Phillip Thompson

Crime Fiction writer

Spent the weekend trying to erase a serious sleep deficit caused by an overly busy work week.  So, in no particular order:

Only checked in on the Penn State-Nebraska game occasionally. I couldn’t stand the blather. Don’t mean to sound callous, but the as-usual obsession with a public tragedy pushes my patience to the limits. What happened at Penn State goes beyond tragedy into the domain of evil. That’s indisputable. But the near-instantaneous condemnation of Paterno before hardly anything was known about the case was shocking, even by today’s standards. The number of people in the media, at the office, on Facebook that immediately and vociferously condemned Paterno and everything he ever did in his life pushed the bounds of decency. I know, I know, there’s no such thing as due process in this country anymore. That’s precisely the problem. Seriously, a nationwide “EFF Paterno!” within an hour of the news breaking? Really? I asked some of those people the name of the coach — you know, the one actually accused of a crime — and they didn’t know: “That other scumbag.” The hair-trigger hatred that exists in our society is disturbing. And don’t think for a second I’m defending Paterno. While he didn’t do anything wrong in a legal sense, he failed miserably in the moral leadership department.

Don’t ever stay for the post-game show. This is what awaited us after the Auburn-Georgia. Schlock defined! And the worst part was how many of these truly godawful songs I remembered.

Veterans Day comes at just the right time of the year. OK, I’ve known that since the morning after my first Marine Corps Birthday Ball, but what a nice break after Labor Day and before Thanksgiving.

Virginia’s fall is rocking this year. The leaves are like something out of a painting — my back yard looks like a forest fire — and they’re hanging around a lot longer than last year. Makes the morning cup of coffee that much more enjoyable, which is exactly what I’m doing as I write this.

No shortage of deer this season. I counted nine on the way home the other night and came close — almost scream-like-a-girl-close — to an 8-point crossing the road the same night.

Speaking of rock, saw Sting Thursday night at Constitution Hall. An outstanding show. If I had to boil it down to one word, that word would be “precision.” His band is razor-sharp, the performance was flawless. The show was the third time I’d seen him (the first was a Police show in Memphis in early 1984), and he’s always worth the money. No, he did not sing “Roxanne.” Yes, he did sing “Message in a Bottle.” Yes, he dropped plenty of F-bombs.

The First Amendment is being abused on Facebook. I guess that will stop as soon we get a new (read: white) president back in the White House. Too bad you can’t cure stupid.

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