Meredith Kercher's family launches appeal against acquittal on first appeal of Knox and Sollecito

Many found the "out of the blue" report at the end of last week a little odd, both for its timing and its content. In terms of content, it focused on the "silent auction" to be held amongst publishers for the right to shape and package Amanda Knox's memoirs. There were a number of basically anonymous quotes, attributed to unnamed publishers taking part in the silent bidding and a few opting out. Among those taking part, all were eager to act as if they had won the bid and were already involved in the first phase of marketing: "charming girl", "almost scholarly", "quoted Shakespeare" and blah blah blah.

In the dissenting corner, one said something like "well, it isn't as if she has been unambiguously found innocent".

You can say that again! There was no mention of the fact that the prosecution was getting ready to file its appeal of the frankly absurd and wholly illogical Hellmann decision, which set both Knox and her rather hapless ex-boyfriend free. And not just the prosecution. It is significant that the family of the murder victim, Meredith Kercher, have also launched an appeal of the verdict. It is long past time to stop acting as if they don't exist and/or as if they are merely confused.

There is a gaping divide in opinion that spans the Atlantic Ocean. And this should come as no surprise. The PR firm hired by the Knox and Mellas families just days after Amanda Knox was taken into custody has been tireless. Expensive but tireless. It has fed a load of bull to an extremely lazy, uninquiring and xenophobic US mainstream media, only too happy to read talking points prepared in advance and give sympathetic interviews with family members as they cry on cue. Don't get me wrong. I'm sure the emotion was as real as it gets for television. But things soon got murky, as these same media types began vying for the exclusive interview with the product they had helped to create. Anyway. That's old news by now.

Across the pond, and extending into Italy (which for much of the US media is part of the third world, apparently), the news feed is a bit different and the "innocent abroad" meme is not playing so well. Accordingly, the news that an appeal was duly filed comes as no surprise. In Seattle, it is "breaking news". And it is presented with the prepared reaction on the part of the family. No mention is made of the fact that it is not just the prosecution but also the family of the victim. But that's par for the course by now. We are only told that this is harassment, pure and simple. After all, that nice gentleman Mr. Hellmann said that those two kids look like decent people and their families seem very supportive, so they have to be acquitted. For those who are interested in complexity rather than fructose, click on the link to Andrea Vogt's article on the most recent developments for The Week.

I suspect the hope in launching the silent auction at this time, before the judicial process in Italy has played out, is to get as big an advance as possible so that the PR and other bills can be paid off. Talk is of seven figures. That's a good start. But then the hard part comes. No mention of who the "co-author" will be. Nor of the exact terms of the promotional participation expected from the "author". Amanda Knox has not spoken to the press since she was released. Contrast her situation with that of the two hikers held in Iran under horrendous conditions for an extended period, told they had been abandoned by their family and country. They were blindfolded much of the time and had nothing to listen to but the sounds of fellow inmates being tortured. They were finally released and, as soon as they touched down in the US, they sat down with reporters and held a two-hour press conference. Then they got on with their lives. They don't have a huge PR bill to pay. I guess that's the difference.

What the fook?

I didn't have time to stop and buy the latest issue of Fluide G. The train to Aix was leaving, with or without me.

Here's what I missed:

Saint Valentin : fuck me tender, fuck me true
Shopping : c'est la crise ! Claque ton dernier smic
Mode : looke toi comme Raël ! Shooting au bois
Sexe : la toutoute première fois de Didier Super ! 32 petits plaisirs égoïstes
People : dans le frigo à Liliane Bettencourt
Santé : la grossesse en vrai


And here is the cover, up close.




I just wanted to reassure those who may be thinking I spent all my time at Le Crillon and all them fancy places, with fancy people.

If, on a wintry night...

Have you ever seen something so spectacular you just had to stop and snap a photo, even though you realize the photo will not do justice to the beauty you are so miraculously beholding? On Friday, I was emerging from the Paris métro at Concorde, on my way to meet a friend for a drink at the nearby Hôtel de Crillon. This is what I saw unfolded before my eyes, except that the reality was a million times more breathtaking. The black Tour Eiffel against a winter sky the color of a blood orange, with the big wheel, the traffic, and the other incredulous photo snappers united in a moment of awe. It was all just too beautiful. And all I had for capturing the moment was my iPad. And in my excitement, as well as because of the unbearably cold temperature, not to mention the fact that my friend was waiting for me at the Crillon, I seem to have included my thumb in the photo. Three times. I took this photo three times, and discovered much later that my thumb is in every one.

And for those who have never ventured inside, the Crillon, while magnificant, cannot hold a candle to Paris, ablaze on a freezing wintry evening.

Don't call it a man cave, you cave man!

Apparently, the expression is as passé as baby bump. When I moved back to the United States, I discovered this strange thing called a man cave. It seems the American male needs his own space in the family home, where he can hang out with other males, play music, drink beer and emit strange bodily noises without a care in the world. I don't think they have those in France, not yet anyway. I'm sure man caves will soon be furieusement tendance, given the fascination with all new and trendy things American. I will never forget the first time I saw an SUV in Paris (called a quatre-quatre) with Paris plates. Ugh! Then there was the sudden appearance of small decals that said "bébé à bord". Double ugh! The most depressing day was the one where I saw an SUV with a "bébé à bord" decal. Utter despair!

But I digress. As I was saying, American men have and apparently need man caves. For Xmas, Hub got his man cave. But we're not calling it that and it isn't off limits to girls like me. How else do you expect it to stay relatively clean? We're calling it the Music Room, because we have decided to store our guitars and amps in there. I may bring my bongos down. We still need to buy a decent microphone and are currently auditioning back-up singers. No talent required. You just have to promise not to call it a man cave.

Glorious gadgetry

Okay, so it has been awhile. Haven't you ever heard of the holiday season? I don't know about you, but I tend to get overbooked and overtired just at the time of year my body and brain shut down in unison, demanding an extended period of hibernation. Can you blame them? It is dark most of the time.

That's what really hit me this year: the seemingly sudden (though actually gradual) lack of daylight hours for stuff like going outside, walking Neko, etc. You wake up, it's dark. You drag your ass out of bed at 6 am to deal with work issues, and it's dark. You look outside and it's raining. And kind of dark. You feel like you need to keep indoor lights on all day, as a stay against the impending gloom that surrounds you.

This is where Gadget Number One comes in. Hub got me an iPad for Xmas, delivered in early December. With an iPad, you can comfortably check your emails and comfortably respond without getting up. Coffee in bed! With dark chocolate! And darkness all around! So much more commode than an iPhone. You can actually read what you are typing and pretty much press on the key you want. The iPad does a lot more stuff too, which I'll know more about once I've read the iPad manual I bought for Hub.

Vitamins are also critical at this time of year, which is where Gadget Number Two comes in: a Vitamix! This incredible machine can pulverize anything, probably including body parts. Attention! Don't operate while drunk or groggy or preoccupied. I discovered this the hard way. I wasn't drunk, but it was early and I was groggy. I also had a bad cold. I wanted a green smoothie bad. I followed the instructions in the book to the letter. Order of ingredients, check. Amounts, check. A vitamix has an on/off button (right side) and a high/variable speed button (left side). In the middle, there is a speed dial. One to ten, then hit high. So I did that. It was not until I got up towards ten that I realized I had forgotten to put the top on. What tipped me off was the green vomity looking stuff flying everywhere, sticking to cupboards. You've seen The Exorcist, right? A focused, non-groggy person would have done what? Well, probably turn the on/off switch to off, real quick like. But what do I do? I see the top and decide to put it on, real quick like. The problem with this response - well there are many but let's mention this one only - is that the top has two parts and if they aren't locked together, one of them will pop off. It is the plug. It popped right off and met the blade. The smell of burning was not far behind. Then and only then did I turn off the Vitamix. But it was too late. A part known as the "drive socket" had pretty much melted. That's where the burned smell came from.

I did a lame-ass test and came to the conclusion the motor was f*cked. I called Hub, who probably could not see that my tail was between my legs, identifying myself as "The Loser". He said it could just be a part and maybe one of the guys in his shop could fix it. Long story short, I isolated the part, we tested the motor - still working - and I ordered the part online. To ensure free delivery of the part, I bought myself a new pair of slippers. I'll skip the rest of the story. The Vitamix, which retails for more than 500 dollars and comes with a 7-year warranty that does not cover groggy idiocy, is now working again. It shakes a bit, but so do I early in the morning.

The moral of the story is that I don't usually make New Year's resolutions, but this year I did. I have resolved to strive for mindfulness, in particular when operating expensive and possibly dangerous home appliances that turn kale and chard into green liquid.

And that's all there is to it.

Bonne année à tous!

The little guy that melted

Brilliant and sad and true: the photographs of your junk will be publicized

Foxy Knoxy: The Musical

Most people remember Tonya Harding, right? Did you know that she just turned 40 and had a baby this year?! I found a photo of her on the internet and was amazed to note the physical resemblance between Tonya and Amanda Knox. Harding looks like an older, heavier version of the 24-year old Knox. Tonya's trials and tribulations became fodder for various media, including a number of books (Celebrities in Disgrace and Women on Ice, the latter a collection of feminist essays, to cite but two examples) which in turn have spawned plays, movies, an opera (!) and a musical that had a run in Portland a couple of years back. There were lots of Tonya Harding jokes too and I bet the number one choice for a Halloween costume in the mid-90's was Tonya Harding. So there is lots of common ground, for sure. Speaking of Halloween costumes, some bloggers and other commenters found it a bit distasteful of Foxy to dress as what appeared to be a cat burglar and get photographed doing so as she hit a party. You can read one reaction here. Of course, one member of the Foxy Furies was on duty and responded with a defensive "let the girl live" post. But it went nowhere.

Foxy Knoxy, acquitted on appeal of the murder of Meredith Kercher, has already entered into that peculiar state of existence known as "being a cultural product line". There is the matter of the final automatic appeal by Italy's highest court, which could put a spanner in the works, but quite frankly I think Italy is glad to be rid of the American. That's what UK journalist Sharon Feinstein discovered recently, when she traveled to Perugia to interview the prison warden and the inmate who shared a cell with Foxy for three years. You can read about it here. Poor Ms. Feinstein has since been dealing round the clock with the Foxy Furies, a small band of apparently unemployed people who spend every waking hour hounding anyone who questions the appeal verdict or who dares to criticize their idol Foxy. Ms. Feinstein's crime is to have published the interviews on her blog. She has done an admirable job of dealing with the attack dogs but I believe she's a bit weary by now. They do wear you down.

Anyway, back to Foxy. She has signed with a lawyer, who will represent her in talks with potential publishers. A big-wig agent whose clients include Tony Blair and Bill Clinton. He will help negotiate all of the various "official" variations on the Foxy Knoxy theme and narrative - the book by Knoxy, the movie based on same (which is bound to be dull), and perhaps eventually a rock opera or a musical. If they hurry, Knox will still be age appropriate enough to star as herself. And let's not forget the exclusive interview. Barbara Walters seems to be hot on Foxy's trail, having left a couple of enticing crumbs. For example, she has named Foxy as one of the most intriguing people of 2011. I think she comes in at number 5. Something like that. Walters must be hoping PR guru David Marriott will forgive her for the tacky bit on her show after the acquittal, where she and her gal pals wondered aloud if Casey Anthony and Amanda Knox "got away with murder" because they are attractive as that term is currently defined.

It seems everyone is cashing in. Bottom feeder Sharlene Martin, who negotiated the publication of OJ's If I Did It after the Goldman family obtained the rights, has signed Raffaele Sollecito and Steve Moore. Raffie is Foxy's former beau and he too was acquitted on appeal. Raffie is an avid knife collector, by the way. Just wanted to get that out there. As for Steve Moore, he apparently is a retired FBI agent. He has tried to parlay the murder of Meredith into a new career for himself "in the media", as his wife Michelle says. I guess he hopes that publishing a book dealing with his life as a g-man could help him gain some much needed cred.

I personally think that all of the above will eventually be fodder for the definitive and inevitably irreverent treatment of this sad saga. The players mentioned will all eventually figure in a wicked parody showcasing a monumental amount of human folly and vanity. Their names may be changed and their story slightly altered. But make no mistake about it. The story of what happened to Meredith Kercher, lovely Meredith Kercher, will never be told by those who are in a position to tell it. And all these other stories have been over told and over sold. The problem is that the PR guru (and the assorted fixers, lawyers and other shady types) must now be paid. So the books must get written and the movie rights must be sold and you must all pitch in with your pennies and other spare change. This acquittal cost a bundle!

By the way, the link to the news about the book is in French. The media event was amply covered in the English-language press, but I liked this one because the title suggests that the book in question, penned by Knox (and probably a co-author, according to sources), could be a "confession". Fat chance! If it were, it might be vaguely interesting! Will Savive has written a blog post worth reading on the role of Barnett in ensuring that Curt and Edda's really big bills get paid in our lifetime.

It is interesting to note how intertwined the names of Knox, OJ and Casey Anthony have become - on so many levels. This may be one reason why all the big wigs who stand to gain financially from the Knox book deal are taking such great pains to draw a distinction, especially between Knox and Casey "Kryptonite" Anthony. But the parallels just keep pushing their way back to the surface, like an annoying person who just won't drown for Christ's sake! According to the ever excellent Button, Anthony too has a "mob" of rabid supporters who swoop in for online attacks whenever any negative press is detected.

Proud to be an illiberal moron?

There are many nice things about living in France as opposed to America. One of them is the absence of bumper stickers. Keep your illiberal ideas, and even your liberal ones, to yourself! I don't need to know what the overweight, badly dressed, middle-aged, tight-lipped white man driving the rundown Ford Fiesta in front of me northbound on 99 in Seattle yesterday at approximately 11:30 am thinks about the Occupy movement or Obama. I think maintaining the mystery is usually the right thing to do, especially when you are surrounded by virtual strangers.

But since he feels the need to share this information, so will I. His piece of shit car was festooned with two bumpa stickas:





Actually, the hippy one said "Shut Up Hippies" but I could not find that on the internet.