On September 9, defense attorney Jensen E. Barber passed away at Sibley Hospital, succumbing to a lung infection. He had fought off the infection for weeks inside the ICU. He was 64.

A prominent lawyer had e-mailed me the news while I was away. He knew I'd want to know. He had listened to me talk up Barber's skills,  gushing about his chops inside a courtroom and his charm outside of them. It is hard not to still feel shocked that Barber will no longer be brightening up an intricate federal drug case with his southern charm and monogrammed peach-sorbet colored shirts.

I can still remember sitting next to him at Zola after he insisted on taking me out for a special Hanukkah dinner. My entire wardrobe cost less than his handkerchiefs. I spent the entire night just listening, and trying not to embarrass myself.

I'd seen the man's work up close and always walked away thinking Barber was the smartest man in the courtroom. He'd question a government's witness like a great chess master---three moves ahead of whatever the prosecutor was thinking. When the moment demanded it, he could be a passionate and articulate storyteller. Hundreds of defendants got the benefit of his presence and his ease with a powerful narrative.  Now people get to tell stories about Barber.

Read More "Jensen Barber R.I.P." »

A short time ago, Washington City Paper called the L.A. Coroner's Office for confirmation on the rumors concerning the King of Pop's alleged death. 

When Washington City Paper asked for confirmation, we were put on hold. 

We are still on hold. 

While we wait, we revel in the memory of having watched (already) Al Sharpton's press conference, Michael Eric Dyson's faux scholarly take (seriously, this guy is a vampire), and MSNBC's Keith Olbermann interview an Access Hollywood "reporter."

Shit, we're no longer on hold.

Read More "WCP Confirms Michael Jackson’s Death" »

Phillies announcer Harry Kalas collapsed early this afternoon in the Nationals Park press box and died at George Washington University Medical Center. The Inquirer writes:

"The cause of the death was not announced. Today's game against the Nationals will be played, but the team will not visit the White House tomorrow.

'We lost Harry today,' David Montgomery, the team president, said. 'We lost our voice.'

Mr. Kalas, who was found unconsious, missed most of spring training after undergoing undisclosed surgery in Feburary. That surgery was unrelated to the detached retina that sidelined him for part of last season.

Mr. Kalas, who turned 73 on March 26, has broadcast Phillies games since 1971. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2002 as the recipient of the Ford C. Frick Award. He is entering the final season of a 3-year contract that he signed in December 2006."

Read More "Is Nationals Park Cursed? Phillies Announcer Collapses In Press Box And Dies" »

See that sign? Right there between the Diet Dr. Pepper and the old-school can of Canada Dry? It's a WARNING to the effect that SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH will ensue should one ROCK OR TILT the antiquated soda machine in the meticulously labeled City Paper kitchen.

Who knew that obeying one's thirst could have such dire consequences?

Observe the stick figure below—let's call him Bob. Bob is trying his damnedest to wrest a free soda or two from the death machine. He looks pretty thirsty. The curvy arrows seem to indicate that Bob is both rocking and tilting the death machine. That can't be good. Didn't he read the sign?

"[DEATH] MACHINE WILL NOT DISPENSE FREE PRODUCT IF TIPPED"

Call me crazy, but I've always commiserated with these little suckers, the stick figures of the world, eternally trapped behind the red strike-through of what not to do. "Don't become another statistic!" they seem to cry, their predicament all the more poignant because they have no facial features. Whether they're trapped between the closing doors of the Metro or suspended over a slippery spot on the floor, the Red Circle catches them just before the moment of truth, right in the "oh, shit" moment, when all they can say is, "what have I done!?" Hence the immediacy, the illustrative power...nay, the pathos of these little everymen.

But let's think of Bob in happier days. Playing with his dog, perhaps:

And here, for example, he appears to be feeding his child to an alligator:

But what of the death machine? One hopes that Bob didn't end up like his colleague here:

Select photos courtesy of the Stick Figures in Peril Flickr pool