May 9, 2006

Hello:


            Loyal readers of this space know that back in the late 90's and early 21st century, the
weekend of Cinco de Mayo was a very productive one for yours truly. Now I realize that
productive is a relative term. Back before my 30th birthday, a successful Friday night entailed
several drinks, followed by meeting and greeting someone of the female persuasion. In 1999, it
was someone at Culture Club who I never heard from again (despite numerous efforts) In 2000,
it was someone I met at McFadden's who I dated for 6 weeks. In 2001 it was a Saturday, but
again May 5th, at Martell's at the afterparty for my high school reunion. In 2002, it was some
weirdo who I met at Opal.
      2003 was a disaster year, and I gave it another shot in 2004 but came up empty handed. Later
on in 2004 I met Tara and that pretty much ended my career in drunken hook-ups.
       But it didn't end the productivity that comes with inco de Mayo. I don't remember if
anything good happened last year, but this past weekend, I had a Friday night worthy of all
those past Cinco de Mayo's. No, there were no tales of debauchery, but there were newspaper
stories.
That's right I said STORIES plural.
      And the best part was, the stories didn't involve little kids dying or gruesome murders. No
these were feel good Saturday stories, they may seem corny, but they are a lot of fun to do.
     The first one sent me to Central Park where a new family of ducks had been hatched the night
before. Problem was, the ducks were hatched in a planter outside the Plaza hotel. The little
ducklings were drinking the dirty puddle water outside the Plaza. So the security guards gave the
ducklings and their mother an escort across 59th Street to the park. My mission was to get
comment from the guards, any witnesses, and if I could find them, the ducks.
      I did manage to find the duck and her kids, but they were trapped outside the fence that was
surrounding the pond. When a good samaritan and myself tried to guide the mother duck into
the pond, she quacked loudly and snapped as if she was going to bite us. (A duck translator told
me that Ms. Duck was telling me to "Stay the bleep away from my babies.") The mother duck,
obviously not the smartest bird God ever created, tried every way but the way she needed to in
order to get into the pond. When she finally figured it out, several onlookers gave her an ovation.
      I went back to the office and typed up my notes. I was just about to leave when we got word
that one of those horse drawn carriages that cart tourists around Manhattan had collided with a
car on 11th Avenue.
      So I headed over to investigate. I talked to the owner of the car who was Irish. And some
witnesses. Some of the witnesses worked at the club across the street.
      Now my work as a reporter takes me to some places that I wouldn't wish on anybody. But
for the sake of the story, sometimes you have to go. Friday night, as much as I hated to do it, and
as repulsive as it might seem, I needed information for the story. So I took one for the team, and
I went across to the Penthouse Club, to interview some of the employees. I know I know, it was
awfully brave of me to go into a place that had booze and naked women, and believe me, it took
all the courage I could muster to go in there. But I did it, and it made for better story. Let
nobody think I'm not loyal to my newspaper.
       And then I capped off the evening with Tara with some homemade margarita's and steak
fajitas. A perfect ending to a productive day.

Feliz cinco de mayo!

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          I can understand why people would be outraged by the jury's decision in the Zacarias
Moussaoui case to give him life without parole rather than the death penalty. Why should he live
when so many Americans died at the hands of his associates? Why should someone who spewed
such hurtful talk during his trial at grieving family members get three meals a day, a bed and a
TV (for the love of God) while the good people who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001 have
to live in their own prison of grief with no escape.
      But ask yourself this: What's a worse punishment. Getting injected with a fully sterilized
needle that will essentially put you in a deep sleep before they inject you with painless poison
that will slowly painlessly stop your heart. Or rotting away in a supermax prison in a country you
can't stand alone with your thoughts and the inability to do anything but sit there and ponder the
rest of your life?
     I know the legal eagles are going to tell me that Moussaoui was in jail already on 9/11, that he
had little to nothing to do with 9/11, and that the reason that he wasn't put to death was more
about his lack of involvement with the attacks than anything else.
     But I believe that these jurors knew that Moussaoui wanted to go down as a martyr, and that
a death sentence would have satisfied two of his lusts. Fame and martyrdom. Now he will get
neither.
     Now he gets to spend the rest of his days in the scrap pile of failed jihadists. No paradise, no
72 virgins. He gets to rot away.
     These jurors were strong. Stronger than I would have been.
I actually thought the best solution would be to put Moussaoui in Rikers, the place where they
put all worst of the worst there. He would be in the general population, subject to consistent
beatings and other unmentionable torments. Maybe we'd even get really lucky and he'd get
shanked in there. Unfortunately that won't happen where he is going.
But the good news is, he'll wish it did.

The Sopranos: (SPOILER ALERT Do not read if you haven't seen all nine episodes)

Is it just me or has the Sopranos been a disappointment this season. The first couple of episodes
were good, what with Tony getting shot by Uncle Junior and the subsequent suspense of whether
or not he would ever recover and the scramble by his underlings as to who was in charge. But
since Tony's recovery, the pace of the show has gotten slower, and the stories very dull.
    Two weeks ago they spent most of the episode chronicling the struggles of Artie Bucco and
his Vesuvio's Restaurant. To quote Richard Dreyfuss in Let it Ride "WHO CARES? WHO
CARES!" (Though Artie screaming at his staff about he's treated them like family while he's
been consistently "ass-raped" by them was great.) I also have little to no interest in Vito
Spatafore and his merry adventures in New Hampshire. (Though that may lead to a bigger
storyline.)
      Two seasons ago, show creator David Chase said he wanted to focus more on character
relationship development, and that lead to what was considered the lamest season of the
Sopranos in history. The following season was alot better, with a fantastic season finale. Its going
to take an unforgettable season finale to save this season

END SPOILER ALERT.

Hope all is well

Have a Great Week

Wild B.