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I'm a little angry...

           I had to write this down because its been bothering me since yesterday. I love my family. I would do anything to protect them. I'm blessed to have three great kids who don't get in trouble. They do what their suppose to do. They get good grades and all the things that make you proud of your kids.
           I find out yesterday that my 5 year old daughter, who will talk and play with anybody, has been labled with three other African-American girls as "Hood Girls" or "Ghetto Girls". And get this, it was their teacher who made the comment!!
           I'm not stupid or naive to think that some, and I do mean some, educators are ignorant in their thinking. I realize that some people have not reached the age of maturity even when they're heading into old freakin' age. This teacher has no right to assume anything about those little girls. She doesn't know anything about them or how they are living. She just thought "Black" must be "hood". What hurts so much is that my little girl worships the ground that this so called teacher walks on. In her eyes, she does no wrong.
          I'm just tired of this stupid crap. It's 2013 and America still can't evolve into the nation it should be. This cycle has to stop. Somebody has to stand up and say STOP! I feel like the good reasonable people of this country are slowly being silenced by the extreme intolerant knuckleheads still holding on to the 20th Century.
        I'm just angry that my daughter had to be labled something else other than being a little girl who loves to learn.

The Miracle of Monroe Projects

             This is another story that I wrote a while back that has gone through a revision. I wrote this after a news report appeared about a mother and her son that were brutally attacked while at home. I could never forget the horrific details and I had to write something. I always called this story an "Urban Fairytale" but I can guess you label it a little like urban fantasy. Either way, it's something that I would like to happen even if it is in my dreams. Hope you enjoy it.

 

The Miracle of Monroe Projects

 

The light from the streetlamps did not distinguish the row of box shaped units that inhabited the Monroe Projects. Nor did it aid in illuminating the degree of inhumanity within the 80 acres hidden behind a dilapidated gate.  It was the prison of the impoverished struggling to make life better and the malcontents who fed on the weak and oppressed.

Years ago, when these housing projects were first built, the tropical colors of peach, lime and yellow were used to signal a new beginning, a bright future in sunny Florida. Now, they are remnants of dreams obliterated by the scorching heat and disappointment.  The predators know this and welcome the futility. They own the night, the day and everything in between.

It was only a week ago that the most heinous of crimes was committed against a young mother and her son. Ten teenage boys attacked the family, raping the woman and severely beating the twelve-year-old boy. After the brutal subjugation, they poured bleach into their eyes, further eradicating any dignity left in their soul.

Government officials promised to tighten security and protect the residents of Monroe. However, like all apathetic bureaucracies, their words fell like tears of stone, heavy and meaningless.

Status quo maintained its chokehold on the project dwellers. Thugs roamed the sidewalks, terrorizing hard working individuals struggling to escape the abyss.

Until today.

The miraculous appeared at the front gates of what residents despairingly called Hell.

He stood there in the silver gleam of the moonlight, motionless, almost as if he was scared to breathe. His long white T-shirt billowed in a breeze that did not share the same current as the men loitering outside.  They were sweaty and smelled of hot musk.   He wore black jeans tucked inside his boots, completing his attire as he stood and watched them conceive new ways to exploit the inhabitants. 

Dreadlocks hung down loosely to his shoulders with a few strands hiding his clean-shaven caramel face. His arms, folded behind his back, hinted a commanding stature signifying his calmness to what his presence will mean to the community.

With his eyes closed, head tilted slightly upward, he listened for a sound. Some sign that the time had come. Then he heard in the distance the rumble of thunder. It grew louder and closer to his vicinity and they became aware.

The group of young men threatened all who were not from the projects. It was their kingdom amidst a land of perceived inopportunity. Drugs were rampart. Robbery became the norm. Murder lent itself to solving conflicts. Some of the denizens grew up in homes where they never experienced the closeness of family. That only gave way to sycophants leeching on their despair.

They taunted and jeered the stranger, spewing all manner of epithets. Bottles thrown toward his direction only crashed in a puddle of beer and soda, falling short of their destination. Agitation set in and the men became incensed with his lack of response.

He slowly opened his eyes, which shined a brilliant blue like an untouched ocean, and swiveled his head, scanning the group for some type of civility. Their rage became more bloodthirsty as the lust of violence permeated the air. Then the crackle of gunfire exploded in the night sky, scattering some and emboldening others.

 

The rapid succession of bullets traveled within inches of the man’s face, became inert and fell to the ground like slot machine winnings.

Weapons dropped in disbelief along with jaws wide open. The air became thick with haze as the stranger raised his right hand into a tight fist. Surge of electricity overloaded the streetlamps causing them to burst, raining glass and filaments over the stunned crowd.

With a slight twist of his fist, the group of ten men that a moment ago called him everything but a child of God became silent. Their voices stripped, panic besieged them while some grasped their throats as if choking. All witnessed by the residents of Monroe, whom a fair amount dropped to their knees in prayer.

At that same moment, the distraught young men felt their bodies stiffened and became perpendicular. Like dead men lying in their graves, the group stared blankly into the peaceful night. Still alive.

He took a step towards the weather-beaten entrance where the residents congregated during the spectacle. There was confidence in each stride, a gait of regality that shined throughout his person. His countenance resembled an angel and as the gates flew open, a majority of people bowed their heads in reverence. Some stood belligerent, unwilling to believe and others could not comprehend the magnitude of what they witnessed.

They shook his hand, patted him on the back and gave praises to the Lord for sending one of his messengers to earth. “I’m not an angel,” he said in a voice that was so deep it felt like a continuous thunderstorm. “My name is Sheppard and I’ve come to bring peace. You will not have to be afraid anymore. No one will harm you ever.”

Sheppard leaped onto a concrete canister and spoke to the large crowd gathered at the gate.  “I am a manifestation of what we can achieve, my people. No more thugs controlling our destiny. We will stand up for what is right and rid this cancer from our community. It has to start now and continue for the generations to come. If you believe as I do, we are more than conquerors. We are blessed,” exclaimed Sheppard to a thunderous roar of the crowd.

Those who did scoff at his presence felt his words and knew the truth deep in their hearts. It was time to take back what had been stolen: dignity, self-esteem, integrity, and pride. All of it taken because of fear. Fear of failing. Fear of succeeding.

Amidst the celebration, Sheppard stepped out unto the group who lay in a catatonic state.  He went to each one and waved his hand over their blissful face. One after the other awakened changed. The malice that covered every crevice of their heart gave way to something bigger than their affliction: peace. They went into the courtyard greeted by all and embraced by the community. The stranger, who brought wisdom and a chance to change, vanished into the night.

That day was the beginning of renewed vigor within the residents of Monroe Projects. Their tenacity for building a better neighborhood and stomping out crime was a model for all the surrounding communities. Things changed for the better. People were becoming self-sufficient and no longer relying on bureaucratic measures. They were relying on one another and becoming a better community.

It has been several years since that night. Monroe Projects grew into a functioning model of what society continues to aspire. The generations that came after have lived in peace and understanding with pride in their hearts and a respect for all people. In the middle of the courtyard stands a monument dedicated to the stranger who lifted them out of their weakness and made them more than conquerors.

What's your favorite Crime Drama?

                    All writers will say that various experiences and influences have help shaped their writing. Most read books to jumpstart the creative process. Others workout to get that much needed oxygen to the brain and some use good ol' fashion alcohol to stimulate one's thinking or to numb it ( I guess it depends on how bad of a day you had sitting in front of a blank screen for 4 hours).
                    My biggest influence are movies, especially crime dramas. Who hasn't seen all three Godfather films? Imitated Joe Pesci from Goodfellas (Do I amuse you?) or hummed the lyrics to Shaft's theme song (Isaac Hayes RIP). Heck, I can watch Heat and Carlito's Way all day long.
                   Now some will disagree with me, but I believe that The Dark Knight is one of the best crime drama films ever made that happen to have a superhero in it. That's just my humble opinion.
                    Over the weekend, I watched a Direct-to-DVD film on Netflix called The Killing Jar. It starred Michael Madsen of Reservoir Dogs fame and Harold Perrineau of Lost. Most of the time, those type of films spell C-R-A-P, but this one wasn't bad. I won't give away any spoilers, but I did enjoy Harold Perrineau's performance. He's very underrated. I also checked out End of Watch with Jake Gyllenhal and Michael Pena as two LA Police Officers patrolling South Central. The movie was gritty and uncomfortable which is exactly how I like my crime dramas.
                    Do you have a favorite Crime Drama, Thriller or Mystery? Whether its a novel, film or TV show, tell me your favorites. We'll probably have some form of media in common.

               

I Got A Story to Tell...

      
       I wanted to share a revised story I wrote a while ago. It's about a hitman on a job who realizes he's not very sociable. It's called Jumpshot. Hope you like it and let me know.

Jumpshot

By

Robert Price

 

 

 

I hate the Sixers. I’m listening to the game on my digital radio, and as usual, they can’t make a freakin’ jumpshot against a team like the Cavaliers. What the hell? And on the coldest night of the year, I’m freezing my tail off waiting for this putz to come into my line of sight.

In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m a Hitman or the more politically correct term, Independent Contractor.  Sounds more professional that way. I provide quick and easy solutions to problems that go beyond the scope of negotiations. It’s quite lucrative.         

 

In fact, I turn down more jobs than I accept, however, this client offered a substantial amount than what I usually charge.  

It’s not that I need the money, but a $50,000 down-payment to silence the target and another after completion is a nice incentive. Unfortunately, it had to be tonight.

 I hate last minute jobs. I like to prepare for my soiree’s way in advance. It’s a big deal to me, but, I’m an adaptable kind of guy so I make the necessary adjustments.

Mr. Bartholomew, my liaison, gave me a complete dossier on Christian Stosser: 5 feet 11 inches. Caucasian.  Blue eyes.  Dark hair. Yada, yada, yada. Nice looking guy from the photo. He had that male model look to him. Y’know the ones in those overly chic fashion magazines that looks prettier than the awkwardly posed woman standing next to them.

I wasn’t surprised that the intel mentioned a gay bar he would frequent on 15^th and South called Bob and Barbara’s Lounge. I would’ve been more surprised if he wasn’t gay. Not that I really give a damn about his sexuality. I don’t judge. I just eradicate the problem.

I had staked a claim on a piece of rooftop real estate, across the street from the lounge.  As I line up my scope, I view the patrons hopping from bar to bar on infamous South Street searching for the ultimate thrill. I’m pretty sure some will even walk that lonely road of despair after a few drinks. It all looks the same to me. Empathy was never my strong suit. Besides, it’s not a job requirement for what I do.

Perched on the pigeon stained rampart, I think about the reason behind this hasty termination. It seems that Mr. Stosser was having an illicit affair with our illustrious Police Commissioner Martin Haig. I mean “married to a woman named Elise with two kids” kind of affair.

Commissioner Haig would like to run for Mayor one day and having that piece of valuable information spring up like an unruly weed would not look good on the resume. No matter how much he cleaned up this city. Powerful men and their secrets

He should really stop lying to himself and his wife and just come clean. Then, he wouldn’t need me. Hey, it’s his money.

I take a bite out of my protein bar that I stashed in my Dickies coveralls when I hear the swishing sound of the rooftop door opening behind me. A slim man with oversized combat boots trudged through like a drunken clown searching the rooftop from corner to corner.

He could hardly see out of his half-closed eyes but managed to spot an old mattress in the corner of the roof and totally missed my presence. Thinking he was alone, he noisily stumbled over and plopped down on to the dilapidated mattress with a thud.  I gather my rifle and equipment and rolled over to the far corner disappearing from view.

His long skinny fingers shake nervously as he takes a drag on the cigarette hanging loosely from his thin lips and suddenly elation appears on his worn face.

Skinny man reaches in his military style trench coat that looks like it belonged to a much larger person and pulls out a syringe with a small sack of heroin.

“Shit,” was my response for this drug addict interfering with the plan. Now, I could take him out and nobody would notice, but I don’t kill for free. That would make me a murderer. Not a capitalist.

In my profession, you have to stay two steps ahead of yourself and the target. Contingency plans are the key to staying alive and out of jail facing the death penalty.

Most superintendents and custodial workers wear the typical light blue work shirt and navy blue work pants, or my personal favorite, coveralls. They blend in nicely and no one ever notices the hired help.

While my addicted intruder prepared for the highway to heaven, I quietly break down my rifle and set it in the stow-away section of my toolbox that I use for my cover.

            He slides the needle into his vein and his whole world disappears into a heroin fueled oblivion. I walk by him, unnoticed, with his head leaning to the side and bouncing like a Phillies bobblehead. I don’t think he’ll make it off this roof intact. That’s his death wish. It won’t be by me.

I hurried down the three flights of stairs and out the back of the old apartment building where I sat up shop. A little annoyed about the distraction, I head to my beat-up Ford Econoline to regroup and proceed to my next plan.

It just couldn’t be a simple job. One to the throat severing his spine. Now I have to get up close and personal with the mark and I’m not feeling quite sociable this evening.

I leap into the van and hastily slip out of the coveralls thinking about shucking the whole thing and cut my losses. But, you don’t tell a police commissioner you couldn’t get a good shot. I’m pretty sure there will be someone out there that will get a good shot on me. Plus, it’s a hundred grand. August Brandt does not pass up a chance for a client to willingly pay more than his going rate.

So why do I feel like I’ll regret this in the morning like a one night stand with a drunk chick.

Emerging from the alleyway onto the bustling street, dressed in a brown leather jacket and jeans, I proceed to the lounge to view my target a little closely than before.  It’s a plan I worked out in advance, but I had hoped to make this easy from the overhead shot.

From the outside, you would think this place is a complete dive with its black lacquer sign and martini glasses dancing in neon. Then you step in and realize that it is. Folding chairs and cigarette smoke occupy every square inch of the place. I felt a dull pain begin in the back of my skull and I knew this was going to be a long night.

I scour the area looking for the mark in a sea of boas and sequin laced gowns on six foot tall men. Drag Queen Night at the lounge and me without my camera.

It was a mix of ultra chic, business types and weirdness all mingling and conversing in banality. The house DJ was playing “It’s Raining Men” and at that moment I knew I needed a drink. I heard a Heineken call me and I followed. I’m not the type to leave liquor waiting.

The beer went down cold and smooth, enough to take that annoyed edge off. I sat on a red leather barstool taking it all in and letting my patience guide me to the prey. 

It wasn’t a big place, but big enough to get its fair share of business. I searched for Mr. Stosser, from the comfort of my stool, in every corner and for the life of me couldn’t get a glimpse of him. I begin to wonder if the client gave Bartholomew the wrong info. It wouldn’t be the first time nor the last.

I take another belt from the Heiny and out of the corner of my eye a nicely dressed gentleman, who looked a lot like Christian Stosser, appeared on the barstool next to mine. We exchanged pleasantries while I downed another beer and he ordered a mojito.

Another chink in the plan. He got a look at me. This night is not going well. I keep my head forward so he doesn’t study my face, but he starts talking to me. Damn.

“Sorry to bother you, but, um, would you happen to know the score of the Sixers game? I left my phone at work so I can’t go through Bleacher Report” asked the mark with a smile on his face.

I don’t want to answer him, but people remember douches just as much as they remember non-douches so I give him the info.

“Last I heard it was 77 to 82. Sixers losing in the third quarter, as usual,” I said with downcast eyes.

“I’m not surprised. They can’t make a jump shot worth a damn.”

I had to agree with him. They do suck sometimes.

The bartender passed him his drink and he turned to me again and introduced himself. What the hell?

“Hi, my name is Chris” he said

I shake his hand and said my name is Steven. No sense in giving him my real name just on the off chance he survives, which, when I think about that would not be in my best interest. Definitely double check when done.

“I’ve never seen you in here before. First time?” asked Chris.

“Yeah,” I said. “I needed a beer. This was the closest place.”

“Well you definitely picked an interesting night to stop in. I usually come on Fridays, but tonight I wanted to drown my sorrows, y’know?” he said.

“Relationship issues?” I blurt out and immediately thought, “Why did I ask that?”

Before he could answer, music started blaring from the back of the lounge with the queens performing “I’m Too Sexy” which made my eye jump along to the monotonous beat.

Stosser saw my reaction and stated, “I take it you’re not a fan of the song?”

“I hope you’re not. It’s the crappiest song ever made. I don’t want to have to lose respect for you.”

“No, I agree. It’s a shitty song. But then looking at big strapping men in drag singing it does give it a bit of poetic justice. Don’t you think?”

I had to laugh at the observation. The man is as sarcastic as I am.

We converse for a while and we find that we have a lot in common. Big sports fans. Love to read anything we get our hands on. Huge movie buffs. I swear if I was gay, I’d probably date him.

For a moment, I felt a connection. It was two guys talking about nothing and everything at the same time. I don’t seek relationships. I can pathetically say that Mr. Bartholomew is the closest thing I have to an actual friend. Somewhat. It’s complicated. Anyway, after an hour of conversation, I had a very subtle question asked of me, “I don’t want to assume” he said, “But are you family?”

That’s when reality began kicking my ass back into the game and the lofty thoughts of a “bromance” recessed back into my consciousness. I pause before giving him my answer to make it more dramatic. I watch his face sag at the possibility that he might have wasted his time.

“Of course,” I said, as I lay my hand on top of his.

I start to count my money. 

A light snow starts to fall upon Philadelphia, sticking to the concrete and macadam, but not halting the revelry of its citizens. We exit the lounge and I glance up at the rooftop across the street. Not two hours ago, I was waiting to execute him with a single shot. Now, I’m walking beside him and talking about getting a bite to eat at a diner not far from here.

Our hands entwine and I look his way to instill confidence about my intentions. He laughs nervously like people do when they like someone. I almost felt bad.

Count the money. Count the money.

            We head west on South and cut left on 17^th Street wandering down a neighborhood of row houses. No one’s out in this inclement weather and this is a better chance than any.

There’s a narrow alleyway between two sections of row houses where garbage is piled towards the backyards. I ushered him into the alley and placed my back against the wall out of the glare of the street light. Stosser smiles approvingly with his perfectly capped teeth.

I take his face in my hands and stare into his eyes until I see comfort wash over him. He closes his eyes and leans in to kiss me. Before his lips touch mine, I twist his neck half way around his body. Quick and easy. He slumps in my arms just as a passerby pounds across the alley entrance. If that person did see anything, they were too much in a hurry to acknowledge it.

I quickly drag the body to the backyard and strip him of his ID and money. The snow is coming down harder now and by the time I leave from here; my tracks will be covered along with his.  But for safety’s sake, I pile garbage bags on top of the corpse. It’ll take a while before anyone finds the body. I check his pulse one more time. Double checked.

A day later, I’m at my townhouse in Boca Raton, Florida washing my car in the driveway and drinking a Heineken. My cell phone rings and Mr. Bartholomew is on the line. He informs me that the deposit has been made and his usual fee has been deducted from the final payment. I hang up and sit down in my lawn chair next to the vehicle.

A neighbor walks by with her big German Shepherd waving and saying “Hi” to me. I wave back and showed a faint smile. She kept walking but she turns back, smiles again and heads to a house two doors down.

I’ve never seen her before, but then again, I don’t know any of my neighbors. Maybe it’s time I do.

...and ran right into Iron Man

          



             Hey everyone. I wanted to continue what I posted on Thursday about my "Day at the Movies" with my two sons last week. I shared my opinion on Star Trek: Into Darkness and now I'd like to give my perspective on Iron Man 3.
            I saw the two previous Iron Man films and this recent movie was just as great. As I explained from the previous post, there may be spoilers so if you haven't seen it, sorry.
            Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark/Iron Man is by far the best pick of an actor for a superhero movie. Next to Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, he embodies what a wealthy, highly intelligent, sometimes douchey Industrialist is all about. And I mean this in the most nicest way. I love his portrayal of the character. I use to read the Iron Man of the 80's when he and James (Rhodey) Rhodes would globetrot like a couple of secret agents and trust me they were never like the way they're portrayed now. And that's ok. Downey brings arrogant charm to Tony. That's what makes this film the best out of the series.
              The story begins a few months after the events in The Avengers and Tony is having trouble sleeping. During his insomnia, he creates numerous variations of his suit causing strife between him and Pepper Potts, along with bouts of panic attacks suffered from the battle in New York. Col. James Rhodes is now the Iron Patriot, nixing the War Machine moniker due to focus groups and a new villain is on the world stage named The Mandarin who heads a terrorist group called The Ten Rings. There is also scientific research gone awry with help from the privately funded group called AIM, headed by Aldrich Killian. They provide a biological process called Extremis, created by Dr. Maya Hansen, that helps the human body regenerates itself along with other enhancements.
               Those that are familiar with comic books know every person or group I've mentioned has appeared in numerous stories in the Marvel Universe. I personally got a kick out of seeing AIM (Advanced Idea Mechanics) in the film and I hope they come back in some form or fashion in the new Marvel Films universe.
                I was also surprised with the iteration of The Mandarin. Wow, what a great way to flip a classic villain. Instead of him being this terroristic force creating havoc around the globe, he's nothing but a figurehead portrayed by an out-of-work actor who would rather be snorting a line of coke. That was a great surprise. Ben Kingsley is one of The Greats. In fact, I love when he plays just a regular bloke than his more aristocratic roles.
            All in all, I thought Shane Black's direction was on par with Jon Favreau spending more time in front of the camera. I thought the action scenes were better in this Iron Man. Not trying to knock Mr. Favreau, but who better to bring out the action in the script than the one who wrote the screenplay in the first place. I mean, come on, Shane was the screenwriter of Lethal Weapon and The Long Kiss Goodnight. I'll give him his props.

We flew amongst the stars...

     



         First off I would like to send my condolences and prayers to the people of Moore and OKC. God is with you and he will lift you up in your time of need. That being said, I wanted to share my opinion on Star Trek: Into Darkness and Iron Man 3. I saw both movies this past Saturday and thought they exceeded my expectations. I usually read the reviews of most movies on IGN, Rotten Tomatoes or Coming Soon, but I wanted to view them without any interference or additional commentary.
       My sons and I went and saw Star Trek first. I'm a big fan of the original TV show and also The Next Generation. I tried to get into DS9, Voyager and Enterprise, but really couldn't commit to their mythology.
       I want to warn you that there may be some spoilers for those who've decided to rebel against the cinema establishment and not purchase a ticket to watch the movie. To be honest, it's really good. Go ahead and spend the money.
        I saw the first Star Trek movie and thought it was great. The sequel did not disappoint. It has JJ Abrams touch throughout the whole film which I've read that most Trekkies weren't too thrilled with the first one, but to me it's a fresh take on a classic that just needed a tune-up. He actually makes me excited about his vision of Star Wars.

         The story brings back a familiar villain, Khan, from one of the best Star Trek movies ever made to wreak havoc on Earth and Starfleet Command. Capt. James T Kirk and his crew are sent to kill him when he aids in the destruction of a Starfleet Archive building and later murders several admirals, captains and commanding officers at headquarters. He escapes to the Klingon moon, Praxis, and pretty much saves Kirk, Spock and Uhura from certain death when they encounter a Klingon Security Detail. They escort him back to the Enterprise and there we learn more about his primary agenda.

 That's just a brief synopsis of the film. What I wanted to touch on is the character of Khan. Benedict Cumberbatch is one of my favorite actors. His role as a modern Sherlock Holmes is why I watch the BBC show. When you can get an actor of his caliber, you can't pass up the chance of him portraying one of your characters. He was outstanding and gave the role a quiet villainy that had you empathize with him even though you knew he would kill you to suit his purpose.

          Such a great actor and I wouldn't have chosen him to play Khan. Interesting take, though. In the film, his code name was John Harris, which fit. As soon as he revealed himself as Khan, I was surprised. I smiled as I reminisced about Ricardo Montalban playing the character in the 60's and the 80's. He was the perfect Khan and in some ways so is Mr. Cumberbatch. I guess it just through me off. Eventually, I acquiesced and accepted it. I had no choice. It wasn’t like I could go and re-shoot it. However, if I could make some suggestions to JJ on his next big franchise; no smoke monsters, no island, and Luke, Han, Leia, Lando and Chewie better not be on an asteroid, lost and not know that they’re already dead.
         Next post will be my opinion on Iron Man 3.

 









 



 





 





 

Desensitized

          As the week passed by, two newsworthy stories received the obligatory coverage associated with a 24 hour news cycle; the three captive women in Cleveland and Jodi Arias.
          I'm happy for the women being rescued from the madman that is Arial Castro. God only knows what they went through for the past 10 years in that house. Their resolve and tenacity is a testament of survival. They should be celebrated and honored for such bravery.
          On the other side of that spectrum is Ms. Arias. Actually, I'm not sure what I think about her. My feelings are kind of indifferent to the whole situation. I'm sorry that Travis Alexander was murdered by her hands, but while the country was riveted to their TV's, computers and mobile devices awaiting the outcome of the trial, which she was found guilty, I didn't care.
           It got me to thinking that maybe I'm sliding down that slippery slope of desensitization. I will admit that I can be as cynical as an alcoholic political reporter and have a right to. Lifetime was already making a movie and had to wait for the verdict so that they could end production. Honestly, that's exactly how the whole trial felt like. One. Big. Lifetime. Movie.
          Is that cold? Am I wrong?
          I feel emotion for the Cleveland 3, but nothing for a murder trial. Should I be worried that I'm a belt notch away from being a typical newscaster going through the motions. Definitely something to think about.

         

Its Been Along While...

          Its been two years since I've posted anything on my blog. I thought it was time to start creating again. I've started many short stories and attempts at completing a novel, but let them hang in the wind like silkworms. I would blame it on life and the many responsibilities of being a family man, however, most of the time it's just plain ole' PROCRASTINATION. Also, I start too many projects and just abandon them once I get something new in my head.
         I swear I wish there was more hours in the day so I can complete everything I have my mind set on,
         Anyway, no more excuses. I've decided that I will write everyday no matter what, update the blog at least every week, finish my stories and post them here for anyone to read. I'm getting back to who I am and hopefully you'll enjoy what I write.