Sheep's Clothing

I was enjoying my morning coffee yesterday when (play nails on a chalkboard sound in your mind here) Uber Fiend John Mark Karr's whispery voice floated from the TV. That unmistakable, unsettling sound got me running from the kitchen to the TV, only to catch the last second of the teaser, "Next up, we talk with John Mark Karr!"

CNN, for whatever reason, engaged this slippery perv in yet another meaningless interview. I thought after the repeated uncomfortable pauses with Greta Van Susteren last summer, that was it. But no, a year later, we go again. He sat across from the anchor, so obviously enjoying himself and clearly invigorated by the attention or "fame", as he likely sees it. The interviewer greeted him nicely, thanked him for coming and after a few more pleasantries asked him what exactly he meant by certain statements he made while in custody for the JonBenet murder. "What did you mean when you said her death was an accident?" she asks.

I sigh in frustration. Before I can draw my next breath, Mr. Karr responds in predictable fashion, "Unfortunately, I just cannot discuss the details of certain things. I wish I could, but I just can't." Barf, I say. He always responds this way to questions about the strange and incriminating things he'd so willingly blurted out to media so many months ago, in the center of what I imagine was his finest hour - to him.

Then the journalist does as so many before her, she morphs into a police detective during interrogation. "Did you kill JonBenet Ramsey?" Oh come on, reporters. Come on! Not you too, CNN. Please, stop the insanity. No more John Mark Karr broken record interviews. I just imagine him enjoying these appearances so very much. There is not going to be any on-air admission. There will be no questions answered. There will only be an unpleasant image of a true wolf in sheep's clothing for me to push out of my mind all day long.

Queen Cazizzle

As Will I Am's new single, "I Got it From My Mama", climbs the charts here in the U.S. I stand agasp, mouth open, head shaking, pockets a lot emptier than his. Come on public! Are you serious? Do you really think this is a great jam?

An examination of the lyrics reveals gems such as, "If the girl real pretty, nine times out of ten, she pretty like her mama. And if her mama real ugly, I guarantee ya she gon’ be ugly like her mama". Is that the bar for making it in the biz today? If so, I'm fairly confident I could raise it, or at least meet it, with a jingle of my own celebrating sons and fathers.

Will I Am has got to be laughing his arse off about the popularity of this song. I imagine it was born out of a conversation involving the statement, "I dare you to submit this to the label with a straight face!".

Well, back to my budding music career. Before I document my musical brilliance with catchy lyrics about sexual attractions to moms and their daughters and the politics of the female gene pool, I think I need some street cred. Thus, I'm ditching my name Cat for Queen Cazizzle. A gal's gotta talk the talk to walk the walk. And I got that from my mama.

Passion, Music and Demons

I so enjoyed "El Cantante", Jennifer Lopez's new film that opened last night. Talk about a movie that swallows you up - I was right there with Hector and Puchi, feeling their passion for each other, for music, hating Hector as he jeopardized everything again and again. But also hoping he would make it, defeat his demons. Critics, including people who lived the story, say the movie unfairly focuses on Hector's drug use and portrays Puchi too favorably. The real story, they say, is Hector's struggles to be recognized as an artist in a discriminating industry. Well, maybe so, but I was captured by the movie and the story the producers chose to tell anyway.

I don't really listen to salsa, but it's so easy to enjoy. I almost can't resist twisting my hips to the beat. In fact, I did several hip twists right there in my theater seat.

I digress. The film is moving and appeals to the human condition with realistic portrayals of struggles with infidelity, drugs, joy and death. The movie's about Hector LaVoe's life, the prominent Puerto Rican singer who introduced the salsa sound in the 1970s. Lopez plays Hector's wife, Puchi and her husband Marc Anthony portrays Hector. The two explode off the screen. I easily forgot their own celebrity, buried under their embodiment of the LaVoes. The story's pretty tragic and I won't spoil it, but you might find yourself thinking, "are you kidding me?" when one blow after another hits the family. Not that most aren't self initiated, but still.

If you want to take a break from mass destruction and murder movies (which I'm known to frequent, myself) and see a film where actors really do master their craft, go see Hector and Puchi. "El Cantante" might leave you emotionally exhausted, but you won't feel ripped off by another over hyped, silly movie. I might actually buy some bongo drums.

PERV Called Out

Jack J. McClellan, 45, enjoys photographing young girls and posting their pictures on websites he maintains for the pleasure of pedophiles according to local news reports here in Southern California. The Santa Monica Police Department took an unusual chance this week by releasing an information bulletin to the public featuring this filthy man's photo, address, vehicle description, license plate and method of operation. Outstanding! The document clearly states he has not yet been convicted of a sexual offense and is not currently wanted. It simply issues a warning to parents to call in any questionable behavior by McClellan to police.

McClellan was recently seen in the children's section of the Santa Monica library and stated on TV he, 'just likes to be around the kids'. Pardon me while I shiver. I really applaud Santa Monica PD for supporting parents' rights to be informed of this deviant's behavior in their own backyards. The backlash of civil rights violations is brewing. This man, straight from the creep-o-torium, has already claimed his privacy is violated and blames police for putting his life in danger when he "and most others like him just like to look at the kids, but haven't crossed the line of doing anything sexual". YET.

When, not if but when, the fine attorney who has no doubt already negotiated a deal with this man crawls out, alleging discrimination, right to privacy and the necessary compensation for severe mental distress caused by this outing, I shall vomit right here all over my keyboard. Please, society, can we just once let the police warn us without worrying about whether the deviant is okay with it? If you'd like to express support of this bulletin to Santa Monica PD, you can email them here.

While the media, police, courts and this particular yanker sort it all out, please be aware that you can look up sex registrants in your area by visiting a Megan's Law website directory, searchable by name, address and zip code. You'll get a photo and offense information for any registrant matching your search. Keep in mind many registrants don't keep current with their obligation to report their addresses to law enforcement, so the lists are not comprehensive. But it's something, nonetheless. If you'd like a nicely packaged report with updates emailed to you when a new perv moves into your area, other sites will do so for a small activation fee and monthly charge, usually about $5.00. For the price of a Starbucks coffee, you can arm yourself with some information vital to your child's safety.

Protect Your Checks

Here's another way to jam the crooks and make their trade just a little less easy street. Uniball offers a new pen to thwart check washing, which is soaking your signed check in a solution that removes all the fields you've filled in after the thief has traced your signature.

The Uniball 207 claims to infuse your check with permanent ink resistant to these shenanigans. I for one am dishing out the $2.29 plus tax to prevent some clown from erasing my documents and taking me for whatever they can get. It's true, most of us don't write checks anymore with the omnipresent debit card and bill pay, but I still have a few instances where checks are necessary.

You'd be surprised how many cases of this kind of fraud are filed by detectives at my law enforcement agency, so I know it is indeed a real crime. Tell your world about the Uniball 207! Someone over at that company sure had their thinking cap on.

Pull Your Pants Up

Another jurisdiction is playing with fire by banning low slung pants that expose underwear or private parts. This ordinance actually has a hammer: up to $500 in fines and six months in jail. Hooooweeee! Go on with your common sense self, Delcambre, LA! This is old news now, having passed last month, but I hadn't heard about it. Yesterday it was a call-in topic on a hip hop radio station I flipped across.

Boy were those callers mad! "Freedom of expression!", "Illegal!", they cried. And inevitably, "Discrimination!" Let's unclutter the issue. Underwear, if anyone is uncertain about its intended use, gives us a great clue in its name: Underwear. It's to be worn under our clothes. I don't want to see anyone's boxers, briefs, whale tails or coin slots when I'm walking down the street, thanks. What yahoo got everyone thinking these sights were sexy, cool or worse yet, no big deal? Man up, society! Let's not be afraid to say, 'that's disgusting and stupid', when something's disgusting and stupid.

There were almost 100 comments posted to the Washington Post article I linked to. Most were outraged at the government telling us what we can wear or astonished at the steep penalties. Well, when parents or we ourselves can't recognize inappropriate public apparel, maybe we need a little help. As for the fines, yes, they're stiff alright. A juvenile can steal about 10 cars before they see any formal probation or camp time in my jurisdiction in California. So someone going to jail for flashing their butt is great cause for celebration to me.

Somewhere along the line, we've forgotten the difference between sensuality and sexuality. Being sensual is far more enticing than raw sexuality to me. By the way they're dressing, many young people must think the more skin shown the better, the sexier. Sensuality is the great intoxicator, though. It gives us hints to what may lay beneath. We don't see the blasted boxers or thong hanging out, but we imagine what it might be like under there after someone's sensuality blips on our radar.

So please, America, pull up your pants. No matter what you see on MTV or what your friends say, you look ridiculous.

Death of a Snailsman

I feel absolutely horrible when I step on a snail. I hear the cracking of that little shell. My foot slides forward a bit, lubricated by snail goo and I'm just wrecked for the day. It's strange, I can review police reports all day about people beaten up, robbed and generally mistreated and it doesn't affect me as much as accidentally smashing a snail.

The snail's murder occurred last night near my condo. I'm usually quite careful because it's somewhat damp here by the bay at dusk and snails are known to frequent. I guess it really wasn't murder because I had no intent. It was, like I said, purely accidental. So I suppose this makes it manslaughter. Snailslaughter. Crunch. Agony...

It is like the train wreck cliche; after I've smashed it, I just cannot look away. I cringe, but kneel down and look at it. And there he was, poor thing, writhing naked, shell-less, on the sidewalk, seconds to live. It was purely horrific.

I don't know why I'm so empathetic toward the snail. It defies logic, common sense, which is what I examine here on UltraJam. It's just so easy for me to imagine him gathering up his gusto for an evening stroll..."Okay! Here I go. I just know I can make it to the other edge of the sidewalk before dark if I start out now. Ready, set, AHHHHHHH!" Silence.

I know, let it go, you say. It's only a silly snail. But alas, is there a creature more docile? More defenseless against the human foot than a snail? I know his remains are out there, by my door, and I will need to muster strength to pass by him this morning. His family is no doubt assuming the worst by now. Tomorrow is truly promised to no one.