December 30th, 2006

Chris Keeley

AHPP reports that about 10,000 District residents -- nearly 1 in 50 -- have AIDS. It estimates that

An Overwhelmed D.C. Agency Loses Count of AIDS Cases

By Jose Antonio Vargas
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, December 30, 2006; A01


this means 10,000 + 25,000 in a city of 485,000 = 1 in 12 have HIV or AIDS in WDC (Nation's Capitol) ...you can do the math better than mean ... and they haven't opened all fifty boxes with data yet and we haven't even added whats grown in 2006. This getting to be as bad as Johannesburg or Haiti.... CJK - We just hanged a man too... like the wild wild west stuttering Oil Cowboy in Crawford

In late August, barely a month into her new job, Marie Sansone of the District's AIDS agency was astounded by what she discovered: five boxes of unexamined HIV and AIDS cases that had not been touched in more than a year.

In the boxes were records of 2,000 to 3,000 cases that had yet to be entered in the city's database. The records are mostly from 2004 and 2005, some from 2003. Who's getting sicker, who needs treatment, who died. All boxed up.

"Oh, my goodness," Sansone, surveillance chief for the city's Administration for HIV Policy and Programs (AHPP), remembers saying.

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Chris Keeley

On the road with His Bad Self.

"Goin' to jail in the nineties was really a great awakening," he added, "because I didn't know people were still that ignorant." I took him to mean his fellow-inmates, but it turned out he was speaking of the police, who had refused to just let him go home, as God told him to. "I stayed away from the ghetto too long," he said. "You living all this and you think musicians got a umbrella, till they come pick you up.You don't have no rights." He scoffed at allegations that he was high on PCP at the time of his arrest—"Not in my life," he said of hard drugs in general—but then he added, "Well, I wouldn't say as I did buy PCP. It might've been in the marijuana. And, if it was, I sure wish I had some more."

MR. BROWN
by PHILIP GOUREVITCH
On the road with His Bad Self.
Issue of 2002-07-29
Posted 2002-07-22

Forty-seven years ago, at a radio station in Macon, Georgia, five young men stood around a microphone and sang a song. One played guitar, another played piano, but the station's recording equipment picked up the instruments so faintly that the tape they made that day is often recalled as an a-cappella performance. The lead singer was shorter than the others. He had to stand on an overturned Coca-Cola crate to get his mouth level with the mike. When the tape started rolling, he cried out the word "Please" with an immensity of feeling that might, more conventionally, have been reserved for a song's climax. Then he cried out again, "Please," and again and again, "Please, please," at heartbeat intervals. With each repetition, he invested the monosyllable with a different emotional accent and stress—prayer and pride, impatience and invitation—and although there was ache in his voice, he did not sound like a man pleading so much as commanding what was rightfully his. After his fourth "Please," the rest of the group filled in softly behind him, crooning, "Please, please don't go," until the lead singer's colossal voice surged back over theirs: "Please, please, please." That was the name of the song, the same word thrice, and, like all truly original things, this song had a past to which it simultaneously paid tribute and bid adieu. Its genesis lay in a rearrangement of the standard "Baby Please Don't Go," so that the rhythmic backup line became the lead, and the melodic lead was relegated to the chorus. A simple gimmick; but, as "Please, Please, Please" progressed, the lead singer's initial passion only intensified, and it became clear that the reversal of foreground and background voices reflected a deliberate emotional attitude that brought a bold new energy and freedom to the spirit of black popular music. Instead of describing feelings in the smooth lyrical surface of a tune you could whistle or at least hum, the singer created the impression of sounds rising untamed from the rawness and obscurity of a soul that refused all masks.

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Chris Keeley

James Brown part two

As we turned off Twiggs Street onto a narrow and particularly abject strip called Hopkins Street, Mr. Brown's mood turned sombre. The façade of a brick house on the corner was spray-painted with the words "Fuck the world," and farther along the real estate grew more dismal: tottering clapboard bungalows, half of them burned out, and the rest, he said, "probably crack houses now—you come from that, you use crack." In this setting, the limo looked like a spaceship, but none of the street's ragtag residents expressed any surprise. They waved from sidewalks and porches, and although they couldn't see through the rain-streaked one-way glass, they called out, "Hello, Mr. Brown," and "God bless, Mr. Brown." The vehicle could belong to nobody else: every Thanksgiving, he comes through passing out turkeys, and at Christmas he brings toys. Now he said, "They want me to help build this place back. What can I do? Get on my knees and pray, and ask, 'Mr. President, come—Mr. Bush, come in here and clean it out and put decent homes in here'?"

He told his driver to stop outside a broken-down shack, where an emaciated woman and two young men sat on a porch surrounded by household debris. One of the young men stepped forward in the rain, and Mr. Brown lowered his window and held out a fifty-dollar bill. The man bowed, and withdrew. "Wait a minute," Mr. Brown called after him. "Y'all split that. Give that lady some, too." When he rolled his window up, he told me, "I'm not doin' this because you here. I wasn't gonna do it today. I didn't want you to see me handin' no money out there. I wasn't gonna do it. That's the honest-to-God truth." He sounded embarrassed. "You look at this, it kinda take your breath," he said.

At the end of the block, we reached James Brown Boulevard, and he said, "Out here on these same streets, you may see my daughter, and she has no business out here. She don't have to be there. I give her a home, she got a new Mercedes, and her Mercedes just sitting there. I can't give it to her, 'cause I can't—'cause she shrug off everything I do."

Family life has never been Mr. Brown's strong suit; he has been married four times, divorced twice, and made a widower in 1996 when his third wife died from complications following plastic surgery; he had three children with his first wife, two with his second, none with his third, and on the day before my visit to Augusta his current wife (then still his fiancée), Tomi Rae Hynie, a thirty-three-year-old singer of Norwegian descent, who has performed and lived with him on and off for the past four years, gave birth to a son, James Joseph Brown II. In addition to these relationships, throughout much of his career he maintained a succession of girlfriends and mistresses, with a couple of whom he sired children, including the daughter he was keeping an eye out for on the street named after him. "She's got worse than a habit," he said. "When a person is just spooked, we say she got a monkey on her back. She got a gorilla on her back." He fell silent for a beat, then said it again, "She got a gorilla on her back."
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Chris Keeley

At 105 pounds, however, the animal was much larger than a dog, closer to the size of the gray wolves

It could be a number of things: a wolf-dog cross; a very unusual hybrid of a gray wolf and a coyote; a coydog, a coyote-dog cross; or a wolf from Minnesota or Wisconsin.

At 105 pounds, however, the animal was much larger than a dog, closer to the size of the gray wolves that inhabit the Northern Rockies. Yet the feet were small, and the face pointed, uncharacteristic of wolves. The gray-and-cream-colored fur, with flecks of orange, was also unusual. Western wolves are usually gray or white, but never brown.

Livestock Predator Still a Mystery, Two Months After Its Death

HELENA, Mont., Dec. 29 — Even after wolves were hunted, trapped and poisoned out of existence in most of Montana, lone predators continued to haunt sheepherders. There was the White Wolf of the Judith Basin, hunted for 15 years, and the Ghost Wolf of the Little Rockies.

“These things became mythological,” said Ed Bangs, the Fish and Wildlife Service recovery coordinator for the Rocky Mountains. “Some people said they had supernatural powers.”

They were, however, wolves. Wildlife officials are not sure what the latest phantom livestock killer was.

For 10 months, ending in November, an elusive animal that federal officials assumed was a feral dog went on a killing spree in remote north-central Montana, slaughtering dozens, perhaps hundreds, of sheep and injuring many more. It was shot and killed from an airplane Nov. 2 by federal wildlife officials. Nearly two months later, the biological evidence is inconclusive.

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Chris Keeley

He used his veto power 66 times in his two and half years in office, the highest rate among modern p

In other ways, too, Mr. Ford tried to exercise his presidential powers. He pardoned Nixon without consulting Congress. He ordered the Marines to retake the American merchant ship Mayagüez after it was seized by Cambodian forces, informing Congress only afterward.

He used his veto power 66 times in his two and half years in office, the highest rate among modern presidents, and Congress responded with override votes 12 times.

David Hume Kennerly/The White House, via Gerald R. Ford Library

President Gerald R. Ford meeting with Dick Cheney, left, and Donald H. Rumsfeld in the Oval Office on April 22, 1975. Mr. Cheney and Mr. Rumsfeld served under Mr. Ford as the White House chief of staff.

Recent Flexing of Presidential Powers Had Personal Roots in Ford White House

WASHINGTON, Dec. 29 — This year’s annual gathering of Gerald R. Ford administration alumni took place in June at the National Archives, where graying former officials socialized near a display of the Constitution.

Mingling with the retirees were two men still very much in power: Dick Cheney and Donald H. Rumsfeld, each of whom had served under Mr. Ford as White House chief of staff.

The setting had an apt symbolism. Since taking office as part of the Bush administration in 2001, both Vice President Cheney and Mr. Rumsfeld, who stepped down as defense secretary this month, have consciously sought to restore what they see as the constitutional powers of the presidency, which they believe were severely eroded under President Richard M. Nixon and President Ford. Some of their colleagues from three decades ago — evidently including Mr. Ford — have wondered if they have gone too far.

I

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