Ed note: I posted this over at my tumblr but I’ve been following this case for over a year now and I’m getting angrier and angrier that the media isn’t doing its friggin’ job.
I’m really surprised* that so few people are familiar with Shawna Forde, the leader of Arizona’s Minutemen American Defense vigilante group who murdered Raul Flores and his 9-year-old daughter, Brisenia, in their house.
So here is some long-winded, rambling background on Shawna Forde, murderous right-wing sociopath.
Shawna Forde had by all accounts a lousy childhood, raised in foster homes in Everett, WA, and, as a teenager, became a prostitute and thief.** Somewhere along the way, she married and divorced four times, had a child who died from SIDS, raised some fucked-up children, ran for Everett city council, possibly murdered someone in 1997, reinvented herself as a charismatic (if not uniformly accepted) leader of various Minutemen organizations, was disowned by said organizations, lied about being shot and raped by Mexican drug dealers, moved to Arizona to start her own movement…the story is convoluted and practically endless.
The FBI was told of Forde’s plans to raid Flores’ house and rob him of money, drugs, and guns (they believed he was a drug dealer — which, incidentally, has not been proven***). The FBI chose to do nothing. Then, on May 30, 2009, Forde and two of her henchmen, Albert Gaxiola and Jason Bush, murdered a man, wounded a woman, and shot a 9-year-old girl point blank in the face.
This is some bullshit right here:
Planned Parenthood, a perennial protest target because of its role in providing abortions, has notified the FBI that at least 12 of its health centers were visited recently by a man purporting to be a sex trafficker but who may instead be part of an attempted ruse to entrap clinic employees.
In each case, according to Planned Parenthood, the man sought to speak privately with a clinic employee and then requested information about health services for sex workers, including some who he said were minors and in the U.S. illegally.
For reasons that are neither interesting nor important, I attended Betty White’s 89th birthday last night. It was held at Le Cirque, which surprised me, as I didn’t know it still existed.
There was a lot of food and, unlike the open bar events I’ve grown accustomed to attending, I didn’t have to elbow anyone out of the way just to get a tepid glass of “Champagne” that’s actually just a sparkling brut (what? I shouldn’t know the difference just because I’m some self-styled lumpenprole?). Nope, last night it was Champagne all the way, chilled and easy to get to, presumably because everyone in the room was from Hollywood and, as such, in recovery.
When we arrived, we found a table in the middle of the room and looked around in search of famous people. The only person I saw was Frank Whaley, who was standing over by the “risotto station.” (Disappointed that it wasn’t a “risotto fountain,” because that would be even more appallingly awesome than this.) One of my companions squealed in delight and said, “Swing Kids is my favorite movie!”
“You should go tell him that,” I said. “He looks a bit lonely.”
We drank some more, looked around some more, ate miniature crabcakes and some “sliders” that were a little too large to be rightfully considered finger food.
“Where are all the celebrities at?” the Whaley fan companion wondered. “I’m not even seeing any D-listers.”
You know that saying in poker about how if you don’t see the mark at the table, you’re the mark? I had a sudden realization.
“Man, we’re the fucking D-list. This whole room is D-list. Not even D-list! Z-list! There’s gotta be some other, better, VIP room that we’re not allowed in.”
But what can you do? And it’s true, we were Z-list. But we did get cake pretty soon after that. A little while later, Ana Gasteyer walked by. And so did that comedian with the hat and glasses thing. (Apparently Jack McBrayer was there, too?) His trucker cap was bedazzled in Braille. “I wonder what that says,” my other companion said, not really all that curious.
“Probably it says WHAT ARE YOU, BLIND? I’ll go over and ask. He’s not talking to anyone or anything, just eating something from the grilled vegetable station.”
So I went over and was like, “Sorry to bother you while you’re eating, but what does your hat say?”
And he was nice about it — “It says [something about strength or power; unsurprisingly I was not paying attention].”
And then they brought him two pieces of cake. “They hooked me up! This is good cake,” he said, eating it with the gusto of someone who really likes cake.
“It is really good, but the fondant frosting is a bit overwhelming.”
“Which is that?”
“The stuff that’s in a right angle on your plate.”
“Huh, what’s it made out of?”
“Sugar. And tile caulk.”
“Yeah, bad stuff.” He was humoring me at this point. “So what do you do?”
“Nothing related to any of this.”
“Hey, do you know if there’s like a VIP room somewhere?”
“Nah dude, this is it.”
“I was just wondering.”
“I’m gonna go get a drink.”
“Try the risotto station while you’re over there.”
As you can see, there were a number of other celebrities there. We didn’t see any of them. But my companions got hugs from Betty White. So that was nice. Also, Wendy Malick looks really good.
If you’ll recall, yesterday’s weather was fairly yucky. I would’ve preferred to show up to the party in hip waders, but instead I wore a subdued and black and gray ensemble that lacked sophistication but made up for it by its absence of grease stains. I changed out of my Doc Martens into a fancy pair of heels, though honestly, what does it really matter if you’re on the Z-list?
Speaking of fancy shoes, femininity, and other things that elude me, Lauren and I had a conversation about her Roger Vivier Pilgrim pumps, made famous by Belle de Jour and Ava Gardner. “I love them. They’re classic,” she told me. “Even though they’re so delicate, they’re still perfect for this time of year.”
“Yeah, because they’re small and you can carry them in your purse and put them on once you get to where you’re going.”
“No, I meant that they’re perfect in that you can get a man to carry you over the ice puddles.”
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