ySTINK

Happy Holidays

I'm working on driving, graduating, and making this site the answer to our world's out of control paparazzi.

stay tuned...

Why Indiana and the rest of America's middle needs liberal parents

I may be reaching here, but read this link from the Washington Post on 9/11 and today's high school curriculum and form your opinion.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/10/AR2009091004425.html?sub=AR

I am their age and I am fully aware of the attacks and their continued ramifications.  Maybe because my parents are closely tied to the news and both coasts, or maybe just because they talk to me, really talk.

Whatever the reason, this is a sad story to me (though I'm glad Howard Stern's show got interrupted) how can parents (anywhere) not discuss, inform and educate the most impactful event of our era.  Divorced or not we had a lot of stink going on then, yet I don't need or want to sleep through any curriculum that so greatly effects each and every American or human for than matter.  Shame on you sheltered, timid mid-westerners.

Thoughts?

gimme some stink (anonymous is best)

So, while Benny and me prepare to make this site a little more about others than ourselves, we don't want you to think we're asleep at the wheel...

So all of you readers out there (tell your friends too!)

Please post something that happened to you that on the surface looks like 'man that stinks' but at the end it turned out all for the best...

I know with school just starting, summer ending etc... there's a lot of stink going on.

Keep it anon if you want, in fact that's probably best.

Fox smells his own hole

Wednesday morning came way too soon for me; If you can imagine the nerve-wracking feeling of waiting outside the principal's office, just knowing you're doomed, but uncertain of the punishment.

 

Quadruple that feeling and you will start to understand my condition.  Benny, Dad and me were facing the biggest principal of all, Los Angeles County District Judge Inez and my nerves were approaching a full-blown breakdown. 

"I think you should wear the blue one," Benny advised me while we waited for Dad's driver.  "I've seen you look pretty messed up but never this bad." 

 

He was right.  I hadn't planned to wear any part of the necklace to the hearing.  I didn't want any unexplainable outbursts that might convict me.  Of all colors though, I could count on the blue to keep me calm and in control.  So I took Benny's advice and just like before, my heart stopped surfing around in my gut. By the time the car came, I was ready to set the record straight.

The car was no car at all.  Instead Dad's driver picked us up in a huge black S.U.V.  I felt like I was entering a part of the Presidential motorcade.  Had I not been calmed down I'd have never felt so cool and important.  We all fit comfortably, Mom, Benny, Dad and me.  Sam was going to drive Dad's Mercedes ahead of us as a decoy for the photographers.  He made arrangements for us to go the delivery entrance at the back of the courthouse.  Once inside, it was no big deal; the halls were almost like a library, only noisy.  Business people hustled everywhere, like ants on a march, each one with a briefcase or file in their hands.

"Courtroom seven is this way," Dad directed (obviously he knew his way around)

We all followed like he was giving us a guided tour at the most boring museum in Southern California.  I'm sure the four of us were the only ones with nothing important to carry.  Our hands and arms hung by our sides and for that reason we stuck out in the crowd.  Half way to courtroom seven, the rushing crowd began to slow and watch us.  Dad had been made.  It wasn't long before the swarm of ants became a gawking mess.

"R. J., would you care to comment on why you're in court today?" some blonde asked, shoving a microphone in Dad's face.  Sam was coming at us fast and pushed her away.  He shielded Benny and me with his briefcase in one hand and a file in the other.   Dad put his arm around Mom and we all rushed into courtroom seven.

 

Once inside, it no longer looked like a library.  Long dark wooden benches lined the path from the door to the where the judge's seat was.  I'd seen similar rooms in movies a billion times but when you're actually in one of these rooms you feel the authority seep into your skin along with the smell of Lemon Pledge.  Most of the benches were empty except for a few on both sides up front.  Sam ushered us to our seats behind a big table on the left of the aisle.  Four men in suits already took the table to the right.  I didn't recognize any of them. I was half expecting to see Connor.  When I glanced behind us I saw the kid from the copy center with a couple of other guys in suits.

"Which one is Mr. Faldrane?" I whispered to Dad while everyone got settled.

"Second one in on this side," he whispered back.

I was trying to secretly check him out when I was commanded to attention by the cop in front of us.  "All rise…"

"Mr. Faldrane," after about an hour of listening to Sam and another guy tell each side's story Judge Inez spoke to Connor's dad.  "Why are you suing Mr. Robert O'Shea?  The only connection he has to this story is that he's the father of one of the creators."

"Judge," Faldrane's lawyer stood up.  "If I may answer that question?"

"No, if I wanted you to answer Mr. Cochran, I would have asked you."

Mr. Faldrane stood up.  He was much shorter than I expected.  In fact he looked pretty funny, like a carnival's ringmaster. I think he may have been nervous at the thought of having to speak for himself because his cheeks were pepperoni red and so was the tip of his ski slope nose.  I had to stop myself from giggling when I noticed three hairs sprouting from the tip of his chili-pepper honker. 

 

 

"Judge sir, I have reason to believe that the boy's father is behind this." Mr. Faldrane answered and began to sit back down when the judge spoke again.