Crime Beat: The War on Terror Rolls on

Posted on September 28, 2007 by ubu507

 

Terror plot on the Turnpike? Well, not exactly

Suspicious activity that placed the toll road on alert turns out to be two men taking pictures for a prospective bidder

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

By Joe Grata, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

State police took two suspicious men into custody on the Pennsylvania Turnpike near Harrisburg yesterday and interrogated them for taking unauthorized photos of toll road facilities over a three-day period.

"We are treating this as a possible terrorist activity," turnpike Chief Executive Officer Joe Brimmeier said initially, but it turned out that the two men were carrying out a work assignment for a company looking into buying or leasing the toll road.

The turnpike had been on a heightened security alert since Sunday, when two men were spotted taking photos of turnpike maintenance sheds in Somerset and Bedford counties. They entered through private gates and said they had possession of keys to at least one of the sheds, Mr. Brimmeier said.

Men also were spotted taking photos Monday at the Mahoning Valley interchange on the Northeast Extension, but they were gone by the time police arrived.

State police said the two men detained and questioned were from Spain and carried Spanish passports and U.S. work visas. They claimed they had permission to enter turnpike property and take the photos, a matter that turnpike officials were to investigate further today.

Police confiscated their cameras and laptop computers.

The men told police they work for Cintra, a Spain-based global investment company that has teamed to invest in toll road leases in the United States. The firm has expressed interest in a long-term lease or purchase of the Pennsylvania Turnpike in response to requests by Gov. Ed Rendell for "letters of interest."

Mr. Brimmeier said no one either sought or received permission to enter turnpike property or to take photos of places that the toll facility regards as security sensitive, including five tunnels and numerous service plazas where large amounts of gasoline and diesel fuel are stored for retail sale to turnpike customers.

The men were picked up by state police around 3:30 p.m. yesterday while taking pictures of the Yellow Breeches Creek bridge west of Harrisburg.

A radio operator on his way home after finishing his shift at 3 p.m. at the turnpike’s administration building in Highspire spotted the two men acting suspiciously at the bridge and contacted state police.

"If we find they have keys to maintenance facilities and they were obtained illegally, we have a big problem," Mr. Brimmeier said. "Otherwise, things may work out for them. But I’m glad we have their cameras and laptops. God only knows who could get their hands on this type of information and what they could do with it."

First published on September 26, 2007 at 12:00 am

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Quote Bag: But Listen!

Posted on September 26, 2007 by ubu507

But listen! – at the very first crack of dawn,

The ground underfoot begins to mutter,

The woody ridges to quake, and a baying

Of the hounds was heard through the half-light

The goddess was coming,

                                      Hecate

So much the Sibyl said and, ecstatic,

Plunged into the open cave mouth.

 

– The Aeneid of Virgil translated by Cecil Day Lewis 

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Act Today, Not Tomorrow

Posted on September 25, 2007 by ubu507

Act today, not tomorrow: the Blog God must realize urgency of better cool efficiency

by B.O. Plenty and Sprinkle Saltwoman

To our fellow citizens of the Ypsilanti, we have one question: Do you know you will perhaps more than anyone else in the country, have the power to really do something about being cool?

Our spiritual leader Mark Maynard, is most likely the individual who will be right about our response to be being cool. That’s an incredible responsibility. As his disciples we must share that responsibility. It is for this reason that we started an online presence at WWW.MarkMaynard.com to show our leader that he has our support in taking stronger action to help promote global cool.

The goals of this missive are reasonable and modest: one is to promote the public unisexual wearing of Ypsipanties; the other is to ensure more public funding and massive publicity for the sublime gathering that is the Shadow Art Fair.

A few weeks ago we saw the Blog God himself walking down the street. His appearance at that time doesn’t lead us to believe he shares the same sense of urgency. He now appears, in his unkempt and hirsute state to be more like a deranged loner or mountain man than the Beacon of Cool we know him to be. He recently refused to trim his hair, beard, cut his finger nails or stop drooling – which is surprising to us, because a recent poll shows that those of us in his way feel that his personal hygiene needs to be improved. According to a bipartisan poll conducted by the Metalman Group and public opinion strategies, on behalf of the youth campaign for cool, 96% of those who viewed Mark felt that his appearance should be "somewhat less alarming than that of a raving wino at the bus station," exactly the standard which we are now demanding.

If the Blog God says that now is the time to be cool, why is he resisting attempts to make himself look presentable? The Czar of the Ypsipanty has spent a lifetime supporting the cooler than thou ethos and protecting his bald spot. The hypocritical square soulless fiends of Ann Arbor have resisted Mark improving his personal hygiene because they claim it will hurt his authenticity.

However, a recent study by the University of Arwulf Arwulf Physical Education (UAAPE) found that Mark would increase his coolness by a minimum standard of less gross behavior. "Under the highest proposed standards of appearance," the report claims, "Mark stands to have a lot fewer people running away from him if he stops picking his nose." Taking action on this issue immediately will not only help his public image but may improve his startling fingernail problems as well.

Getting a haircut and stopping picking his nose aren’t silver bullets. We know that. They would be, however, steps in the right direction. They are steps Mark needs to take. Rather than fight a higher standard of personal cleanliness we – and the Blog God – should embrace it and focus our energies on bringing dollars into Ypsilanti to promote Ypsipanty wearing and Shadow Art fair going. The publicity is there for public unisexual panty display and paintings of severed unicorn heads. The Blog God and Ypsipany Czar should demand the media resources that will make these activities seem even cooler.

Please join us in encouraging the Blog God to do what’s right for his future – and Ypsilanti’s. 

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Quote Bag: Her She Kisses

Posted on September 22, 2007 by ubu507

Often Love commanded me to go and look for the youngest of angels; so, during those early years I often went in search of her, and I found her to be of such natural dignity and worthy of such admiration that the words of Homer suited her perfectly: "She seemed to be the daughter, not of a mortal, but of a god."

– Dante’s Vita Nuova

translated by Mark Musa

 

Do you really think your soft approach

Could shake him that way

You who walk like the wind at dawn?

Oh yes you startled his heart

– Rainer Maria Rilke

translated by David Young

 

What loving rhythms, what passionate poems

Are worthy to honor her whose beauty

Wears its desire upon its forehead like a diadem?

– Renee Vivien

 

In the empty mountains

The leaves of the bamboo grass

Rustle in the wind.

I think of a girl

Who is not here.

– Hitomaro

translated by Kenneth Rexroth

 

Now the Trojan leader found himself near her and knew

That the form he glimpsed through the shadows was hers

As early in the month one sees, or imagines he sees through

A wrack of cloud the new moon rising and glimmering

 

– The Aeneid of Virgil

translated by C. Day Lewis 

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Crime Beat: What?

Posted on September 21, 2007 by ubu507

 

Loser of foot race says winner hit him

An Ypsilanti man told police he was assaulted by a man in Ann Arbor after losing a foot race at about 2 a.m. Sunday morning.

Ann Arbor Police reported they went to St. Joseph Mercy Hospital, where the 24-year-old victim was being treated for facial injuries he said occurred in the 3500 block of Braeburn Circle about an hour earlier, reports said.

Officers initially thought the attack may be related to a report of shots fired in that area just before 2 a.m. The victim, however, denied any knowledge of a gun being involved.

He told police he challenged a professional football player to a footrace and lost because his shoe fell off. He said he paid the man an undisclosed amount of money and then the man sucker punched him, momentarily knocking him out.

He took himself to the hospital, reports said.

The victim was referred to the detective bureau to determine whether he wanted to pursue charges.  

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In Memoriam: Shakey Jake Woods

Posted on September 19, 2007 by ubu507

 

I remember the first time I saw Shakey Jake Woods (he actually signed things "Shakin’ Jake," but common usage will always make him Shakey) – it was at my alma mater, Kenyon College in tiny Gambier, Ohio. On my hallway was a kid from Ann Arbor (the son of Ann Arbor’s most famous polluter, but that’s another story) who had the iconic Shakey Jake poster on his wall. While I pursued my various derangements of the senses I used to study that poster, trying to figure out exactly who it could be, this gentleman in the broad brimmed lady’s hat tied under his chin with a red ribbon, white plastic sunglasses, cheap blue suit and big bow tie, with white carnations on both lapels, a flowered scarf and a long string of pearls around his neck, large rings on most fingers, and holding a guitar upsidedown, strumming, his other hand not even attempting to make a chord. The guy from Ann Arbor wasn’t much help, merely giggling that he was this weird black guy who went around town playing his guitar badly for change. Little did I know that years later I would move to Ann Arbor and come to know Shakey Jake.

Once when I was working at Borders a while ago Shakey Jake came in and a girl there by the name of Nicole Pinsky, said "I’d like to kick him right in the teeth." Why, I wondered, would a person who had known nothing but privilege her whole life, the daughter of a future Poet Laureate of the United States, want to kick a harmless old black man in the teeth, and express her desire so proudly and publicly? It seems that at that time there was a rumor that Jake was in fact an immensely wealthy slum lord who was shamming homelessness to add to his already enormous coffers. Ms. Pinsky felt that Jake was betraying the true homeless and that she would be merely expressing her sincere compassion for the downtrodden by violently applying her expensive footwear to his face. Of course that rumor wasn’t true – Jake never pretended to be homeless, but he was far from wealthy, and he pretty much eked out the same bare bones existence as any member of the working poor.

Let’s be charitable and say that Generation X, the children of Reagan, just didn’t get Jake. He’s definitely more of a sixties thing. It was the fashion then to dig up old blues men with funny names like Blind Lemon Jefferson or Sonny Boy Williamson who had been popular in the thirties and forties with black audiences, then gone out of style and slipped into obscurity, and bring them back to young white audiences who had been schooled in the blues by white groups so influenced by the old school. It answered that decade’s desire for authenticity (remember that?) and served as a way for the new groups to repay the enormous musical debt they owed their predecessors. Shakey Jake fit into this mold, wandering the streets, playing his guitar, singing – but here was the joke many didn’t get – he couldn’t sing, play or write songs very well. I relate it to another current of the sixties, conceptual art, the happening and Andy Warhol. Jake was famous for being famous, and made a living selling postcards, bumper stickers, posters and unlistenable recording of himself. How brilliant is that, how ironic and post modern.

In person Jake was far from ironic. He had his iconic phrase Movin’ On, and he lived by it, pushing himself day after day to hit the next street corner or go to the next place, to keep moving, in what was, after all, an inspirational embrace of life. After I started my store he soon learned I was a soft touch who would buy the unsold products he had when he was ready to go home, and would also call him a cab to get him there, talking until it arrived. Sometimes with his repeated trademark phrases, his road runner Beep Beep and occasional nonsensical statements, I’d think he was just totally off his beam, but then he’d snap back and ask me how my kids and wife were, remembering the things I’d told him about myself with much more acuity than the average customer. He liked to talk about the meal he was going to have when he got home, and quiz me on what my wife was going to make me, always telling me how lucky I was to have dinner waiting for me on the table. I loved the way he would always be just Jake, himself, telling my customers he was a hundred and five oh, yeah, even when they’d try and "communicate" earnestly with him – "Come on, Jake, seriously, how old are you?" A hundred and five, oh, yeah.

Thanks to Carol at Peaceable Kingdom, his life became much more regular in his final years, and he even got cable television which he enjoyed immensely. Instead of staying out all day, he’d start retreating back to his apartment in the afternoon, to the microwave and T.V. Added to his repertoire of expressions lately was a loud groan followed by Whatta life, whatta life, and it wasn’t hard to tell that his boundless energy was at long last ebbing. He moved to a place closer to downtown recently, so, relieved of taxi duty, I didn’t see him that much. People would come in and notice all my Jake stuff and ask "Is he still alive?" and I used to be able to say, "Hell, yeah, I saw him on Liberty and Main this morning," but the last few months I hadn’t seen him anywhere, so I’d just say "I suppose so. I’m assuming that if he died they’d have something about it in the newspaper." It took them a couple of days but they did.

I always likened him to the Eiffel Tower, a landmark that was totally useless, slightly ridiculous, but which had been around for so long that it became a largely beloved part of the landscape, a unique symbol of the town. There was something mythic about Jake, the stuff of urban legend. One person would tell you that he’d been in Ann Arbor, just as old as he appeared today, when they were in college in 1962, or another would tell you that he was actually from their home town in Florida or Georgia, the next person telling you something else. If the Pope ever considers him for sainthood I will testify to this miracle – one day while we were driving to the store my kids and I saw Jake on the sidewalk downtown only to find him already there, waiting for us when we arrived at Meijer. In this homogenized increasingly pitiless and colorless world, where every expression of self becomes just another marketing ploy, I’ve always prized anyone who expressed honest originality and vitality, who dared to be different. Shakey Jake Woods was one of those people, Ann Arbor’s own landmark. A character like Jake is what gives a place character, and a world deprived of the opportunity of running into him is already a much duller place. 

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From Her Honor Mayor of Ypsilanti

Posted on September 18, 2007 by ubu507

Hello Neighbor!

I stopped by your house to discuss an important matter of great interest to our city with you today, but you weren’t home, so I’m leaving this letter at your domicile to explain the import of said matter in lieu of personal contact with you. You may not know it but my name is Mary Lou Duden and I am the mayor of Ypsilanti. As you also may or may not know our fair city is in deep financial straits thanks to the ill-advised actions of my immediate predecessor as mayor. Such efforts as a circumcision of the water tower, a mayoral Cadillac with spinning wheels and other accouterments more fitting for the conveyance of a rapping musician than the executive leader of a Midwestern metropolis, the so called "crack mansion," the acquisition of solid gold Ypsipanties for the entire city Council and many such follies have led us to this dead-end road of no return.

Unfortunately, in order to solve our current fiscal crisis we must undertake actions that may be painful for the average hard-working citizen of Ypsilanti, be they factory worker, panty manufacturer, human resource coordinator for the adult entertainment industry, controlled substance purveyor or party store employee. The word tax is not one that I as a professional politician enjoy employing when speaking to the public, but it is the only one, except perhaps for winning the lottery or striking oil on Cross Street that could relieve our city’s current distress. A graduated income and entertainment tax is being presented to the public for a referendum on the upcoming ballot Thursday, September 31. I hope I can count on your support for this referendum for the following reasons which I will elucidate clearly and distinctly, with as little of the hot air and verbiage which many in my position are accused of inflicting upon the public without conscience in endlessly repeating themselves and elaborating their comments with no surcease, as if intoxicated by the sound of their own voice until they wear out their welcome. That person is not I.

The term income tax is not difficult to understand. Simply put, if you earn any money by means legal or illegal, from wages or money paid for copper pipe stripped from decaying buildings, you must give a large percentage of said money to city hall, much the same way as a professional escort will tender a portion of her earnings to her protector. The city acts in much the same way as the proverbial "pimp" – if you choose to give us this money we will protect you from predators, fire and chemical attack, however if you withhold this money or "hold out on us" we may be forced to "mess you up" either by the direct action of the police force or by withholding city services such as the fire or sewer department.

There’s so many good things about our city that I would hate to see it get burned down. Wonderful things like Ypsipanties and the Shadow Art Fair would literally go up in smoke. Fine venues like the Déja Vu lounge would not be as popular if they were merely a heap of smoking ashes. Even a soulless behemoth as our evil twin Ann Arbor would be bereft without Ypsilanti’s fine adult entertainment and pharmaceutical advantages.

I’m glad I’ve had this opportunity to speak frankly and warmly with you my beloved constituent. Please consider voting positively for this measure or else consider the alternative which will befall you, your children and any domestic animals you may own.

Sincerely,

Her Honor and Your Mayor,

Mary Lou Duden 

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Quote Bag: Entente

Posted on September 15, 2007 by ubu507

Being other than normal is a perilous advantage.

– Natalie Clifford Barney

 

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.

– Pascal

 

The highest problem of art is to produce by appearance the illusion of higher reality.

– Goethe

 

…when he assembles a Gomorrah of inscrutable and depraved young girls, when he denounces an entente, a collectivity, a frenzy of bad angels…

– Colette

 

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Crime Beat: It Happens

Posted on September 14, 2007 by ubu507

CRIME BEAT

 

It Happens

Jennifer Kukla turned to look at her sobbing sister, shrugged and mouthed, "It happens."

That was the 30-year-old Macomb Township woman’s reaction Wednesday to learning she is to spend the rest of her life in prison for slitting the throats of her two young daughters.

– Amber Hunt

 

Soul Love

The apology came too late from a man who set his pet dog on fire and left it to burn as he walked to a Detroit corner store last month.

Wayne County Circuit Judge David Groner struggled to come to grips with the case Wednesday before sentencing John Delmar Fladger to 23 months to 4 years in prison.

"This case shocks the conscience," Groner said. "This case is something I’ve never seen before."

Fladger, 52, who served prison time for an armed robbery conviction, said he was sorry. But he offered no explanation.

"I’m very remorseful about what happened and my soul love for dogs is great," Fladger said.

– Ben Schmitt

 

He Lost His Head

The body of a 43-year-old man was found in a wooded area next to a guillotine he built and used to kill himself, police said.

The man, from Melvindale, was discovered Monday by workers from a shopping center near his home.

Allan Park Deputy Police Chief Dale Covert said the roughly 6-foot-tall guillotine was bolted to a tree and included a swing arm. Covert said police also found several store receipts detailing the materials used to assemble the device.

"I can’t even tell you how long it must have taken him to construct," he said. "This man was obviously very determined to end his life."

 

Dumb as a Rock?

Pittsfield Township Police said two men attempted to break-in to a convenience store by using a rock until one of them was injured early Sunday morning.

Dispatchers received a call from a witness who saw two men throwing a rock at the window of the Golfside Market at 2642 Golfside Road shortly after 4 a.m., said Lt. Steve Heller.

The windows were protected by a metal fence and did not break. The would-be burglars then tried to smash the padlock securing the fence with the rock, until one of the men was struck in the hands, the witness told police.

Officers found a bloody trail that led to the nearby Greenway Apartments, but could not locate the men, police said. 

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Tow Truck

Posted on September 12, 2007 by ubu507

 

Tow Truck

So here I am, in Miami of all places, sitting in a tow truck across from Heather’s house. It says Art’s Towing on the truck’s door, but that’s not really true because it belongs to my friend Keith, the guy who was supplying Art with all the drugs he was eventually unable to afford, and who took it from him in order to settle that not inconsiderable debt.

Actually, Keith probably came out behind on the deal, but god knows he can afford it, and at the time he thought it would be kind of funny to have a tow truck around. I’m sitting in it because one night a couple of weeks ago Keith borrowed my old Taurus after sampling a little too much of his own product and wrecked it, and when I got this sudden urge to see Heather I guilt tripped him into letting me take the truck which was, after all, just rusting there in the driveway, the joke gone stale.

The sudden urge part is a little harder to explain. It was more like I suddenly felt a call, felt that I had to come down and see Heather, see how she was, where she lived, what her old man looked like and, yes, I know as well as anyone how crazy that sounds, how stupid and pointless and probably illegal, but what can I say, I’m here and it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere soon.

Presumably she’s home – there’s a light on and a car in the driveway, but I’m on the other side of a median and four lanes of traffic, so I can’t really see much. I’ve been out here a couple of hours and it’s hot and sticky and, frankly, a little boring. There’s a couple of dirty books with the covers ripped off wedged between the cushions, but I’m feeling weird enough about the whole thing without resorting to Art’s second hand porn, so I just keep looking over at Heather’s house. It’s a ranch house, nothing elaborate, but, given the property values around here, it’s got to be pretty valuable. Before I left I taped a postcard of a Gauguin painting to the dash because the woman in it reminds me of Heather, not just her broad nose and thick lips, but the way she’s standing there, so naturally, half naked and insouciant, staring right back at you, and I look at that every so often when I get tired of the house.

It been getting darker, but all of a sudden it starts to rain, one of those wild Florida showers, with warm, huge rain drops, falling ropes of water, and after all this time in this grimy tow truck I wish I could just run out there and wash off all the crud and sweat, but I know that would really be crazy, so I just roll up the windows and lean over, trying to squint through.

Then the door of the house opens and Heather comes out, wearing one of those preppie yellow rain slickers. Even though I can hardly see I know it’s her by the way she moves, her reckless grace as she goes to the car in the driveway and gets in. I automatically fire up the truck, ready to follow her, but her headlights dim suspiciously, and it’s clear after a minute that the car’s not going to start. She wrenches open the door and stands there, arms crossed in that familiar pose of exasperation, looking around and then stops, glaring directly at me. I think for a second that somehow she’s recognized me, but then I realize – I’m in a tow truck and her car won’t start.

As she starts trotting across the highway I pull down my Steelers hat and put on Keith’s Ray-bans, as if they’d really disguise me. It would make things easier if I just took off, but I can’t do it, not when Heather’s out there stranded in the rain and I’m finally going to see her again. She taps on the window and I pretend to be startled, lowering it a crack. Excuse me she says, her tan face blooming inside the yellow hood. Excuse me, but my car won’t start. Could you please give me a jump?

Uh, sure, no problem I say gruffly in what I imagine is a tow truck driver’s voice. Get in.

She opens the door and swings in, the same old Heather, ignoring the hamburger wrappers and empty Coke cans, concentrating on the task at hand. I’m right over there, across the street.

O.K.

I say and pull out, turfing over the embankment and curving back to her driveway. I know the moment she recognizes me, the exhalation as her sideways glance turns into an incredulous stare, then the little sigh as she leans back, shaking her head.

There’s silence as we jerk to a stop. So, Charlie, she says finally, You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing parked across from my house in a tow truck?

Well,

I say, I can explain the tow truck part….

Yeah, whatever.

She folds her arms again. Let’s just get the damn car started. 

 

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