Late Saturday night, I posted on Facebook that the George Zimmerman verdict was "Emmett Till all over again." Reaction from my friends was mixed, to put it mildly. Eight or nine of my friends liked the status, but those that disagreed were not afraid to comment. Eventually, I backpedaled; I admitted that the Till comparison was over the top, but I still believed the jury made the wrong call. Mea culpa or not, an awkward silence hovered over the rest of my weekend.
Treyvon Martin's murder 15 months ago was no cut-and-dry homicide, and the ensuing media circus constantly reminded us of that observation. For the prickly debate about gun control and race that Martin's death fueled there has been an undercurrent of idiocy, of poor decision-making, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Martin's death provoked a national discussion on race relations that wasn't wholly necessary, and only fanned the fire of the never-ending debate on gun control. At the same time, George Zimmerman will forever be perceived as a trigger-happy goon who got off scot-free, anointed by a jury that not only ignored his abuse of power a neighborhood watchdog, but also his wife's act of perjury. What a mess.
+ The bankruptcy of Detroit is as pitiful as it was inevitable. NBA great Dave Bing entered a very bad situation when we was elected mayor, and despite some minor gains he situation was just too insurmountable. The lack of economic growth was one thing, but the corruption was another (thanks, Kwame Kilpatrick). This once-great metropolis is now a black hole, sucking nearly the entire state of Michigan into its malaise. (For those of you that aren't familiar with this sorry situation, this article should bring you up to speed.) It'll only get worse before it ever gets better.
+ My congratulations go out to my friend Claire Mulaney on being hired to write for "Saturday Night Live" next season. Apparently, I've been on the Chicago improv scene long enough that I can (sort of) brag that people I've hung out with can --and have-- made their comedy dreams come true. Do your brother John proud.
Next week: the year in music, 1993.