By Barry Maupin
“What happens when you ain’t around to translate?” Bunny Colvin (Robert Wisdom) asks Deacon during this week's episode of The Wire after they meet with a pompous university professor who is considering Bunny as a research partner for a clinical study of repeat violent offenders. Bunny’s claim not to speak the language of the social scientist belies his 30 years as a Baltimore policeman, during which he negotiated with groups of drug dealers and manned the podium at COMSTAT meetings while the upper brass hounded him over crime figures. Deacon (Melvin Williams, the real-life Avon Barksdale of the eighties) shrugs off the call for an interpreter. “Don’t play ignorant on me, Bunny. You can back and forth with any of these guys.”
Bunny needs the work, having lost, in succession, the full pension due a retired police major, his golden parachute running security for Johns Hopkins (both casualties of his experiment, “Hamsterdam,” to legalize drugs in his district, which 
yielded both a 14% drop in violent crime and a massive political shitstorm), and his security job at a downtown hotel (the result of his failing to give special treatment to a “friend of the hotel” who beats up a hooker). The academic is Dr. David Parenti (Dan DeLuca), who seeks a liaison to the corner, his own training being insufficient for navigating, as he calls it, “ the urban environment.” Go alone, Bunny agrees, “and they sell your tenured ass for parts.” Parenti's project aims to study rehabilitation options for criminals ages 18 to 21, that is until Parenti interviews an actual 18-year old in custody and encounters a level of menace that sends him scurrying from the room. “Look,” he bargains, “I’m ready to acknowledge that, um, 18 to 21 might be too seasoned.” Hoping to sidestep the cycle where the subjects only spark the outside world's attention after they enter the justice system, Bunny steers Parenti's project to Edward J. Tilghman Middle School, where they might find subjects more receptive to a little social engineering.
Former detective Roland “Prez” Pryzbylewski (Jim True-Frost) experiences his own translation problems as Tilghman Middle's new math teacher. During homeroom period on the first day of classes he can’t even manage the seat assignments. Not that he 
lacks the capacity; though he entered the Major Crimes unit in Season One an alleged knucklehead, he turned out to have an uncanny aptitude for number puzzles and deciphering knots of obscure dialogue off the wire (he proved the first by dissecting the code on the corner boys’ pagers, the latter by reciting the garbled opening lyrics to “Brown Sugar”). Prez is due a taste of what drug magnate Stringer Bell (Idris Elba) went through in Season Three when he tried to recast his craft in another arena (real estate development), only to get “rainmade” by State Senator Clay Davis (Isiah Whitlock, Jr.) and his superior handle on political bribery. For Prez, having the vocabulary isn’t enough; the math and language skills don’t convert from the wire room to the classroom.
Randy Wagstaff (Maestro Harrell), on the other hand, is in his element. Walking to the first day of eighth grade with his friends, he notes Prez’s unfamiliar Polish name on his class listing and lights up at the opportunity. “Yo, he new and white,” Randy chirps. “We got it made.” He shows technique from the opening bell, enthusiastically introducing himself to Prez, calling for quiet among his classmates, and jumping to Prez’s defense when the other students bog down a simple math story problem with suspicious and irrelevant questions. The ruse gives him cover to swipe a stack of hall passes, which he uses to escape to the lower grades’ cafeteria to sell candy, gaming the system of color-coded uniforms by wearing the other grades’ colors in layers under his shirt. Prez has the detective pedigree, but Randy is the master of this mode of operation.
Omar Little (Michael K. Williams) rules his own cottage industry robbing stash houses and drug dealers, discriminating among targets based on who the king of the moment is. He lives with Renaldo (Ramon A. Rodriguez), his boyfriend and stick-up partner, in a boarded-up row house, more to disguise his whereabouts than for any lack of resources. When he wakes up to discover his supply of breakfast cereal tapped, Omar heads out in his pajamas, pausing to yank a campaign poster off his building (the coming election having no bearing on his existence). As he strides up the alley, the neighborhood children scatter in all directions and holler his name, a warning tinged with glee. On his way back from the store, he stops to light a cigarette and a bag of street-ready vials comes sailing down from an upstairs window. The deal is consummated on brand recognition alone; whoever mistook Omar’s intentions would rather give up the stash than risk Omar’s gun in his mouth. Though the fear for the dealers is legitimate, Omar runs his business by a strict code: he turns his gun on players only, never a citizen. This distinction reaches comical proportions when he tracks Marlo Stanfield’s (Jaime Hector) re-up to a mini-mart, where Omar robs the package from the clerk at gunpoint, then takes the time to pay for his Newports. As Omar explains to Renaldo over breakfast, “It ain’t what you takin’, it’s who you takin’ it from, you feel me?”
Officer Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West) keeps hearing from everyone where his niche is supposed to be, professionally and personally. He’s traded in his quixotic quest for mind-blowing cases (and casual tail) for a set schedule as a uniformed patrolman and a cozy domestic set-up with Beadie Russell (Amy Ryan), the Port Authority officer from Season Two, and her two young kids to whom he’s just “McNulty.” He helps prepare a modest family meal to share with Detective Bunk Moreland (Wendell Pierce), McNulty’s ex-partner in homicide and tag-team adultery, who arrives toting a “double digit” bottle of wine. Bunk angles to replace dessert with a night of unattached drinking; Jimmy hesitates, but Beadie encourages him. “She trusts you,” Bunk gathers with astonishment when Beadie goes to check on the kids. Still, Bunk has trouble making out the new Jimmy. The two lean against Bunk’s car drinking Rolling Rocks and Bunk poses a metaphorical conundrum regarding a chain of fried-fish joints called “Lake Trout.” “No lake, no trout…all dressed up like something it ain’t.”
McNulty’s change of environment is voluntary, but Bodie Broadus (JD Williams) and Slim Charles (Anwan Glover), two holdovers from the busted Barksdale drug regime, have new business circumstances foisted on them. Boadie, using Slim Charles as his middleman supplier, 
has transformed an off-brand corner into a busy strip with quality dope and attentive service, but the increased traffic draws the interest of Marlo, who arrives on the corner with his muscle in tow, recognizes Bodie as a “rightful hustler,” and lays down his terms with his usual brevity. “Two choices: start taking our package or you can step off.” Bodie knows if he walks away he gets nothing from what he’s built and if he starts peddling Marlo’s weaker product his numbers won’t hold. Incensed by the no-win hand, he barks at Slim Charles, “I’m standing here like a asshole holding my Charles Dickens, ’cause I ain’t got no muscle, no back-up. Shit, man, yo, if this was the old days….” A resigned Slim Charles cuts him off. “Yeah, now, well, the thing about the old days—they the old days.”
A bigger problem for Slim Charles than losing Bodie as a sub-contractor is a group of New York dealers that is systematically gobbling the east side real estate, chasing off the local crews. The top Baltimore dealers, minus Marlo, meet in a conference room at the Holiday Inn under the guise of the “New Day Co-Op (Tomorrow’s success stories start today),” with Slim Charles now holding the seat assigned Barksdale’s ruined legacy. There, they spitball solutions to industry issues, sounding at times like a conclave of independent booksellers fretting over the encroaching menace of big-box retailers. “Me personally,” Slim Charles offers, “I think it’s time Wal-Mart went home.” They vow to band together to hold their territory, even encouraging Marlo’s participation against the interlopers.
Meanwhile, Marlo is doing Marlo’s bidding, keeping an eye on new talent as he expands his reach. During his visit to Bodie’s corner, Marlo spots Michael (Tristan Wilds)—the eighth-grader who refused the goodwill cash that Marlo’s lieutenants spread among the neighborhood children—working as a runner for Bodie’s crew. Intrigued that Michael would turn down a handout on principle when he needs the money enough to work for it, Marlo remarks to his henchman, Chris Partlow (Gbenga Akinnagbe), that Michael’s “good signs” bear watching. “Big paws on a puppy,” Partlow concurs. Marlo isn’t the only figure of influence to notice Michael’s potential, setting up a tug-of-war over where his talents will be directed. Cutty (Chad L. Coleman) recently made Michael a failed offer to be his personal boxing trainer after seeing him hit the heavy bag at the gym, while Bodie desperately wants to retain Michael as a runner (the one who fetches the drugs from the stash and makes the actual handoff some distance away from the point of sale) for his unflappability. When a wily trio of buyers tries to con Michael into giving up more product than is due, he never relinquishes control. After the biggest 
one strikes a threatening posture, Michael calmly warns, “You need to rethink what puttin’ a hand on me is gonna get you.” He turns to the others and caps the charade. “You can thank your friend here for snatchin’ away y’all highs.” Despite his natural aptitude, Michael has no ambition to rise in the game. He considers this a temp job taken only to pay off his and his third grade brother's school clothes, and wants to quit now that school is starting. Bodie genuinely can’t understand the strategy, circling Michael while he makes his pitch. “C’mon, man, what the fuck you wanna go to school for? What you wanna be—astronaut, dentist…?”
Like Michael, Detective Lester Freamon (Clarke Peters) bumps up against the larger forces of an organization. Lester is the architect of an asset investigation that connects major players in the city’s political and drug establishments, culminating in a raft of subpoenas issued weeks before an election. Deputy of Operations Rawls (John Doman), furious over the political damage to his ally, the mayor, replaces Lester’s absentee Major Crimes supervisor (who unwittingly allowed the subpoenas to go forward) with his “Trojan horse,” Lt. Charlie Marimow (Boris McGiver), a hatchet man sent in to shut down the investigation from the inside. Marimow, the kind of 
guy who uses phrases like “24/7/365,” not only aborts the drug asset trail, he puts a deadline on Lester and the team’s meticulously constructed wiretap case against Marlo’s outfit. When Lester objects, he buys himself a meeting with Rawls, who reminds Lester of his “gift for martyrdom,” referring to a time early in his career when another Deputy Ops banished Lester to the Siberia of the police department, the pawn shop unit, for thirteen years (and four months) for refusing to back off of a politically sensitive case. Lester grudgingly requests a transfer out of the unit rather than subject his colleagues to the blowback his rectitude would surely hasten. He knows institutions aren’t in business to nurture or to squash the talents of individuals; they’ll do either according to their purposes. Their ultimate mission is self-perpetuation.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
The Wire Mondays: Season 4, Ep. 3, “Home Rooms”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
18 comments:
Great write-up, but there's one nit I feel obnoxiously compelled to pick--O don't think "Lake Trout" is a chain of restautants but rather the name of a crappy processed fish product sold at neighborhood delis. I belive there's a scene with the kid in a subsequent episode that bears this out.
andrew: Not that it matters, but "Lake Trout" is the name of a restaurant. Remember the scene in Season Three (ep. 33, "Moral Midgetry") when Avon uses the girl Devonne to bait Marlo? He picks her up in a club and they get together real quick out in the SUV; when she tries to set up a rendevous for the next day, he gets suspicious and suggests they meet at a neutral site, Lake Trout. Snoop gets there ahead of time and notices one of Barksdale's goons ordering enough for four men and correctly surmises an ambush is in the offing.
In the scene in question from episode 40, Bunk asks, "You know, uh, those little corner joints in the ghetto that sell subs and fried chicken, Lake Trout?"
On this show, the driven individual who hooks up with an institution always gets screwed, and this episode affords many examples of that. But what strikes me here is the fact that a Wire character can be an individual who is determined to resist a particular institution while also embodying, or perhaps even creating, a different institution.
One example: Marlo wants to absorb or crush Bodie, who's set himself up as an independent operator who doesn't need Marlo; yet Prop Joe and the coalition of drug dealers are quite keen on either absorbing/domesticating or destroying Marlo, who has built a lucrative business without kowtowing to their demands. A character who may seem a visionary to himself looks like either a rival or a potential future employee to somebody else.
Like Wagstaff says in the comments thread of Andrew Dignan's Wire credits article, there's always a bigger fish.
Some other thoughts on "Home Rooms:"
From Alan Sepinwall:
"The bookends of this episode show you the breadth of this show's tones. In the opening, we see folk hero stick-up artist Omar go down to the corner store, wearing his satin jammies and no gun, and the locals are so frightened of his legend that they throw him a bag of drugs to avoid even the possibility of trouble. In the close, one of the girls in Prez's class slashes another girl across the face as revenge for emotional bullying ...
Those are the two emotional extremes of "The Wire," and the show wouldn't work without them both. Without Omar's larger-than-life antics, the slashing would be unbearable. Without the grim reality of the school scenes, Omar would border on an action movie cartoon."
From myself:
"On the street, which Bodie had to see coming, Marlo starts making noises that Bodie's lonely corner should belong to him so he should join Marlo's team or lose his spot. Bodie seeks help from his supplier, Slim Charles (Anwan Glover), the former Barksdale soldier who escaped the jail cell and now serves as Prop Joe's lieutenant. As Bodie laments the way things used to be, Slim reminds him, 'The thing about the old days, they's the old days.'"
Other voices:
Steve James and Alex Kotlowitz's back-and-forth over at Slate.
James writes: "I feel for Prez—he was hired primarily because he was a warm body and a former policeman. But true to his character throughout the whole life of the series, he has never been able to deal with, well, people. And certainly not in combative situations. He was never more content than when he was working the phone taps with Lester and chasing the paper trails. So, you can see a guy like Prez thinking he's good at math and needs a less volatile occupation. Ah, I'll teach school. And do something that matters, too. His clueless idealism makes him an easy mark for the tough audience in his classes."
Jason Toney at Negro Please: "In Baltimore, everywhere there are lessons to be learned. Bunk learns that McNulty isn't the man he once was. Despite his argument that McNulty is like the fake lake trout "all dressed up like something [he] ain't" in his picaresque life with Beadie (Yay Beadie!!), McNulty appears to be the real deal. Royce learns that Carcetti is also for real and tries to school him on big boy politics by sic-ing the entire Baltimore infrastructure on his campaign. Bunny learns he can't stop being good Po-Lice just because he no longer has the badge. Lester and Kima are taught that being good Po-Lice in Baltimore always has a price. And Herc, after years of remedial classes, finally learns that knowing is half the battle.
It's Prez, however, who gets the education of his life."
At TV Squad, Michael Canfield has a quibble and a question: "I have a quibble with the political scandal that Carcetti broke during the debate last week. Don't get me wrong, it's fun the see the mayor start run his campaign the way .. well the way Avon Barksdale used to run the streets, but no reason is offered for why the mayor didn't use those funds earmarked for witness protection in the first place. It's clear he can't use them now, by why not initially? But if anyone picked up on why the mayor never claimed the funds, perhaps you can let me know."
“It ain’t what you takin’, it’s who you takin’ it from, you feel me?”
I love The Wire's running string of Baltimore-ized quotes from The Wild Bunch. Has David Simon ever spoken about his obvious love of Peckinpah anywhere?
I think the line "big paws on a puppy" is taken directly from Richard Price's Clockers. If memory serves, Strike uses it to describe a young neighbor who he is considering taking under his wing.
I don't remember him saying anything specific about Peckinpah, but Omar and his gang's shootout with Barksdale's crew early last season was sure as hell a Wild Bunch homage.
The reason for the mayor not to kick in the funds for witness protection is because he does not want to give a legislative victory to his future adversary.
Definitely. And Bunk's bench-seat chat with Omar last season was an homage to the climactic (so to speak) scene in Junior Bonner. Then you have, in S2, Bodie's take on the "you side with a man, you stay with him" speech while buying the floral bouquet for D'Angelo. Bunk in S3 stepped on the "why don't you kiss my sister's black cat's ass" line. Nick's dad in S2 with the highly portentious "Let's go" before marching down to headquarters. Stringer mentioning how money cuts a lot of family ties. There's also been a couple of others that I can't quite remember.
My biggest fear when this season began and the focus on the education system was that we were gonna get yet another watered down, vaguely liberal indictment of the institution, replete with pat pleas to tolerance (why can't we all just get along sorta crap) without any attempt to get beneath the surface of its failures.
Of course, I should have known better. The first episodes of the season sure seem to have put that to rest, as we appear to be getting the unvarnished truth of the matter. The moments after the face-slashing, when Prez's haplessness is juxtaposed with Dukie's comforting gesture, is about as perfect a representation of the gulf between those trapped in the system and those hovering self-importantly but impotently around it, often foolishly believing that they're making a difference, only to discover that when push comes to shove, not so much.
"On this show, the driven individual who hooks up with an institution always gets screwed, and this episode affords many examples of that."
Matt, I think this is too loose a use of the word "institution." From a sociological perspective all individuals are embedded in (social, cultural, economic) institutions. This is a value neutral observation. Simon believes that the institutions in Baltimore are broken and corrupt, but he is not making a radical individualist argument that institutions are somehow to be overthrown. I believe he would take that view as naive. Rather, The Wire wants us to recognize that those institutions need fixing. The institutions need to be changed.
In particular, any sociologist will tell you that institutions are not static entities, and they do not necessarily forestall innovation. Marlo is not replacing the drug trade institution in Baltimore with a different institution -- he is innovating within the institution, testing its boundaries and adjusting its rules. There is naturally going to be some pushback, but that give and take is part of the institutional dynamic. Social institutions survive because they are flexible, not because they are rigid.
And I would argue that most of the characters on The Wire have thrived in one institution or another. Their frustration comes from their inability to change the rules -- but that doesn't mean the they accept the rules as immutable. Jimmy's play in S1 and Lester's play in this season point out that the rules can be changes sometimes, that the institutional dynamic is weaker at some points than others.
In the same vein, I'd take a little issue with Barry's assertion that:
"...[I]nstitutions aren’t in business to nurture or to squash the talents of individuals; they’ll do either according to their purposes. Their ultimate mission is self-perpetuation."
While I understand what Barry's getting at, it is wrong to suggest that institutions aren't made up of people. Institutional priorities don't spring up from the earth -- they are enacted and enforced by individuals every day. It is not the Police -- it is Greggs, Rawls, Carver, Freamon, Daniels; it is schools with real principals and teachers, not the impersonal School System, and it is city government with human councillors, mayors, and lobbyists, not a monolithic City Government. That doesn't mean every individual enacts every institutional "rule," but rather that some consensus exists about the broad character and priorities of the institution. Changing those priorities involves changing the priorities of the people who embody them -- not just one individual, but the whole class of individuals that operates inside the institution. As an example, Stringer appears to have left behind a legacy of tactical cooperation in the West Baltimore drug trade, genuinely changing the operational rules of the institution. Changes in the police department have been less notable, though Lester's play could result in corruption being a major issue during an election year, essentially bringing the issue some institutional attention. I agree with Barry's implication that changing institutions is hard -- but that's because changing the habits of people is hard, not because the institution itself has some physical existence or force independent of real live human beings.
I bring all this up because I think that treating institutions like the police as monolithic (the Police) is to forget Simon's point that the drug war has tremendously deformed what law enforcement means in this country. Much of S3 was devoted to the proposition that law enforcement has become warfare, and that this is a particular, modern historical development. It is to give away the argument to suggest that things have to be this way. They don't. The embodiment of this point was Bunny Colvin's speech about the unnamed pioneer who placed his drink inside a paper bag, allowing the Baltimore PD to spend their time doing more important things. The institution was genuinely different in those days, and I belive Simon wants to provoke debate on how to (maybe) get back to those days, how to change the values of the institution to better reflect the needs of the people who interact with it. (In short, Simon is an old-school liberal, not a radical libertarian.)
This discussion is a little far afield of the episode in question, but I believe it is relevant to Simon and Burns' aims as storytellers. Hope this comment still makes sense in the morning.
Anon
Anon: You're right, that was a loose use of the word "institution." In context of my comment, it means any group of individuals who have instituted certain rules and procedures in order to sustain themselves as a collective entity over time.
However, I don't think our respective takes on the world of The Wire are all that different. My point, which probably could have been clearer, is that institutions have a way of forgetting the original reason they were created -- to shape and control harsh reality for the benefit of individuals -- and then becoming all about self-perpetuation for its own sake; more specifically, the institution becomes a mere means to an end -- protecting an essentially tribal entity, be it a particular group of drug dealers, certain departments within the police force, the teacher's union, a certain ethnic group or political party, etc; then the myopic, purely selfish motive gets even more specific, and suddenly there is no distinction between preserving, say, the mayor's office and making sure Mayor Royce gets re-elected (as evidenced by Royce bringing the full force of his office to bear against Carcetti). This dynamic comes through very clearly in Season Four, with certain individuals and "tribes" concerning themselves mainly with protecting their funding, their autonomy or their tribal identity, and losing sight of the public good, which necessary requires adaptation and evolution, and the sacrifices that go along with it.
There's a sub-theme running throughout all four seasons of the show that I'll try to explore in a future article: the fate of the visionary or reformer within the entrenched system. As you indicate, it's an uphill battle, at times downright impossible. Everyone from Lester Freamon and Jimmy McNulty to Stringer Bell and Bunny Colvin have learned, the hard way, that it doesn't really matter how fresh, exciting and potentially beneficial your vision is -- if it threatens the entrenched order, you're going down.
That's what I meant to say. Wish I'd said it that way the first time. Disagree and nitpick, please. I'm intrigued to see where this discussion goes.
On the Lake Trout tip, Bunk's line reading made me think lake trout was an item on a laundry list of food items that included subs and fried chicken. Obsessive nerd that I am, I did some Googling and discovered that there are four restaurants with the Lake Trout name in the Baltimore area, two in the suburbs and two on the West Side. However, "lake trout" is also a ubiquitous Baltimore nickname for cheap whiting that's caught in the Atlantic and sold all over the place in Baltimore...so we're all right, as it so happens. The fact that there's a popular Baltimore-based jam band called Lake Trout (which produces more Google hits than either the fish or the restaurant) pretty much says all that needs to be said about the fish/restaurant's role in local culture.
Matt,
Sure, the notion that heads of state begin to think of themselves as the state (L'Etat c'est moi) is a well known phenomenon in modern history -- In relation to city politics, didn't you or Alan heap some praise on Street Fight? This reflects the uneven distribution of power within an institution, and the notion that some people have greater ability to adjust the priorities of the institution than others.
But it is important to recognize that holding all that power does not make the individual "free." Royce isn't just lashing out at Carcetti because Royce is petty -- he's lashing out because he's scared. His actions are petty because the institution -- the structure of the city government -- prevents him from, say, sending Carcetti to prison. Moreover, even if he could use more extreme measures he would be afraid they might backfire -- this is the reason he is afraid to accept the matching funds until after the election. So while Royce's position grants him power of institutional resources, it also makes him feel more vulnerable, because any criticism of any state agency is essentially a direct criticism of Royce the Mayor, a direct threat to his institutional position. His overreaction is typical of leaders who essentially come to believe that their institutional power is deserved because of the image they project, rather than any particular policy they possess.
And frankly, Carcetti's play confirms this image-centric view. He may sincerely care about state's witnesses, but he also knows this is an issue that can be used to make Royce look weak on crime -- and it is more compelling than the boring-but-true police stats that demonstrate Royce's policies aren't working (or I assume that's what they show).
And so the higher up you are, the more paranoic you tend to be, and the more your policies are driven by attempts to protect your precarious position. But be wary of this argument, since it suggests that lifetime appointments would free city officials to truly work for the good of the people, since they wouldn't have to worry about elections anymore. And who believes that? (Given the incumbency-return percentages for national government, for example, Clay Davis is pretty much Senator for life. And it is not at all clear what that man does with his time.)
Instead, look to the Wire's depiction of the drug trade. Avon and Marlo were like Royce -- men who wanted to defend their turf. But viewers of the Wire have also spent plenty of time with Prop Joe and, especially, Stringer Bell -- men who have found a novel technique for reducing their vulnerability, reducing the precariousness of their position -- cooperation. You might say they've formed a drug trade union. They are attempting to argue that this is a better operational model, but it will only work if everybody plays along. Hence Prop Joe has to do something to bring Marlo into the fold...
In the drug trade the fear of losing one's institutional power (and one's life) has actually led to an innovation that benefits "the constituents" -- by all accounts the drug trade union slings better product than independent operators like Marlo. Here again the underground economy shows both more precariousness and more ingenuity than the aboveground economy it reflects.
One might argue that the innovation is greater because the stakes are higher. If you make a mistake, someone will take advantage of it with lethal force. The equivalent in city government is murkier, because an analogous effect requires not only opponents like Carcetti and Gray to appear at the right time, but also a populace responsive and informed enough to make the threat a real one. And cultivating an informed populace is a tricky business...
Which actually leads me to my final point in this long-winded post. I would suggest that rather than visionaries or reformers, this particular season is shaping up to be about mentors -- those who see potential in others and attempt to nurture it. And it addresses the fact that these institutions, in order to survive, need a constant infusion of capable newcomers -- and this applies to the institution of the democratic city government as much as it does to the drug trade union (even to Bubbles' Depo). The long range prospect of improving an institution lies in the quality of the younger generation that will come to fill its ranks. And once again, the first few episodes of this season suggest that the drug trade union recognizes this, the police department sort of recognizes this, even Bubbles' Depo has the right idea, but the city government doesn't have a clue -- though it seems like Tony Gray's capaigning to fix that.
I wrote something about this over at Alan's blog.
I need to learn to be more concise.
Anon
Anon: "I need to learn to be more concise."
You and me both.
Great points, very persuasive. I'll post again after I've had some time to think about them.
re the Wild Bunch: David and George Pelecanos are both big "Wild Bunch" fans (in fact they're huge fans of Westerns in general) Omar is their tribute to Westerns -- they fight over who gets to write more of his scenes. Also, great point, Alan, about the coexistence of those extremes.
--from a friend of the production
In season 1 Bodie asks D'Angelo to bring him a lake trout sandwich ( with hot-sauce ), right before Omar performs his first rip ( on the show ).
Post a Comment