I mean this with 100% sincerity: if you want to put a smile on my face and make me instantly happier, no matter the situation, just show me an Alex Rodriguez home run.

Busy day today. My daughter's 2nd birthday party, followed by a family BBQ and then a bit of a mess after that. All in all, a great day.

Family Movie Night . . . in 3D!

Wow. A busy, busy day today, one almost solely devoted to family. I hope to post about it soon, but in the meantime . .

A couple weeks back Lisa surprised the kids by buying a copy of Coraline on DVD; the 2D version on one side of the disc, 3D on the other. If you remember I took YaYa to see it on the 21st of March. Based on a book by Neil Gaiman, it's a good movie, if a trifle slow. It's certainly impressive to the eye, especially in the 3D version.

We made a movie night of it, complete with popcorn, pizza, salad and the mandatory 3D glasses. Note the Ronald McDonald teeny-Beanie Baby near Smiley. The kids are going nuts for those Happy Meal toys right now.

Match Game: No Blonde Jokes Please (even if warranted)

In honor of Ginger's birthday, here's a Match Game contestant whose real name is Ginger - and her answers are so bad she dang near stops the show in its tracks. What's scary is that the second half of the clip is her in the bonus round, meaning she won her game. Who the heck was her opponent?

Happy 2nd Birthday Ginger!

Today is the 2nd, joyous birthday of the one and only Feral Child, aka Lump aka Baby, better known online as Ginger Slap.



May she enjoy this day, and another hundred birthdays in the years to come!

Another (?) cat, and a link to a column

Make that three cats, a turtle, a frog, and two fish. My wife's Aunt is in a nursing home recovering from an illness, and so we've agreed to watch her cat (our old cat Gizmo) for a few weeks.

* * * *

Anyway, here's a link to a column I wrote for the Journal-Sentinel last week. It's on gay marriage, and so will no doubt pi** someone off. So be it. I have no hate in my heart - but the same doesn't appear to be the case for some folks on the other side of the issue.

I'd kept it on the hush-hush rather than risk an argument at work, as I try not to sh*t where I eat. But tonight the cat was let out of the bag and a (civil) debate occurred with a transgender co-worker, so I guess there's no longer a reason to keep mum.

"Circumventing the Electorate"

As always, columns read better in the format they were designed for, the printed page (they really do, it's odd). In this case my picture and column were plop in the center of the page, next to a large graphic, so it was kind of hard to miss.

In response I got a few letters of agreement, some that were against my view but civil, and some absolute crap. I received two pieces I'd describe as hate mail: one today that called me names and wished me ill, and another last week that called me names and then oddly, given that it was in opposition to my views, ended with links to gay porn. I suppose that last bit was sent to scare my "phobic" self. What an as*hole.

Anyhow, I hope you at least find it readable.

Just got a charming piece of hate mail on my gmail account. For all their talk about peace and love and brotherhood, I notice the whackjob left - note I said whackjob left, not "everyone on the left" - are prone to calling you names and wishing you dead at the drop of a hat. 

A frog, a turtle, two cats, four kids . . .

Today was a productive day off, and a productive day usually means a good day for me. This one certainly fit the bill.

For starters, Lisa and I got to sleep in an hour. It was at the cost of the kitchen being trashed by the kids, but it was well worth it. Then, with my nephew watching the baby (he returned home from Cape Cod in the evening and crashed on my couch) the rest of us piled in the van and went birthday shopping for Ginger. All of us except YaYa I mean, as she stayed at my parent's place overnight.

Toys R Us was a little depressing. The kids were just overwhelmed by the store.. It wasn't "Ooooh, I want this!" it was "Ooooh, I didn't know they made dolls named Barbie. Are they new to the market?"

I guess I should take them out more often.

At Wal-Mart we replaced YaYa's dear departed fish with a Beta. She had requested a "Blue one with a shredded tail" i.e. a blue male crowntail, and we picked it up for her.

After a few more stops I dropped the family off at home and took LuLu to the doctor. She's been waking up at night with horrible coughing fits and wheezing, and since a co-worker of mine was officially a victim of the swine-flu, I just wanted to play hypochondriac parent.

The verdict? No swine flu, but she may have asthma. They prescribed an inhaler and mask and want to see her again to (hopefully) elminate it as a true cause of the persistent cough. It seems to have helped tonight, as she appears to be resting comfortably. She's been having such a rough time sleeping that the bags under her eyes could double as canvas totes.

Immediately afterwards I took her to the DMV, where I renewed Lisa's plates and got a new license, the old one having been lost when Ginger dumped out my wallet once upon a time. While we were waiting a little girl approached Lu.

"How old are you?"

"Six"

"I'm five. I think your dress is very pretty. Where did you buy it?"

"My grandma [Scor] made it for me."

and a new, if temporary friendship was born. I did notice that the girl later said something in glorious recognition of the President's birthday. Yikes. Indoctrination begins young I guess.

So I got my picture taken and immediately complained. A mere three DL photos ago I took the Best. Picture. Ever. and this time around I look like I posed nude. Their lights washed out my tan tshirt leaving me to appear as if I'm nude from at least the belt up. Lu started giggling the first time she saw it. Ugh.

Then we picked up YaYa and my sister, ran a few errands on their behalf, and dropped back off before returning home for a full chicken and stuffing dinner.

When that was done LuLu and Smiley joined me in a run to pick up a Preston/Child book I'd saw at a thrift store (one that didn't accept credit, and I had no cash), and then we went back to Wal-Mart.

I bought LuLu a goldfish to fill a spare bowl we had at home, and I bought Smiley a dwarf African frog. At Christmas last we'd bought him a Diego! frog habitat, but he ripped it open and lost the order form for the frog. We figured this was about the only way to make good on the gift, so a frog - excuse me, his name is "oggy" - was brought home.

Total cost for these three animals and appropriate food was under $20, and most of that went towards the Beta I felt obliged to replace (after all, YaYa had bought her fish out of her own pocket, and it was killed on our watch).

So now our home features two cats, four kids, a turtle, a frog, and two fish. And a lot of fruit flies in the kitchen, but they don't count.

One we returned home, got the animals set up, gave LuLu her medicine, and put them to bed I took my nephew to the local Budget show to see a movie "Drag Me to Hell". $3.75 for two tickets. Not bad.

So there you have it. A long day, no doubt boring to you, but productive.

To me, it felt like a great day indeed.

A milestone for Ginger

This morning, a little after 10:30, Ginger peed in the toilet for the first time. Celebrations throughout the Slapinions household have begun, tempered by the fact that there will be 80 more accidents before she's adequately trained.

*And she still threw her diaper overnight, which means we'll have to start putting them on backwards at night so she can't reach the tabs.

X Files: I want to Believe

I jumped off the X-Files bandwagon long before it ground to a halt, convinced that the story lines were never going to be resolved to my satisfaction. I still don't know if they were, and I don't care. Even so I knew I wanted to see this film.

It's a good film, well written and well acted, as you'd expect. I don't think the subject or the action required a movie screen's possibilities, nor did it live up to them, but it was great to see Mulder and Scully together again.

The film concerns the disappearance of women in West Virginia. A convicted pedophile priest is allegedly having 'visions' that can help the case. Knowing his track history with the X-Files, the FBI recruits Scully (now a private doctor) to help bring the maverick Mulder back into the fold and recover the victims.

The movie, start to finish, is about redemption. For the priest, for Mulder, for Scully, and for a TV show that seemed to forget about its fans and limp away into oblivion.

Much has been written about the Mulder-Scully romance in the film, and here's my two cents: I thought it was very warm, loving, sincere, and natural. This is no one-night stand or Romeo and Juliet. They are two adults who have been friends for decades, who know each other's every thought, who stand isolated from the mainstream of human life, and who care very deeply for each other. I applaud their love, and the casual way the filmmakers carry it off. Good for them.

For fans 3.0 out of 4. For non-fans, maybe a 2.5 out of 4

Ginger is a (fish) killer

Sad news to report: on my way to bed I checked on YaYa's fish and found him belly up. Either the experience earlier tonight was too much for Duke, or the tap water in the emergency dish we used (while I was cleaning the bowl) did the trick. He was such a sturdy, proud little thing too.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Rest in peace little guy.

My wish list and an unusual Craiglist ad

Aside from my adventures with the Ginger yesterday, I spent a good part of the day trying to track down some misc. items we need around the house. Chief among these would be a good paying job, but I digress.

My wish list for the house:

1. a new dehumidifier for the basement. The motor runs fine on the old one, but it no longer draws water, even after I cleaned the coils and filter.

2. a portable dishwasher to replace the one that went kaput early this year (we almost had one free today via Craigslist, but it was scooped up before we got there). Our intention remains to hold off on buying one until we can have the kitchen remodelled and a built-in installed, but I'm being realistic here - washing dishes by hand SUCKS, and it'll be awhile before we have that kind of money again.

3. a new power drill. My current model doesn't have enough muscle, and it doesn't hold a charge long enough.

4. Intercoms - Hey, you try yelling for the kids when you're washing clothes in the basement and they're up on the second floor.

5. Patio chairs and umbrella

6. A new twin bed for Smiley. Lisa's hinting she'd like a race car bed for him, but I'm more traditional.

For myself, I'm also looking for any Douglas Preston/Lincoln Child novels on the cheap.

Things that exist and are in our possesion, but are MIA in the house:

1. Lisa's mother necklace

2. YaYa's professional 1st Communion Shots and CD

3. a copy of the interviews I did w/ Uncle Leo and Grandpa K.

4. My degree and transcript from UWM

5. Probably 10,000 other items I can't think of right now.

* * * *

If you have any of the items on the wish list for sale, or gathering mold in your basement, drop me a line. Otherwise I'll peruse rummage sales and Craigslist until we hit gold.

Oh, speaking of Craigslist, I thought this was a peach of an ad in the 'Free' section today (WARNING: MILD ADULT CONTENT)


Sybian Device (Milwaukee)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: 2009-08-02, 9:52AM CDT
Reply to: ______@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My ex-wife left behind this Sybian device and I have no need for it. I guess she spent over $1,000 on it so I hate to just throw it away. I put it out by the garbage in the alley in the 3400 block of N Dousman.

Please dont email me. I don't want people to know who I am. It's still out there.

* * * *



Now quite aside from the general ickiness of picking up and reusing toys from someone else's garbage, I thought this reeked of either a rude joke against the residents, or some kind of sick con. But the ad went unaltered by Craigslist all day, so no one flagged it as fraud.

My big question: if you care enough to spend a grand on the thing, why wouldn't you have taken it when you left?

Toddlers, well, sometimes they just plain suck

It is disturbing how acclimated I am to digging my hands in poo.

Ginger is in the beginning stages of potty-training and is justifiably fascinated by the toilet. When you are watching that means she will sit on it and *try* to go, and/or flush it and wave bye-bye.

If you take your eyes off her, she will dump everything in reach into the water. I have reached in and recovered necklaces, aquarium rocks, plain ol' rocks, toys, socks, toilet paper rolls, hair bands, and much, much more from the toilet. And yes, once or twice she did this, no one caught her, and then a kid 'did their business' and yelled for me to remove the items when the water was already . . . used.

Whatever. It's still got to be more sanitary than the grunge apparel I wore in college.

And - for those without kids or a meager one or two to worry about - I'm not about to 'lock' the toilet, or child-proof it, or any such thing. I'd rather auger out a toilet anyday than deal with one of the older kids wetting the floor because they couldn't get the lock off. And who are we kidding? At 3 a.m I'd be the one pi**ing on the floor.

What's worse is that she now removes her diaper at will. An hour ago, with YaYa and Smily out of the house visiting Grandma, I went up to clean Ginger's room and recover the latest round of 'missing' diapers. I found them alright, tucked behind the crib, alongside the dress-up box, etc. Nasty.

Anyhow, while I'm cleaning her room she waddles out and down the hall. Five minutes pass. That's it. Five minutes. I get set to go downstairs and just happen to see Ginger in YaYa's room.

Then I saw the fish bowl. Or what's was left of it.

She had dumped pencils, two NEW bottles of fish food, a necklace, a coloring book, and a bunch of junk into the bowl. It was so full of debris most of the water had been forced out onto the desk and floor, and there was no room for the fish to live -absolutely no chance it had survived.

And yet, in a tiny pocket of water in the corner, it calmly treaded water.

I yelled for LuLu, pretty dang sure she wouldn't answer. She'd been a pain in the keister in the half-hour before, and I was certain she'd interpret my cries as a continuation of my lectures. I was wrong. "What's wrong Daddy!?" she said, and quickly ran off to grab a temporary bowl.

Here I sit, ten minutes later, the bowl clean and the fish restored, hoping the trauma wasn't enough to kill off YaYa's pet.

"If it dies," LuLu said, matter-of-factly, "YaYa's gonna kill us both."

"Yes, honey," I said. "I'm aware of that."


* * * *

One more compliment to LuLu. Yesterday she dutifully reported that the stand-up freezer in the basement had been left open and that it didn't seem to be working.

Before I'd left for work that morning I'd sent one of our friend Chris' kids down there to put something away, so it had been ajar for ten hours or so. The light *was* burnt out, some items were defrosted, and the unit (which was my Grandma's, and conservatively 30 years old) had been working overtime so long it wasn't running very well.

It's fine now, but if LuLu had kept quiet . . .oh man.

Later, she also came up to me and told me I'd left the van lights on. Score two saves for LuLu.

And today she recovered a pair of new sunglasses of mine that Ginger had walked away with yesterday.

She is, without question, our resident "Finder".

A Fire Sale at the MJS

What's up with the fire sale at the Journal Sentinel? First Tim Cuprisin said goodbye, then I hear the theater critic is gone, and now the book editor wrote her farewell address. What's the rationale behind all this - more than pure $ I mean?

A piece of slightly Kloss eyed genius

Growing up, a lot of kids look up to sports stars and musicians. While I certainly had my favorites (Paul Molitor, James Lofton) I also had a more peculiar idol: Milwaukee Journal writer Gerald Kloss.

Kloss wrote a column called Slightly Kloss Eyed for the Green Sheet, the afternoon paper's weekday comics and humor section. I had the pleasure of seeing him in person (although we weren't introduced) during a tour of the company in the mid '80's.

Anyhow, I came across this today and thought it was worth a repeat here. In January 1974 a city of Milwaukee standpipe, a vertical pipe meant to guide water to the upper floor of a building, leaked during a fire.

"The great standpipe scandal was upon us. The city desk couldn't have been happier.

So many standpipe stories ran in the next weeks that a couple of office wags put together a list assigning fake standpipe stories to everyone in the newsroom, from the sob sister to the music critic. . .

Gerald Kloss, the Green Sheet poet, strolled in that morning and stopped at the bulletin board where, mildly amused, he read the list of assignments. Then he came to his own: "Eighteen lines of iambic pentameter couplets on standpipes beginning `Ah, Chloe.' "

He turned on his heels and strode to his typewriter. In less than an hour, 18 lines of perfectly scanned, iambic pentameter couplets were on the bulletin board. They began:

Ah, Chloe, erst I saw you standing there

Upon that naked shore, pristine and bare,

I fondly mused, "There is, indeed, a verity

In this, your very perpendicularity!

Standpipe-straight, not veering from the vertical,

Nor leaning left nor right en mode absurdical!"

The rest of the staff, some of whom had difficulty writing prose, to say nothing of poetry, gathered at the bulletin board in humbled silence, much like the awe with which the crowd must have greeted events at Lourdes. One suspects that if Kloss talked in his sleep, it came mumbling out as rhymed couplets. He couldn't help it.

He was a genius."

Kinky Boots and Pong

I first laid eyes on this LOL British news piece courtesy of Matt on Facebook. In it a professional engineer designs and builds new uses for outdated technology, including the doo-dad in the title.

Enjoy!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/8175612.stm

James Larsson likes to play '70s video game Pong with a fetish boot as a
controller and a whip to punish the loser.
It is just one of his novel ways
he makes use of old technology.
He has shown Ellie Gibson around his
workshop where he incorporates high voltage electricity, old video games and
even cats, into inventions reviving defunct technology.
These experiments
have been conducted by a professional engineer and should not be recreated.

Pretty Please

I will give you one, no TWO, scooby-snacks if you are willing to do my dishes before Lisa returns home with the kids. Ok . . three?? Anyone???

Just a bunch of praise for me . . you know, the usual

Over on Facebook I bit*ed and moaned about accepting a writing assignment from the Journal, one I think is going to land me more hate mail than a low paying freelance gig is worth. I did it anyway, partly because I said I would , but also because the editor sent out a mass email saying I was tackling the subject, making the hemming and hawing a moot point:) I have to admit it spawned a whole batch of emotions in me.

One, a tinge of regret at being rather mercenary. Not that I would ever write in complete opposition to my beliefs for the sake of a few bucks. I stayed 'true' and all that. But I didn't relish the idea of dealing with the crap upon publication, and I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't so broke. Plus, I'll be honest. I live and die by the immortal words of Tom McIntyre, Joey Mac's Dad: "Make sure they always know your name boy!" I wasn't about to turn down another byline.

I was also rather proud of myself. I took a gig no one else wanted, did it well, and had a final draft in with about 18 hours to spare before deadline. Plus, doing it while expecting flack - I don't know, I felt professional, you know?

* * * *

Well, wasn't that a fine three paragraphs? My arm hurts from patting myself on the back so hard. I much prefer when others offer the praise, and so I'll bring this up:

In the wake of my piece on kids and the choices we've taken away from them, a local high school summer class was told to read the column and compose an individual email to me. Along with some intelligent questions and opinions, here's what they had to say.

* For one, your writing style is not only fresh and clean, but sarcastic and sassy.

* I agree with you on "injury-proofing" kids these days . . . Also, you look similar to Mr. Wilson, the sixth grade English teacher.

* I agree with you [about] the fact kids should be able to make their own decisions, because otherwise they will never end up learning. I like your to-the point style of writing which involves a sassy tone. It shows that something needs to be done about this ever growing problem.

I wrote each of them a letter addressing their concerns and thanking them - and their teacher - for the letters.

Praise for the wife, dirty slivers, and dead Congressmen

Lisa has spent all week volunteering at a Girl Scout day camp with our three oldest kids (Smiley is allowed to participate because of her presence). She returns each evening, we all have dinner, pack up some items for the next morning, and then 5/6th of this household retires to bed by 7 p.m. Obviously, I'm the little sliver of insomnia in the bunch.

Lisa will be taking the camera tomorrow so I hope to post some pictures of the camp soon . But I want to take this opportunity to say that Lisa often gets screwed here on the blog. She doesn't like to take a camera along ("You don't need pictures to remember something," she says) and she doesn't blog, so by default most of the memories here are my own.

Judging by the tales told over the dinner table tonight, those three kids are having the time of their life this week. They've also got a heap experiences over the last seven years that wouldn't have taken place without their Mom's efforts. So if this carnival ride of a life sometimes appears to have only one operator, think again.

* * * *
That sliver underneath my fingernail caused my finger to turn red and swell. Lisa told me to go to the doctor before I had to have it cut off, but I refused. "Worse comes to worse," I said. "I'll just look like a yakuza."

Then, two days ago it just spit out the splinter. Plop, one minute it's red and hurting, the next there's a dirty piece of wood in my palm and the pain is gone.

Cool. In like, a totally boy kinda way.

* * * * *
Some neat experiences of late:


* I met the wife and daughter of one of author Michael Connelly's research staff. He lives locally, but does a lot of legwork to flesh out the background for Connelly's novels. They said the author is a gem and a genuinely nice man, one who flies out his researchers for a party at the start of every NFL season. He also named a character in The Brass Verdict after their husband/father, but for the life of me the name escapes me right now.

* I ran into the editor-at-large for two national magazines (and yes, I asked: the magazines aren't hiring, they're cutting staff).

* Finally, I bumped into the daughter of former Congressman and local icon, the late Clement J. Zablocki. I told her how, just weeks before his death in 1983, I appeared on stage with her father.

I was (or so the press was told) the youngest Cub Scout in the District at that moment. Whether that was true or not, I leave to my diligent future biographers.

Anyhow, I was handed a hatchet and charged with cutting the ribbon to open some now forgotten Scouting event. I couldn't get the hatchet to cut through all the way, and so Clem came up, wrapped his hands around the handle, and together we got it done.



His daughter smiled when I told her the story. "That was my father," she said, a wistful look in her eyes. "He was a good man."

As she left I realized that the memory meant more to her than it did to me. To have someone relate a positive story about your father nearly three decades after he passes away . . . well, I'd imagine it doesn't happen often. I'm glad I overcame my original hesitation and approached her.

BTW - that scouting event was also host to my first television interview, one I never had a chance to see because it was broadcast on that fancy dancy new thing called Cable. :)

Double Star by Robert Heinlien

One of these days I need to check out some later Heinlein, circa the 1980's, just to see what it's like, because the old stuff is going to make me cry - and not tears of joy.

Double Star is the Hugo Award winning novel about a kidnapped politician of the far future who is temporarily replaced by a down and out actor. That's pretty much the plot right there.

It's not a bad read, and I enjoyed 70% of it while I read it, but Hugo Award winning??? Was every other writer on vacation that year or what?

Here's the deal. Forget the slightly dated sci-fi concepts, as that's unavoidable. I don't deduct points for that. However, I found the main character of the actor a pompous, unloveable twit that needed a good wallop between the eyes.

I also found Heinlein's treatment of women ghastly outdated and hypocritical. It's weird - the guy has women in positions of power or responsibiltiy, and then he has them act like Victorian women suffering from the vapors.

The secretary is in love with her boss (natch! How come that never happened to me?) Throughout the book sexism reigns. Oh nellie, don't you dare use improper language around a lady and please sir - ignore her s-s-s-stammer whenever she's upset. Why, can't you see her lips are quivering from the emotional toll of being an adult? It's not her fault she doesn't have a penis.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

Drafted

The Journal is asking me to write a column that I'm sure would lead to (more) hate mail and serious flack. Hell, I got hate mail when I wrote about SNOW. They asked for volunteers, and when no one raised their hand she wrote me and asked if I'd please di it .    .

Nevermind.

Well, the Journal settled matters. The editor sent out a mass email announcing I'd been assigned the column before I even said yes. yee-haw. Great.Nevermore.

Update: For all my b*tching and moaning, the column poured out onto the page easy-peezy, and it's already in the editor's mailbox. So what to do with the rest of the night . . .

is home from camp and kids are clean and in bed, and I'm EXHAUSTED! - Lisa

A New Favorite Doctor

I've said before that David Tennant was in grave danger of passing Jon Pertwee as my favorite Doctor ever, and now I think it's official. Plus, after seeing the two part "Human Nature", I think I now have a new favorite episode, possibly the first that I'll ever force Lisa to sit down and watch. Best. Sci-Fi. Series. Ever.

ps. Martha Jones aka Freema Agyman . . . my word.

William Tell visits Russia's Got Talent

What a sad testament it is to human nature that I LMAO when I saw this. I have to think this is fake, although the judges of "Russia's Got Talent" certainly don't seem to be in on it. Again, I "think" it's fake, but I have no proof to dispute the folks online who are calling it 100% real.




UPDATE: I can't stop giggling each time I see it. I am a bad, bad person.

Unmasked: The Final Years of Michael Jackson

I don't think I've seen a book, outside of partisan political tomes, that's generated the kind of venom leveled at Unmasked. Online reviewers slam the book and all but wretch in print (although very few seem to have actually read it) and I've met an MJ fan whose face wrinkled in disgust when I mentioned I was reading a copy.

Much of the anger seems to surround a chapter that alleges Michael was homosexual. In the end the correct response to that is that it shouldn't matter if he was gay, straight, or asexual. However, I'll agree that the lurid need to 'out' everyone famous, whether they are truly gay or not, gets tiresome and offensive. Moreover, the allegations in that chapter are backed by 'secret' sources, all "sworn to anonymity", and some of it is counter-intuitive: somehow I doubt a hypochondriac like Jackson would be keen on having sex in a roach filled hotel room.

If he was gay, you won't find the proof here.

The problem is when author Ian Halperin engages in speculation, or ventures into an area where there are no hard facts to guide him, the book completely falls apart. His prose is readable but he injects himself into the story at every opportunity, often painting himself as the hero going the extra mile for a story. Frankly, it sometimes reads like a bad blog post.

But what the fans ignore - stupidly - is that the book, which originally set out to pin MJ as a chronic molester, ends up exonerating him.

Whenever Halperin has documents and on-the-record sources to guide his hand, the book maintains a steady and believable footing -and there are certainly enough resources about the alleged molestation cases to fill the bill. Among other evidence, the book includes a *45* page transcript of a session between his '90's accuser and a child psychiatrist.

This isn't the time or place to go over all the facts, but it appears to be a clear case of extortion orchestrated by a man who'd had his medical licence suspended for unethical behavior and who (oddly) dreamed of Jackson financing his screenplay. Many of the media 'revelations' were also patently untrue, and often seem to have been consciously manipulated by D.A. Tom Sneddon.

Most shocking - his accuser, who comes off as an intelligent and well spoken teenager in the transcript, stated to authorities that Micheal was circumcised. This, along with other 'distinguishing marks' he identified, were the reason behind the infamous nude photos the D.A. took of Jackson.

The problem? To quote the doctor on scene: "The subject is clearly not circumcised."

At the time the media jumped on the photos as 'proof' of the accusations, when at the very least they strongly cast doubt on the intimate details of the case.

As for the trial in the middle of this decade . . . start to finish it appears to be a farce. To quote Stephen King:

This came down to a prosecutor either so sure Jackson was bad or so offended by
Jackson's combination of celebrity and wackiness that he rushed into a case that
looked shaky from hello. It looked worse as Tom Sneddon went along, and had
become nearly ludicrous by the time Jackson's ex-wife left the stand. No matter
how pure Sneddon's motives may have been (and I'm not saying they were, believe me), he began to look like a man pursuing a vendetta, one whose chief hope of
securing a conviction lay in the obvious fact that the trial was a sideshow and
the accused was . . . well, a freak.

Would I let my kids sleep in the same bed with a grown man? HELL TO THE NO. Did Jackson display horrific and naive judgement in continuing his behavior even after the '90's debacle? Yes. Was Jackson, as one detective theorized, a grown man only in business affairs, and a 'regressed 10 year old' otherwise? It certainly appears so.

An interesting book, and I'd give it a read . . .just maybe not at full price.