Yesterday President I-Alone-Can-Fix-It insisted kids are “virtually immune” from Covid-19, a day earlier he mangled the pronunciation of Yosemite (Freudian slip?); he’s continued to brag about a has-grandpa-lost-it cognition test as if it demonstrated his very stable genius…as to-the-ongoing-and-showing-no-sign-of-letting up pandemic, we got a very presidential it-is-what-it-is, which is maybe ever so slightly less batshit insane than “It will go away — like things go away,” except that he said that, too.
Oh, and Deutsche Bank, which is known for being as sleazy, um, as controversial as the president and is not surprisingly, his preferred bank (or maybe it’s the only bank who’ll have him as a client); anyway, Deutsche Bank revealed they’ve complied with subpoenas related to investigations of alleged Trump organization bank and insurance fraud.
It’s been a tough week in New Orleans. Paul Drake’s unexpected death has taken a toll on his people. Shorter Adrastos: Since this is the second time this has happened in 14 months, I don’t feel like writing today.
I would, however, like to thank everyone for the kind words here and on social media. It means the world to Dr. A and me.
What’s a cat post without a picture or two?
Here’s a previously unpublished picture of the krewe of cats named for Perry Mason characters: PD and Della Street. We miss them both.
The last word goes to Sam and Dave and Paul Rodgers:
I’m just as surprised as you are to see Rick Springfield’s name atop this post. Here’s why: I did a search for “album covers with animals on them”and these doggone covers topped the list. It was destiny or some such shit.
The worst thing about the interview is all the men on my timeline just tweeting the same quotes from it over and over as if they have single-handedly unearthed, at last, for all of us, how bad the situation really is
God, political journalism is so stupid right now. Between grownass people yelling SCOOOOOOOOOP at the beginning of all their tweets like goddamn children, like anyone cares, like if it’s really that big a revelation it’ll speak for itself, and now this nonsense courtesy of HBO and its wee Hannibal Lecters who think their role is to describe the foam in which they deliberately flip, it’s no wonder people are mad and scared and susceptible to ridiculousness on the internet.
Ten minutes of morning news and you understand in a visceral way why people vote Republican, much less this crap. What are you telling us that’s NEW, beyond “president opens mouth hole, vomits nonsense,” which to be honest ain’t a scoop anywheres but up your own ass. How are you HELPING here?
Reminder:
If you ask the president of the United States a question about coronavirus and air his answer, you are helping to misinform the nation about a public health emergency. In fact, the single most potent force for misinforming the American public is the current president.
The replies to this are full of “but what are we supposed to do, this is our job, to point a camera at a thing and nod thoughtfully” and it would just be pathetically hilarious if people weren’t dying. Is it even possible to rethink what you’re doing, or are you just a parrot that yawps “not our role!” anytime anyone asks you to do a job?
Is there EVEN a way to do journalism without sitting in a chair in front of someone standing at a microphone lying to you? You went to an Ivy for 400 years to do that?
And the GLEE. That’s the thing that gets me. It’s the excited WHEEE CHAOS tone of all these stupid clips, like how great it is that you scooped the world on how the president is a monster idiot asshole who has killed 165,000 people plus. I’m not gonna tell you not to make your bones on the backs of their deaths but can you not STRUT while you do it, you fuckin’ peacocks?
No career is worth someone’s grandmother dying alone while her family watches on FaceTime, good Christ, have the sensitivity God gave a carrot. Keep the sociopathic shit in your group chat where it belongs and nobody will judge you.
2020 has been a terrible year for everyone: death has been depressingly commonplace. I have another passing to report. After a brief illness, Paul Drake has left the building. I use the old Elvis concert phrase because PD was an internet rock star. He deserves a star send-off.
It started last Friday. One minute, he was a normal cat then I left the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, he couldn’t stand up and started dragging himself across the floor. Initially, I thought he had a broken leg.
We raced off to the emergency veterinary hospital. It turned out to be much more serious than a fracture. PD was diagnosed with saddle thrombosis. It’s a malady whose most sinister symptom is clotting in the legs. His hind legs were paralyzed, which was the source of enormous frustration for such a vigorous and hitherto healthy cat.
We followed the course of treatment recommended by the vets. We knew survival was a long shot but, despite the pain meds, he was still present and fighting for his life. Yesterday when we arrived for a visit, he started purring the minute he saw us. It was a tough visit, but we left hoping Paul Drake could beat the odds. They were too long.
Late last night, the vet called to tell us that he had another blood clot. She asked for instructions. We decided to let the poor dear go.
It was sudden, shocking, and sad: taking only 51-some hours from start to finish. We were dazed all weekend. It’s an unfortunately common problem and is nearly always fatal. PD is a special cat, so I hoped he’d be one of the survivors, but it was not to be.
Some of you have met Paul Drake, others have followed his antics here and on social media since his gotcha day, Twelfth Night, 2018. He was a happy and gregarious boy. When we had Carnival parade parties, he didn’t hide under the bed like a sensible cat, he assumed the party was in his honor. He was certainly the life of the party.
I knew we were in for a bumpy ride when he stopped eating. We took some shredded cheese to the clinic yesterday, but he was not interested. This from a cat who came running every time the refrigerator opened. He seemed to think it was a magic food box full of wonders. I laughed every time it happened.
A word of thanks to Doctor Margaret and her wonderful staff at Avenue Animal Wellness and Emergency in Uptown New Orleans. We had such a bad experience with our former vet’s staff during Della Street’s final illness that we “divorced” after 30+ years. I was nervous about leaving her pesky kid brother in the hands of strangers during the pandemic, but they were magnificent: kind, competent, and transparent. Like everyone else, they were smitten with the charming Mr. Drake. Thanks again, y’all.
The house is quiet without PD’s thunderous footsteps and zany bag-play. I’ll even miss yelling at him for jumping on the counter hoping to steal our supper. He always looked at you as if to say, “I know you’ll forgive me, but I’ll get off anyway.” That’s a confident cat.
I sometimes kvetch about the Tweeter Tube in this space. Not this time. I was overwhelmed by a flood of kind words and best wishes as I updated his status. Thanks again, y’all.
I feel somewhat awkward about going on about my cat’s passing when there is even more suffering in the world than usual. But Paul Drake was special, dammit. He was not just my cat or Dr. A’s cat; he was your cat too. I’m glad I was able to share him with our readers.
The last word goes to Al Green with one of the saddest and loveliest songs I know:
No worries Dr Stella Emmanuel is right down the road with Hydroxychloroquine + Zinc + Zpak in hand.
3 posted on 7/29/2020, 10:20:59 AM by Jan_Sobieski (Sanctification)
To: RandFan
Strangely enough Pelosi, Schumer, Nadler, Maxine Waters, AOC, Hillary, Comey, Strzok, Brennan, Obama, Michael Obama, and the test of the treason crew all seem immune
9 posted on 7/29/2020, 10:23:15 AM by GrandJediMasterYoda (As long as Hillary Clinton remains free equal justice under the law will never exist in the USA)
Um – that’s because they’re not shit-stupid and take precautions, you brain-dead twatwaffle.
To: RandFan
Not sure why he attended the committee hearing after testing positive.
Let me venture a guess – there are more intelligent creatures lying on their backs at the bottom of ponds?
Seems irresponsible to me. Especially since his statements/questions to Barr were silly and worthless.
I usually like Gohmert, but I think he was wrong to attend the hearing.
13 posted on 7/29/2020, 10:25:28 AM by faucetman (Just the facts, ma’am, Just the facts)
Thinkest thou?
To: RandFan
Personally If I was a Republican and especially a Trump Supporting Republican I would be careful the other side isn’t sending in a Typhoid Mary to infect them… Dangerous game to play as it may backfire and infect the dems but there are always upsides to every downside…..
62 posted on 7/29/2020, 11:47:36 AM by lakeman (Semper Fi)
To: KC_Lion
How many well-known people will have to catch this bug and NOT die before people catch on to the scam?
38 posted on 7/29/2020, 10:37:23 AM by Buckeye McFrog (Patrick Henry would have been an anti-vaxxer)
Funny you should ask that.
Herman Cain is hospitalized with coronavirusABC 7 WWSB ^ | July 2, 2020 | Ed Payne Posted on 7/2/2020, 1:41:11 PM by Coronal
ATLANTA (Gray News) – Former GOP presidential candidate Herman Cain is hospitalized after testing positive for COVID-19.
The 74-year-old found out Monday that he had coronavirus and by Wednesday “had developed symptoms serious enough that he required hospitalization,” a statement on his Twitter account said.
“Mr. Cain did not require a respirator, and he is awake and alert.”
Cain, a cancer survivor, attended a highly publicized Trump political rally last month in Tulsa, Oklahoma. In photo posted to his Twitter account, he was shown not wearing a mask and not social distancing in the crowd of thousands.
Every morning Slade comes over to the breakfast table and flops like this, and then if we fail to IMMEDIATELY notice how stunningly cute he is, he’ll start chirping and “mrawp!” at us until he gets the pets he deserves.
If you’re a supporter of Joe Biden, one option you have is to NOT talk to reporters about his VP selection. In fact, I’d argue it’s the best way to show him your support!
I’ve been saying for a while that Joey would have walked to the nomination if he’d kept his trap shut, like talking isn’t helping here, and I think the same thing applies to everyone who works for him and WANTS him to win, and him as well, and I don’t know why he’s doing any debates at all.
Just, like, call your supporters and keep meeting with people privately and releasing increasingly long commercials in which you and B. Barry Bamz bro around so that we can all remember how great it was to go hours, sometimes even days, without worrying the president would slip, trip, and end up with his dick in a bees’ nest.
Yeah, because he keeps eating his kicks, but also because talking isn’t actually what we need anyone to do.
I know we’ve somehow internalized this idea that if the President just gives the perfect speech, just says the right thing, all the nonsense will stop and everyone will behave. Like we’re electing somebody who can TALK GOOD WITH THE WORD HOLE. I won’t discount that, but there has been no better orator of the 21st century than 45’s immediate predecessor and Republicans still treated him like the shit on the bottom of the devil’s shoe.
We need Joey to get elected so he can HIRE not-dumb people, and also sign stuff that is like “let’s have a vaccine so we can all go to Grandma’s for Christmas” and executive orders to not kick students with valid visas out of the country. Maybe we could have a secretary of education who didn’t hate education, or for that matter being secretary of it.
We need him to do things, we need his team to do things, and in order for that to happen if he and everybody else don’t want to do live interviews that won’t be covered live anyway except as “HERF DERF JOE BIDEN MADE ANOTHER GAFFE LIKE FORGETTING SOMEONE’S NAME WHILE TRUMP CAN’T REMEMBER IF KANSAS IS A STATE” kind of Jackass episodes, oh well.
I’ve gone on about NOLA rain in this space this summer. It was the wettest July in recorded history, and it happened without any tropical systems getting too close for comfort. That much rain can be inconvenient, but it keeps the temperatures down. That concludes this brief weather report. If I had a green screen, I’d go on longer, but we don’t have the budget for it.
Like everywhere else in the country, life has been grim in New Orleans of late. Small businesses, especially restaurants have been failing daily. It’s estimated that up to 50% of restaurants here will close for good. They need help and since the government ordered them to close, it should come from them. I am not optimistic that Moscow Mitch and his merry band of miscreants will reconsider and ride to the rescue. In the immortal words of Mel Brooks:
This week’s theme song is an ironic choice for this moment in time: ain’t no bands on the run or even on the road.
Paul McCartney wrote Band On The Run in 1973. It was the title track of Wings’ smash hit album, Band On The Run. Was that a run-on sentence? Beats the hell outta me. I’ll stick a band-aid on it just in case.
We have two versions of this Macca classic for your listening pleasure: the Wings original and a raucous cover by Foo Fighters.
Let’s run to the other side of the break. I think I hear band music in the distance.
Since I wrote about demons yesterday, it only seems fair to write about angels even if demons are more fun.
There are several songs titled Angel Eyes. I’m talking about the 1946 torch song written by Matt Dennis and Earl Brent. We specialize in torch songs during the Friday Cocktail Hour, after all. I’ve always thought that sad songs are the best songs. This is a time for sad songs, y’all.
First up is Nat King Cole with a version arranged and conducted by the great Billy May:
Friday Cocktail Hour regular Ella Fitzgerald often said that Angel Eyes was her favorite song. She proves it here:
The brilliant and irascible New Orleans pianist James Booker recorded an instrumental take on Angel Eyes in 1982:
The Chairman of the Board often closed his live shows with Angel Eyes, which he called the “ultimate saloon song.” The last line suited his sense of drama, “Excuse me while I disappear.”
Here’s the original studio recording arranged and conducted by Nelson Riddle.
I made a big deal out of Sinatra performing Angel Eyes so here’s a live version from 1974. His voice cracks but the introduction is hilarious:
At the beginning, I mentioned other songs of the same title. Here’s my favorite of the bunch:
Hiatt’s Angel Eyes was also covered by the Jeff Healey Band but it’s not torchy enough for the Friday Cocktail Hour. But this totally unrelated song is torchier than hell in a prog-rock kinda way:
I get a kick out of posting pictures of my friends’ cats in this space. I saw this excellent picture on my friend Sue’s FB feed and realized that I had never featured any of her cats here before. Woe is me, bop.
Dory is a 12-year-old tuxedo Maine coon cat. Like all tuxedos, she knows from dirty looks. The late, great Della Street would have been impressed with the haughty expression on Dory’s face. I’m impressed that her human’s desk is almost as messy as mine.
I struggled mightily against writing about President* Pennywise’s latest pandemic related stupidity. It’s been beat to death for days so if I were a wiser man, I would resist the urge to comment on this nonsense but I’m a wise ass, not a wise man or a wise guy for that matter. I also came up with a good title and you know how I am about titles.
Trump used Twitter to share a video in which a Houston doctor and preacher named Stella Immanuel argues that wearing masks to prevent the spread of COVID-19 is unnecessary and makes (medically unproven) claims about the effectiveness of the drug hydroxychloroquine in treating the disease. As the Daily Beast subsequently reported, Immanuel also believes that “gynecological problems like cysts and endometriosis are … caused by people having sex in their dreams with demons and witches” and has said that many individuals in positions of power are actually lizard aliens.
We’ve met the lizard people before, but demon sex is a new one on me. It’s unclear if Dr. Quackenbush (the original name for Groucho’s character in ADay At The Races) has any plans to treat Congressman Covid aka Louis Gohmert Piles. I bet he’d be open to some alien DNA treatments if he doesn’t have to wear a mask.
It’s astonishing that the Kaiser of Chaos keeps going to the “freak show treatment” well after the bleach drinking debacle. Anything to distract attention from the worst economy since Herbert Hoover and a pandemic death toll of 151K and rising. Distraction and confusion are the only weapons Trump has left in his arsenal.
In addition to the title, the other reason I broke down and reluctantly wrote about the latest presidential* imbecility is this:
That’s Lesley-Ann Brandt who plays the demon Mazikeen aka Maze on Lucifer, which Dr. A and I have been devouring on Netflix. Demons, devils, and angels aren’t usually my cup of tea, but this show has got me hooked. When it comes to my favorite demon, resistance is futile.
I’d like to unleash Maze on the Mask Deniers. She’d soon make short order of Dr. Quackenbush, Gohmert, and their ilk. I wish the news of Herman Cain’s Trump rally related death would give Gohmert pause but I know better. New information is meaningless to ideologues. They know everything already even though:
Repeat after me: neither bleach nor demon semen is good for you. Don’t drink either even if your friendly neighborhood president* tells you to do so. Never trust a teetotaler who spends too much time in a tanning bed.
My latest Bayou Brief column is a review of Mary Trump’s extraordinary book, Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created The World’s Most Dangerous Man.
I read the book in one day, revisited the passages about Fred Trump and his sons the next, and on the third day, I wrote the review. Sounds almost Biblical, doesn’t it? That’s the first and last time I’ll use that B-word to describe my writing. Not much of a revelation…
The key to who and what Donald Trump is his relationship with the Freds. As far as he’s concerned, Freddy Trump was the ultimate loser and Fred Sr. was the ultimate winner. He thinks of himself as a winner and is terrified that he’s really a loser. Just wait until November, Donald.
The Trump campaign has reached the desperation phase. They’re throwing shit against the wall and very little is sticking. The candidate’s limited attention span makes it nearly impossible to have a coherent message. It would help to have a coherent candidate instead of a windbag who says whatever pops into his head.
Earlier this morning, Michael F wrote about the MSM’s obsession with any change in tone by the Impeached Insult Comedian. They never last. At age 74, he is incapable of “pivoting.” It’s time for a self-quote:
President* Pennywise thinks sick people are weak: he even mocked his own father when Fred had dementia. Empathy and fundamental human decency are alien to him. He will never change. He’s incapable of it and those in the mainstream media who think he can change should have their heads examined, then read Mary Trump’s book.
With her Uncle Donald it’s all about two things: the Benjamins, and the Freds. He’s Fred Trump’s son; changing is for losers.
I have an ironic last word for your listening pleasure. The Freds are very much alive in the Kaiser of Chaos’ imagination:
As we have seen in cities and towns across our nation, it’s not just Texas oil that the radical Democrats want to destroy, they want to destroy our country. These people are sick. They are sick and you better get used to hearing it because they have some real problems. They don’t love our country. In any way, shape or form, they don’t love our country. There’s no respect for the American way of life. There is no way of life ever in history that’s been like the great American way of life. There’s no respect but there is by you and there is by 95% of our people. Our people love our country and our people love our anthem and they love our flag. Remember that. The radical left wants to tear down everything in its way and in its place they want power for themselves, they want power. Hard to believe, power. They want to uproot and demolish every American value. They want to wipe away every trace of religion from national life. They want to indoctrinate our children, defund our police, abolish the suburbs, incite riots, and leave every city at the mercy of the radical left. That’s not going to happen. That’s not going to happen. By the way, I just ended the rule on suburbs. You know the suburbs, people fight all of their lives to get into the suburbs and have a beautiful home. There will be no more low income housing forced in to the suburbs. I abandoned and took away and just rescinded the rule. It’s been going on for years, I’ve seen conflict for years. It’s been hell for suburbia.
It’s been hell for suburbia. We rescinded the rule three days ago, so enjoy your life, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your life. The proud people of Texas will never bow, kneel or surrender to the left-wing mob. You will always stand tall and strong for America.
The only change in tone with DJT will what shade of orange, and that will depend on how much fake tan he has slathered on himself.
I’ve been meaning to write about the “return” of big-time American sports. I’ve been a skeptic and a critic. They claim to have plans and safety protocols, but they seem to be winging it. It’s the current national style, after all. Of course, using President* Pennywise as a role model strikes me as injudicious at best, disastrous at worst.
I thought that baseball was the sport that *might* be able to do it since social distancing is built into the game. Unfortunately, baseball is run by greedy idiots who only care about money. Sounds mighty Trumpy to me, y’all. And I’m talking about the owners *and* the players. I’ve wished a pox on both their houses for years, but I never meant it literally.
We were given a job to do if we wanted our games back, a very simple job, and we couldn’t do it. Instead we did wings and sheetcake. “You are what your record says you are,” Bill Parcells said. It’s an axiom in sports: Your results speak for themselves. The scoreboard says more than a dozen major league baseball players are sick after just five days of play, and the only record this country is leading in is the number of deaths.
If there is one thing sports teaches, it’s that just wanting to win is not enough. You have to do the work, or you’re going to fail and maybe even embarrass yourself. You can’t cheat the grind, or you’ll lose every time. In this case, the work was easy. Wear a mask. Stay home unless it’s a real emergency. It’s not exactly running wind sprints up hills. Americans still didn’t do it.
Itching to get out, pale and restless, lethal in our boredom and urge to self-gratify, we’ve been unable to sit the hell down and stay there. Instead we’ve club-crawled and dined until swollen on lemon pepper chicken rub and store-bought icing.
Jenkins’ words of wisdom apply across the board to every industry and walk of life. They didn’t do the hard work of shutting down tight for a few months while a concrete national plan was devised to deal with the pandemic. Germany did it. France did it. New Zealand did it. Even Italy did it after a rocky start. Italians are every bit as individualistic as Americans. They stared COVID-19 in the face, didn’t like what they saw, and locked things down tight. Now they’re returning to normal.
The United States didn’t do the work. Neither did Brazil or the United Kingdom. It’s no coincidence that both countries have Trump-like leaders. Both Bolsonaro and Boris have tested positive whereas Trump is tested constantly because, while he claims the virus will disappear like magic, this is one time that he doesn’t believe his own lies.
Another country that has done a good job coping with the pandemic is Ireland. They’ve even gone through an election stalemate that resulted in a coalition of the two major parties, Fianna Fail and Fine Gael. As you might imagine, the UK’s inept response has resulted in some mockery from the Irish including the Guardian’s Seamus O’Reilly with this instant classic zinger:
“Ireland is not outflanking a competent, longstanding neighbour. She just has the pleasure of being compared with the gurning claptrapocracy next door.”
Claptrapocracy is my new favorite word. It’s something that Boris’ Britain and Trump’s America have in common.
Ireland did the work. Great Britain and America did not.
So, let me speak to those Republicans cowering in closets and hiding under stairs in Washington and the state capitals, muttering prayers that Trump might somehow calm the flames that threaten to consume them.
Run away. Close your eyes and duck your heads and sprint as fast as you can away from Trump. Claim amnesia. Say you’ve been hiking the Appalachian Trail. Blame your spirit spouse — whatever. A fury is building in Middle America that has nothing to do with Russia or impeachment or “Access Hollywood.” It’s rising among people who managed to look past all of that to find something they liked about the president. And now he’s repaying them with a stubby middle finger in their faces.
These folks don’t get daily covid-19 tests with results in 15 minutes. Their every contact is not screened and scanned. They live in the real world, a place Trump looks down on from his jets. They understand that covid-19 is not a joke.
The only joke, and a very bad one indeed, is the Current Occupant.
Hair is on my mind as well as on my head. I’ve done some self-trimming and Dr. A has taken a few whacks at the unruly curls that cluster at the back of my head but I haven’t had a haircut since before Carnival. I wish I could say that I had long luxurious locks, but I do not.
That brings me to this week’s album cover. Its full title is long as was the fashion in 1968: Hair- The American Tribal Love Rock Musical.
I used to have the original Broadway soundtrack album, but it got misplaced in one of my moves. I’m not sure that I’d play it very often in any event. There are some good songs but there’s a lot of filler. The cover, however, is a hairy classic:
I’m also fond of Milos Forman’s 1979 film version. Here’s the poster:
If you’re ready to let your hair down and let the sunshine in, here’s the album in the YouTube playlist format:
He said he was optimistic because readers have become accustomed to paying for online content, noting the sports fans who subscribe to The Athletic. He added that vendors like Pico, Stripe and MailChimp have made it easier for media companies to outsource business functions. In addition, he said, the thinning of newspaper sports sections, the dissolution of ESPN the Magazine and layoffs at Sports Illustrated may have created a vacuum.
Defector staff members said they did not expect the kind of growth coveted by the venture capitalists who have increasingly dominated online journalism. Rather, they said, they hoped to be able to pay themselves competitive salaries while developing a sustainable media business that produces content they are interested in.
What if you could pay your bills and yourselves and that was like, okay? What if you weren’t tying yourself into knots to appease some bullshit trust-fund asshole who wants you to show an 18 percent margin or you’re all fired? What if you just, like, did the job you said you were gonna do and it was cool?
I mean goddamn. I am not trying to be a sarcastic bitch, but my entree into journalism was at a nonprofit, where if we had literally 10 cents more in the bank than we needed it was Christmas fuckin’ morning. It wasn’t, say, a COMFORTABLE way to live, I’m pretty sure I still have anxiety about money based on those three years alone, but we made it work and published what we needed to publish.
I cannot fathom where most of legacy journalism is right now, with money out the ass for investors and profit margins that would make Walmart blush, furloughing reporters while the world is on fire. How can you, with a straight face, tell people there’s no money to pay them when you’re paying your last sexually harassative exec $15 million to get himself gone?
Why did this industry allow that kind of thing to make sense for so long?
God, I’m glad to see people just fucking going for it. Even the tone of this story is different than it would have been five years ago. There’s less skepticism, less gratuitous bitchery about “wowee, a new model” and maybe things have just finally gotten bad enough everywhere that people are noticing this is an insane way to live.
I wish so many good papers and good reporters hadn’t had to die broke while we figured this out.
Unions for city police officers, firefighters and corrections officers have sued New York City to stop the disclosure of most of these and other disciplinary records. The unions objected to the release of any cases other than “proven and final disciplinary matters.” That would exclude the vast majority of complaints against officers.
“We are defending privacy, integrity and the unsullied reputations of thousands of hard-working public safety employees,” a union spokesman said on the filing of the lawsuit.
On Wednesday, a federal judge issued a temporary restraining order, blocking the city, including the CCRB, from releasing disciplinary records. Judge Katherine Polk Failla also barred the New York Civil Liberties Union from disclosing data it had obtained. ProPublica has not been a party to the case and is not subject to the order by Failla, who has scheduled a hearing for next month.
I will DIE LAUGHING. They didn’t name ProPublica in the suit. They forgot to forbid the NEWS ORGANIZATION from publishing that which they did not want the public to know. They were like GOTCHA NOW NY ACLU, NO FREEDOMS FOR YOU and meanwhile PP was over here just whistling as they worked.
HERF ERF ERF I WONDER IF WE SHOULD ASK THE PEOPLE WHO PUBLISH STUFF NOT TO PUBLISH OR JUST KEEP BITCHING OUT THE CITY.
One of the things I really miss about journalism is how much critical information gets out because people are really fucking stupid. I remember when a local police department started redacting the reports they gave us, and they did it by making copies of the reports for themselves, then using a Sharpie to mark over the originals and SHOWING US THE ORIGINALS. To which you could hold the light, or turn them over, and read everything they didn’t want you to see right through the paper. I thought my city editor was going to hyperventilate to death with hilarity.
Sometimes great journalism comes from skill and sometimes it’s courage (yours or a source’s) but a lot of the time it’s that government and law enforcement are run by absolute clowns who trip over their own giant shoes while falling out of their tiny, honking cars.
