Gorton's Sea Kitten Sticks?

Why do members of the media always take the bait on PETA?

Because their public relations folks are clever, that's why.

Consider PETA's latest campaign. After years of yapping about the horrors of fishing - to no avail - the animal activists are trying a new approach.

They want to rebrand fish.

Unable to rouse much public sympathy for scaly sea creatures to date, PETA now proposes a piscean name change.

From "Fish." To "Sea Kittens."

Thus, the "Save The Sea Kittens" campaign was born.

Who'd want to hook a helpless sea kitten, they wonder?

Who'd fillet a sea kitten?

Who'd throw a sea kitten on the grill?

Easy. If it's a delicious salmon sea kitten steak we're talking about, the answer is, me.

 

Photo of succulent sea kittens on cedar planks by woodleywonderworks

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Michael Jackson, Day Six

 

No one was surprised Thursday night when the news world was on fire about Michael Jackson’s unexpected death.

But Friday morning, when I turned on CNN, I was stunned to find the cable news network was essentially covering NOTHING else. It was the same story on the MSNBC and FOX.

It was like the death of Princess Diana all over again.

The networks stationed reporters outside of the L.A. Country Coroner’s office, where they waited for an autopsy report that was hours and hours away.

To keep viewers interested they actually teased with promos like this one: Stay tuned. We’ll be back after the break with live coverage of the birthplace of Michael Jackson in Gary, Indiana.

Back in the studios, news anchors interviewed doctors that had never met Jackson, “dear friends” who hadn’t seen the entertainer in almost a decade and assorted celebrity hangers on. One outlet – sorry, they’re a blur – actually trotted out the entertainment editor of The National Enquirer who pointed out that her paper had broken the story that Michael Jackson had six months to live, six months ago!

This is news?

Meanwhile, anyone interested in world events had to squint at the crawl to learn that one person had been killed in an explosion in Afghanistan, that there was more saber-rattling from Korea and that Congress was about to vote on a major energy bill.

“This is what happens when 24-hour cable news spins out of control,” I wrote in my Sunday column.

In an email, Greg agreed.

This Michael Jackson coverage from the television news outlets is driving me crazy. I'm the same age as 'the glove" but find it hard to watch the crying and hand wringing we are exposed to on a daily basis since his passing. Chad Johnson of the Cincinnati Bengals the other day compared it to the tragedy of 9/11! Please! 

Look, Michael Jackson was a HUGE talent. Legions of his fans are grieving. But his death was not like September 11.  Not even close.

As I write this, six days on, there is some return to news normalcy. Still, Jackson is everywhere. Moments ago, MSNBC featured celebrity lawyers, predicting a court battle for custody of Michael Jackson's three children.

Oh no.

If you thought coverage of Anna Nicole Smith's child custody case was over the top, just wait.

 

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Nice move, Nye

Memo to Rep. Glenn Nye: You know you're doing the right thing when The Daily Kos kicks you around for it.

 

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Putting on the dog

Timing is everything.

On the same day we learn that financial whiz Warren Buffet reportedly believes the American economy is in “shambles,” with no recovery in sight, Virginia Beach honchos continue to whistle past the graveyard, toying with ever more extravagant projects.

They're either tone deaf or out of touch.

For instance, there are discussions afoot to buy the old Circuit City property near Town Center for a cool $5 million. For a light rail station. Even though the city still hasn’t approved a light rail project. (Or if they have, they haven’t yet bothered to tell the poor schlumps who will have to pay for it.)  Yeah, yeah, they could also use it for a bus station. Right.

And there's this: Beach pols are chewing on plans for a new animal shelter.

Make no mistake, Virginia Beach needs one. The current facility, like so much architectural junk tossed up in the 1970s, is obsolete.

The Beach shelter is so bad that some healthy-but-homeless animals have reportedly gone in, gotten sick and been euthanized.

Awful.

Then again, so is the pricetag for a new shelter.

City honchos predict that a new “adoption-friendly” kennel will cost the Beach – are you sitting down? - $23 to $26 MILLION. The good news? A developer is going to kick in some loot to get it done.

Please.

Surely a roomy, clean, well-equipped facility can be built for millions less. This dog and cat joint doesn't need to be a the Ritz-Carlton of kennels.

Looks like somebody wants to put ON the dog instead of putting UP the dog.

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Jon and Kate Minus Me

Stop the presses!

Jon & Kate Promise Big News on Next Show - Chicago Sun-Times

Jon Gosselin Has "No Idea" Where Wife Kate Is - New York Daily News.

Jon and Kate Gosselin Reportedly Filed for a Divorce Monday - ABC News

You've got to hand it to the publicity geniuses at TLC.

They've managed to turn a debauched family drama into an over- hyped money machine. Every time the audience shrinks, they manufacture a new marital crisis so they can start promoting an explosive new episode.

Is there anything they won't do for money?

Yep, I'm talking about the insipid sextuplet series "Jon and Kate Plus 8."

So what if there are real children involved? So what if the shameless parents parade their spats and peccadillos on TV and across the tabloids for the whole country to see? And so what if this made-for-TV family is spinning out of control, within reach of millions of remote controls?

Remember, they're messing up their lives and their kids' home for YOU.

There's only one way to make them stop.

On behalf of the Gosselin children, I'm begging you.

Turn it off. 

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An unlikely hero

 

I suspect that when the full saga of Lauren Cootes is finally told two heroes will emerge.

One is the extraordinary Cox High School senior herself, of course.

The other will be the common-sense Virginia Beach school superintendent who shook off silly rules and inflexible regulations to do the right thing.

First, let's applaud Lauren. This 17-year-old has been fighting two wars recently. One against cancer. Another against heartless  bureaucrats who want to deprive her of a high school diploma because she hasn't taken one part of the SOLs. Never mind that she's an honor student. Or that she's already been accepted to a fine university for the fall.

Next, let's give a shout out to James Merrill.

When was the last time a school superintendent acted boldly and heroically?

Just this week, it seems.

After an exchange between Merrill and state officials on Monday - privacy regs prevent us from knowing what was said - the Cootes family was told that not only would Lauren get her diploma, but that the superintendent himself would be happy to bring it to her room in Children's Hospital of The King's Daughters.

Take that, Richmond!

Oddly enough, about that same time on Monday the state education honcho, Patricia Wright, fired off a memo to all Virginia school superintendents reminding them that there were to be no exceptions to the state standards.

Sheesh.

Someone needs to remind Tim Kaine's administration - heck, I'll do it - that they're running the Department of EDUCATION not the Department of Rigid  Rules and Ruthless Regulations.

Here's a thought: Next time a Virginia governor needs someone to head the department of education, he should take a trip to the  Beach where at least one person understands the purpose of a high school diploma.

 

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Government gnomes at work

       

      What follows is a reprint of Sunday's column.

      I'm posting it for those who don't have home delivery - shame on you - or who live out of town and have not yet subscribed to ePilot.

     I do this not because I'M important but because the topic of Sunday's screed was.

     If we all make a lot of noise about this abomination, there's a chance Richmond may come to its senses.

GIVE THE GIRL HER DIPLOMA, YOU INCONSIDERATE VA. BUREAUCRATS

       SHARLEEN COOTES should not be on the phone with me. She should be in a hospital room on the eighth floor of Children’s Hospital of The King’s Daughters, holding Lauren’s hand.        Here’s an idea: Give Lauren her diploma and dare Wright to come down and take it away.    

 

   But it’s Friday morning and she’s reluctantly slipped away from her daughter’s bedside for a few minutes to help me understand the Kafka-esque ordeal wreaking havoc on her family, courtesy of Virginia’s Department of Education.

 

   Due to a wrinkle in state education regulations – and factotums in Richmond too timid to challenge them – Lauren Cootes, honor student, may not graduate with the Cox High School Class of 2009 next Saturday night.

 

   You want an eye-opening example of government at its worst? Read on.

 

   In May 2008, Lauren, then 16, was diagnosed with leukemia. She began a brutal regimen of chemotherapy and radiation that caused her to miss her entire senior year of school.

 

   She took four classes with a homebound tutor, who said she needed just two to graduate, so she could earn an advanced studies diploma.

 

   One problem. She became so ill and was hospitalized so many times that she was unable to take the second half of her English SOLs – the reading comprehension section. Instead, a portfolio of Lauren’s work was submitted as a substitute.

 

   “She’s passed every SOL she’s ever taken,” her mother told me.

 

   Yet her portfolio was rejected.

 

   What Lauren doesn’t know, as she struggles through a fog of painkillers, is that functionaries – heavy with Ph.D.s but light on common sense – have helplessly shrugged their puny shoulders about her predicament.

 

   She doesn’t meet the requirements. Hence, no diploma.

 

   Virginia Beach School Superintendent James G. Merrill fired off a letter to the state superintendent, Patricia Wright, last week pointing out that Lauren is “an outstanding student who has consistently made the honor roll. She has been accepted to Christopher Newport University. Obviously strong reading skills have contributed to this success.”

 

   He urged Wright to unshackle herself from the unwavering regulations.

 

   “Certainly, we all understand the importance of the standards inherent in graduation,” Merrill wrote. “There are times, however, when common sense, compassion and commitment to children must move us toward creative alternatives.”

 

   Amen, brother.

 

   As of Friday afternoon, state officials were clinging to their rules.

 

   A spokesman for the department referred me to Standards of Accreditation 8 VAC 20-131-350, which states that “In no event shall waivers be granted to the requirements of Part III (8 VAC 20-131-30 et seq.) of these regulations.”

 

   Seriously?

 

   Here are a few things that 8 VAC 20-131-350 doesn’t know:

 

   Lauren’s been in the hospital for more than two weeks with double pneumonia, a blood infection, a possible fungal infection and near total kidney failure. She just completed radiation of her head and is suffering shortterm memory loss.

 

   You tell me, is this a good time for her to be worrying about the SOLs?

 

   Fortunately, she isn’t. Her parents haven’t told her about the diploma deadlock.

 

   On Thursday, I talked to the

 

   tutor who worked with Lauren all year.

 

   “Anyone else would use this as an excuse not to do schoolwork,” Nancy Broskus said. “But Lauren has a tremendous work ethic. I actually tutored her when she was lying down on the couch, too sick to sit up.

 

   “She has been robbed of her senior year because of illness,” Broskus added. “The only thing she’s got left is graduation.”

 

   But what are the chances Lauren will be well enough Saturday night to be on stage at the Virginia Beach Convention Center?

 

   “The doctor told me she’ll be there if he has to issue a pass and push her across the stage himself,” her mother said, reminding me that Saturday is more than just graduation day for Lauren. It’s her 18th birthday.

 

   Lauren Cootes has earned her high school diploma.

 

   No bureaucratic bootlicker should be able to keep it away from her.

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Color me skeptical

So Fiat is going to save Chrysler, huh?

Hah.

That could only make sense to someone who's never owned one of these Italian cars.

In 1975, I bought my first car. It was a Fiat 128. It looked something like this:

                                                                                   

Only it was navy blue. And it was a 128, not a 127. And I never trusted mine on a spin in the snow.

The tires were tinker-toy tiny, though, just like this one. Perfect for blowouts.

But blowouts were the least of my problems. The master cylinder failed in the first month. Then the cheesy little plastic timing belt broke and the engine had to be replaced in the second year. Eventually the clutch broke and had to be operated manually by a wire coat hanger.

In short, this fun-to-drive little car was incapable of traveling more than 1,000 miles without a breakdown.

It wasn't until today's column, when I finally fessed up to once buying one of these lemons, that I realized I was an unwitting member of a International Fiat Fraternity.

John emailed to tell me that he'd owned a 1974 Fiat.

"Mine was the MR model. Mussolini's Revenge. In 60,000 miles over 10 years I had problems I never encountered before or since with other cars imported or domestic...My favorite was the rubber fuel lines rotting out after six months."

Geez. I'd forgotten all about those fuel lines.

Go ahead and believe that Fiat is going to save Chrysler if you like.

Me, I'm not buying it.

 

 

 

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Eating is NOT a sport

 

 

Perhaps you saw: Norfolk played host last Saturday to the Hot Dog Eating state championships.

The winner - who'll presumably represent Virginia in the national finals at Coney Island on the 4th of July - managed to inhale 36 dogs in 10 minutes making her, well, what exactly?

A great athlete? A glutton?

Or a person who's able to freakishly stretch her stomach to super-human proportions?

We report, you decide.

In today's column, which non-subscribers to The Pilot can no longer see, I gently poke fun at snipe about this kind of stomach-turning exhibitionism and attempts by some outfit called Major League Eating to turn swinishness into a sport.

Let's call eating contests what they are: disgusting.

Our mothers were right when they told us - long ago - to stop playing with our food.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mind if I have a look around?

I don’t want to write another word about the Norfolk City Assessor.

Or any other city assessor.

Know your rights and you’ll be fine: You don’t have to let them in your house. Unless they have a search warrant. (See 4th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution for details.)

But one more word – OK a few more – on the topic.

When I caught up with Norfolk Assessor Deborah Bunn at City Hall the other evening I told her about a call I’d received from one of you – a mother of three tots – who felt she was being bullied by an assessor who came to her house several times trying to come inside. Her husband was a work and she was fearful of strangers. My column, she said, taught her that it was perfectly legal to turn this relentless appraiser away.

(Sheesh. Was this person snoozing during civics class?)

To my astonishment, Bunn didn’t seem shocked. She assured me this wasn’t part of her citywide door-to-door canvass, but probably  one of her workers following up on a BUILDING PERMIT.

Ah. Very clever.

Look, when you pull a building permit, you’re telling the city that you’re about to have some electrical or plumbing or carpentry work done and you’re agreeing to abide by the city code. At the conclusion of the work an inspector will usually come by and you are obliged to let him in to see that the work meets code.

Period.

You are NOT obligated to let some nosy person from the assessor's office in to see if you installed gold-plated faucets on your new sink or if that trim is made of mahogany.

Yet assessors know that an official-looking city employee on the doorstep, clipboard in hand, telegraphs the message that they are a routine part of the building permit process.

They are not.

There’s a way to handle this. Order them off your property. 

Close the door.

Unless you like the idea of the government poking around inside, that is. If so, by all means, pour the assessor an espresso and take him or her on a guided tour of your castle.  

 

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