Cuisine even plays a role in research, if you're the murderously successful Tami Hoag, reigning queen of the spatteratti. Hoag, who's clearly a hoot, sells millions of page-burners like her latest novel, "Ashes to Ashes," in which the first few paragraphs serve up a dead body undergoing ritual incineration courtesy of a psycho-pyro-killer who "embraces the concept of evil as power." Recently, Hoag told USA Today of going "to lunch with cops, and we've virtually cleared out the restaurant. People at the next table don't want to hear about burned bodies while they're trying to eat baked chicken." The novelist's first choice for airplane reading, the article reported, is a lighthearted romp called "Sexual Homicide: Patterns and Motives." It's her favorite, Hoag says, because "if it's a man sitting next to you, you'll suddenly notice you have lots of arm room."

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"It stinks in God's nostrils and I know it stinks in the law's nostrils and it stinks to me." That's not a review of Hoag's novel, but the former president of the National Baptist Convention, the Rev. Henry Lyons, colorfully emoting in court last week just before he was sentenced to 5-1/2 years for stealing money donated to his organization to help rebuild burned black churches. Lyons told the judge: "I cannot shake the feeling that I have let so many people down." Fine sentiments, pastor, but a day late and $2.5 million short.

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Meanwhile, the traditional family is under siege across America. And nowhere are things so dire as in New York, where the patriarchs of some of the country's most powerful families have been dropping faster than Sonny Corleone at a toll booth. In the last year or so, the Luchese, Colombo and Genovese crime families have all seen their bosses go either to the Big House or the Promised Land. Now, thanks to a hail of courtroom activities early this week, the Gambino family has apparently been brought to its expensively clothed knees. Last Monday night, with his trial for extortion, labor racketeering, gambling and loan-sharking, among other felonies, scheduled to begin the next day, John A. "Junior" Gotti, 35, alleged to be the acting head of the Gambino family, copped a guilty plea in exchange for a maximum sentence of seven years.

Throughout his troubles, Junior -- call him "The Drab Don" -- has failed to capture the public's imagination to the degree that his dad, John J. ("The Dapper Don," "The Teflon Don," etc.), did in the early '90s. The flamboyant, smart-mouthed Gotti the Elder, in prison since 1992 on a murder conviction, might have walked right out of Martin Scorsese's imagination. Gotti the Younger, on the other hand, has all the sartorial splendor of George Lucas, combined with the keen wit of Kato Kaelin. As late as Monday morning -- with the full weight of the U.S. attorney's office looming over him, and while staring down the barrel of a possible 20-year sentence under the RICO Act, Junior seemed clueless as to the gravity of his impending trial. "I'm excited," he chirped. "It's like my first day of school. It's like I'm starting kindergarten again."

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As for you, Orlean, just put those similes away for now, and, no, this is not the name of a new pasta dish. Although some of us think Clint Eastwood's inexplicably well-reviewed dead movie walking, "True Crime," is terminal, Mr. Mono-emotion does come up with one keeper. While expressing his outrage at the imminent execution of an innocent man, he bellows that it's not justice, but a "crucifuckafixion!"

On the subject of dreary, banal movies, just when you thought it was safe to forget how Buttafuoco is pronounced (how is it pronounced?), Amy Fisher, the imprisoned "Long Island Lolita," may soon be as free as one of Nabokov's butterflies. Seems that Mary Jo Buttafuoco, wife of our hero Joey, whom Amy, Joey's former teenage lover, shot in the face (the Mrs., that is), has been visiting with Amy's mom and corresponding with Amy. (Stay with me now, it gets better.) The letters and kaffeeklatches have convinced Mary Jo Buttafuoco "that there is no reason to keep [Amy] in jail any longer." But wait, there's more! In court papers filed on March 30, Amy Fisher says she was ill served by her lawyer -- who denies all her claims as "ludicrous fabrications" -- because, she charges, he provided hot fondling along with bad legal advice. Stay tuned, but whatever happens you can be sure that Jay Leno and Barbara Walters are utterly rapturous.

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Scooped again, and to think that Salon was going to break this story tomorrow! The endlessly entertaining "Sheriff's Calls" in the Point Reyes Light newspaper, published in rural Point Reyes Station, Calif., last week revealed that "a man, who described himself as a journalist, reported at 9 p.m. that there were several short Europeans playing video games at the campground. He told deputies he believed the group might have guns in their vehicle and could be 'hit men from Yugoslavia.'"

There's more, of course, much, much more, but it will have to wait until next week, 'cause I'm famished. Hey, maybe I'll call Tami Hoag and see if she wants to drop by for a barbecue.
salon.com | April 8, 1999

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