Sunday, November 28, 2010

Saliva


The captivating video of the interrogation of Stephanie Lazarus [above] reminded me that I wanted to write about this 17 months ago.

Back in June 2009 a story broke in Los Angeles that I wanted to write about but never did. Recently the story was back in the news and reminded me - 17 months later - that I wanted to write about this tale. It deals with a 1986 murder and a well-regarded Los Angeles Police Department [LAPD] detective; a lover scorned; and a murder solved 23 later.

In June 2009, Stephanie Lazarus was an LAPD investigator. For nearly 30 years on the force she had a distinguished career, one that specialized in solving cases involving stolen art. With the exception of a very, very brief issue - long forgotten and early in her career back in 1986 - her work had been exemplary.

That issue took place in February 1986. As a child, Lazarus had been friends with a boy named John Ruetten. The two reconnected while students at UCLA and began a romantic relationship. The two broke up around the time Ruetten struck up a relationship with Sherri Rae Rasmussen - whom he would marry in 1985. Three months later, John Ruetten returned home on the evening of February 24, 1986, to find his wife's lifeless body on the floor in the living room in their Van Nuys condominium.

The case was botched from the start. At first, Ruetten himself was a suspect. Then he mentioned that - while engaged to Rasmussen - he had a fling with his old flame, Lazarus, by then an LAPD officer. That was the first time Lazarus came to the forefront of the investigation, albeit only briefly, despite the fact that Rasmussen's parents were both convinced that Lazarus had been involved [after Rasmussen's death, Reutten admitted to his in-laws of the fling with Lazarus while engaged to their daughter].

The lead homicide detectives on the case, however, were convinced that Rasmussen had been killed by a pair of burglars, as there had been a series of robberies in homes in the area at the time. They briefly interviewed Lazarus and immediately eliminated her as a suspect. There the case remained cold for two decades, like thousands of other homicides from the 1980s [remember, the vast majority of homicides go unsolved. Ever.] The case collected dust on storage shelves for more than two decades.

As part of a regular review of old cases, detectives returned to the Rasmussen killing in February 2009. It turned out that there was a saliva sample taken from Rasmussen's arm at the crime scene. 1986 was just before great advances in DNA research. As routine procedure, in 2009 the saliva sample was tested. The DNA tests showed the attacker was a woman, shocking detectives and obviously disproving the theory that Rasmussen had been killed by a man or men.

The investigation was reopened.

Detectives retraced the blueprint of the 1986 investigation, once again interviewing Rasmussen’s parents and John Ruetten. As they had at the time of the killing, Rasmussen's parents told investigators about Lazarus. Doubting the idea that a veteran LAPD detective was their perpetrator, nonetheless the 2009 investigators did their due diligence and dispatched an undercover officer to surreptitiously trail Lazarus as she did errands, looking to quietly collect a DNA sample to quickly eliminate her as as a suspect. The undercover officer waited until Lazarus discarded a plastic utensil with her saliva on it. With that in hand, the saliva was tested. Investigators were stunned when the DNA in Lazarus' saliva was compared with the DNA evidence collected from the murder scene in 1986 and the genetic code in the samples matched conclusively. Indeed, the odds that the DNA found in Rasmussen's wound belonged to anyone other than Lazarus are one in 400 quadrillion.

It was after Lazarus' June 5, 2009 arrest that I wanted to write a post. I think Michael Jackson died or something and I got off-track. Or maybe the Yankees went on a winning streak and I stopped writing. Who knows?

Anyroad, the Lazarus story came to the forefront recently when the LAPD released the captivating video of how investigators confronted Lazarus with their evidence in June 2009, on the day they arrested her.

After the DNA match was made, LAPD officials devised a plan to arrest Lazarus. Around 6:40 on the morning on June 5, 2009, Det. Daniel Jaramillo from the LAPD's Robbery-Homicide Division approached Lazarus at her desk in the department's headquarters and asked her to accompany him downstairs to the department's jail facility - where he knew Lazarus would not be able to bring her gun. Jaramillo told Lazarus he needed her help interrogating a man who claimed to have information on stolen art, which was Lazarus' specialty.

Jaramillo brought Lazarus into a private room in the jail facility where Jaramillo's partner, Det. Greg Stearns, was waiting. After a few minutes of small talk, Jaramillo told Lazarus she was not there to question a suspect about art. "We've been assigned a case that we've been looking at," he said. "Do you know John Ruetten?"

For roughly the next hour, the detectives pressed Lazarus for information about her relationship with Ruetten and any encounters she had with Rasmussen. Initially, Lazarus said she couldn't recall whether she had ever met Rasmussen, but soon acknowledged they had met. "Now that you're bringing it up, I think she worked at a hospital somewhere. And, yeah, I may have met her at a hospital. I may have talked to her once or twice, or more," she said. After some additional prodding, Lazarus admitted to investigators something she had kept to herself in 1986 - she had, in fact, confronted Rasmussen on multiple occasions after Lazarus and Reutten had their post-engagement fling. Immediately, though, Lazarus denied having a role in the killing.

The detectives pushed ahead, questioning Lazarus on whether she ever had gone to Rasmussen's home. Lazarus did not give a definitive answer, repeatedly saying she could not recall. Jaramillo grew more pointed in his questions, asking Lazarus if she ever had fought with Rasmussen and harping on her when she insisted, "If it happened, I honestly don't remember it. That's all I can tell you." "You'd remember that, right? That would be pretty specific and, you know, traumatic," Jaramillo pushed back.

On several occasions, Lazarus asked the detectives the reason for the questioning. They repeatedly assuaged her concern by telling her they were just doing their jobs and saying that they had brought her down to the jail to spare her the embarrassment of being questioned in the office.

When it became obvious to her that she was a suspect, Lazarus told Stearns and Jaramillo that they were "starting to make me uncomfortable" and asked whether she needed a lawyer. They told her she was free to leave if she wanted. "You're accusing me of this? Is that what you're -- is that what you're saying?" Lazarus asked near the end of the roughly hour-long interview. "Am I on 'Candid Camera' or something? This is insane. This is absolutely crazy. This is insane," Lazarus said

Shortly thereafter, Lazarus rose to leave. Seconds after she went through the door, however, she was intercepted by other detectives waiting in the hallway. As Lazarus sat handcuffed, one detective loosened her handcuffs and Stearns told her they would put her jacket over the handcuffs to conceal her arrest.

Lazarus has pleaded not guilty and remains in custody on $10-million bail awaiting trial, which is expected to start in the spring.

As she was waiting to be booked, Lazarus struggled to remove her wedding band. An unidentified person offered her advice:

"Saliva works wonders."






copyright 2010 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Fall On Your Knees

Forty-two years apart, Jose Romero kneels at Robert Kennedy's side. The now-60-year old Romero is the famed busboy captured in one of the most iconic photos of the late 1960s.

"What we need in the United States is not division … not hatred … not violence or unlawfulness, but love and wisdom and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country.... Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to take the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world...." - Robert Francis Kennedy


It is, perhaps, one of the most iconic photos of the 1960s: a skinny and obviously stunned and confused teenage busboy is kneeling over a mortally wounded Robert F. Kennedy, vainly trying to lift up the New York senator, momentarily - and, obviously, mistakenly - believing RFK had been pushed and knocked to the ground. After Romero's story became known, that one snapshot held great irony:Kennedy, who spent the last three years of his life trying to lift up for the poor, the migrant workers, the African Americans and the Chicanos, was now being lifted by one of those same underprivileged and forgotten members of American society.

The teenager, Juan Romero, is now 60 years old. In the intervening 42 years, Romero has been traumatized by that June night at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, California. And, in all of those ensuing years, Romero has been walking around with tremendous guilt, feeling that he could have prevented Sirhan Sirhan from assassinating the man Romero said had finally made him feel like an American.

As Steve Lopez brilliantly captures in the Los Angeles Times, Romero's story and his journey yesterday morning to the graveside of Robert Francis Kennedy in Arlington National Cemetery has been a long one. Never, in all of these years, had Romero visited the grave. It was with great poignancy, then, that there was Romero yesterday morning - more than 42 years after the assassination - keeling once again, this time beside Kennedy's grave on what would have been RFK's 85th birthday.

Romero, a construction worker, told Lopez that he was wearing a suit for the first time in his life. He said it was only proper that he should do so, to show his respect for a man whose life has been forever intertwined with his own.

It was only after the encouragement of a friend who told him he had to go to Arlington to finally come to terms with his demons that Romero decided to make the journey from his home in San Jose, California. That it took incredible strength and courage to visit Kennedy's grave was obvious. Indeed, before kneeling at the grave, Romero walked off to be alone and have one last good cry before approaching the final resting place. "Sorry," he apologized to his daughter, Elda, and the friend - Rigo Chacon - both of whom had made the trip with him from California. "If I can get it out of the way now...." Maybe a good cry would help him keep his composure, he said.

Then, Romero approached the grave.

Romero's family story was one not dissimilar to a few million others who had moved to California from Mexico by the late 1960s. Romero was 10 years old when his family made the migration. From there, he lived in projects for a while and believes would have gotten caught up in the gang life except for the fact that his stepfather intervened and helped get him a job at the Ambassador Hotel.

That moment when Romero knelt at RFK's side was not, in fact, the first time Romero had met Kennedy. That had occurred a few nights before, when Senator Kennedy called for room service. Romero paid off another busboy for the privilege of delivering Kennedy's food. Even though he was just 17-years old, Romero felt that Kennedy made him feel more accepted as an immigrant - more importantly, as an American. And, just knowing that Kennedy might become President of the United States had electrified him.

Romero arrived at Kennedy's hotel room door and the Senator himself opened it, startling the young busboy. Immediately after putting the tray down, Romero turned around to see the extended hand of Robert Kennedy coming toward him. At that moment, Romero says, he was transformed. As he'd imagined from watching Kennedy, physically grasping Kennedy's hand made him feel appreciated. He felt whole, he felt like a man. Two nights later, when Kennedy won the primary, Romero raced to the Ambassador pantry and shook RFK's hand again as the candidate went to deliver his victory speech.

After the speech, Romero broke through the crowd again, wanting to say goodbye and wish Kennedy well. Once more, he shook Kennedy's hand. One of the lesser-known facts is that it was while shaking Romero's hand that Kennedy was shot. Literally, he was shot while holding Romero's hand. Romero never did wash off Kennedy's blood from that hand. It eventually faded and disappeared on its own.

It was with that dried blood on his hand that Romero sat on a bus heading to school the day after the assassination. A few seats away, a woman, reading the Los Angeles Times, looked at a picture in the paper of a young busboy in a crisp white uniform, a mask of disbelief on his face as he tried to help Kennedy up off the floor. "This is you!" the woman said to him, and Romero looked away in horror. It would not be the last time that happened in the first few years after the murder.

As I mentioned earlier, Romero holds himself at least partly responsible for Kennedy's death. Indeed, he later told Lopez that in the first few moments at Kennedy's grave his first act was to ask forgiveness from RFK. In Romero's mind, had he not been so intent on shaking Kennedy's hand, he would have seen Sirhan and been able to stop him. Romero adamantly says he would have taken the bullet himself if it meant Kennedy would have lived and gone on to become President.

Over the years Chacon, Romero's friend, has tried to remind Romero that, in fact, the 17-year old had reacted remarkably humanely for one so young. After the shots, Romero didn't run, he didn't take cover. Instead, he tried to help. Thinking that Kennedy had merely been pushed out of harm's way and hit his head on the concrete, Romero knelt down to try to lift Kennedy back up onto his feet. Immediately, though, the young busboy realized the situation was grave. Instinctively, Romero took his own rosary beads out of his shirt pocket, and twisted them around Kennedy's hand while praying for him.

Forty-two years later, Romero stood silently in front of the lone cross at Kennedy's grave. Quietly, Romero began telling Kennedy how much he loved his country and that he has tried to honor the ideals Kennedy preached ever since that day at the Ambassador Hotel. Then, Romero knelt at the grave and broke down once more.

Prior to the trip from San Jose, Chacon contacted his Congressman, Rep. Mike Honda [D, Calif] to see if he could assist with the visit. So it was that, after visiting RFK's grave, Romero was given a tour of the graves of John Kennedy and Ted Kennedy by Honda and Ted Kennedy's son, Rep. Patrick Kennedy [D, RI].

Romero later said that having an opportunity to talk to RFK's nephew about Robert Kennedy's commitment to social justice had helped him to find some peace. "It's hard to say goodbye," to Robert Kennedy, Romero said before leaving Arlington.

"I want him to know he's remembered."

And that's my wish for Jose Romero. He, too, should never be forgotten.


copyright 2010 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Not Exactly Ozzie and Harriet


FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP THE MADNESS! For anyone out there who doesn't know, this [above] is the scourge known as 'Will(ow) and Jade(n) Pinkett-Smith'.

How many more children do Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith have? I need to know because if there any more that haven't been force-fed into my life I want to plot my suicide now. This plague of Smith children simply must stop. First of all, it's not as though Will Smith and Jada Pinkett were Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn to begin with. Will Smith is a decent actor - which is funny since he got his start as a rapper, and he may be one of the worst rappers in the history of that God-awful genre. As for the old lady, quick: tell me one thing Jada Pinkett has done. No peeking at Wikipedia, either.

Be truthful: you had no idea what in the hell Jada Pinkett had ever done before you cheated, went on Wikipedia, and remembered that she co-starred with Eddie Murphy in the funny but pointless remake of The Nutty Professor. Ok, then you remembered her on A Different World. Otherwise, she's famous for being married to the guy from Fresh Prince.

For those of you now scared blind, fear not: the Pinkett-Smiths - or whatever the hell you call them - stopped at two offspring; although Will does have a son from a previous bout of sexual intercourse. So, that third kid is always a threat to appear somewhere. Hopefully, though, Will Smith's first baby momma had the kind of genes that produces a doctor or lawyer or something.

And, anyway, the two kids Will and Jada have is more than enough.

I confess, I haven't seen the pointless remake of Karate Kid [you'll notice the family-trait of appearing in pointless remakes, no?]. Nor will I ever. So, for all I know, Jaden Smith is the best actor to appear on the screen since Sir John Gielgud. I highly doubt it, though, and I'm willing to go out on a limb and say that if his parents weren't who they are, the kid's only shot at appearing on television would be as a contestant on BrainSurge.

So, while I didn't see the kid act, I have seen him just about everywhere else and I can't take it anymore. I don't wish anything terrible on anyone's child, but there's a part of me that wouldn't mind if one or both of these off-spring pull a Demi Lovato and disappear into rehab for a while.

Here's the thing, though: Jaden Smith is Elvis compared to his little sister. Willow Smith has recorded the single-most offensive vocal reproduction in the nearly 130 year history of recorded sound. John and Yoko's Two Virgins? It's fucking Exile on Main Street compared two Willow's "Whip May Hair". When I first heard it, I assumed that someone had sampled Alvin and Chipmunks covering something from Frank Zappa.

Here's a link to this twerp's song. I defy you - defy you, I say - to listen to the whole thing without either:

a) Vomiting
b) Jamming a sharp object into both ears
c) a and then b

For those of you faint of heart [not to mention stomach and hearing], here are the lyrics to what Will and Jada's offspring hath wrought [and I'm not making this up]:

I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.

Hop up out the bed turn my swag on.
Pay no attention to them haters.
Because I whip em off.

And we ain't doing nothing wrong so don't tell me nothing.
I'm just tryin' have fun, so keep the party jumpin'.

So wassup! (yeah).
And if they don't know what to do.
We turn our back and wave our hair.
And just shake em off.
Shake em off
Shake em off
Shake em off

Don't let haters keep me off my mind.(mind)
Keep my head up I know I'll be fine.(fine)
Keep fightin' until I get there.
And I'm down and I feel like giving up.

I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.

I'm a get more shine in a little bit.
As soon as I hit the stage.
Applause I'm hearing it.
Whether it's black stars, black cars.
I'm feeling it.

But no other can whip it like I do.
I, I gets it hmmm yeah so hard.
When they see me pull up, I whip it real hard.
I whip it real hard.
Real hard.
I whip it real hard.

Don't let haters keep me off my mind.(mind)
Keep my head up I know I'll be fine.(fine)
Keep fightin' until I get there.
And I'm down and I feel like giving up.

I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.

All my ladies if you feel it.
Go and do it, do it, whip your hair.(whip your hair)
Don't matter if it's long, short.
Do it, do it, whip your hair.(whip your hair.)

All my ladies if you feel it.
Go and do it, do it, whip your hair.(whip your hair)
Don't matter if it's long, short.
Do it, do it, whip your hair.
Your hair, your hair!

Yeah.

I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.
I whip my hair back and forth.


Just writing those lyrics I've already poked one of my eyes out and I'm working on scooping out an ear drum.

The first thing we need to do is have Will Smith neutered. Second, we need to pass a law stating that 'celebrity' must skip at least one generation. That is, if mom and/or dad are famous - even if neither is terribly talented - their children are forced into a lifetime of anonymity, albeit wealthy anonymity.

For now, I'm willing to limit it to that second generation. Should the grandchildren of celebrities become famous, I'm willing to give that a shot. I'm figuring that the dilution of the obnoxious gene might actually create a celebrity with a smidgen of talent.

Until then, I'm going to whip my hair back and forth until my other eardrum falls out.

copyright 2010 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Monday, November 8, 2010

National Lampoon's Canadian Vacation


AND PEOPLE THOUGHT JOHN & YOKO WERE NUTS: Actor Randy Quaid [left] and wife Evi [right] are delivering the performances of a lifetime in what is apparently a movie about a talented actor who goes nuts and moves to Canada.

Randy Quaid has been in a boatload of funny movies. He's done some great dramatic roles, too [his portrayal of Lyndon Johnson on the Made-for-TV biopic LBJ: The Early Years earned him a Golden Globe in 1987. But comedy is his claim-to-fame. He's been in a lot of them.

And not one of them is as funny as what Randy Quaid and his wife, Evi, have been up to in their private lives. If you think your sibling is an embarrassing freak that brings shame, scorn and humiliation onto your family name, you ain't got nothing on poor Dennis Quaid.

Where to begin? It's been clear for years that Randy was losing his mind. Many blame his second wife, Evi, whom he married in 1989. First, in September 2009, the couple was charged with defrauding an innkeeper of more than $10,000, as well as conspiracy and burglary, after an invalid credit card was used at San Ysidro Ranch in Montecito. While felony charges were later dropped against Randy Quaid, Evi Quaid pleaded no contest to a misdemeanor count of defrauding an innkeeper and was sentenced to three years' probation. She was also ordered to perform 240 hours of community service.

That was not the only encounter with places of lodging. There were also numerous claims from hotels around the country that the Quaids had left them in the lurch for tens of thousands of dollars in unpaid hotel bills. Some involved fake credit cards; others on cards that were maxed out. The Quaids escaped jail - somehow - by reimbursing all of the hotels.

The latest trouble began with the Quaids breaking into the guesthouse of what they claim is their former home, and basically squatting there until the current owner couldn't take it and called the police. A contractor showed police more than $5,000 in damages - caused by the Quaids - to the guest house. The Quaids told deputies they had owned the property since the 1990s. The Quaids were arrested and brought up on vandalism charges and were released on bail. TMZ got a hold of audio [God knows how] of Evi being arrested. During the arrest she can be heard screaming, "Please shoot me!!! My dog!!! Doji!!! My dog!!!!"

Naturally, after posting bail, the Quaids fled to Canada. Once there, they requested asylum in Canada to protect them from what Randy Quaid called "Hollywood star whackers" who wanted to kill him. Now, especially having just written extensively about John Lennon - the most famous star killed because of his celebrity - I'm not insensitive to the idea that some lunatic could try to kill Randy Quaid. That being said, the frantic way in which the Quaids have been screaming about the conspiracy to kill him simply looks and smells like mental illness.

Then there was the scene at the Canadian immigration board hearing on granting the Quaids asylum. Evi Quaid mesmerized those in attendance by telling them that her famous friends, including David Carradine and Heath Ledger, were "murdered" under strange circumstances and feared something similar would happen to her and her husband next. "We feel our lives are in danger," she said. "Randy has known eight close friends murdered in odd, strange manners. We feel that we're next."

Now, why on Earth would anyone want to stop this comedy by killing the two stars of the film? Well, the Canadians eventually tired of the plot line to the film, and released both Quaids, declaring that Evi Quaid was, indeed, a Canadian citizen.

While in Canada, the Quaids agreed to sit down for an interview with Andrea Canning from ABC's Good Morning America . The couple [of what?] delivered one of the finest dramedic efforts in television history. First, Randy Quaid complained about how his claims have made him a laughing stock. "To have my, my integrity and my reputation so denigrated so mercilessly, why? Why would somebody want to do this to me?" Of course, that's a question Randy could get answered by looking in a mirror.

Evi didn't disappoint either. She whined with a straight face, "We are refugees. I mean that's essentially what it is: Hollywood refugees. Seeking to be left alone by the criminals in America. I genuinely feel like these people are trying to kill us." When Canning asked who would be trying to kill them, Evi said, "an estate planner who had set up a living trust in a county where they could cash Randy's royalty stream forever." When Canning pressed as to why someone would want to kill them, Evi responded, "To get the money."

When Canning asked if anyone has actually threatened to kill them, Randy Quaid said, "They follow us. They, they tail us, they tag our cell phone, they hack our computer. And now, with the Internet, a celebrity is fair game. And it's all designed to sell advertising space." Just in case you're thinking that maybe somebody is trying to get the Quaids, try to make sense out of that last quote and get back to me.

In the interview with GMA, Randy Quaid further said, "It is very possible that, uh, Heath Ledger could've been murdered. Or David Carradine." Evi added, "And Robert Blake was set up." Whem asked to further define 'star whackers' [the phrase Randy Quaid had used in an address to the media], Randy Quaid said, "It's possible for people to gain control of every aspect of your life." Evi added, "They're businessmen. They're absolute businessmen. It's the Mafia. It's organized crime."

When the Quaids were asked if they felt there were any particular celebrities who should be worried about being killed, Evi Quaid responded without missing a beat, "Lindsay Lohan." Randy Quaid said, "Yeah, definitely. Brittney Spears." Evi Quaid continued, "Mel Gibson, too." When Canning asked if Evi thought that maybe - just maybe - the content of Gibson's recorded conversations might be the reason Gibson is now persona non grata, as opposed to some conspiracy, Evi would have none of it. "I think he was drugged. I think he was slipped a mickey. That's my personal opinion. " Randy Quaid added, "I think she [girlfriend Oksana Grigorieva] was sent in to do him in." Following up on the star whacker theme, Canning asked if Randy meant Grigorieva was 'sent in' to kill Gibson, both Quaids reacted as if it was the craziest thing they'd ever heard. "No, no, no!" Randy said, "Just Figuratively. To ruin him. I mean look at all this [negative publicity]."

As to the charges against the Quaids about the tens of thousands of dollars in hotel bills on bogus credit cards, Quaid answered - apparently - another question that must have been in his head. "When we've gone a day here, a day there without anything to eat or a place to stay, and that happens more frequently and more frequently, at some point, you know, you're gonna end up out on the street."

So, what does poor Dennis Quaid make of all of this. Well, Randy Quaid says that he is worried about his brother. "I feel he's being victimized the same way that I have by the same people. And, um, accountants..." Randy Quaid said he's tried to warn his brother, but to no avail. "He doesn't, uh, he doesn't respond." Evi went further. "Dennis is now on a treadmill of making films that are garbage. And it's unfortunate because he's talented."

My favorite part of the interview, though, was when Randy went off on Evi herself. After she constantly answered questions intended for him, Randy snapped. When she did it again, Randy angrily turned to Evi and said, "Evi, would you shut up for a minute please? Please? C'mon!"

See. I told you he could do drama.


copyright 2010 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.