The Sasquatch Journal

I spent a considerable amount of time last week thinking of a headline for a story I wrote about squirrels being put on birth control in Santa Monica. Now, look...I realize that this is sort of one of those ridiculous stories where people would roll their eyes and chortle and say "Slow news day, huh?" and then repeat "squirrels on birth control" under their breath to themselves and laugh again but these are the kinds of stories I live for.

Yes, of course, in the grand scheme of things a story about ground squirrels being given a vaccine that stops ovulation and lactation in female squirrels, (while also halting testicular development in males!) in a park because the city is worried that the squirrels might give people the bubonic plague and it's earlier attempts to poison, gas, and capture the squirrels and feed them to birds of prey being nursed back to health were repeatedly protested by PETA members matters little compared to tales of War and Violence and Sex Scandals and Elections. But really, in 10 years, what are you going to remember...that our country invaded this stupid Iraq and had a long, boring war there or that some furry little critters in Palisades Park could have strings-free sex with no consequences? I say Give me squirrels or give me death!

With that said, I really wanted to lead off the story with "Squirrels are infamous for their love for nuts, but they may soon lose theirs." But alas, I work for a family newspaper, which is code for "people who don't like newspapers that would reference to a slang term for testicles." So, I came up with something like "Squirrels are reproducing like rabbits in Santa Monica, causing city officials to put them on birth control. That's right, we can't feed poor people in our city but we can give little Squiggles the Squirrel over there a jimmy hat for $10 bucks a pop." Alright, I made up that last part.

But maybe this is just some sort of cruel irony that I'm doing this story because about 10 years ago when I was a sophomore in college (GASP!) I once wrote a letter to our college newspaper about the issue of putting a sexual orientation clause into the college's bylaws or something goofy like that. As a young, perhaps overreaching satrical writer, I wrote a letter revealing my plight as a "Squirrelsexual" on campus. I talked about how I never felt comfortable sharing my love for Squiggles (Yep, that's where that name came from) because of all of the discrimination I recieved from people. It got to the point, I said, where people would chase us up trees and throw acorns at us. I couldn't wait until a bright shining day when the world could accept a man and squirrel in love. Needless to say, the letter didn't get printed. And Squiggles ended up leaving me. Oh bitter irony!


You know when you watch the news where a celebrity/politician is walking and there's a ginormous crush of journalists/TV cameras/photographers/and hangers on surrounding them like a swarm of locusts on a Kansas wheatfield? Yesterday afternoon, I was one of the locusts. Yes, for three hours of my life, I became a Paparazzi.

Now, perhaps I'm being hard on myself because I really tried not to be a pain in the ass and in your face...and this wasn't Lindsay Lohan buying a pack of Marlboro Lights and tequila at a 7-11. It was an actor from the Fox show "Prison Break" who got in an car accident after driving with cocaine and alcohol in his system (his blood alcohol level was an outrageous .17) while he drove three teenage fans in his car. The 17-year old boy died and two 15-year girls were injured in it. This guy, Lane Garrison, isn't necessarily a sympathetic character in the classic sense.

At any rate, I was asked to go to cover his arraignment and his act of turning himself into police for a story (he was charged and an arrest warrant had been issued the day before). As I walked up to the Beverly Hills courthouse, my stomach was already beginning to turn. There were news vans everywhere, grizzled cameraman strolling about, fake blonde broadcast reporters anxiously pacing and talking loudly on cellphones, and actual card-carrying (not literally, of course) paparazzi. I got there a little late so I missed the stroll in by Lane Garrison and his smooth-talking lawyer, but I walked up the courtroom on the 3rd floor to listen into the court proceedings.

Most court sessions, by the way, are rarely as exciting as they are on TV, it's a lot of waiting, waiting, waiting, followed by a few terse words by a judge, and lots of BS and legalese from lawyers. This was pretty much the case here, but it was a little interesting because Garrison looked genuinely distraught, unlike most defendants...and he wanted to postpone pleading guilty or not guilty.

"Mr. Garrison accepts responsibility for his actions for his conduct but the real issue is what is his level of culpability," said the lawyer with a look of studied contriteness. He said Garrison wouldn't feel comfortable pleading not guilty, so it sounded like they were going to negotiate with the DA. In the meantime, $100,000 bail was accepted if Garrison agreed to not drink, drive (I guess it goes without saying that drinking and driving simultaenously was also out of the question) go to bars, talk to witnesses, or taking a piss into anything other than a measuring cup (OK, kidding about that last part.)

After court finished, at least 20 reporters walked out of the courtroom and headed down stairs to wait for Garrison to make the short walk from the courthouse to the police station to turn himself in to police. In the meantime, the Media Horde gathered like jackals in front of the side door and started getting restless..the grizzled middle aged photographers made sarcastic but unfunny wisecracks about how Garrison was going to have sex with men in prison...I fake laughed uncomfortably and suggested it would be ironic if he broke out of prison because well, you know. I ended up chatting with a short attractive blonde British girl who was there with a camcorder. I asked her if she was taping it for her own uses ( I wondered if she were a friend of the victims or something) but she told me she worked for an Entertainment website called "Splash News"...which I later looked at and it's basically paparazzi porn.

After 30 minutes or so of waiting, finally Lane and his lawyer walked out of the courthouse. And suddenly the crowd of media just zoomed over like a bunch of teenage girls to a Justin Timberlake concert. There was pushing, elbowing, jostling cameras, with little room to breathe and move. Garrison eyes were wet with tears and he looked down to the ground. The reporters barked questions at him and his lawyers but the lawyer just kept repeating "no comment." At one point, they could barely move because all the people trying to take pictures of Garrison 6 inches from his face. "KEEP MOVING!" several people kept yelling in this giant mosh pit of insanity. Crossing the street, cars honked at us as we were blocking the way... Finally after a long two minutes, or so...Garrison escapes into the police station...and the media dissipates almost as quickly as it formed. It was so surreal.

I left with mixed feelings...on one hand, as I said, here's a guy that committed a serious crime. On the other hand, I feel like this ravenous media and the gossip hungry populous that feeds them contributes to this problem of Celebrity. It's an ugly, ugly cycle and I hated being part of it, however small it was.