All of a sudden, every terrifying conversation we've ever had with L.A. County Sheriff's Department spokesman Steve Whitmore makes so much more sense.
We just discovered his
LiveJournal personal blog — and it's an absolute minefield of bitterness and morbid regrets and 15-year-old girl tears. (Also, History Channel reviews. Kid you not.)
Many local journalists can attest:
No matter what you ask Whitmore, he'll respond — in his inimitable half-growl, half-yell — by scoffing at your question and denying all allegations in full, likely throwing in an “I know what you're really asking!” or even an “I know everything!” for good measure.
It honestly makes for some pretty awesome quotables. But you always get the feeling, upon hanging up the phone, that he's been referencing something darker than the latest sheriff's scandal.
We've never blamed Whitmore for his demons. The toughest job in this city has got to be making the wildly corrupt and brutish L.A. Sheriff's Department look like it's operating under some kind of order. Despite the horrendous allegations against him and his deputies, “Teflon” Sheriff Lee Baca just keeps strolling around in his pristine khaki uniform — and he has Whitmore to thank for wicking all those tomatoes.
However, Whitmore's PR job has obviously taken its toll. And even before he started at the Sheriff's Department, his blog reveals a lifetime of personal and career failures (his words, not ours), like causing his father, actor James Whitmore, “a significant amount of embarrassment and pain,” and eventually abandoning his dream to become a journalist.
We don't mean to pry. But when you post links to your sappy emo rants on your official @sheriffspio Twitter account, you're just asking to be pried. Perhaps you're even crying for help?
So, without further ado: Here are the 10 most depressing excerpts from sheriff spokesman Steve Whitmore's personal blog. Pro-bono psychiatrists, feel free to intervene.
10, 9. From “Disappointments Line the Street to Fulfillment“:
I have been plagued throughout my life with this uncanny feeling of disappointment; that it isn't enough; that I am doomed to fail and others will delight in it with an ” I told you so.” Nothing but smiling faces surrounding me while a shudder from another enormous mistake. Time. And time again.
Years ago, I wrote a column in a small, daily newspaper. It appeared three times-a-week, if memory serves. It was my happiest time of life, in terms of work. One day I was feeling extraordinarily frustrated and downright pissed-off. So, I wrote that in my column.
What I did was take a huge type-face, and write the word: AAAAAAARGH!!! And ran it down the entire length of the space reserved for my column. At the bottom, it read: “Just one of those days.”
8. From “Holidays are tough for those alone, disenfranchised and, perhaps, lost” (posted on the Fourth of July):
I am always reminded on holidays about those folks estranged from their families. It can make the day so much the tougher. I know this because it is true for me.
I was raised in a wonderful loving family. I did not do well in that family. It was not the families fault. If there be fault it lies with me. Nobody else.
Interesting times, when you move up the ladder of age. You look around, this has become a cliché, and wonder “what the f#$*&!”
And by the way, nobody reads this anyway. It's not like a I have any following. I do not. Again, I do this without choice. I do this because it's like breathing.
5. From “Men don't have cats, or so I'm told…“:
Perhaps he doesn't want to be part of the Whitmore clan, I ruminate. I tend to look at everything with a doomsday eye. When I get the sniffles, it's pneumonia. When I notice a freckle, it's cancer. I am assured, though, by those more mature than I that Prince is just acclimating himself to his new home; that he is doing fine and will do fine. I'm sure they are right.
4, 3. From “Smiling People Can't Be Trusted“:
So, now that I've laid it out that I have had everything at my fingertips and threw it all away because of my idiocy, I come back to the same realization that life is tough. And I don't trust people who smile all the time. It pisses me off, actually.
There is no need to spread joy to the rest of us miserable son's-of-bitches, pardon my French, because we are happy in our misery.
As you probably can tell, I don't get invited to a lot to parties or small dinner affairs because I don't smile a lot. I don't tend to look on the bright side of things. I tend to wallow in the mud of humanity and weep for the soul of our culture. Not to put too fine a point on it, I don't look at the glass as half full, I don't look at the glass as half empty. I don't see a glass at all; just empty space swirling around a continual repetition of disappointment.
Or maybe the unpopularity has to do with other well-documented reasons such as…well, let's go easy on the old guy. Thank you. I am old, and golly gee, I do try and be nice, Sometimes. Rudeness, I guess, may be a reason. Yes, grumpiness may be another, and yes, arrogance could possibly be added to the list. I know. I know. I wasn't going to leave off selfishness, immaturity and brazen bravado.
The other night I was watching “The Bodyguard” again and realized – again – that it was a really good movie.
In any other government office, a head of communications with a blog this bizarre would be booted in no time. But on the whole, the Sheriff's Department is quite a motley crew of Wild West losers; maybe it takes a self-deprecating mess like Whitmore to get up every morning and face the department's special brand of media onslaught. Takes one to know one, or whatever.
We've contacted the blogger himself for comment. Also just to make sure he's OK.
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