Leslie Griffith Non-Watch: Terminal Edition

Leslie Griffith and KTVU made it official this morning: She’s out, and life and the station’s news shows–from which she’s been missing for 87 days–will go on. KTVU put out a kissy-face mutual press release in which Griffith says she’ll pursue the inevitable “other interests.” For its part, the station professes its undying love for her. The big immediate change on the news shows is that the anchors will no longer have to say, “Leslie Griffith has the night off.” Of course, the untold story is the behind-the-scenes melodrama and nastiness that led to The Vanishing in the first place. The world likely can do without all that, though.

So long, Leslie. Thanks for the memories from your early, bright, relatively carefree years. Thanks for all the fodder for snide commentary. And I hope you wrung every last dime out of the station you and your lawyer (her lawyer is her dad, I hear) could get.

Related earlier posts:

The Case of the Missing Anchor

Newscast Gone Bad

Newscast Gone Bad, Again

Leslie Griffith: The Career

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Cause/Effect?

Last night I volunteered to do some more organizing work for MoveOn; essentially helping with the local MoveOn council to keep people organized and engaged for 2008.

Then I had this dream: I was at a MoveOn meeting at a house here in Berkeley. Vice President Dick Cheney was there. He was dressed casually–khakis and a red-and-white-checked shirt. He didn’t interact with anyone at the meeting. Instead, he seemed to take an interest in the profusion of hand-written posters and placards strewn around that carried pictures of him and Bush. I noticed we seemed to be collecting them–taking stuff off the walls and so forth and making a little pile of stuff. I looked at what he’d gathered and saw that it was anti-Cheney, anti-Bush material that was folded and torn. I asked him,, “Are you editing the room?” He looked at me, a little embarrassed, and said, “No–this is all damaged.”

Mr. Flight Suit

Link: Bush Draws Iraq Lesson From Vietnam – New York Times.

Our president is not lacking for audacity. Or for rocks in his head. He’s in Vietnam and, by way of promoting his administration’s most important product, its Iraq disaster, presumes to even mention a war that he made damned sure he was no part of. The lession of Vietnam, Mr. Mission Accomplished says, is that "we’ll succeed unless we quit." Not that it matters–we”re Americans, and we’re exceptional folks who don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks–but you wonder what the Vietnamese think about the president’s analysis (one that leaps over the facts of what happened over there; but then again, Bush and facts and his Iraq strategery have never been seen in the same room, either).

The Night Mail

PostofficeYou know, there’s supposed to be an old British documentary called “The Night Mail.” I think that’s the title. About an overnight mail train. I’ve never seen it; it’s supposed to be a classic. But that’s not what I’m referring to here. Rather, it’s the arrival of today’s mail at 7 p.m. This after getting no mail yesterday (a regular delivery day despite the proximity to Veterans Day). And no mail on Saturday, which was Veterans Day. I got calls from neighbors the last couple of nights wondering what was going on.

I heard our mailbox open and went out to the porch before the mailperson, who was other than male, had departed.

“Boy,” I said cheerfully. “You guys are having a rough time. What happened to the mail yesterday?”

“The guy who had the route yesterday–I don’t think he had a flashlight,” the mailperson said. She scurried into the dark before I could fully process that. Didn’t have a flashlight? Yeah, sure, a flashlight would be nice if you’re out after dark. But since when did it become a requirement for finishing a mail route in the middle of a semi-lighted city?

“Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” I’m one of many under the mistaken impression that these words were written with a United States postal agency in mind. The words paraphrase Herodotus, who was describing a Persian courier system of the 5th century B.C. Those guys knew how to deliver a message. The mistaken impression arises from the fact Herodotus’s words are inscribed on Manhattan’s old General Post Office

(a totally neoclassical pile if ever there was one).

Memo to Berkeley P.O.: Neither Herodotus nor his American translator mention anything about artificial lighting. No torches, electric or pre-electric. If you trust the Greek, the Persians were uncowed by undispelled night-time gloom. And you know, from a customer standpoint, I’m not even asking for “swift completion” of the appointed rounds; just plain old unmodified “completion” would do fine.

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Sunday Dribblings

Scissorscut2

News to Me: The world of organized rock, paper, scissors play. Seriously. NPR did a story on the world championship yesterday. There’s an RPS league. There’s a gory-looking RPS T-shirt (above).



Will I ever read it?
The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game.” By Michael Lewis (“Liar’s Poker,” “The New New Thing, “Moneyball”). Kate read an excerpt to me this morning–a detailed narration of Lawrence Taylor’s famous destruction of Joe Theismann. Excerpt snippet: “Theismann has played in 163 straight games, a record for the Washington Redskins. He’s led his teams to two Super Bowls, and won one. He’s 36 years old. He’s certain he still has a few good years left in him. He’s wrong. He has less than half a second.”

Oldest president ever: Gerald Ford, as of today. It’s possible he’s aged better than Chevy Chase, his erstwhile stunt double.

Decree from Lingo Emperor: If I could decree one thing and one thing only about our language, I’d abolish the word utilize and erase any sign that anyone ever used it … or utilized it.

Eleventh Hour, Eleventh Day, Eleventh Month

Armistice/Veterans/Remembrance Day

“… So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,

And they shipped us back home to Australia.

The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,

Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.

And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,

I looked at the place where me legs used to be,

And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,

To grieve, to mourn and to pity.

“But the band played ‘Waltzing Matilda,’

As they carried us down the gangway,

But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,

Then they turned all their faces away. …”

From “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda,” by Eric Bogle (audio).

Random Quotage

A friend has a column on Wired News today about giving spare change to a homeless guy and about the debate, within and without, that goes along with that act:

“Slipped a homeless guy a buck the other day. After he mumbled off down the street, my companion sniffed her disapproval: ‘It only encourages them, you know. And he’ll just use it for drugs or alcohol.’

“I had looked him squarely in his gimlet eye. I could smell his breath. Safe to say she was right.

” ‘Who the hell cares what he uses it for?’ I said. ‘If it kills the pain for a few hours, I’m happy to help. …’ ”

In any case, it’s not an only-in-San Francisco story. I go back and forth on this whole thing myself. But I always have Walt Whitman’s take in the back of my mind:

“Love the earth and sun and animals,

Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,

Stand up for the stupid and crazy,

Devote your income and labor to others …

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.”

Today’s Top News

OK–it’s a story in The Onion, so remember: It’s not real. But it is pretty funny:

Over-Competitive Lance Armstrong Challenges Cancer to Rematch

“I can’t deny that cancer got a piece of me last time,” Armstrong said. “A big piece of me. I think about it every day. But once I got done with cancer, it was nowhere to be found. It disappeared. Well, cancer, you know where to find me. I can beat you again in six—no, in three months.”

“I want cancer,” Armstrong added. “I want cancer so bad I can almost taste it.”

Cancer, the much-feared disease that has defeated legendary athletes such as Floyd Patterson, Lyle Alzado, and Walter Payton, is the second-leading cause of death in the United States, and is 0-1 when battling Lance Armstrong.

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Sausage Factory Confidential

Well, maybe all those MoveOn phone calls added up to something after all. I wrote before about Saturday’s telephone session, calling voters in Ohio and New Jersey (both the candidates we were calling to support, Sherrod Brown and Robert Menendez, won; in Brown’s case, he beat a Republican incumbent). Then:

–We had a couple people over on Sunday and made another 280 calls or so all together for Senate candidates in Pennsylvania and Missouri. Both of them–Bob Casey and Claire McCaskill–won. In Casey’s case, I printed out some background material on him, including a Wikipedia article that (accurately) describes his conservative views on abortion (he’d like to see Roe v. Wade overturned) and gun control (he doesn’t like it). But MoveOn, which I think it’s safe to say has an image of being on the left edge of the Democratic Party’s left wing, was calling on his behalf 1) to help knock off Casey’s opponent, radical right-winger Rick Santorum, and 2) to further the Democrats’ strategy to win back Congress (another conservative Democrat it worked for: Heath Shuler, elected to the House from North Carolina).

In any case, one of our guests started reading about Casey and exclaimed, “I don’t like this guy at all. Why am I making calls for him?” I didn’t really disagree with her thoughts about Casey; after all, how many more Liebermans do the Democrats need? But my stronger feeling was that we’d been given a job and I wanted to complete it. Luckily, I kept the new anti-Caseyite on board by giving her some Missouri voters to call; Claire McCaskill is a much more palatable candidate from a Berkeley liberals point of view.

–On Monday, I went into the MoveOn office in the early afternoon and stayed late enough that my car got locked into the city of Oakland parking garage I was using, a couple blocks away (not that it was that late: Oakland’s swinging downtown turns the lights out as soon as the local officeworkers head home, and the garage closes at 7). I spent part of the day calling MoveOn volunteers to see if we could get them to commit to more last-minute calling; most of the calls were to people in the East Bay, including half a dozen or so to people with Berkeley phone numbers. I was a little chagrined that among the Berkeley folks I contacted, no one had done the calling they had committed to, and no one wanted to do any. The charitable course would be to withhold judgment and recognize my own lack of past involvement; later, I’ll take the charitable course. For now, I think a lot of people in Berkeley feel like they’re taking a stand by living here and tolerating or partaking in the wild and crazy atmosphere, which is so enlightened compared to anywhere else you can think of.

I think I remember calling into two states on Monday: Maryland, for Senate candidate Ben Cardin (he won). Then, at the tail end of my shift, into Arizona’s 1st Congressional District, which is an amazing chunk of territory: 58,000 square miles or so, more than half the entire state (and bigger, by itself, than the entire state of Illinois). We called on behalf of the Democrat running there, a lawyer named Ellen Simon. At one point, I reached a guy who said he had four mail-in ballots, cast for Simon and other Democrats by himself and family members, but he didn’t know what to do with them now that it was too late to mail them in time to get them counted. I thought it would be easy to find out the details of Arizona’s law on this, but nowhere I looked–state and county and Democratic Party websites, gave a definitive answer. As a last resort, I had the brainstorm of looking up the candidate’s home phone number, since I knew her hometown. Surprisingly, there was a listing online. I called, and got a guy who said that Ellen Simon was out on the campaign trail. I explained what I needed to know, and this guy–her husband, I presume–told me that all the voter needed to do was bring the signed ballots into a polling place and they would be accepted. As it turned out, though, Simon needed those four votes and then some: She lost by 13,000 votes.

–On Tuesday, MoveOn opened the Oakland office at 5 a.m. I got there about 5:20, and there were already about 10 people making calls or getting ready for the day. Since I brought my laptop, I made calls through the group’s online call site: first to the 20th District in New York; then to the 2nd District in Connecticut; then to the 1st District in Iowa; then to MoveOn volunteers to try to rally people one last time to make more calls.

The whole feeling of the day was different: First, people saw light at the end of the tunnel. For both the people making the calls and the people getting them, they knew the blitz was almost over. But something else was different from even the previous day.

The entire calling process is a vast numbers game, nearly impossible to get a grasp of when you’re calling number after number in far-off states for candidates you may well have never heard of before you started dialing the phone for the day. At the beginning of the calliing campaign, the phone lists are pretty rough. I’m not sure of the criteria that landed people on our rosters, but at a minimum, I’d guess two factors were present: They had been registered Democrats, and they hadn’t voted in one or more elections over the last few years. When you start calling through the raw lists, you get lots of what seem like fruitless calls: hang-ups, disconnected numbers, people who tell you in no uncertain terms they love President Bush and wouldn’t think of voting for a Democrat now. Many, many calls are unresolved: A machine picks up, and you leave a message; the people on the other end won’t tell you how they’re voting, even if they say they’re Democrats; some say they’ve already voted. Occasionally–very occasionally, someone will tell you they plan to vote for the Democrat in the race and might even tell you what time they plan to go to the polls. So what you and the tens of thousands of other people calling from around the country are doing, one number at a time, is winnowing down the lists, culling out the bad numbers and the hostile voters one by one until, on the morning of the election, your left mostly with those who have indicated they’re going to support your candidate.

So while it was still dark in Oakland Tuesday morning, I was calling people in New York to make sure they were doing what they had said they were going to do: Get out to the polls and vote. The aim isn’t to get every single promised voter out the door, but rather to nudge enough of them that they might make a difference in a close race. And the assumption was they all the races we were making calls on were very close.

So: the New York 20th. Kirsten Gillibrand–the online calling interface advised it was pronounced JILL-uh-brand–was running against a pretty well entrenched Republican (though one, I heard later, had a possible history of domestic violence to explain during the campaign). She won.

After making 20 or so calls there and getting mostly cheerful- or relieved-sounding people, the calling system started spitting out numbers for the Connecticut 2nd District, for a guy named Joe Courtney. With all 242,000 votes in the district counted, he’s ahead by 170.

Then on to the 1st District in Iowa, where a college professor named Dave Loebsack was running against another well-established Republican. My 24 calls into his district all went to a little town called West Liberty, just east of Iowa City. I got lots of machines and precisely one voter who said they planned to go out and vote for Professor Loebsack (pronounced LOBE-sack). He won.

–After about five hours of that fun, I went home, took a nap, took the dog for a walk, and voted. I came home and, urged on by a MoveOn email, logged on to the calling site and made some last-minute calls to New York, to Colorado, to Idaho. When Kate got home, we went back to the polling place to drop off her absentee ballot, picked up a couple hamburgers, and came home to watch the returns. I was surprised that the broadcast networks all stuck with their prime-time programming. So, we had a diet of CNN, MSNBC and even a dash of Fox News until 10 p.m., when we switched over to the still Leslie Griffithless KTVU news. Sometime after 11, our neighbors Jill and Piero came over and we opened a bottle of champagne to toast the results. The last time we did that was 1992, the night Bill Clinton won, in the street in front of our house. You know, that was really a long time ago.

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Who Votes

I’ll refrain from beating the usual dead horse–why don’t more people vote?–just to observe that the turnout estimate for California is just over 50 percent of registered voters. To break it down with the round numbers I heard on the news, the state has 22 million-some eligible voters, 15.8 million of whom are registered. About 8.1 million of the registered group is expected to vote, because nothing is on the ballot except the usual–the state’s future. But I said I wouldn’t beat that horse, and I won’t, except to offer the quick off-the-cuff arithmetic that 8.1 million out of 22 million is something like 37 percent. I think the Iraqis, with deadly peril all around, did a lot better than that. But then, they have something to vote for.

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