Das Fed

On Monday, a client took a plea bargain at the last minute, relating to various drug and gun charges the U.S. Attorney's office had brought against him. My co-counsel and I are figuring that he's probably looking at between 25 and 30 years when he's sentenced. Now what might prompt a 30-year old man to take the all that time, rather than roll the dice at trial?

Well, early last week, the actual U.S. Attorney, i.e. the one appointed by the president, sent notice to my co-counsel that the government would be seeking a sentence enhancement in the case. If convicted, my client would be looking at a mandatory minimum of life. The reasoning offered was that the U.S. Attorney wanted to start sending a strong message to those who sold crack cocaine.

My client's black. I know a lot has been written about the race and class implications of the Federal Sentencing Guidelines when it comes to drugs, and I'm not even going to bother adding my redundant voice to that, except to say something even more worn. It's always difficult to actually witness an inequity about which one has spent considerable time studying and reading. So, as a way of therapy, I'm going to ask that anyone who has had a similar situation and feeling to the above, leave a comment. As my mom says, misery loves company.

Don't Pet Sweaty Things: Tom Snyder, 1935-2007

Radio and television personality Tom Snyder died of complications arising from his battle with leukemia Sunday, according to reports in Monday's news. Snyder is most remembered as the host of NBC's "The Tommorrow Show," which this writer is unfortunately too young to have viewed. Luckily, I did have the chance to see his return to television in 1995 when he began a few year stint as the host of the "The Late, Late Show," and instantly I was captured.

Snyder ran a show different from most on during those hours. There was no live studio audience. He would sit in front of a backdrop of Los Angeles and just talk to the camera, which would pan in so close that the viewer could clearly see Tom had been a smoker for quite a number of years. The discussion ranged from the news to the latest Hollywood gossip, from the earth-shattering to the trivial. But whatever it was, Snyder covered it in such a way that you felt as if you were having a conversation with your best friend. He was funy, serious, mischevious, intelligent, and just what a great entertainer should be.

What also set him apart from many of the monkeys on late night was that he could also fucking interview. What some (cough...Jay Leno...cough) don't understand is that in order to really make an interview worthwhile to watch is that you have to listen to the answers which come our of your subject's mouth. It sounds basic but so many people just don't do this. Fortunately, Snyder did. He also demonstrated his genius by having the person sit a couple of feet away with nothing in between them. The setting was certainly more intimate, and the results were terrific. His rewardwas to score some big ones: John Lennon, Charles Manson, and Johnny Rotten.

He didn't last long on national t.v. in the 1990's, just 3-4 years. His product was as distinctive as his laugh, but it was probably also his undoing. In a time where people want to think less and less about what they consume through their eyeballs, Snyder's show no doubt commanded too much from Joe Schmoe. Too bad. CBS replaced him with Craig Kilborn and a traditional late-night set. Blech. Oh well, maybe one of his old, smoldering butts will burn the place down.

"Fire up a colortini, sit back, relax, and watch the pictures, now, as they fly through the air."

Sunshine

In order to get away from everthing, I will often times go see a movie late at night and that's exactly what I did yesterday. I was struggling to find something until I saw that the new Danny Boyle picture had finally gotten here. With the exception of the god-awful adaptation of The Beach, I've really enjoyed Boyle's films: Millions, Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, and my personal favorite, 28 Days Later. (Hey, it's got zombies in it. What else do you expect me to say?) He has also exposed me to a couple of my favorite actors in Ewan McGregor and Cillian Murphy.

I was beginning to get excited, but also a little anxious, too. I knew that it was science fiction, and so often that can go terribly wrong. I was really hoping not to be disappointed. As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about.

The movie focuses on a group of astronauts who are trying to re-ignite the sun after some sort of scientific anomaly has caused it to lose energy. It has spectacular special effects, with Boyle affectly using the contrast between light and darkness. But it also largely character driven as well, with a surprising acting turn by Chris Evans, who up to this point I thought was simply capable of making smart-ass comments.

Additionally, the movie has all the essential elements of good sci-fi: a villian, cool technology, and smart action. Boyle's directing gets you to feel the right emotions at the right time. So, it's not only pretty to look at but smart as well.

He's able to accomplish this with the smart writing of Alex Garland. What his writer does is well is examine the issue of Atheism versus God in the face of a crisis. It's subtle, but adds a nice layer to what otherwise would have been a pretty good popcorn flick.

3/4.

The Lions' Roar

Too often it seems as if sports are defined by the worst of those who participate. Whether it is because of gambling addicts as referees, animal torturers as quaterbacks, or steroid monsters as 'legends,' it has been difficult to remember why fans treat their favorite athletes as heroes. Or better yet, why sports unite individuals in a way nothing else can.

Ever since I was a wee-thing, I have followed sports. One of my earliest memories is watching a Bear game with my dad at my great-grandfather's home when we were on leave, and him jamming a pennant into my hands after the Monsters of the Midway scored a touchdown. As I grew up, these type of moments are what kept my dad and I together, when many other things did not.

But on a much larger scale than father-son, there is also like nothing like walking into a football stadium or racetrack with 90,000 other people who are all there for the same thing. I have no problems going to events by myself. I know that it's always possible to turn to the person setting next to me and strike up a conversation that could last the whole game.

And why are people so willing to do so? Maybe it is because a game can make a person forget about how shitty their lives are. For a few hours, they can cheer, boo, celebrate and console with their best friends and total strangers. Their first worry is not how the bills are getting paid or when they are going to leave their FEMA trailer. Instead, it is simply whose going to score the touchdown to beat Ole Miss or USC.

***

In international soccer, the world is divided into varying regions. And during the summers in which a World Cup is not held, these regions have their own tournaments. This summer the Asia regional held theirs, and among the teams that participated was the Iraqi National Team.

Not much was expected from them, as Iraq does not have a rich history in international competition. The Middle East is often dominated by Saudi Arabia and Iran. But the team's make-up was an inspiration for a country bogged down in civil war. Shi'ites, Sunnis, Kurds and Christians were all represented. Just going there was a victory in itself.

But then something special started to happen. They won their group and advanced to the knock-out rounds. And earlier this week, they defeated a vaunted South Korean team on penalty kicks to move on to the finals.

Their opponent in the finals was Saudi Arabia. The Saudis, a three-time winner of the competition, are also a perennial World Cup qualifier. The Kingdom pumps a sizeable amount of money into the team and their investment more often than not pays off. So, many figured that today's result was over before the game even started.

Too bad those folk forgot that sometimes miracles actually do happen. The greatest moments in sports are when underdogs win. And today, the ultimate underdog did. In the 71st minute, Iraq's captain headed a ball into the back of the net and the team won 1-0.

The victory doesn't solve much on a political level. At least three members of the team have had relatives killed in the past two months. And the team wore black armbands in memory of the fifty people killed during the celebration of their win over the Koreans. But perhaps it does something even more important.

It shows the Iraqis that not everything they get their hopes up over turns to dust. These atheletes are not politicians, but they seemingly accomplished more in a few weeks than the new government has accomplished in 4+ years. They are good men who were able to put behind them whatever ethnic differences separate their countrymen in order to achieve a common goal. When was the last time you heard that phrase relating to a story coming out of Baghdad?

Duplicity

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Joyce Collins, 1929-2007

My grandmother was born on July 25, 1929 to Harry and Grace Boynton in the middle of the cornfields of Iowa. Those who know their history might recognize this was only a few months before the great stock market crash of the same year and the beginning of the Great Depression. As a result, when her brother, Jack, was born a couple of years later, the family had to make some rather difficult choices.

Joyce was sent to live with her Aunt Irene ("Gog") and Uncle ("Poppy") Harold. It is believed that Gog had up to twenty miscarriages during the course of her life and, in fact, had lost two sets of twins. Naturally, she was left without the ability to have children. Gog and Poppy took Joyce in and raised her as their own. Many, myself included, believe my grandmother got the better end of this deal than Jack who stayed with their natural parents. Gog and Poppy were extremely caring and nurturing individuals. And gave her the best life possible during this arduous time in American history.

***

In the early 1950's, Joyce met Dean Collins. They were married for approximately twenty-five years and had two children: Mike, my father, and Tracy, my aunt. Dean left her for what would become his second wife, and while my father was a grown man, Tracy was still a young girl. So, my grandmother became of one of the millions of single mothers during the middle of her life.

Up until July 15th of this year, Tracy had spent every day of her life, minus the occasional vacation and six week marriage, with Joyce. Knowing that life was tough enough for a self-described, "chubby teenage girl," Joyce spent every penny she made on Tracy. Accordingly, Tracy always had the best clothes, make-up, and music of any girl in her school. It was something she gladly did, because as grandma herself admitted, her daughter was the only reason she didn't kill herself after Dean left.

***

Joyce spent much of her life as a book-keeper. But as computers pushed out hand-written ledgers and adding machines, my grandmother decided it was time for career change. She became a in-home care-giver for the infirmed and elderly. By all accounts, this was a profession she should have picked up at early age because all of her clients loved her. Even as her life and health deteriorated, she kept working, giving selflessly when she should have been sipping pina colodas on a beach somewhere.

Part of the reason she never retired was because in 1999 she gained a client very close to her heart: Tracy. My aunt was diagnosed as having MS and my grandmother was the obvious choice to be her caregiver.

But Joyce also worked because she had no other choice. Like millions of Americans, my grandmother was consumed by debt, paying off credit cards with credit cards, taking out as many loans as possible, etc. She had to work to save herself and Tracy.

And never once did she complain or ask for help. In fact, I always got a birthday card with a check. She had survived Dean and she seemed bound and determined to get through this.

***

On July 15, 2007, Tracy called Joyce to check where she was. My grandmother replied that she was out running some errands for Tracy, but would be back in less than twenty minutes. Shortly thereafter, they said they loved each other and hung up.

The coroner believes that my grandmother had an aneurysm, causing her to slump over in her seat and hit a tree head-on with the car. Beginning last year, she started having mini-strokes. The doctors were unwilling to operate because of her age. So, it was thought her time might be limited, but no one expected this. She deserved better.

***

It was widely believed that she never loved again after Dean. But at her funeral, one of the mourners approached me, and identified herself as the daughter of a man I simply knew as Bud. He was ex-CIA, for real. The only thing anyone knew was that he was one of four men sent to the Phillippines in the 1960's, and he was the only one who returned alive. But Bud met my grandmother, long after this was past, and they developed a deep and meaningul friendship. Bud had numerous marriages, and whenever they broke-up, he turned to her.

Bud got cancer and passed away in July of last year. Everyone knew this. What no one knew was that he had asked Joyce to marry him two months prior to that. Her response: "You wouldn't marry me for all of these years, It's too late now." That was her.

***

For various reasons, I really didn't know my grandmother until college. But I loved her. And I hurt in a way now I never would have expected. Life will go on. It'll just be a little less complete.

"I don't think there's any point in being Irish if you don't know that the world is going to break your heart eventually."

--- Pat Moynihan, upon learning of JFK's death.