Wednesday, November 2, 2011

"...Fashion Faux Pas Are Felonies...Mismatches Only A Misdemeanor..."

Forget about Kim Kar-cashing-in and Kris Humphries.

The still reigning champion of the on again, off again is Lindsay Lohan.

Sentenced today to 30 days in jail for violating her probation.

Who will most likely be out of jail in less time than it takes her to drive from the luxury condo to the lockup.

But that's not the real cheek chapper here,

Check out this excerpt from an online "news story" about the sentencing.

Lohan, who wore a blue polka-dot dress and her hair in a loose bun, may not serve the entire 30-day sentence due to overcrowding and credits for good behavior. But the judge forbid her from serving time under house arrest as she has in the past.

Bad enough that "justice" has evolved into "joke" in the majority of celebrity criminal cases, but now, it seems that no good "reporter" worth their salt can file a story about court proceedings without failing to provide the key facts regarding the defendant's fashion statement.

"...Lohan, who wore a blue polka-dot dress and her hair in a loose bun..."

Let's put aside the blatant, in our face sexism demonstrated by the women being the only gender getting the runway treatment on the way to legal treatment.

There's a more basic offense being committed here.

The violation of the basic tenets of good reporting.

Who, what, when, where and why.

Nothing in that list indicating an obligation to assure the reader that the perp was properly coutured.

Imagine if it had, in fact, been an original duty of the reporter.

"Adolf Eichmann, barbaric Nazi war criminal and right hand man of despicable despot, Adolf Hitler, was sentenced to hang today for crimes against humanity. The 56 year old Eichmann, appearing in court in a snappy royal blue double breasted blazer by Armani, his obviously thinning hair cleverly coiffed, was found guilty of the extermination of millions of Jews."

Don't know about you but, at this moment, two sounds are rolling around my medulla.

Ridiculing laughter.

And the low grade whirring of my high school journalism teacher spinning in her grave.

Nattily attired, I imagine, in a traditional white frock, with lace bodice, a single rose and family rosary in her hands.

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