Burger King, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, Elvis Impersonators [Is the correct plural actually Elvi?], and the Justice System Hard at Work

He's for sure a hunk, but I never  ever applied to Emory University for him or for any other reason.

Note: with thanks to Knotty for inspiration

I admit to being a bit of a novice/moron when it comes to true crime and all the protocol surrounding it. My latest question in this regard is just one more piece of evidence that I'm not exactly the younger female counterpart of F. Lee Bailey, although I have a great-uncle who looks so much like the man that it's honest-to-God eerie. 

I do have a bit of experience with the legal system, as I've worked as a paralegal on a few trials. Paralegal certification isn't necessary in many states. As long as an attorney instructs the "paralegal" in proper courtroom protocol to the extent the the "paralegal" doesn't commit some sort of  faux pas to get himself or herself tossed out of the courtroom, the person can go right on being a paralegal to his or her heart's content until the trial ends one way another.

But I'm seriously digressing here. It's a particular case on which I'm obsessing at the moment. Kelly Renee Gissendaner was convicted in the death-for-hire murder and subsequent body burning of her husband and was condemned to death. The big date was finally set for Wednesday, as in three days ago, some eighteen odd years after the original crime. If the photos accompanying the article were any indication of the manner of execution, lethal injection was the method of choice. Then, mere hours before the execution was to take place, it was postponed until Monday, March 2. The reason given for the postponement was, of all things,  inclement weather.

Other than perhaps something like Hurricane Andrew occurring along an extremely low-lying coastal area (like maybe the Zuyderzee) where the execution was to take place, thus endangering the lives of the executioner(s) and/or legally necessary witnesses, precisely why would an execution need to be postponed due to inclement weather? Perhaps the bad weather might make it difficult for either the condemned's choice of witnesses or the victim's advocates to be there. Tough shit in my opinion. They could hear about it later. For that matter, such things are usually, as morbid as it seems to me,  recorded. Anyone that interested could actually see  the state-ordered  killing  later.

Ma. Gissendaner had ordered up quite the proverbial last meal, which included but was not limited to two Burger King Whoppers with cheese  (geez; if it's your last meal; at least request Red Robin or TGI Friday's) with all  customary condiments (which in Georgia may very well include pickled pigs' feet and crawdads; I've never been to a Burger King in Georgia), two large orders of fries, popcorn, cornbread, a side of buttermilk (I'd rather face execution, and I'm not even exaggerating in the least here, than be forced to drink a glass of buttermilk), a salad with lettuce, cherry tomatoes, bell peppers, cheese, onions, boiled eggs, carrots and Newman's Own Buttermilk (yuck once again) dressing. Also requested was a glass of lemonade. Ms. Gissendaner would need something to ease down all that hogwash. And, to top it off, she actually requested dessert, which was, I believe, cherry vanilla ice cream. Seriously, if I eat fries with my child's plate hamburger, I have no room for dessert. This woman is in a whole different gastronomic league than I could be in even if I tried.

Before this woman is executed, it needs to be determined for certain that some sort of eating contest hasn't been chosen by the host country as an event for the next winter or summer Olympics. Assuming Ms. Gissendaner actually ate all of this garbage -- and I never read anything to the contrary -- I question whether  there's anyone in the world who could possibly  compete with her with regard to the sheer volume of food [and I apply the term food loosely here]  the woman is capable of consuming.  We all know how the U.S. feels about athletics, Olympics, and its medal tallies. This woman might be worth more to us alive than dead. Crimes of equal or greater gravity than the one of which Ms. Gissendaner was convicted of committing (I'm not intending to make light of the gruesome manner of death of Douglas Gissendaner; I'm merely making an observation regarding justice when it comes to  athletes in this nation)  have probably been swept under rugs in the name of maintaining athletes' eligibility for competitions.

Gastronomy notwithstanding,  let's return to the topic of inclement weather as it pertains to executions. I suppose I would understand if the planned method of execution were electrocution and there were concerns of possible storms and power outages, and generators were not sufficient to deliver the voltage necessary to give a person his or her final jolt.  In such a case, perhaps postponement would be warranted. Then again, why not just anchor the prisoner to a tall metal pole outside and let Mother Nature take care of the job herself? A little common sense and southern ingenuity was all that was really needed here. Are they worried the power will go out during the lethal injection?   According to the last I saw in my "Practice of Medicine " course, injections and even intravenous drips can be and usually are delivered manually, not that my "Practice of Medicine" course specializes in any way in how to most efficaciously administer executions. Perhaps it should if it would prevent something such as this current fiasco happening in Georgia. 

Dr. Sanjay Gupta teaches and practices in Georgia. why isn't Dr. Gupta out there at that prison facility telling the Department of Corrections how executions really aren't dependent upon 70-degree weather with light and variable winds, low humidity, and cloudless blue skies.  Dr. Gupta is all over the world telling everyone else all about medical issues that don't necessarily connect in any way  to his specialty of neurosurgery. Why can he not tackle this one happening practically in his backyard?

On an unrelated note, no matter what my dad says, it is not true that  I applied to Emory School of Medicine because I have a serious case on  Dr. Sanjay Gupta. Yes, I'll admit Dr. Gupta is a pleasing man at whom to look, but A) he's married, and B)  I cannot spend even one week, much less four years, in a place where people routinely eat rabbit kidneys on toast.  If I do any time whatsoever in the state of Georgia, it will be because I'm attempting to reach either Florida or South Carolina by car, and from certain directions, it's impossible to reach either by car without passing through Georgia. I will not trust the food supply in Georgia and will eat only what I've purchased in the last state I departed before entering Georgia. I'll set foot in the state only if I need to use their facilities. Even World of Coca Cola cannot entice me there.

Anyway, even if the power goes out while a person is being killed by lethal injection and a prison lacks back-up emergency generators, there's this revolutionary invention called the flashlight. One employee could shine it upon the extremity containing the vain into which the lethal substance was to be injected while another performed the actual injection. It's neither rocket science nor even Dr. Sanjay Gupta's beloved brain surgery. It's something they've even talked about having to do  in my "Practice of Medicine" class. (To clarify, in our class we weren't being taught how to execute a patient by having one staff member hold a flashlight on some poor Berkeley Rep guinea pig while another injected him or her with a lethal cocktail, but the same principal applies.)  Anyway, the bottom line is that I fail to see what in the world inclement has to do with one's date of executions.

And, going back to the topic of the  last meal, does the Georgia Department of Corrections plan to starve Ms. Gissendaner until her execution on Monday? She had her last meal, after all.  Or are they going to keep her alive on bread and water or corn flakes until her next scheduled date with destiny? Or does she get another Last Meal? i think it's only fair that, since they're dragging out the process, they give the woman another Last Meal. 

What could she possibly request that would top the last one? Let's help her out a bit here. burger king for two Last meals from a Burger Kung is a bit redundant. I think she should go for Carl Jr's this time, except I think maybe they call it Hardee's in the South.  She should request for two double western bacon cheeseburgers with extra barbecue sauce. And Carl Jr's (or Hardees') fries aren't all that great, so assuming there's a Sonic within transporting range, she should get her fries from there. Better still,, since it's Sonic, take advantage of the Okie variety and order tater tots either in place of fries or in addition to the fries, both with fry sauce (another one of those foods I wouldn't eat even if I were in the Donner Party). I wouldn't expect that eating both would be a major problem for Ms. Gissendaner. Sonic also has the best drinks. I'd recommend a cherry limeade. One of Sonic's hot fudge sundaes would probably be preferable to plain old cherry vanilla ice cream any day of the week., and if she were all that set on cherries, she could request that an entire jar of cherries be dumped upon her giant-sized hot-fudge sundae. Since Ms. Gissendaner has an apparent interest in nutrition and in taking care of her body, as evidenced by the healthy chef's style salad she ordered, I would have for her a salad specially  hand-crafted  by Georgia's own Paula Deen, complete with all the ingredients requested in the earlier salad, plus real bacon bits - made from bacon fried and chopped by Ms. Deen herself, and, instead of Newman's Own Buttermilk Syrup of Ipecac or whatever that vile pseudo- salad dressing made under the late actor's label is called, since it's a Paula Deen Salad, just drench it with a cube or so of melted butter.

I would say we've just about covered Ms. Gissendaner's final meal . . . unless this one, too, fails to become her actual final meal. Perhaps Georgia's Department of Corrections will change it's mind again. Maybe an Elvis impersonator -- a really good Elvis impersonator --- will offer to perform at the facility at the precise time on Monday for which the execution has been scheduled.  Why should the personnel charged with carrying out the execution of Ms. Gissendaner, have to miss out on a performance from a really good Elvis impersonator just because of someone's lousy execution date? Executioners have as much right to attend  Elvis impersonator performances as do the next  people, including Dr. Sanjay Gupta, who probably wants to be at both the execution and at the Elvis impersonator performance.

If it sounds as though I'm making light at someone's very life, even be it that of a convicted murderer, I'm not. One can make that initial eye-for-an-eye argument, but once a state's Department of Corrections is waiting until within hours of a women's scheduled execution, then is deciding that inclement weather  has forced a postponement of four days, it's crossed the line into cruel and unusual punishment in my view. Yes, she was convicted of an unspeakable crime., Lock her up in a stark cell and put the key in a very secure place in which she cannot reach it.

The State of Georgia, however, would do well to consider the last woman -- the only woman they ever executed, seventy years ago,  Sixty years later, it was concluded that she was indeed acting in self defense hen she struck and killed with a metal bar a man who had been holding her against her will and threatening her life. She was pardoned!  A lot of good it did her after she was already dead. Chances are that old age would have taken her life by that time, anyway, but society and the Georgia Department of Corrections would have had a lot less blood on its hands had they collectively allowed Mother Nature to be the executioner rather than so willingly taking the task  upon themselves.

Perhaps there are cases in which capital punishment is fitting and even necessary, but such instances are few and far between.  And does capital punishment really say more about us as a society than it does about the person on whom the penalty is being inflicted?  I really don't know. It's just that death is so incredibly final.  No act of rectitude is possible if it's later determined that it was human  error that ultimately resulted in the placing of that final form of justice upon a person's head.

And if capital punishment must be done, pick a damned date and stick with it come hell, high water, or Elvis impersonator performances.




Disclaimer: I in no way condone nor excuse any evil act Kelly Renee Gissendaner has committed, and, if guilty as charged, may she rot in a dank prison cell.

The "N" Word

First of all, I will say that I detest the sound of the "N" word. To the very best of my knowledge, I''ve never said it.  My parents didn't say it, and we were not around other people, other than maybe my paternal grandfather , who said it, and he was threatened by his wife with dire consequences if he were to say it in the presence of his grandchildren. we did not watch TV programs in which the word was used. Eventually we heard the word, but were old enough by then to understand that it was a hurtful and despicable word and that nothing good would ever come of saying it.

With that as a backdrop, I must also say that i believe that Paula Deen is being treated unfairly. She admitted in a deposition that she had used the word before. Big fucking deal! As abhorrent as I personally find the word, Ms. Deen grew up in the deep south in the forties or fifties.  (I'm not entirely sure she's forthright in disclosing her age. As my mom says, "If she's in her fifties, I'm in my twenties.")  The deep south in the era in which Paula Deen came of age is quite different from the liberal college communities and suburbs of California in which I was brought up in the '90's and 2000's.  I cannot judge her except to commend her  honesty in admitting that the words have come out of her mouth, even if she's not 100% honest about her age.

I was brought up to believe that the "N" word was probably worse than saying the "F" word. (My father swore like a sailor but never used the "N" word.) That, however, was the view of my liberal, hippies-born-too-late-for-their-time parents.  i cannot expect everyone to share my values. I still think it's an ugly word and that the world would be better off without it, but i'm not the arbiter of political correctness in speech. neither, really,, is anyone else, as we have this thing in the united states called The First Amendment to the Constitution, which guarantees, among other things, freedom of speech. this freedom of speech does not come without limits, the classic of which is shouting, "Fire!" in a crowded theater.  

Other limits to freedom of speech exist as well. Children are not necessarily free to speak their minds either at home or at school. Not only is yelling, 'Fire!" in a crowded theater not covered by the First Amendment, but talking out loud in a theater to the extent that other attendees cannot hear what is being said  is also forbidden.  What can be said and when it can be said  in a court of law is controlled by a judge, which would indicate that freedom of speech in a court of law is not absolute, either.  Furthermore, limits exist as to what untruths can be spoken publicly or published.  Thus, we can agree that freedom of speech as dictated by the First Amendment is not absolute.

Yet the use of the "N" word is not considered a violation of the first amendment under most circumstances, and certainly not in a private conversation.  The word is inflammatory by nature, and the need for its use is difficult to justify. Still, such does not make utterance of the word illegal.  Too often its use has been called upon to justify other inflammatory action, some of which is bona fide illegal.

I'm going to digress just a bit to make a point. When i was a child, I sometimes had occasion to be around a cousin two years older than I  with whom I did not get along particularly well. Anytime the two of us were together, the two of us would whisper or mumble insults at one another under our breaths so that the adults present could not hear. This cousin would call me all sorts of derogatory names related to my appearance. a few that come to mind are anorexic, bulimic, AIDS patient, eastern European orphan, heathen gentile, Ebola victim,  albino "N" word because of my blue eyes, summer tan, and wildly curly hair. aborted fetus  [presumably because I was born very prematurely], and idiot savant because I could play the piano by ear. Most if not all of these names were fed to her by her older brother, because she would not have been intelligent or clever enough to have thought of any of them on her own. I would tolerate the verbal abuse for the better part of a day until I eventually gave in and called her the name that obviously applied: fat. When we were eight and ten respectively, she probably weight roughly 170 pounds.

The second I uttered the fat word, she would go crying to her parents about what I had called her, and her parents would expect my parents to punish me. Fortunately, there would have been between twelve and eighteen witnesses as to the names she had been calling me all day, so I was never in trouble for calling her fat. I eventually became more savvy, and resorted to calling her corpulent, obese,  adipose, rotund, ponderous, porcine, capacious, commodious, and bovine, to name a few of the terms I used. She could never remember the word I used for long enough to tell on me for having called her that, so I was safe.

Anyway, my digression was not without a point. My cousin  and her parents felt that she could call me any name under the sun, no matter how inflammatory the term, but that the instant I uttered the word fat, all  bets were off, and I had crossed an unspoken line.  

Sometimes people take a similar attitude regarding the "N" word. When my mom was sometimes called out of her office at the district headquarters to function as a school principal when the actual principal had a baby, had appendicitis, or was chosen as a juror for an extensive trial, she was sometimes called upon to mediate disputes in which an allegation of the use of the "N" word were part of the disputes. Often no one witnessed or heard  the use of the "N" word. The accused party usually denied it. What was witnessed by both other students and playground supervisors, though, was the first and/or only punch that was thrown. My mom said she felt as though she was beating her head into a brick wall in trying to explain to the allegedly maligned student and his or her parents  that no word, however offensive, justified the use of violence. She said that if the epithet were hurled and the student chose to alert a playground supervisor, the situation could be discussed and appropriate punishment could be meted out if the preponderance of evidence indicated that the epithet was, in fact, uttered.  If the student chose to take matters into his or her own fists, however, the administrator had to deal with the facts as they were present, which was that a student was physically assaulted. Allegations of the use of the "N" word did not automatically trump all other rules or laws. (In cases of school assaults, schools and parents have the option of filing criminal charges as well.)

It seems that the Food Network and some of Ms. Deen's corporate sponsors.believe that an admission of the use of the 'N" word does indeed trump any and everything else accomplished by Ms. Deen. I'm not a staunch fan of Paula Deen, but I don't understand the rush to judgment as taken by her sponsors and by the Food Network.  Perhaps further investigation will reveal that Ms. Deen has demonstrated a history of racist behavior, in which case non-renewal of contracts and cancellation of sponsorships might  be deemed appropriate. On the basis of a single admission of the use of a racially-charged term, however, both the Food Network and the corporate sponsors acted prematurely.

From the most recent reports I've heard, Mark Fuhrmann is still employed as a consultant regarding legal matters  by cable networks . .  and he wasn't even honest concerning his use of racial epithets, but instead lied about it and was caught in his lie by a recording -- a lie that quite possibly affected the outcome of a murder trial.  If anything, one would think a person involved in providing commentary for law enforcement and legal matters would be held to a higher standard in terms of lack of racial bias than would a woman who hosts a mere cooking program.

Macaroni and Cheese

My mother is on a quest to find the best macaroni and cheese recipe on the planet. If I didn't live in the house, she would probably cook and serve mac and cheese three nights a week for the cause. Because my low weight is  a major source of whiny complaints from every doctor who treats me for any reason including my dentist,  my mom does not routinely cook food for dinner that I refuse to eat. For this reason I am spared the ordeal of having to eat mac and cheese more than once a week, but I do have to eat it once a week. No matter what else is happening in either the real world or the culinary world, mac and cheese shows up on my plate every Thursday night

Tonight's version of macaroni and cheese came to us courtesy of a recipe created by Alton Brown, the quintessentially geeky host of Food Network's Good Eats and Iron Chef America. Mr. Brown's version of mac and cheese would rank squarely in the middle as far as go the various mac and cheese genres my mom has dug up and thrown at us. It was neither disgusting enough to be on my Donner Party List of foods that I would decline to eat even if the only other options available to me were certain death by starvation or subsisting on the late Tamsen Donner's (May She Rest In Peace) flesh, nor was it something I would choose to eat if I had a whole lot of choice in the matter. If Alton Brown's interpretation of macaroni and cheese were to appear on a plate in front of me, I would eat it if I were famished, if I didn't feel like fighting with my parents about it, or if  I were in a situation, such as being a guest in someone else's home, where it might be socially awkward not to eat it. While this may sound like a less-than-rousing endorsement of Alton Brown's mac and cheese as prepared by my mother, I should go on record as stating that I have had much worse in the three-years-and-change since my mother took up this rather peculiar obsession.

One version of macaroni and cheese that my mother culled from America's Most Vomit-Inducing Recipes  or some similarly vile compilation featured, of all things, cottage cheese. Cottage cheese is the number two entry on my Donner Part List [topped only by mayonnaise; for those of you who share my taste, no further clarification is necessary]. I will not eat cottage cheese by itself, buried in a recipe with one thousand other ingredients, in a house, with a mouse, here or there, anywhere: I DO NOT EAT COTTAGE CHEESE, SAM I AM!  My mother insisted I only thought I could taste the cottage cheese because I watched her scoop it into the pan, but it was the only freaking cheese in the recipe. She could not have honestly believed I would have mistaken the albino-barf slather for mozzarella.

Another version of macaroni and cheese forced upon us was a recipe created by Bobby Flay for the episode of his television series Throwdown, in which he ambushed mac and cheese diva Delilah Winder (named "Queen of Macaroni and Cheese" either by Oprah or by her minions). Flay's recipe might have escaped Donner Party List  status had he not included the particularly abhorrent ingredient pancetta.  My dad says that when a food product so obscure as pancetta makes its way onto one's Donner Party List, that is clear evidence in point that the person's Donner Party List has grown too expansive and too unwieldy, and that, for the list to have any relevance or utilitarianism, it needs to be limited to no more than twenty items. To this inane idea, I respond with a wholehearted POPPYCOCK! [Editorial Note: Had I waited precisely one hundred days [[ until the date of my eighteenth birthday]] to author this particular post, the wording of my response would have been more colorful.] It's MY Donner Party List. If I choose for it to contain a single item, or if I choose three hundred items to comprise my list, it is my, and solely my  prerogative.  For the record, the list presently stops after number sixty-seven. If I'm ever bored and/or desire to burden my three readers with pointless information, I'll present my list in its entirety someday:  but back to the topic at hand. Pancetta is greasy, fatty, congealed, utterly dusgusting meat (and I apply the term meat only in the most technical sense of the word) from the belly of a pig. Even regular bacon has to be almost charred in order for me to consider remaining in the same room with it. If cooked to perfection I will actually eat regular bacon. Pancetta, on the other hand.  .  .  .  I don't even know where to begin, so I won't.

Incidentally, my mom once started to prepare Paula Deen's version of macaroni and cheese. My dad threatened to have her charged with attempted murder, so she tossed the recipe instead of attempting it.

I've gone on and on about nothing, as seems to be my wont.  If anyone has a really good recipe for mac and cheese, please come to my rescue and send it to me. Perhaps it will put an end to this senseless weekly act of culinary violence.