loving, understanding, forgiving, smarter, better, prettier, everything would be okay. If I could just say the right things, do the right things, react the right ways, we could have a good life together.

And then he says or does something that makes it clear it's not all my fault. And I'm hurt once again because along with the rejection I feel the pain of being a fool.

But I finally realized why I keep doing this. If it's all my fault, it's mine to fix. It's fixable. All I have to do is discover the correct method and the problem solved.

Instead of being locked in a dance to the death with a large part of the problem who has no desire to change.

Regret

I should be crying, but I just can't let it show.

I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking

Of all the things we should've said,

That were never said.

All the things we should've done,

That we never did.

All the things that you needed from me.

All the things that you wanted for me.

All the things that I should've given,

But I didn't.

Oh, darling, make it go away.

Just make it go away now.

Thousands of Kisses

I have wasted thousands and thousands of kisses on you - kisses that I thought were special because of your lips and your smile and all your color and life. I used to think that was the real you, when you smiled. But now I know you don't mean any of it. Shame on me for kissing you with my eyes closed so tight.

The more I need you...

the less I'll say

I'm not a woman that begs when she wants a man. In fact the more I want him the less likely I am to beg. Whistle past the graveyard, that's me.

Since I also don't chase men I have no interest in, it can get a little confusing. I know the difference, but if I'm lucky and do it well, no one else can tell.

Have I lost good men I care about because of stiff-necked pride? Probably. But the only person I have to live with is me and I'll take myself prickly and prideful over cloying and clinging any day.

Welcome to the 21st Century

Maybe BellSouth is too busy merging, reforming, and advertising services that are not available in most of the areas where they’re being advertised, but it would be nice if they could find the time to establish an automatic payment system. You know, one of those things that actually works 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I opened my BellSouth bill last night and realized I had let things go too long. I lost track of time. I have become dependent on them calling me each month when I would happily pay my phone bill, grateful for the reminder that it was that time again. Guess I missed the call this month because I realized last night that I now owed two months for the phone and needed to pay it right away.

Only it was after 7 PM and the offices were closed.

So, first thing this morning I knew I had to call and make a payment cause BellSouth does not play. Unfortunately it’s now 5 AM, I have no phone, and the office doesn’t open till 8. Evidently the only thing they manage to do in the middle of the night is turn phones off, not accept payments to keep them on.

It’s time to rethink that cable internet/phone service option.

Health on Hiatus

It's a pain trying to prepare and eat healthy meals when Brick is on the night shift.

That is such a rationalization. It would be just as easy to pop a Lean Cuisine into the microwave as it is to make most of the things I'm eating these days. I'm using the night shift and the crazy hours as an excuse to eat what I darn well want to.

It doesn't help that Brick is a lot happier when I'm eating junk and lots of it. I've tried to figure out what's up with that over the years but, since he's not talking, I've never really nailed it down.

So I'm trying to maintain as much as I can till this is over by eating badly only once a day and trying to eat well the rest.

She'll always answer 'Yes'

At least that's what the ad I heard on the radio the other day said. 'Women always say 'yes'. They all want to get married.'

So Brick laughs as the words 'No, Hell, no! We don't 'all' say 'yes!' come from my side of the car.

"You're still saying no." he said.

He has a point about that.

All women don't want to be married. For me it's nothing personal. It has to do with the institution of marriage. I don't think marriage, as it exists in our society, works. I don't feel comfortable dedicating my life to something that is destined to fail.

Even at my most twitterpated, I would probably answer a question like 'Will you marry me?' with a desperate glance for an exit, a cold sweat, upset stomach, and the conditions of counseling and a 500 point premarital agreement.

I don't do committment well.

Maybe I would be better if I saw people going into marriages that I thought had a chance in Hell of succeeding. I see people who, when you mention the 60% divorce rate, blissfully state 'Oh that won't be us. We loooove each other.' Wonder how many of the 60% said the same thing?

One couple I know, I swear they're only getting married because he's terrified of breaking up with her. She has this tendency to stalk and he probably wants to protect his bunny. Everyone that knows them is starting a pool on how long after the ceremony the breakup will occur. They may make the MM2 nuptials look like a blessed, long-term union. I have 4 months in the pool but I figure it will take the Groom that long to arrange his new name and Social Security Number (gotta love government bureaucracy)

Help Women With Men Who Won't Commit

How about by telling them to run? Run fast. Don't look back. Don't turn around.

If a person doesn't want to commit, that's telling you something. All the manipulation, finagling, bargaining, and begging may get them to the altar but does that make for a good marriage?

The 8 Year Old Preacher

Children say they want to do all sorts of things. Should responsible adults let them?

I've always wondered about parents who put their kids on the stage or on TV, and now I wonder about the woman who put her grandson in the pulpit, and on the Today show, as an 8 year old minister.

Their explanation (excuse?) is invariably 'But he/she wants to be an actor/singer/beauty pageant contestant. It's all them, not me. The child insisted. I'm just going along with them. They wouldn't have it any other way.'

How did the child become the person who set the family agenda? Kids want to be all sorts of things. They want to be firemen, cowboys, and astronauts. They want to be President. I have somehow missed departments hiring mini-hose draggers, third graders leaving school to go riding and roping, and children on space missions. And last time I checked there was still an age requirement to be President.

We tell our kids they have to wait till they're grown to achieve their goals all the time. We tell them because it's dangerous, because they need more maturity, because they aren't ready to set their life path when they're too young to make a contract.

Unless it's something that will draw attention, wealth, power, or success to the parent. Then it's okay.

Endorphin Overdose

What is it about good sex that makes a woman so...agreeable?

Bad sex? I clean a closet. No sex? I'm too cranky to be around. But good sex? I find myself piable, relaxed, smiling, and too blissed out to move.

It's kind of cold....too much trouble to get the covers. I need to be somewhere....it will wait. The dog wants to go out...okay, so the dog waits for no one.

So as I lay there, with my brain being the only thing that moves, I realize most of the trouble I get into happens at moments like this.

I'm usually pissed off at you...suddenly that seems unimportant. This was a bad idea...oh well, we all do stupid things. You suggest we try something reckless, dangerous, and irresponsible...why not?

Please, Lord, WHY?

Paula Abdul Tells Police She Was Assaulted

LOS ANGELES — Police are investigating a report by "American Idol" judge Paula Abdul that a man assaulted her at a private party over the weekend.

On Tuesday, Abdul filed a report at the Hollywood station claiming she had been a victim of battery about 1 a.m. Sunday, police Lt. Paul Vernon said Thursday.

Paula Abdul arrives for the 48th Annual Grammy Awards in this Feb. 8, 2006, file photo in Los Angeles. Police are investigating a report by Abdul that a man assaulted her at a private party over the weekend.

"According to Abdul, the man at the party argued with her, grabbed her by the arm and threw her against a wall," Vernon said. "She said she had sustained a concussion and spinal injuries."

Abdul provided police with the name of the man, but Vernon withheld it pending further investigation. The man had not been charged, Vernon said.

Abdul's publicist Michelle Bega declined to comment. The incident was first reported by Us Weekly.

Abdul, who shares judging duties on Fox's hit talent show with Simon Cowell and Randy Jackson, appeared as scheduled on this week's "American Idol."

Last week, she signed a deal to remain on the show for another three years.

Damn Few Left

JONESBORO

Mae, 95, and Charlie Smith, 96, married for 76 years
By HOLLY CRENSHAW
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 04/07/06

The secret to the long, happy marriage of Charlie B. Smith and Mae M. Smith: She led the way and he quietly followed.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith of Jonesboro were married 76 years and died one day apart at Henry Medical Center. Fittingly, she went first.


When Charlie and Mae Smith celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary in 1955, they were relative newlyweds. They met in 1930 as employees at Sears on Ponce de Leon Avenue.


Mrs. Smith, 95, died Saturday of congestive heart failure and Mr. Smith, 96, died Sunday of complications from pneumonia. The bodies were cremated. Memorial service plans will be announced. Cremation Society of Georgia is in charge of arrangements.

"He was in one room and Mom was right across the hall, and Dad was expected to die by Saturday morning," said their son, Charlie W. Smith Sr. of Griffin. "But my mom was going to take the lead in everything, and she died Saturday morning.

"We figure she was up in heaven trying to arrange the place the way she wanted it before he got there. You'd have to have known her."

The Smiths met when they were working at the former Sears, Roebuck & Co. on Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta and married in 1930.

Mr. Smith, an Atlanta native, spent 20 years as an Atlanta firefighter based out of the No. 19 station in Virginia-Highland and retired in 1965.

Mrs. Smith, who was born near Athens, channeled her outgoing personality into telephone survey work, door-to-door census taking and volunteering at her polling center, where she'd chat up voters who knew her so well they'd bring her sausage biscuits.

The dynamo earned her GED in her 60s, then took up her husband's passion for golf when she was 75.

The couple moved to Villa Rica around 1974 and threw themselves into their mutual obsession with gardening. Mrs. Smith turned their yard into a showcase for her flowers while Mr. Smith tended his vegetables.

"It seemed to me that she was always telling him what to do and that he ignored her," said their former neighbor Betty Ganka of Villa Rica. "But to stay together more than 75 years, they must have had something going."

Their daughter, Marjorie S. Orr of Stockbridge, said, "Somebody asked Daddy one time how their marriage lasted so long, and he said, 'Because I stayed outside and kept my mouth shut.' But they really did a lot of things together."

The Smiths nurtured their own interests — she liked to crochet, sew and organize neighborhood potluck suppers, and he was a talented handyman — but they shared a love of deep-sea fishing and travel.

Occasionally, their daughter said, Mr. Smith admitted he was happy to stay home with his tabby cat, Jerry. Mostly, though, he joined his wife on marathon cross-country treks.

"My mother could tell you every place they stopped, every penny they spent, exactly how many miles they went — she had it down," their son said. "She had a fantastic memory for details, where he was a typical man. He didn't give a damn about where he was going."

The couple, who moved to Jonesboro five years ago to be near their daughter, drove into their 90s and still lived independently. They were hospitalized a few days before their deaths.

When Mrs. Smith died Saturday, their daughter gently broke the news to Mr. Smith.
"I told him to go on, that Mother was gone, and kind of released him," she said. "He was semiconscious so I can't say for sure that he heard me, but I hope he did."

After he died, a nurse at the hospital told her, "He acted like a true Southern gentleman. He let the lady go first."

Survivors include three grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

What was I thinking?!

I decided this would be a good day to track down every CD in the house and cars and figure out exactly what I had. Why do I always forget that once I start something I never want to stop until it's completely done?

Which is why, since I had everything out, it made perfect sense to me to go through all the CDs and make mix versions of all the scattered songs I never listen to because they're buried in the piles of songs I don't like. It made sense to take all the Sinatra, Bennett, Feinstein, et. al. and make a couple of standards discs, and to take all the assorted R&B and Soul and put them together. It does make sense. Really. There aren't any stations here that play them, I haven't caved and gotten sat radio for the car yet. I'm tired of the same thing all the time. And, they're all out. Why put them all up again thinking 'One of these days I have to get those down and make a few mix CDs.'

Here's the problem: it's three o'clock and I've been working on this for hours, I'm still surrounded by stacks of CDs, and the first mix isn't done yet. This is starting to look like a four day job, I only have till 4 o'clock and I can't think of a logical stopping place.

And I think I need a few more CD holders to put this in an order that makes sense. I should have done something easy like clean all the closets.

Seriously....

Why bother filing for divorce three months after the wedding? You fight, you make up, you still live together, why not just keep it private and go to marriage counseling instead of filing official papers that aren't going to change anything substantive and tell everybody your business?

Unless y'all are looking for a reason to have a third wedding?

Just Tell Me What You Want

but you need to realize there is a cost. There is no Superwoman. There are trade offs in life.

You want a woman with a fabulous body? Then you need to adjust your diet to faciliate that, adjust your schedule to accomodate the time the woman will need for working out and general maintenance, allocate enough money for any necessary plastic surgery to achieve your desired goal, and consider forgoing children. Those may be costs you're willing to pay but don't think you're going to have a mother of six who works a 40 hour week and keeps a spotless house. She may exist but she's either genetically blessed, a nervous breakdown looking for a place to happen, or both.

There's nothing wrong with getting what you want. Just realize you can't have it all

Open Water

"You wanted to go diving."

"It's your fault we wandered off."

"It's your fault we missed the boat."

"If it wasn't for your job we wouldn't even be on this vacation."

"I wanted to go skiing!"

Because, when you're facing imminent death, it's a great time to attack each other.

Seriously, don't we always want to find someone to blame, who's at fault? It's as if having someone to pin the responsibility on makes the universe safe. It's not that random, terrible, awful things just happen. Someone caused it.

Stupid Things....

I actually heard today....



"You should give me bail. Just because I killed two people and shot a one year old baby is no reason to believe I'm a danger to anyone."

"We're going to put up the Ten Commandments because we're not going to keep backing down from these people."....these people being the Constitution and the Supreme Court of the United States

"I can't believe a double murder happened in my neighborhood." after the third double murder of the year.

"Even if we revoke your employment contract, you still have to come to work."

"It's okay to assault and possibly kill a person who says things that upset people."

"Just because I'm insulting you by comparing you to someone that doesn't mean it's an insult to the person I compared you to."

"First the baby, then the film. Then, in summer, we want to get married. I won't let this woman get away.""

The Quarter Million Dollar Trailer Park

So I have two choices...I can have a modest home on a large piece of land, a few trees, some privacy, maybe a small lake, room for my dog to run, or...I get a plat of land, build the largest house allowed by the Zoning commision cheek to jowl with a bunch of other houses that are as large as the Zoning commision will allow. The few trees left in the neighborhood are in the area that's too rough to be developed so it's the designed wildlife area required by law. If one house catches fire, the whole block will go. You can hear everything your neighbors say and they can hear you. You spend a quarter million for your McMansion and your living conditions are fundamentally the same as a trailer park. You just have more square footage to show for your larger mortgage and tax payments.

I'll take the ranch house on 10 acres, please.

So....

Jesse Helms has been diagnosed with Dementia. So does that explain the last 45 years?

Nothing's Impossible

Why not polygamy?

Mandy Patinkin would have had one woman to take care of his home and children and one to discuss the Torah. Barbra would have had someone to take care of the household duties she had not talent for or interest in. Amy Irving would have had two scholars to tend to (more people to care for being a good thing for people-pleasers). They all cared for one another. They respected one another (except for Mandy's chauvinism issues). If nothing is impossible (a recurring theme of the movie), why not?

Emergency!

I needed to reach Brick today and the only way I could do it was by calling a neighbor and having her go to the house and wake him up. I'm listening on the phone and hear her say 'Brick, it's an emergency.'

'Emergency' must mean something very different to my neighbor. At our house it's not a word to be used lightly. 'Emergency' means a trip to the Emergency Room or a Life Flight. Someone has been shot, stabbed, or in a critical car accident. Anything short of that only qualifies as 'important', 'very important', or 'extremely important'.

So today was probably a 'very important', I had to reach him, I needed his help, and I needed it quick, but I could tell it took a couple of years off his life before he got to the phone to hear my first words 'I'm okay'.