A Pilgrim’s Digression

Boy, 4, Is Found Alongside Beltway

[below are excerpts from the full story]

A Newport News woman, who police said abandoned her 4-year-old son on the shoulder of the Capital Beltway and then bumped him with her car as she drove off Tuesday night, was charged with felony child neglect and hit and run, Virginia State Police said.

“He was trying to get back in the vehicle when she struck him, and then she drove off,” Geller [State Police spokesperson] said.

Police are still investigating, but Sgt. C.F. Kincaid said the child explained that his mother was “upset with him.”

“He wasn’t sitting down [in the car] like he was supposed to,” he said.

Channoah Alece Green, 22, was arrested later that night about 90 miles away after she was involved in a two-car crash on Interstate 95 in Hanover County just north of Richmond, said Corinne Geller, a state police spokeswoman.

Carolyn Walker, 57, a neighbor of Green’s, also described the child as polite and talkative. “He is so sweet. He always comes right up to me. He’s a bright child,” she said.

Walker said she knew Green and her son only as passersby on the sidewalk in the same apartment complex, but their brief meetings were always pleasant. “She seems to have a wonderful family. She’s very nice,” Walker said.

Green could not be reached. The Hanover jail would not take messages, and her voice mail at a home number was full. The greeting on the voice mail was made by Green and her son, opening with the boy saying, “Praise the Lord,” and ending with mother and son urging callers to “have a blessed day.”

There was another recent story about child abuse that really sickened me, as well. Delaware woman accused of trying to kill her baby. I won’t quote any of that article; it’s too disturbing to me. I’ll let you read it on your own.

The author of the above article about the Munchausen Syndrome lady writes, “Neighbors are stunned. Friends don’t believe the charges.” Isn’t that always the way it is? Everyone who knew the person is “stunned.” Thus the Green woman who dumped her toddler on the beltway is described by a neighbor as “nice” and “pleasant” and as having “a wonderful family.”

Yeah, wonderful family. So wonderful, she shoved her toddler out of a car on the most congested highway in the United States, hit him with the car, and left him! Praise the Lord, and have a blessed day.

I am so ready for the end of summer. Last night about six, just as I was coming home from work, we had a summer thunderstorm move through the area wiping out power to portions of the District, Maryland, and Virginia. Our power was still out when I left for work this morning. I can’t remember the last time I spent a more miserable night of sleeplessness and sweating.

The storm hit as I was waiting for the bus at the Metro station. On the ride home, it was obvious that power was knocked out in some places but not others. It just happened that my street was one of those without power. The streets on either side of mine all had electricity; my street was dark.

All evening, I kept expecting the power to return at any moment. I waited until seven to eat a cold dinner. I watched episodes of the Simpsons on DVD on my iBook until the battery died around ten o’clock. Then I lay down on the loveseat to sleep. It was too hot to sleep upstairs in bed, so we just scattered around the downstairs wherever we could find a place near a window. Not a breath of air creeped in through the windows, however. It was an absolutely miserable night.

These power outages happen at least once, if not two or three times a year. The power was out in some areas last week as well, though we missed that one, fortunately. When hurricane Isabel struck back in 2003, there were portions of D.C. and its suburbs without power for a month or more. However, it doesn’t even take a hurricane to knock out power around here, as witnessed last night.

Having lived most of my life in rural areas, I don’t know if this normal for cities or not. Is it normal in urban areas for ordinary thunderstorms to knock out power for days at a time? Is it normal for some streets to have power while neighboring streets are without power? Why does it take so frigging long to restore the electricity?

After Isabel, people in the District were practically rioting in the streets because of the inadequate response from PepCo, the local power comany, and justifiably so. Everywhere I’ve ever lived, it is unheard of for electricty to be out for days at a time following ordinary thunderstorms. In my opinion, these power outages are a worse drawback to living in D.C. than the traffic and the crime.

Meanwhile, as I wait for power to be restored, I am also waiting anxiously for the end of summer. I am looking forward to those cool Fall days. Even a frigid November day is preferable to this heat. I really hate summer. I hate getting out of a cold shower feeling cool and refreshed, only to feel dirty and sweaty within minutes. I hate not feeling comfortable outdoors, even at five in the morning before the sun has risen. I hate riding the bus from Union Station to Capitol Hill because it is too hot to walk. I am hoping for an early Fall.

Incidentally, for those of you following news about the boy scout jamboree here in Northern Virginia, the heat is apparently too much for them, too. Hundreds of boy scouts fell ill yesterday as they waited in smothering heat for President Bush to speak at their jamboree. He never showed up.

Below is the family photo I’ve been promising to post. Don’t look at this picture while drinking coffee or you might have it coming out your nose when you burst into uncontrolled laughter; this is an embarassing picture. This picture is probably from either Spring 1982 when I was in second grade, or Fall 1982 when I was in third grade. Click on the picture for an enlargement, if you really want to treat your eyes to something utterly retro!

Feel free to mock us, if you wish. I’m going to engage in a little of that myself.

I wish I could go back in time and tell my Mom that even in 1982, her eyeglasses were out of style. And Dad, get a haircut. Shorter hair is always a good thing. As for myself, that belt and buckle would only look right on a Texas midget. If I recall correctly, the belt buckle had a tractor/trailer rig on it. A trucker uncle of mine gave it to me.

I have asked my Mom for a copy of the photo of me in my tee ball uniform. I’ll post that one as soon as I have it. I wish I’d had it to illustrate my memoir of tee ball.

A minor controversy has erupted here in Washington over statements made on Monday by an AM talk radio host that “Islam is a terror organization.” You may not have heard this story yet; I don’t believe it’s made the news anywhere but in Washington.

The host in question is a fellow on WMAL, Michael Graham. I don’t listen to his program, since it airs during the workday, so as my sources for this blog, I am using Graham’s blog and a Washington Post article, Muslims call comments by WMAL host “hate-filled.”
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I slept poorly last night, which is about par for the course. I turned out the light about eleven. I felt comfortable: the air conditioner was pumping out frigid air; I was covered with two blankets; I felt extremely tired—in fact, I’d nodded off on the bus ride home from work earlier in the evening. I expected a good sleep for a change.

I could not fall deeply asleep, however. Just as I’d begin to drift, I’d hear the sharp crack of balls on a pool table as someone made the break. The sound was a hallucination, but it sounded so real I would wake up with my heart pounding. Back to sleep: then CRACK! I felt a bit like Rip van Winkle, though instead of ghostly bowlers, I had ghostly pool players in my bedroom.

It did not help that before turning out the light, I had been listening to my iPod. After the crack of the balls had awakened me, and as I’d settle down again into my pillows, in my head was the refrain from the last song I had heard before turning out the light: “A hard rain’s a gonna fall.” Bob Dylan.

This went on until about three AM, the last time I looked at the clock. I finally slept for about two hours before the alarm went off. And I had a nightmare, an old one that I haven’t had probably since I was a teenager. I had the drowning dream.
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Since I have recently begun posting photos at flickr rather than on my blog, I have converted my long-disused photoblog into a film journal á la my pal Dhalgren’s film journal.

Often, I’ve wanted to comment on films I’ve watched, but I don’t want to feel obliged to offer a full review. A film journal should provide me the opportunity to make briefer, more off-the-cuff comments about my viewing habits.

The first film I write about is Million Dollar Baby, which I watched last night. I am planning on watching Hotel Rwanda tonight, but am not sure whether I’ll have anything to say about it.

Million Dollar Baby

I thought this film was every bit as good as the hype surrounding it. Eastwood and Freeman work well together, as first evidenced in another favorite film of mine, Unforgiven. The power of this film is in its naturalism. More often than not in life, things just don’t work out very well. While one can say that Maggie Fitzgerald did achieve her life’s goal, a director with less integrity than Eastwood would have softened the film by having Maggie survive or recover from her last fight; or at the very least, Eastwood would have reunited with his daughter in the end. Neither of these happy endings occur.

My only criticism of the film is in its portrayal of Maggie’s family as trailer park trash. Her mother, brother, and sister are pretty vicious stereotypes with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Eastwood is good at showing us deep, well-developed characters with both good and bad qualities. Maggie’s family are all bad, and (speaking from experience with trailer park folks here) not necessarily true to life.

I am also a bit uncomfortable with the portrayal of Blacks in this film. The Black fighters are portrayed as double-crossers and cheaters. Willie betrays Frankie by dumping him for another manager as soon as Frankie takes him all the way to the championship, and of course the fighter who fatally injures Maggie is a black woman whose fighting style is characterized by cheap shots and fierce brutality, as opposed to the very white Maggie’s pluck and innocence. In the scene in which Frankie negotiates for a championship bout between Maggie and the Blue Bear, as the Black female fighter is known, he asks for a 60% cut of the profits because Maggie will be the star attraction. The Bear expresses disdain at this comment; she is after all the Champion. Frankie says (paraphrasing), “Why would anyone want to watch a scabby German whore like you when they’ve got an underdog like Maggie to root for?”

Underoos

I have been busy tonight uploading some thirty pictures to my flickr site. Feel free to pay it a visit. Unfortunately, after I reached my upload limit, I came across this most funny picture of myself in the second grade circa September 1980. I uploaded it to my .Mac site until I can put it on flickr. I may try to find some more embarrassing pictures of myself and create a set of those at flickr.

I can’t recall the last time I had hair that fell over my forehead. As for the Robin underoos, well, I still wear those.

I do wonder what my Mom was thinking, sending me to school to have my picture taken in an underoos tee-shirt. Maybe she forgot that day was picture day.

But I look tanned and freckle-faced probably from another summer spent at the public pool. Ah, to be that healthy, happy, and cute again!

From the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 16, 2005. Tee Ball Coach Charged in Assault.

A Fayette County tee-ball coach was arraigned on felony charges yesterday that he bribed a 7-year-old player to throw a baseball at a mentally disabled teammate’s face to keep the boy out of a game.

State police said Mark Downs Jr., 27, of Dunbar, offered his star player $25 on June 27 to hit an 8-year-old autistic child with a baseball because he wanted to win the game.

I hope this bastard is assigned to one of those judges who enjoys thinking of creative punishments for petty criminals. What do you think would be an appropriate punishment? I’m thinking he should be used as a target during pitching practice.
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http://pdl.warnerbros.com…site/index.html

I surprise even myself when I write that the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie is better than the original, high praise considering how beloved is the original among adults of my generation.

I should quickly add that both films are good films. In the first half-hour or so, the more recent of the two films seemed like a mere updating of its predecessor, but as the movie progressed its differences made it stand out clearly from the 1971 version. Its differences are actually what make it superior.

Whether these differences are the result of Tim Burton sticking closely to the book, I don’t know; I haven’t read the book. I suspect that Burton does in fact stick close to the book, however, because the added depth is so reminiscent of Dahl’s work, in which parents are often seen as cruel or foreboding, or else dead and thus appropriate for idealization.
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