More "stuff" about OJ
Now that the initial tidal wave of publicity has crested, some aspects of the bizarre saga of OJ Simpson have become slightly clearer. When I first heard the term “casino robbery” on the news, I thought this sociopath had kicked his brief career as a movie star into some real-life variation of a Hollyweird antic. I have some former Sicilian in-laws, and no matter how much the Nevada Gaming Commission claims they’ve cleaned up Vegas, I would not want to try and take down the count room at a casino. Fortunately for Orenthal James, fear and common sense seem to have won out over the psychosis that propels so much of his life. Even if you’re convinced that the universe revolves around you, robbing the Mafia is not a good idea. Those caper plots work well at the movies, because it doesn’t happen in the real world. Messing with La Cosa Nostra will get you a .22 bullet behind the ear, and a bouquet of flowers with a “Nothing Personal” note at your funeral.
So, it’s leaking into the news that whatever was happening in that hotel room was apparently about “stuff”. That raises a question or three, going back to my previous befuddlement: what was he thinking? I think it’s in The Written Rules of the Universe that if you viciously murder your wife and get away with it, you’re supposed to go hide somewhere and thank your lucky stars while you beg God to forgive you.
In his comedic heyday, George Carlin had a great existential monologue about “stuff”. In my 5½ decades of existence, I’ve accumulated a lot of “stuff”. Some of it was quite nice “stuff”. I can also cite three distinct instances where I’ve been looted of this “stuff”. Cars, jewelry, antiques, clothing, tools, firearms, furniture, electronics; you name it, and I’ve had it stolen. We’re not talking avaricious ex-wives here; we’re talking common thieves, and in all the instances, I knew their identities. Some of the stolen property had deep sentimental value, and it stung to lose it. However, it never occurred to me to saddle up a “posse” and go chasing after people on my own to recover “stuff”. I’ve never seen a hearse with luggage racks, so when it comes to material items, you either replace them, or learn to live without them.
That brings me to my second question: what was OJ doing with “stuff” of any sort? The last time I checked, the jury in his civil suit was a lot less sympathetic than the frightened gaggle who sat in judgment at his criminal trial. He has a protected pension, and a nice roof over his head. Otherwise, he owes the Brown and Goldman families millions of dollars in compensation for stealing something much more valuable than “stuff”: two human lives. If OJ has any “stuff” beyond what he needs to live hand-to-mouth with the rest of us little people, that “stuff” rightly belongs to the families of his victims. Although there’s a broad belief in certain demographic groups that Simpson is truly innocent, the physical evidence at his trial was overwhelming. The original murder trial was more of slam-dunk than this Vegas craziness.
Now that the news vultures are gathering—Van Susteren’s already in Nevada—we are being treated to seemingly endless file footage of OJ; smirking, giving little “toodle-do” waves, and playing golf. I have zero tolerance for murderers, and, as in the case of the alleged shooter in my father’s case, who was struck and killed by a truck some years ago, I can only hope the karma train is pulling into the station for OJ.
And that brings the final question full-circle back to the first. What was he thinking? He stepped into this monstrous poo-pile for “stuff”? I’ve known a few people who would probably meet a loose clinical definition of “sociopath”, but they are not public figures, and they had enough self-preservation instinct to know when they’d dodged a bullet, and keep their pointy heads down. We’ll have to wait for some of the mystery to unravel in the coming days; I get the distinct whiff of an elegant set-up, what with this tape recording of the confrontation in the hotel.
We have a saying in The South. It’s not racist or anything, but certainly appropriate to whatever’s going on with OJ: “That boy ain’t right.”
So, it’s leaking into the news that whatever was happening in that hotel room was apparently about “stuff”. That raises a question or three, going back to my previous befuddlement: what was he thinking? I think it’s in The Written Rules of the Universe that if you viciously murder your wife and get away with it, you’re supposed to go hide somewhere and thank your lucky stars while you beg God to forgive you.
In his comedic heyday, George Carlin had a great existential monologue about “stuff”. In my 5½ decades of existence, I’ve accumulated a lot of “stuff”. Some of it was quite nice “stuff”. I can also cite three distinct instances where I’ve been looted of this “stuff”. Cars, jewelry, antiques, clothing, tools, firearms, furniture, electronics; you name it, and I’ve had it stolen. We’re not talking avaricious ex-wives here; we’re talking common thieves, and in all the instances, I knew their identities. Some of the stolen property had deep sentimental value, and it stung to lose it. However, it never occurred to me to saddle up a “posse” and go chasing after people on my own to recover “stuff”. I’ve never seen a hearse with luggage racks, so when it comes to material items, you either replace them, or learn to live without them.
That brings me to my second question: what was OJ doing with “stuff” of any sort? The last time I checked, the jury in his civil suit was a lot less sympathetic than the frightened gaggle who sat in judgment at his criminal trial. He has a protected pension, and a nice roof over his head. Otherwise, he owes the Brown and Goldman families millions of dollars in compensation for stealing something much more valuable than “stuff”: two human lives. If OJ has any “stuff” beyond what he needs to live hand-to-mouth with the rest of us little people, that “stuff” rightly belongs to the families of his victims. Although there’s a broad belief in certain demographic groups that Simpson is truly innocent, the physical evidence at his trial was overwhelming. The original murder trial was more of slam-dunk than this Vegas craziness.
Now that the news vultures are gathering—Van Susteren’s already in Nevada—we are being treated to seemingly endless file footage of OJ; smirking, giving little “toodle-do” waves, and playing golf. I have zero tolerance for murderers, and, as in the case of the alleged shooter in my father’s case, who was struck and killed by a truck some years ago, I can only hope the karma train is pulling into the station for OJ.
And that brings the final question full-circle back to the first. What was he thinking? He stepped into this monstrous poo-pile for “stuff”? I’ve known a few people who would probably meet a loose clinical definition of “sociopath”, but they are not public figures, and they had enough self-preservation instinct to know when they’d dodged a bullet, and keep their pointy heads down. We’ll have to wait for some of the mystery to unravel in the coming days; I get the distinct whiff of an elegant set-up, what with this tape recording of the confrontation in the hotel.
We have a saying in The South. It’s not racist or anything, but certainly appropriate to whatever’s going on with OJ: “That boy ain’t right.”
posted by Robert at 6:32 PM
3 Comments:
Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass "Go!", do not collect $200...
Enough is enough and enough is too much. There are a lot more important things going on in this world that I would like to hear about.
I agree. Coverage will be kept to a minimum.
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