Melodrama

It is a tragedy that a young (local) man was killed in a knife fight last weekend. He, at age 18, was defending his 17-year-old girlfriend's honor with an alleged friend who had a grudge against the girlfriend's family, with whom he had previously resided. There had already been an altercation earlier in the evening, but the participants had returned to their respective residences. At 3:40 am, when most of us are sleeping, the victim and his girlfriend "took out the trash" and saw the alleged murderer just watching them. The tension escalated into a second fight between the two, with the victim handing over his knife to the girlfriend because he "didn't want to do anything stupid." The assailant, however, kept his knife and although the girlfriend asserts that her boyfriend flattened the guy in the fight, the knife found its way into the fight.

[The girlfriend] sat behind her boyfriend, trying to use her own body to stanch (sic) the bleeding on his back and holding his shirt against gaping wounds on his chest and abdomen.

“It was bleeding so much,” she said.

She called for an ambulance and tried to keep [the victim] still.

She remembers he told her, “If I die, I love you.”

“I said, ‘Don’t say that, you’re not going to die.'”

But [the victim's] eyes rolled back into his head.

“I cried, ‘David, David.’ I grabbed his face. He looked at me for a second and then his eyes rolled back in his head.”

The ambulance rushed the victim to the hospital, lights flashing and sirens blaring, in a valiant attempt to save his life; alas, he died in transit.

This is a scene from a TV soap opera, right? Actually, it's excerpts from the newspaper article published about the event in a local newspaper. That's right: this is what passes for journalism. It's not about reporting the 5 W's, but it is all about publishing the details of the he said/she said of every story, from the most trivial to the most important, sensationalizing a senseless murder to boost circulation.

Turning a tragedy into a soap opera benefits no one, but certainly reveals how callous we have become about broadcasting other people's business to further our own.

The newspaper took advantage of the 17-year-old girlfriend, a child who probably just wants the victim's life to be important and remembered. She doesn't realize that providing that kind of intimacy to the media may very well adversely affect the trial of the man accused of committing the crime, an assailant who swears he didn't stab his "friend." At the scene, while detectives interviewed witnesses, she said, [the assailant] continued to proclaim his innocence. “He said, ‘Tasha, you know me better than that.’”

She doesn't realize the implications of the event, much less her account of it, because she's a child who should have been home with her family, not in another state with her boyfriend, who carries a knife and believes that violence teaches respect. This is a tragedy, one of the many that occur daily in our neighborhoods, an event that deserves dignity, not melodramatic publicity in the local press.

The end of the article, however, is the saddest to me: During a telephone interview Monday afternoon, [the girlfriend] said she is still trying to understand the loss of “such a perfect boyfriend and a good guy.”

“Why do all the good people have to go?” she asked. “My mom said the good people have to die to go to heaven and watch over the rest of us.”

What a Soc!

At the mini-reunion, the comment was made that we were absent the high school soc's, the ones who had the social standing that made them stand out on campus. Today, I feel that I'm one of the soc's, whirling from hither to yon and enjoying every moment. Places to go, things to do, people to entertain.

This morning, a friend called to see if I was free for b'fast up the hill. She had a medical appointment in YV, so I drove that far to join her. We sat and talked, laughed, and got serious for about an hour and a half, long enough that I felt I needed to pay rent, rather than leave a measely tip.

Then a call came in from another friend who was coming down the hill with her friend and going to stop by on their way home, so I baked fresh cookies and ran the vacuum. Two dogs make a lot more hair mess than just one, but I usually wait until after Grady has been here Friday before running the vac. No can do when company's coming, and I threw in a quick wet mop of the tile floors, too (just in case there was dog drool or some other disgusting thing).

As they were getting ready to leave, my friend drove up because we were going out for Mexican food in PS at a really popular restaurant and wanted to beat the crowd already downtown for the weekly Street Fair. We met a third friend there and spent a good two hours socializing and talking about guys and future trips we want to take. All of a sudden it was after 7 pm and the line waiting to get in wound down the block, so we packed our left-overs and headed home.

Tomorrow, it's the weekly b'fast with the girls and then off to an early movie and a late lunch with my sister of my heart from up the hill.

Spring has sprung and it's time to be out and about, enjoying the weather, as well as the friendships that enrich my life. Nothing on tap for tomorrow evening, but it's early yet!

Pacific Sunset

It began as a spontaneous moment in time, when B made me an offer to which I said, "Yes, I'll do that," instead of "Let me talk myself out of it." Good decision!

Friday, after a short flight to Sacramento, B picked me up and we headed toward his little piece of a 6800 property Del Webb community that is designed to work within the natural environment that existed before the homes. I now understand why senior citizens like to live in these developments: it is cool. We also caught up on far too many years of "do you remember" before calling it a day as we had been buddies in high school and had lots of shared memories.

Saturday, we drove to Grass Valley and Nevada City, which I had not visited in probably 35 years (and didn't remember) and enjoyed seeing again. We had a Cornish pastie for lunch that was the most delicious pastie I've ever eaten. Returning to Lincoln, we sort of freshened up before driving to the mini-reunion, being held at another alum's home not 5 miles from B's home. B is the one who actually read the spreadsheet of grads put together by one of our more well-organized classmates, and he came up with a little group of alums all living in proximity. He contacted the one at whose home the reunion was held, and one of the girls in the class took it from there, contacting people in her area code and inviting them to a mini-reunion timed to coincide with my visit.

What fun! We knew each other better as the way we were, but went past that to learn about each other now. It was fun to see everyone grab for their glasses when they wanted to see the picture name tags we were given upon arrival. Looking at the yearbook was a whole lot more fun all these years later than it was when they were newly-issued. It was sad to see how many of our classmates are deceased, including one who passed away after the August reunion, where he reconnected with a gal he had known in high school and was beginning to date. For me, what made this time special was seeing two sisters who lived right up the street from me for many years, one of whom married a guy in my graduating class. The sisters looked so good -- and so much younger than any of the rest of us! The food was outstanding, the home of our classmate quite impressive, but the camaraderie was what kept us there.

Sunday morning, we drove to Petaluma to pick up B's female friend, and then headed toward Bodega Bay: mission Bodega Bay Sunset was offically underway. We checked in at the Bodega Bay Inn, an outstanding B&B that I will look forward to visiting again. We caught the blessing of the fishing fleet out in the Bay, and then went sightseeing up the coast. We drove all the way to the Timber Cove Inn, where we had a drink, and also stopped at Fort Ross for some photos. We found the perfect spot for watching the sunset, Goat Rock Bay, and spent over an hour waiting for the scheduled sunset at 6:26 pm, a target the sun missed by over an hour. I took many pictures, one of which is at the top of this blog. After a full day of fun, laughter, and sightseeing, we enjoyed a seafood dinner at Lucas Wharf before turning in for the night.

Monday, we headed back to Lincoln, depositing M at her home so she could get to work. After winding down a bit, we joined B's next-door neighbors for wine and laughter on their patio (where I took several pictures of their water feature, which I want in my backyard) before going to the nearby restaurant for a fish-fry dinner that was excellent.

Tuesday morning, I had to fly back home. As B drove toward the airport in the HOV lane, he suddenly had to apply the brakes and swerve to avoid a car stuck in the traffic jam that decided to take the HOV lane -- with an entry speed of about 10 mph. B used to be a pilot, and he narrowly avoided what could have been a really ugly high-speed wipe-out.

A short flight back home, a little afternoon nap, lots of dog-petting time, and then a good night's sleep have me back on my feet and raring to start grading those college essays that are due by Friday. God, I wish I were back in Bodega Bay ... .

Just Because You Can Does NOT Mean You Should

I read the local newspapers on-line, which is my way of saving trees. However, someone has created clever little live ads for the paper that annoy the hell out of me. This week, it's a colorful hummingbird that swoops and flutters its way all over the front page. If it did a short, simple little flight, I probably would ignore it, but this hummingbird does not stop until I physically click on the X for the ad box.

My students write blogs to help them develop ease of written communication in a non-graded setting. One student really went all out, adding her play list of favorite current music that blasts on when I open her page. Not only is the volume set way too high, but there is no X option for turning it off. Believe me, I read her blogs quickly and write a very short response.

Gmail reads my email and offers suggestions for products, other sites, and recipes that I might enjoy based on my content. This week, I received an offer that is hard to resist: gmail will now read my email and send a response to it so I don't have to do so myself! Wow. The computer program analyzes the way I usually respond myself and applies that style to their computer-generated response. They assure me that no one will be able to tell that I am not responding myself, but I'd like to hope that my people would know the difference.

I'll betcha that rather than worrying about all the students who buy the teacher editions of their textbooks on line so they can "earn" a better grade in my classes, I'm going to have to worry about computer-generated essays! After all, why should any student risk a bad grade on an essay if a computer can do it faster and better? Find some really great essays on-line, use them to set up the computer program to recognize that style as your own style, and type in the topic: voila! An instant A.

Yeah, just because you can does NOT mean you should, but I'll be willing to bet that the same people who use the teacher editions to enhance their course grades won't understand that ethical concept.

Workin' on My Laundry Hut

As I was driving up the hill today, I tuned in the C&W station because it comes in more clearly than other stations. Often, I sing along as I like most C&W and learn the lyrics by repetition. Today, however, I was stumped with a song because I couldn't figure out the reason behind the lyrics. A male vocalist crooned about how hard he's been working on his laundry hut, especially since his woman left him, and even though it's taken him more time than he thought it would, he knows that he'll mend it in the end.

Great, huh?

Suddenly, a bolt of lightening struck the Camry and I was back in Texas, recalling my confusion over what the heck a "nanothree" was and my abject embarrassment to realize it was my new area code! I finally caught on to "kin I hepya," but I'll be the first one to admit that took me many trips through the drive-in to translate that long-drawled-out Texas greeting.

I'm not sure what finally fired my synapses to the real point of today's haunting ballad, but I felt like an idiot when I realized he was "workin' on my lonely heart."

I laughed until I had to pee! I may be losing my sense of hearing, but thank God I still have my sense of humor.