Tim Russert Dies, Falls Short of US Avg by 17 Years

Tim Russert, moderator of Meet the Press and NBC’s Washington Bureau Chief, died earlier today of a heart attack while recording voiceovers for Sunday’s program.

Tom Brokaw, looking a bit like he wanted to barf, delivered the news for NBC. He would later join a bleary-eyed Keith Olbermann on MSNBC to parse out, as best he could, the reasons why Russert’s life was cut short.

Russert’s 58 years were 17 shy of the average for American males, and a full two decades short of the overall US average, according to CDC numbers published in yesterday’s Washington Post. Seventeen years, it is worth noting, is the same number of years Russert hosted Meet the Press. The show is the oldest running program on television, having been on air for 61 years.

Newspaper editors nationwide have begun thumbing through the R’s in their cabinets of ready-made obituaries, with the New York Times being particularly quick on the draw. Bill Clinton got in on the action as well, interrupting four months of dementia and racism to offer these words:

Tim had a love of public service and a dedication to journalism that rightfully earned him the respect and admiration of not only his colleagues but also those of us who had the privilege to go toe to toe with him.

Congratulations are also in order, I think, for the large number of anchor people who have unabashedly lamented that Russert outlived his father. Campbell Brown’s deliciously simple “that’s now how it’s supposed to work” was among my favorites, as were Chris Matthews’ (hopefully drunken) comments about Tim having already faced judgment in the afterlife.

Irish Catholics…

Hot + Balls = Hot As Balls

Here’s the story for today:

Found on Craigslist #3:

guitar — easy gig

Reply to: gigs-710600218@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-06-06, 9:12PM

Cute, fun mom looking for laid back guitar teacher for in-home lessons while kid’s away at camp. 420 friendly. Price negiotiable.

• Location: DC
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
• Compensation: no pay

Original URL: http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/doc/tlg/710600218.html
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Barack Obama at the Nissan Pavillion

If I were legit press, I’d be blogging during the speech. I ain’t legit press. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Peas.

UPDATE:

Draft Email #78: This week

Note: I was working at Mugshots in Manayunk, PA, while still living in my parent’s house in Jersey. I had only gotten back from Hawaii the month before and EVERYTHING was in flux. It took something like 90 minutes each way to get to work, and the money was awful. My manager was a douche, too. I’d been writing a bunch around that time, and new I had some sort of record of the occassion.

Hence, the draft email. The first part is my own self-interested ramblings; the second half I wanted to send to my boss (who was an awesome lady, by the way) but never did. It’s probably better that I never hit send, but I got such a kick out of seeing it again that I though I’d share. Diatribe starts after the jump.

Indian Hunger Strikers: Day 16

The city walked me yesterday. I left my apartment and just started strolling, not bothering to pay attention to where I was going (other than avoiding obvious pitfalls); rather, I took the path of least resistance, flowing wherever the traffic signals pointed. After forty-minutes of twists and turns and a bit of backtracking, I got stuck on an triangular island where Mass Ave and 21st Street smoosh together. There, where the red light stopped me, stood a statue of Mahatma Gandhi. At his feet were some two dozen Indian guest workers, 15 days deep into a hunger strike. Today is Day 16.

They were lying in repose in the shade of a short-legged tent they’d set up, surrounded by blankets and lots and lots of water. They seemed in high spirits despite the lack of food. They were celebrating the 54th birthday of one of the strikers. Smiles were still in abundance, and the prevailing sound was that of laughter.

Another five days remain in the planned 21-day protest, which has already left four workers hospitalized. The demonstration aims to bring attention what the strikers claim is a badly corrupted guest worker program run by Signal International.

From the Hindustan Times:

The workers on hunger strike are part of a group of 500 who came to the US to work for Signal International, a marine and fabrication company in Pascagoula, Mississippi. The company assured them that they would eventually be able to migrate to the US permanently. The workers paid recruiters up to $20,000. But when they arrived in the US, the workers found that not only were their chances of permanent residence non existent, their working conditions were also awful.

“We were like pigs in a cage,” said Sabulal Vijayan, a former worker, who even tried to commit suicide by slitting his wrists when he was threatened with deportation after he protested against the way he and other workers were being treated. The workers filed a complaint in the district court of Louisiana in March.

End of the Road

A Better Shot of the Mahatma (courtesy of DC Chelovek’s Flickr page)

The Man Himself

‘Neath the Tent

View Past Gandhi’s Sandals

Day Counter

Cakeless Birthday

Apologies for the bizarro hues; the camera is actin’ a fool lately.

SoapBox Spotlight: Steve Rosenshein

Steve was my roomate freshman year. He is one of my selves that have scattered across the globe. He’s been doing the Chile thing for a couple years now. Steve started out as an English teacher, but these days I think he’s writing.

Ever since he moved Southward, we’ve been communicating mostly via gmail chat. Eventually I’ll post excerpts of those conversations (especially from around the time I was in Hawaii), but first here’s the proper interview I’d been promising him for a long time now:

“Travailing Winds,” an Excerpt

19 February 2008; 6.18p, 43°F

Because Frank said he’d be my amphetamine, and because there isn’t yet a voice recorder to belch words into, and because Jordache is disappointed with our lack of postings, I’ve tapped into the collective consciousness from the goofy doorside seat of Boudhi’s room for a touch of philosophizing. The boys are all about, one in the doorway, two splayed out on the sofabed that never seems to sofa. They are talking nonsense about hot lather shaves, something that I haven’t bothered to train my ear on. Frank suddenly explodes off the couch, shouting.

“The opposite of a hot lather shave is wet and cold!” He is animated now, wrenched from the supine before he is ready, practically, and it takes him a moment to truly find his feet. “And it’s scraping and painful!” he says, sticking his finger into the air. He’s been turned on by the Universe to a conversation he’d only been halfheartedly attending, lazily tossing back replies in the tepid hope that something very much like this would happen, a word or an idea catching him off guard and thrusting him into the now.

Found on Craigslist #2:

Exchanged glances on Redline late Monday from Dupont, both looked back – w4m

Reply to: pers-697137689@craigslist.org
Date: 2008-05-27, 3:39PM

We were both waiting for the Glenmont train at Dupont and exchanged a few glances. Then we boarded together and experienced a drunk homeless guy bothering some girl near us. I had on short plaid shorts.
You got off at Metro Center–and we both looked back

• Location: Takoma Park
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Original URL: http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/doc/mis/697137689.html
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Poor Marketing 101

Check out this little nugget from my stats page: