-- There’s nothing better after

-- There’s nothing better after a long day than turning on the TV,
seeking distraction---and in a completely accidental fashion--- coming
across a movie that you just love.

Roman Holiday
was on AMC last night, and I felt like I’d been digging for gold and
came across a big ol’ nugget. I just love that movie. I’m a big
Audrey Hepburn fan and she’s wonderful in the role of a princess on
the lam. But, I must admit, I’d always thought Gregory Peck
completely wrong for the role of Joe, the rakish journalist who is a
stand-up guy when it comes down to it. Gregory Peck was
a stand-up guy---and you could tell he was kinda having a hard time
coming up with the rake element. It didn’t come naturally to him. I
don’t know who would have done it better, though. Bogart? Nah. That
would be the opposite: too much rough rogue, not enough stand-up good
guy. He would have written the article, then been wistful about the
choices a broke man must make to pay the rent. Cary Grant? Nah. Too
smooth. He would have done his darndest to make sure the princess ran
off with him. (And honestly, what woman could have resisted that?)
Jimmy Stewart? He comes close, I guess, but not rough enough around the
edges. Hmmmph. A question for the ages, no doubt. As usual, I digress.
Last night I changed my mind about Gregory Peck though, and I’m
finding myself wondering about him. Because, and this is probably me
just getting older and liking different things in men, but damn!
was he sexy! Yeah, I know: he died earlier this summer at the ripe old
age of 87. I’m glad he had a nice long life, but thanks to the
glories of the modern world, I can have a crush on a guy who was old
enough to be my grandfather, but was damn good looking in his youth.
It’s a good thing his youth was recorded for posterity. Adds a whole
new meaning to the word unrequited, doesn’t it?
{evil chuckle} Yes. I am a sick puppy. I know this already
I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m suddenly finding appealing
about him, but it probably boils down to the fact he was a man---with a
capital M. Good, bad or somewhere in between, he was male
and gloriously so. Not to mention, he could dance, which is a good
thing in my book. When he took Audrey for a twirl, you could tell he
was the one leading, which is not something you see very often these
days. A remnant of an almost-forgotten era, I suppose, and one that
never ceases to surprise me when I do see it. People used to learn how
to dance: it was expected. You needed to be able to cut a rug, because,
damnit, that’s when you had fun and got to get your hands on a girl
or a guy in public. Back then no one wanted to be that guy who says, no, I don’t dance
and sits around the whole time trying to look cool. Dancing was what
you did to see if you could move with someone; to see if it was
worthwhile to take it further. It was an exercise in sensuality that
we’re missing out on today. Nowadays, when people dance, it’s
always more of a let’s-move-repeatedly-in-a-circle sort of agreement
that they come to because no one knows how to do it properly; if they
really want to know if they move well together, they generally just hop
in the sack because that’s not a boo-boo anymore. Everyone used to
dance; now you only dance with someone you really care for, who won’t
make fun of you if you’re bad at it. Rarely does any leading go on.
Gregory led, and I just find that incredibly sexy.
Now, don’t throw out all sorts of politically correct,
hairy-armpitted, bra-torching, feminist arguments my way about how men
should never lead, and the fact they are taught to at dancing classes
all over the world is just one more obvious example of how latently
sexist our society is. Pffft. I’m not buying, so sell it somewhere
else. In my opinion, men are supposed to lead when dancing because,
duh, they’re generally bigger than women.
As a relatively short woman I know this. They can see where they’re
going. I can’t, even if I’m in heels. Gregory, I found this
morning, was six-foot-three. He could see, so he led. It’s a big
assumption, but I’ll bet anything if he was dancing with a
six-foot-four woman in three-inch heels, he probably would have gotten
over the awkwardness of the situation quickly and let himself be led.
I like men who can dance. I’m not talking about men who can
successfully pull off the white-man’s-overbite. I’m talking about
guys whose mothers were secretly enamored of Fred Astaire or Gene
Kelly; women who sent their sons to ballroom lessons in between Little
League practices in the secret hope their sons would surpass their
fathers in this arena. They’re out there: you just have to go
looking. When do you find a guy who can actually lead, and does so,
it’s a wonder. Suddenly, you find yourself moving around a dance
floor as if your feet belonged to someone else who has the coordination
that you usually lack. And it’s thrilling in an odd sort of way when
you finally realize that being led around a dance floor is a good thing. When a man puts one of his hands in yours, the other is molding your waist, you’re forced to look up at him, and whoosh…off you go, twirling around a room, you rapidly come to the conclusion that there are many good points to being a woman and this
is one of them. And it gets even better when you dump the guilt you
feel because it doesn’t mean you’re not being a good little
feminist by being led, it means you’re just being female.
Dancing is a celebration of couplehood; a small sighting of what men
and women can do together when they put their minds and bodies to it; a
hint of the potential if you go do something else later in the
evening. {eyebrows-in-need-of-a-serious-plucking wiggling} When I
watched Gregory dancing, all of that sensual potential was there in
abundance, but it wasn’t blatant. It was quiet and it was lovely,
just as I presume he meant for it to be. Man…with a capital M.
Purrrr. --- It’s been all over the media the past few days, so I’ll
dump my two cents worth because it pisses me off. Yep. They’re suing
twelve-year-olds now. Have these people no shame? Go here and here.

"I am sorry for what I have done," LaHara said. "I love music and don't want to hurt the artists I love."

It was much better than Cats. I’ll go and see it again and again and again…
Given the fact most twelve-year-old girls nowadays like boy bands,
Britney and Christina and other prepackaged---bullshit---music that is
already paid for in spades with merchandising, tours and brightly
designed CD’s every girl just has to have, I don’t think Miss
LaHara was hurting
anyone by frequenting Kazaa or Morpheus or Limewire. What’s really at
issue here is the legal maneuvering done on behalf of the RIAA and how
sleazy it is.
I don’t really know for sure what happened with Miss LaHara but I can
speculate, and as a person with plenty of past work experience in the
legal field, I will do so. An old boss of mine was fond of telling
prospective clients when they balked at his fees that the man who hires himself as his attorney has a fool for a client.
And this is exactly why this story reeks; it’s not the copyright
issues, although that just adds fuel to the fire, it’s the fact the
RIAA’s lawyers took advantage. They crossed the lines of decency in
their quest to crack-down. For me, this whole thing smacks of part
procedural goof, part ass covering, and part hotboxing of a
responsible, yet non-lawyer, respondent. The lawyers cocked this one up and the respondent didn’t know any better so they’re getting away with it. .
So, in essence, we’ve got a twelve-old girl downloading music on her
computer. It’s unclear, the article said, how the RIAA attached
Brianna’s name to the lawsuit. It was unclear because they don’t
want to answer the question. When, in the recent history of mankind,
has a twelve-year old girl had enough credit to qualify for a phone
account? Never. So I’m going to make a leap here and say that the
reason Brianna’s name was on the lawsuit was because the RIAA went
one step too far in their research and then the lawyers fucked up. The
lawyers apparently didn’t have the good sense to check and make sure
her name matched up with the name on the Verizon account. I personally
think the RIAA snooped too far, maybe by inserting data mining cookies
on Brianna’s computer or something of that sort, and came up with her
name that way. The methodology isn’t something I’m good at, so if
someone wants to run with this angle, by all means go for it. It will
be important in the future, but it’s not relevant right now. Somehow
they came up with her name.
What is important is that when Brianna’s mother, who no doubt was
terrified at the prospect of her daughter being sued, called to
negotiate with them, they shoved her into a corner and boxed her in.
This is what I mean by hotboxing: it’s a sorority rush term. You take
a potential pledge you really want to join your house aside during rush
(a big no-no)and you tell them all the bad things that will happen to
them if they don’t join your house, playing up the social shunning
angle quite a bit in your description. You slam the other sororities on
their short list. In essence, you take someone’s insecurities and you
tweak and twist them to your benefit. It’s now part of that ever
growing list of things that define hazing in college Greek systems, and
it’s not supposed to happen anymore. But that doesn’t mean it
doesn’t happen in real life, and this is one of those instances. The
short time period between the service of the papers and when the
settlement was announced declares---loudly---that they hotboxed
Brianna’s mother into a settlement. I can almost hear it now, can’t
you? Well, Ms. Torres, your
daughter is in a lot of trouble and we’d hate to see this go any
further. Yes, yes. We understand you didn’t think she was doing
anything wrong, but the law is the law, Ms. Torres. Ignorance is no
defense. I can’t tell you if you should retain an attorney or not,
Ms. Torres. I really shouldn’t say, but do you really think that’s
necessary? I’m sure you don’t need the added financial burden of
hiring an attorney. Lawyers just rack up their bills, Ms. Torres.
{laughter} I can tell you that from experience. We don’t want it to
become worse than it already is, and you sound very intelligent,
ma’am. I think you know what’s best here for your daughter. Some
lawyer out of the yellow pages wouldn’t really help you at all and
would make it more adversarial than it already is and we really don’t
want that. This whole debacle could seriously damage Brianna’s reputation for the rest of her life…
The RIAA lawyers didn’t want Mrs. Torres going to an attorney; a
second year law student at a third rate university could have told
Brianna’s mother that it could have been dismissed---quickly---and
they wouldn’t have had to pay a dime. Brianna’s mother didn’t
know that AHEM you can’t sue a minor.
It’s federal law, kids. Look it up. In any lawsuit petition, and
believe me, I’ve typed up a few, the plaintiff---in this case the
RIAA---has to attest to two things: that the respondent is over the age
of eighteen and that they are not a member of the U.S. military because
under the Soldiers and Sailors Relief Act of 1944, an active member of
the military cannot be sued. I’ve cut and pasted that clause hundreds
of times. This is the mother of all procedural cock-ups . What worries
me is that the RIAA and their lawyers aren’t going to be called on it
because it was quickly settled.
So, what happened here? How did Brianna’s mother miss this one? She
didn’t hire a lawyer. She was probably like most people who are sued
by powerful and rich people: they’re automatically intimidated by the
perception of authority that seems to go hand in hand with wealth and
they want it to go away and they want it to go quickly. She was in over
her head and her lack of legal knowledge was not only taken advantage
of, it was abused. She was in the deep end of the pool, floundering, on
the verge of drowning, and instead of doing the reasonable thing and
just recommending she hire her own attorney, they put their hand on her
head and pushed down, while showing her the life raft they held in
their other hand. Ok, that’s complete and utter speculation, but
I’ve seen it happen, so it’s a logical assumption on my part.
As a former process server, I would have hated to have served these
papers and I can make a reasonable guess that this is not only when
Brianna’s mother got involved, but when the lawyers realized they had
to cover their asses and they needed to do it quickly. You see, not
only is it illegal to sue a minor, it’s also illegal to serve one.
You can serve an adult who happens to be at the house, even if the
respondent is there. Anyone who’s over the age of eighteen can accept
service. I’ll bet you anything that the process server knocked on the
door, asked for Brianna, saw she was twelve and then sussed something
was not right with this picture, but gave the papers to her mother. A
call went to the law firm after that and when Brianna’s mother called
the lawyers, it was a godsend, because by that time, they’d realized
their mistake. Here was the opportunity to get the job done
satisfactorily before a lawyer hired by her family capitalized on their
goof and snooped around to see just how Brianna’s name was attached
when it wasn’t on the Verizon account. This is the sort of thing
I’ve seen lawsuits dismissed for. The fact they got a settlement out
of Brianna’s family tells me that something of this nature happened.
It’s despicable. Absolutely despicable. But there’s no going back
now: a settlement has been signed, and unless someone who has hard
proof goes to the Bar Association, nothing’s going to happen. And
lawyers wonder why people hate them. --- Here’s your Chuckle of the Day.

Go forth and sin no more, my child .

Snort

--- Have a good weekend. See you on Monday.