Guilty as charged ... but now what?

So the second suspect in the Cheshire home invasion murders has been found guilty. My only question to the jury: What took you so long? Was the free food that good?

This has naturally kicked off discussion in the Nutmeg State about the death penalty, as since his co-conspirator has already been found guilty and sentenced to death, it's not a tremendous leap to extrapolate that he, too, will be condemned.

You'll note that I haven't given you their names. That's on purpose. Human beings who deserve dignity and respect get names. So they're clearly not eligible.

My initial thought when these crimes were committed (and if you're curious and/or you don't know, please go look it up somewhere else; I refuse to disrespect the victims by recounting or linking to the details of their deaths) is that the guilty deserve to die for what they did. Why? Because their crimes not only disrespected and ended three lives. They terrorized and scarred the entire state, your humble correspondent included. It was a sucker punch that left 3 million people dazed, frightened and sickened.

But before we schedule the execution tailgate party at MacDougall-Walker Correctional Institution, there's this nagging little question: If they killed, and they are criminals and sinners for killing, what does make us for killing them?

As previously recounted in this space, the commandment does not offer a list of exceptions in which the taking of human life is acceptable. There's no wiggle room in "thou shalt not kill."

And it gets more difficult: Jesus directs to forgive not once or 7 times, but 70 times 7 times. And here I fall miserably short of the standard: I have serious doubts that I could forgive such creatures even once for committing such a crime against people I care about, never mind the remaining 139.

So what's my answer?

No. I won't lower myself to their bacterial level. Even though I truly believe they deserve it. Let them rot instead -- and then let an authority higher than the State of Connecticut determine the outcome. My guess? Where they're going, it's going to be very hot. All of the time.

As for the temporal realm: I'd be satisfied if they spent the rest of their lives in prison, but on one crucial condition -- that they remain in general population, with the worst and most sadistic murderers and gangsters, and not afforded any special status or protection from the guards.

After all, prisoners doing hard time have their own ways of meting out punishment.

This is a song about a Whale ... No!!!

It's been 14 NHL opening nights since the Mighty Whale was stolen from Hartford and taken to ... Raleigh, North Carolina?

The injustice of it all still boggles the mind.

It's not that I have any fondness for the Mighty Whale, even though they didn't have much of a rivalry with the Sabres until they got to their new home (and the less said of that, the better).

I've got nothing against the fine people of Raleigh, except for the knowledge that it is against the laws of nature for a hockey team to have cheerleaders.

Nor am I sure that Hartford is worthy of a major-league sports franchise. Um, I don't know how to break this to you, but, well ... No.

But any fan with a heart and a soul knows the way the Whalers were taken away was simply wrong.

They survived an arena collapse and playing most of a season in an AHL rink in Springfield until the Civic Center could be fixed. They survived years of mediocrity, losing the shortest playoff overtime game ever and enduring the shame of playing a major sport in a shopping mall. And for a brief time in the WHA days, they belonged to West Springfield ... if only I could have seen them play at Eastern States Coliseum, an edifice which defines "glorious old barn."

And so, to honor the Nutmeg State and the memories of Ronnie Franchise, Kevin Dineen and the great Peter Sidorkiewicz, I present Your Song, in all it's goofy, upbeat glory.

Now you're talking

For those who didn't know: I generally dislike the comment sections in stories on the Internet.

Me and the First Amendment get along fine. But the overwhelming majority of comments sections I have seen have forgotten that rights come with responsibilities and that freedom of speech is not absolute. So people are allowed to say outrageously hateful things, slander and libel with impunity, make unsubstantiated allegations and worst of all, write in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS.

And yes, sunshine is a fine disinfectant -- and these sorts of statements, out in the open, let us all know what a bunch of morons we can be. (And racists, sadly.) But they also have a chilling effect on a free and open exchange of ideas, because who wants to subject themselves to that kind of abuse? there's no shades of gray anywhere. All Republicans are wealthy jack-booted thugs; all Democrats are socialist atheist anti-gun hippies; all Tea Party members wear hats lined with Reynolds Wrap; and so on and so forth, can't we all just get along, blah blah blah ...

It all makes Mark Twain's view of the human race in his wickedly brilliant "Letters From The Earth" that much more sympathetic: "Man is a marvelous curiosity. When he is at his very, very best he is a sort of low grade nickel-plated angel; at his worst he is unspeakable, unimaginable; and first and last and all the time he is a sarcasm."

But if I'm going to replace my facebook experience with old-school media like blogs, then there needs to be some interactivity. That's just how it works.

So I've decided, for now, to enable comments on my blog. I am going to moderate them, to be sure, but comments there will be.

And this is your first chance. Got a comment about comments? Feel free to comment.

* Greg Sukiennik is not listening to "Maggie's Farm" by Bob Dylan on Spotify.

You might see more of me here in the coming days and weeks.

Now, I've said that before, and it didn't happen, did it? Nooooo. So I haven't suddenly gotten religion about writing in this space on a regular basis.

But I did quit Facebook. Cold turkey with cucumbers, tomato and cranberry mayo. So I will need a place to write regularly ... and this is the place. Glad to be back.

I hear you. Quit Facebook? Now why'd he go and do a thing like that? Next thing you know, he'll say he's not on Twitter. Luddite!

Well first of all, it was becoming apparent to me that I was tuning into Facebook too much. It was becoming a distraction. No, check that, it had already become a distraction and if there's one thing I don't need in my life, it's more distractions. So I simplified. (Thoreau might be pleased. But then he'd hit me up for five bucks.)

Second, I read a fair amount last week about what Mark Zuckerberg has in mind for the place.

For those of you with experience with corporate takeovers or change in landlords, you know how this goes. New boss comes in, kicks the tires, thinks "Ya know, I need a return on my investment" and suddenly, the yearly bonus and the holiday party disappear, the laundry machines now cost $2.00 per load, whispers about outsourcing and layoffs start making the rounds, the rent jumps by $50 but the snow never gets shoveled off the sidewalk, the co-pay shoots up, and so it goes...

When I first signed up for Facebook, I thought "cool. One-stop shopping to connect with family and friends." And yes there were spammy applications and targeted ads, and yes there were cautionary tales about what to share and not share, but for the most part, if you were smart, you could ignore the nonsense and use the thing as you wanted: To communicate and stay in touch. And it was pretty cool.

But now, like the new landlord, MZ has decided he needs to monetize his assets even more. And with the latest changes, the intent is now clearer than ever before: MZ sees me and every other user as an unpaid advertising research monkey and unwitting marketing assistant. And it's all on that damned ticker on the right, because you know your friends want to know you're listening to that great new album or that funny online video. Who knows where that ends.

And MZ knows it's addictive and MZ knows you don't want to leave because your friends and relatives and photos are all there and MZ knows if he can get you to stay, he can keep you not only in front of all that nifty content, but generating more content for their machinery. And if you've used the new app to create this "timeline" of your life, MZ can hone in on your life experiences to create an even more exact picture of who you are so he can sell even more stuff to you, which you will turn and sell to people who share your interests, university, ideology, DNA or some or all of the above.

" ... and now you do what they told ya! ... and now you do what they told ya!"

Not me. And you and the FCC know how that song ends.

I hear you again, At length.

"Sukiennik, for crying out loud, you work in the media. You've spent nearly 20 years there. And you work not in just any part of the media, but for a very, very, very large multimedia giant. And your little corner of said multimedia giant consists of six domestic cable networks, 41 international networks, a radio network and the most awesome website ever (non-dancing hamster division), all of which can be accessed on phones, handheld devices and tablets. Your little corner of said multimedia giant enjoys outrageous brand recognition and brand loyalty worldwide. You can pay your mortgage, drive a newish car, eat well, stay warm and afford school string lessons for your child because the content you help generate is used to sell advertising across multiple platforms. You can't honestly criticize this as if it's some new outrage."

Well, OK. All that is true.

But here's my reply.

When you don't to watch or listen to television or radio advertising, what do you do? You turn the channel or turn it off.

When you see ads in the newspaper, no one makes you read them. You can turn the page.

In none of those examples are you tuning in or turning the page thinking you won't find advertising. (Even those pre- and post-show sponsor messages on NPR and PBS.) You know the deal when you turn the switch. Sure, facebook always had advertising, but it was off to the side and largely avoidable.

And in none of those above examples are you and your virtual friends actually being used to create the market research and targeted advertising. In real time.

So, forget that. (And I mean forget in the Cee-Lo Green radio edit sense of the word.)

And no, you won't find me on Twitter or Google +. (I tried Twitter. It banned me after six hours, claiming -- falsely -- that I "created serial accounts." I have somehow managed to live without it since.)

But you will hopefully find more of me here, in North Stepford Falls, Connecticut.

* Because I haven't subscribed to Spotify. And I already own "Bringing It All Back Home," anyway.