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Posts Tagged ‘Rage’

Domestic dispute leads to murder

From Staff Reports

A apparent domestic dispute led to murder in Effingham County Monday afternoon. Trish La Gallina, 1, was reportedly killed by her sister, Maggie The Dog, 8, after an altercation in the family’s back yard. Their father, Eddie C., found Trish’s broken body Tuesday morning.

“I looked out the back door and thought, ‘Oh shit! Those are chicken legs!'” he said. “I was like, ‘Oh no. I really don’t want to tell [their mother].'”

Warning: Graphic images

 

The pair’s mother, Beth C., appeared to be in a state of shock, and refused numerous interview requests.

This is not the first incident between Maggie and Trish. Eddie C. reported that Trish was the lone survivor of an attack by Maggie one year ago. That attack resulted in the deaths of three other poultry siblings. Maggie was convicted of those murders, and was sentenced to life in the detention facility of the gated back yard or inside the house. She also was ordered to stay at least 10 feet from Trish for the rest of her life.

Maggie apparently disregarded that restraining order when the side gate was left open by Eddie himself.

“I was working on the back door, and was going back and forth to the garage,” he said. “I didn’t know I had left it open. I felt horrible because I realized it was my fault.”

Murder suspect: Maggie The Dog

Unwitting accomplice: Eddie C.

Maggie was arrested Tuesday morning and charged with first-degree murder. Her brother, attorney Vince The Dog, said that Maggie will enter a plea of temporary insanity.

“Trish kept taunting her, clucking in that way of hers,” he said. “When Maggie saw that the gate was open, she just couldn’t help herself.”

Eddie said that his wife wants to adopt more chickens, but that it is too soon to make any concrete plans.

“There’s not going to be another chicken that smart,” he said.

A funeral service will be held at the family’s house March 3.

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This post has nothing to do with chickens, grammar, superheroes, or any of my usual topics. I won’t even talk about my dissertation proposal defense right now. All that stuff pales in comparison to this:

http://www.fotoglif.com/f/3ec1v4zmvtfh

Searching an empty house Feb. 18 in Marja, Afghanistan

The Marine on the right is my nephew, Lt. Mark Greenlief (my husband’s brother’s daughter’s husband, if you can follow the dancing apostrophes). He is executive officer of Bravo Company, part of the 1st Battalion of the 6th Marine Regiment.

Mark and his troops are dealing with a new edict in the war in Afghanistan: no airstrikes unless troops are about to be overrun, or they can prove that there are no civilians around. The reason for the edict is that the Afghan people were starting to withdraw support for the fight against the Taliban because of the civilian casualties. For more information, read this article.

Fine. But that is scary shit (if I can be so crass) for the Marines who are on the front lines.

I don’t care who you voted for or what your political leanings are; there are good people laying their lives on the line because some elected officials told them they had to. No, they didn’t have to join in the first place, but they did because they thought it was the right thing for them to do. And we should be thankful for what they are doing, regardless if we think they should be there in the first place.

Thank you, Mark, and everyone in the armed forces.

Thanks also to the families they left behind. How would you like to have one toddler and be seven months pregnant with the second son, and your husband is off in a sandbox being shot at for who knows how long for people who don’t even seem to know or care about the war? That’s my niece’s life in Camp Lejeune — far away from all her family and his. She’s got her act together enough to manage this Facebook group, which is pretty impressive.

Thank you, Nina, and all the families of the troops.

If all that doesn’t give you a knot in your stomach, then I don’t know what will.

Semper Fi.

Photo credit: http://www.fotoglif.com/f/3ec1v4zmvtfh

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In 2005, when SCAD was considering offering a writing major, I thought to myself, “Self, it would be great to teach in that department.” Though I had oodles of work experience, I knew that SCAD’s accrediting body prefers terminal degrees in the field of instruction. So I had two choices: Get another M.F.A. (the one I have is in performing arts) or get a Ph.D. I chose the latter.

I had three criteria in mind as I researched programs: areas of study offered (journalism or communications), proximity and reputation. The one that fulfilled all these requirements was University of South Carolina.

Eddie badgered me to apply. “But that would require taking the GRE!” I whined. “And I’m pregnant!”

“So?” he said, with very little compassion, I might add.

Lest you think he is heartless, his philosophy was that I might as well get on it while the kids were very young. That way I would be done when they got old enough to start extracurricular activities that I wouldn’t want to miss.

I knew he was right. I forced myself to take the GRE and apply to the doctoral program in the USC School of Journalism and Mass Communications. I was accepted, and began coursework Fall 2006. The total courses involved for most folks: 16 (48 semester hours). For me: 18 (because my master’s is not in the specific area).

I finished the coursework in April 2009. I spent the summer procrastinating on my dissertation proposal, and dreading the comprehensive exams (four days, three hours a day of answering questions in four areas: theory, methods, ethics and rhetoric, which is my outside area). I passed the foreign language proficiency test in October (see related post). The comps dread continued.

The time came, though, for me to put up or shut up. I studied my haunches off in preparation for the comps, which I stupidly scheduled for the week after Thanksgiving. The 19 people in my house for the holiday might not have fully understood why I was so stressed out.

Along with the written comps, there is an oral defense. That happened today. After my committee slowly roasted me over an open fire for two hours, they decreed that I had passed. To be honest, the first 20 minutes were horrendous, but then the rest was fine. The discussion will help me hone my dissertation proposal, for sure.

And that is the next step. I defend said proposal in front of my committee Feb. 19. Once I pass (the power of positive thinking), I will work exclusively on my own research for my dissertation. Then I will have to defend my dissertation in front of the same committee. Thumbs up, and my hooding awaits. Thumbs down, and … well, that’s really not an option for me.

So if I look a little frazzled in February (and over the summer), you’ll know why.

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Two readers (!) asked for the story of how Eddie and I met. I will get to that later this week. Today, though, I want to list 10 of the things I have said this week that I never thought, never planned and never wanted to say:

1. Get your Wolverine claws off the coffee table.

2. Pick your Wolverine claw off of the floor.

3. Stop harassing the dog.

4. Leave your wiener alone.

5. Did you wipe your butt?

6. Stop messing with each other.

7. Get off the back of the couch.

8. No one is going to be killing anybody.

9. No, the chicken cannot come inside the house.

10. Because I said so. (That’s the worst one of all.)

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Dear Blog:

I’ve neglected you and I feel guilty. I apologize profusely, but I can’t promise it won’t happen again.

I could make excuses. I’ve been hosting folks in my house (as usual). I’ve been visiting family out of town. I’ve been working at the station and trying to sleep when I’m not.

But really, there is a bigger reason I have ignored you for five days: I don’t know what topic to tackle.

  • Should I address the fact that I’ve almost run over Trish with my car for three days in a row because she wants to greet me in the driveway?
  • Do I write about the permanent neon restaurant sign I saw on a building that read “Bojangles” on one side of the building, but “Bojangle’s” on the other?
  • Would it be better to vent my spleen about certain in-laws of mine who could not tell the truth if their lives depended on it? A corollary to that is that they aren’t happy unless they are saying something nasty behind our backs. This is why I cherish my friends so much.
  • Would it be best to simply offer a fantastic new recipe for potato leek soup that I found?

So, Blog, it is not that I don’t want to write. I just don’t know what topic to address. Forgive me for my indecision, and I’ll try to come up with something soon.

Love and kisses,

Beth

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I rarely read for fun anymore because I don’t have time. People, Newsweek and Entertainment Weekly are my only sources of reading enjoyment. Sad, I know.

While I was in Barnes & Noble buying a book for research, I decided to buy “Columbine” by Dave Cullen because I had heard so many good things about it. I devoured it in less than 24 hours (kind of a long time for me, actually, but I had two vocal distractions and a “Survivor” finale to watch).

It is an impressively researched and incredibly interesting book. I remember the shootings, but was, like most, misled by erroneous and perpetuated media accounts into believing Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were outcasts who were being bullied. Instead, Cullen makes clear, they often did the bullying, and they had few close friends by choice. At least that was Eric’s choice. He was a true psychopath, the clinical definition. Dylan was depressed, lonely and incredibly shy.

One of the concepts I teach is crisis communication. The Jefferson County sheriff and his office did almost everything wrong. Repeatedly. But, if nothing else, communicators can learn from their mistakes.

The overall feeling I have after reading the book is sadness — sadness for the victims and their families, of course, but they have long had support in their recovery and grief. I feel the most sadness for Tom and Sue Klebold and Wayne and Kathy Harris. It is easy to point the finger of “bad parenting” at them, but there is no “if/then” manual for parents. You have to do the best you can. It is hard to distinguish the difference between warning signs and normal teenage angst. And no one wants to think his/her child is a psychopath. They also lost their children on April 20, 1999, but their children were killers, which adds another layer of pain. They also lost community support and relationships. They were vilified unjustly.

In general, the book is a solid piece of reporting. I do wonder why he chose to focus on the stories of a few of the victims, but not all. Some are not even mentioned. Also, Cullen could have used a diagram of the building and images of the people he discusses, but perhaps he thought the images would sensationalize the story even more than it has been. But I wanted to be able to visualize whom he was discussing. I turned to the Internet, of course. The bullying myth is still rampant in the comments on the videos. I wanted to respond to all of them. Sigh. Maybe word will get around thanks to Cullen.

Now I’m off to play with the kids, and hope that one of them does not grow up to be infamous.

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While I enjoyed teaching each of my four classes this quarter, the one that affected me the most on a personal basis was Persuasive Writing. In the final persuasive research papers, the graduate students — all  writers of promise — encouraged me to stop watching “Hoarders,” camp in national parks, support art funding in schools, lobby for a three-point harness on airplanes, write my representatives in support of the Alzheimer’s Breakthrough Act of 2009, join the bone marrow registry, and go vegan.

One affected me so much that I’m doing research today. Can you guess which one?

Here’s a hint: Think about my blog.

Yes, I’m considering veganism. Or at least a more cruelty-free lifestyle.

All of the papers were persuasive, but only one made me consider each bite of food, every meal I prepare, and all my grocery-shopping trips. I don’t really object to eating meat in general, but I have always objected to the American meat industry and the horrible way animals “live” and die on factory farms. I don’t eat beef in America, in fact, for this reason.

This morning, I eyed the Thanksgiving turkey in the freezer and felt sad and guilty. I fed Trish and thought of the cellophaned breasts in the refrigerator. I threaded Dominic’s belt through the loops on his pants and thought of milking Rosebud in the second grade.

And now I’m wondering if this Web site is on the up and up.

Thanks, Austin Floyd.

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A rant about rants

I’m a little out of my element with this post, but clearly I’m moved enough to write.

University of New Mexico soccer player Elizabeth Lambert was suspended indefinitely for her unsportsmanlike conduct in a semifinal game against Brigham Young University.

Before Friday morning, I had never heard of this person. Today, I can’t think of anything else. Thanks, ESPN.

What was missing from the coverage Friday morning was the coach’s reaction and the college’s reaction. That response finally came Friday afternoon. As expected, Lambert apologized, and claimed, all Serena Williams-style, that she lost control in a heated moment. The full apology is posted on the college’s Web site, but here is one part:

This is in no way indicative of my character or the soccer player that I am.

Hmmm. This is the player whom the media guide praises for being “fearless when making a challenge.” The player whom head coach Kit Vela calls “fiery” on Lobo TV.

I think they liked her attitude and encouraged it. That’s the sports culture. Win at all costs. Here is a highlight reel of her actions in the BYU game.

UNM Vice President for Athletics Paul Krebs said, “There is no way to defend her actions.” But I’m willing to bet she’ll be back at it again when the spotlight is off and she is back on the field.

And that brings up a larger question of what has she learned. What has anyone learned? This kind of stuff happens all the time. It is our culture of rage where the angry cross some line (finally), apologize (sincerely or not), and then continue with their healthy careers. John McEnroe, Barry Bonds, Rasheed Wallace, Tony Stewart … the list goes on and on.

Inappropriate behavior, apology, more inappropriate behavior. Lather, rinse, repeat. It makes my head hurt.

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