and justice for all

as i predicted (and also angrily demanded), all criminal charges have been dropped against peter berdovsky and sean stevens, the men who hung the now-infamous mooninite signs around boston and were scapegoated mercilessly for the city's trigger-happy, terror-heavy overresponse. massachusetts attorney general martha coakley had this to say yesterday:

Based upon the defendants' apologies and acceptance of responsibility for their actions in January and the attendant consequences, as well as the positive and substantial efforts at restorative justice made by both men through their community service, we believe that this was the most appropriate resolution to this case.

oh, sure, martha, you believe that now. at the time you said their apology was woefully inadequate and you pressed for felony charges, so don't waste your diplomatic-politician spiel on me. i know who you really are: the kind of attorney who demands $2 million for a misguided exercise that only cost about $500,000 and then drags a couple of hired lackeys through the ringer for four months while the blush fades from your cheeks. obviously i believe this was the most appropriate resolution to this case, but it should have been resolved in february. and if michele mcphee can't understand why the state had no case or see the difference—and how essential it is to differentiate—between legal justice and personal vengeance, well, i guess it's a good thing she's chosen to make a living commenting on police proceedings rather than taking part in them. coakley's high but amenable choler is a preferable option to mcphee's brand of indignant, a-head-for-an-eye brainlessness any day. as usual, though, that's the difference between the globe and the herald.

menino has been largely silent on the matter, and i imagine he sides with mcphee, but he can scowl and fume about it all he wants; the case is closed. facts and sense one, angry bostonians zero.

hmm.

i think it's a little strange that there is no write-up anywhere on the internet—at least, not that i can find—about this weekend's new yorker conference. i think it's even stranger that the involved staff couldn't get it together enough to change the opening on the conference promo page that says the event is still in formation and changes will be added as they are made. apparently the near future will be awash in secrecy and misinformation, as we all struggle to hide our ingenious innovations from the grasping paws of the public and the cold, ever-present eye of big brother. or we will all be as lazy as i am, and no one will ever write anything ever again. it's bleak either way, i suppose. thanks a lot, new yorker. you've practically tripled my optimism. i can't wait to rush forward into that brave new world.


update, may 8, 5:18 PM: i found this. it's, you know, kind of like what i said, only more mature.

so torn . . .

i can't decide if i want you all to watch my boyfriend tonight on the colbert report or not. i don't need a million irreverent-sass-loving viewers falling for him and challenging me to dance-offs and scrabble tournaments in his honor . . . but he wouldn't go on tv so he could not be seen . . .

fuck it. i can take you. watch, damn it. watch hard. and know that i have memorized every two-letter word in the dictionary, and i am not afraid of you, and i will beat your ass.