Impressionable Youth

I played tour guide to a bunch of cub scouts today. I tried to teach them everything I know about journalism, but all they wanted to know was how many times I've seen Lilo and Stitch. I wish I could still be that carefree.

I made a sobbing little girl a photocopy of my hand to ease her pain, and it worked. I wish everyone was that easy to please.

And, if you're curious, I've never seen Lilo and Stitch.

It's Witchcraft

I was making good time getting to work yesterday morning. By 9:15 I was on the Long Island Expressway, weaving in and out of lanes (always signaling, of course-I observe the rules of the road).

I eventually got into the left lane and was speeding at a comfortable 75 miles per hour, which in the left lane at that hour of the morning is considered slow. I found myself right on the ass of the woman driving in front of me in a late model white Honda. She was doing a steady 68 miles an hour. I didn't mean to follow so closely behind her, but I must concede that I was. There was a massive 18-wheeler in the center lane, making it impossible to pass this woman (besides, I never pass on the right).

I watched as the driver window of the Honda slowly rolled down. The driver extended her hand, holding a small white object between her fingers. She held it there for a full minute as if she was saluting me with it or something. Suddenly, she opened her hand and the object came flying at me.

I realized immediately what it was - a cigarette - a lit cigarette that bounced off my windshield and into one of the little vents on my hood. Then it got stuck there. Since I had the heat on, my car began filling with smoke. If I hadn't seent he cigarette hit the car I would've thought I was having engine trouble. In a little bit of a panic, I started swerving sharply in an attempt to dislodge the cigarette, but it wasn't happening. The woman in the Honda watched the whole scene from her rearview mirror. I couldn't make out the expression on her face.

This kind of revenge by a vindictive motorist goes far beyond anything I've ever seen before. it was no coincidence, or one-in-a-million turn of events. It was pure witchcraft. This woman did not throw a cigarette at my car. She willed it. She knew what she was doing.

It was almost a literal crash course in highway safety.

Killer Shrimp Cleared of Murder

The verdict is in: Flying shrimp cannot kill a man.

This was probably very disappointing news to the widow of Jerry Colaitis, who lost her husband in 2001. According to various news reports, Colaitis was at a birthday party at a Manhasset Benihana restaurant when he hurt his neck while trying to duck a piece of shrimp flung at him by a chef putting on a theatrical show. Colaitis later died from complications of surgery that his family said he wouldn't have had if it wasn't for that pesky airborne crustacean.

Yesterday, however, a jury ruled that Benihana was not responsible for the death.

While my condolences go out to Mrs. Colaitis on her loss, I tsk tsk her for thinking she could cash in on the situation. Mrs. Colaitis, who posed for a Newsday photo in her mink coat, is obviously already rich. But like the wife of hockey legend Wayne Gretzky, husbands can never make enough. Shit, if I was Wayne Gretzky, my wife would come home to find all her stuff on the front lawn.

Again, I'm terribly sorry for the Colaitis' loss, but don't blame Benihana or their jocular wait staff for this. I happen to love shrimp, and I know that unless it has teeth, thorns or ninja fighting skills, it's not going to hurt me. Mr. Colaitis, you'd probably still be alive today if you just opened your mouth and took it like a man.

American Brothel Company?

I forgot to mention this little story last night. Apparently there is a woman who works at ABC who moonlights as a prostitute, according to Nassau police.

We received an e-mail from a woman who said she was one of the arrestees in an crime blotter item entitled "21 Arrested in Prostitution Sting." She demanded that we take her name out of the article, for she is employed at a "high profile company," and will surely be fired if the word got out.

I was immediately curious about what company this was so I did a little research. Sure enough, the woman is employed at ABC, though I can't confirm what exactly she does there.

We made the decision not to take her name out. The phrase "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time" has come to mind. Besides, if we took her name out, what about everyone else who will remain in the story? I'm sure it would be damaging to anyone's reputation, but people have a right to know.

Death is coming...

... At least I think so. While it may be too early to tell, a dead person has almost literally been dropped at my feet every day so far this week.

On Monday morning, I did what I do every monday morning, which is look at e-mail, press releases and news reports to see what's a good story for the website. Then I write. I saw a press release from Suffolk cops about a fatal accident the night before at about 10:30. The angle of the story came to me immediately: Drunken driving after a superbowl party and subject winds up dead.

I placed a call to Suffolk PD and sure enough, the deceased had a few beers at a superbowl gathering at a Ronkonkoma Hooters restaurant and was then speeding through traffic on the shoulder of Old Nichols Rd. where he hit a curb and went into a tree. The cop I talked to seemed really disappointed in the guy.

So I wrote this: http://www.longislandpress.com/?cp=162&show=article&a_id=7353

Minutes after publishing the story, it was brought to my attention that the guy who died worked for the radio station in my office. Throughout the day, I was hearing people talk about how great a guy he was and how respected he was as a DJ. But one thing that someone said to me is what I'll remember most:

No matter how great a guy you are, no matter what you do, if you kill yourself or someone else after making the decision to drink and drive, you'll forever be remembered as a drunk driver.

It's the bane of a journalist's existence, especially crime reporters, who forget victims and killers are more than just printed words. They have families, friends, blood in their veins.

Tonight, I was driving home from work over the treacherous Long Island Expressway and Northern State Parkway and it was getting old. So naturally I was speeding, trying to get home as soon as possible so I could sit down and eat the dinner I'd been waitin all day for. But when the traffic got slow on Jericho Tpke., I knew something was wrong. The feeling of dread was confirmed when I saw the body-yes, a brutally mangled body-lying in the middle of Jericho Tpke. He was apparently hit by a car and not moving. I didn't need a medical examiner to tell me the man was dead.

It may not have been the first dead body I've seen, but this was the first that I saw before the paramedic, coroner or priest. I figured the accident happened just before I got there, for the police weren't even there yet. Concerned people gathered around as one guy draped something over the body. All this I gathered in the three seconds it took me to pass the scene.

Monday and Tuesday brought two dead men that just couldn't help but jump in my path. What's in store for the rest of the week?