Friday, June 26th, 2009
Tap a vein, baby.
As long as you can keep that blood flowing, don’t worry about what’s right or what’s ethical.
Just keep that blood flowing.
Archive for June, 2009
750…with a whole bunch of zeros….
Friday, June 26th, 2009750,000,000.
Regardless of anything else, that is one damned impressive number.
750,000,000 albums sold.
Yeah, he was a freak show; yeah, his life was ruined from the moment daddy Joe Jackson took him out of the hospital nursery; yeah, he had an unnatural interest in kids…specifically young boys.
But 750,000,000 albums sold is unbelievable.
There are entire genres of music that don’t sell that well cumulatively. He was outsold only by the Beatles, Elvis, and Bing Crosby.
Bing Crosby? Does anyone under 40 even know who that was?
Yeah, you remember…the guy who sang with David Bowie.
Hah, you think Michael Jackson was bizarre…there’s bizarre for you: David Bowie and Bing Crosby singing Christmas duets.
…uh…what?
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009“When I put miles on the car, I put pen to the paper.”
An officer responding to a caller’s demand for documentation of items found on the caller’s property. The caller didn’t want the illegal items coming back on them.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to hear this bit of B-movie dialogue. It was just a funny thing that came my way. But since it so brilliantly fits the spirit of “…uh…what?” I thought I’d put it up.
CopStories
Sunday, June 21st, 2009There are certain clues when you’re looking for DUIs.
Driving in a ditch. Driving without headlights. Driving the wrong way. All solid clues worthy of a patrolman’s attention.
But imagine you’re patrolling in a backwoods area near the Interstate, listening to Johnny Cash, windows open and singing to the cows, in an area where you’ve caught illegal hunters before. You go out there occasionally to see if there are others. Sometimes you find underage drinkers, sometimes couples laying pipe, sometimes nothing.
So this particular early morning, you’re coming around a corner of trees and in the near distance you see two unmoving taillights.
In the middle of the road.
Ah-hah, that’s a clue, kiddies.
Then the car moves about ten or so feet and stops again in the middle of the road. I pull up behind it when the driver jumps out and runs at me.
She’s covered in what I first took to be blood. She’s hysterical and running right at me so I jump outta my car. I don’t think she heard my orders to stop, but she sure as shit saw me finger my gun.
That stops her cold. She holds her hands up and starts babbling and I thought not only was she drunk, but she – or someone with her – is badly hurt, with that much blood.
Except it ain’t blood. It’s vomit.
It’s all over the inside of the car, the outside of the car, the road, her shoes and pants, her shirt, her hair.
“Oh, my God, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”
“What? No, I don’t need an ambulance…I need directions.”
Sometimes, I hear something from people that leaves me speechless. Usually, it’s not that their words are shocking in and of themselves, it’s the context makes them nonsensical.
Hence the moment before us.
“Uh…directions?”
“How the hell do I get to Chicago?”
Now, geographically, you have to understand we’re on I-180, which is exactly three easy miles south of I-80, which goes straight to Chicago.
“I was on I-80,” she says. “I was following my GPS. But now I’m….” She shrugs. “I have no idea.”
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
“What? No. Why do you ask that?”
I point at her clothes.
“Oh. No, I’m a little upset.”
“That’s from being lost?”
She nods.
Now, I wasn’t going to throw stones because I’ve been that lost before. After a signing once in a ‘burb of Chicago, I got so lost I had to follow a guy until he stopped so I could ask where in hell I was. He had the good grace not to laugh at me so I tried to offer her the same courtesy.
“I’ve been lost for a while.”
“How long?”
“What time is it?”
By my clock, it was after four in the morning.
“About four hours,” she says.
Turns out she’s from South Dakota and has never – NEVER – driven on a highway. After graduating from college, she hit the road for Chicago, thinking it might be a fun place to live. Her GPS gave her a route that was easy enough, but there was some roadwork and a detour sign.
The detour sign completely fucked her up. She’d been going on a loop of Interstate 80, Interstate 180, IL Route 6, and IL Route 26 for four hours. Basically, she’d been driving a square about 4 miles to a side for four hours.
She’d gotten so upset she’d thrown up…three times.
When I’d found her she was sitting behind the wheel crying.
I get her a towel and tell her in no uncertain terms to follow me. Don’t do anything but follow me. Don’t turn anywhere, don’t go anywhere, don’t look at anything other than the back of my squad car.
She’s over her fear and anxiety enough now that she sort of laughs. “Got it. Follow you.”
“Nothing but me. I’m the Pied Piper of Hamlin.”
She frowns. “The what?”
Kids today…what’choo gonna do?
“You must think I’m a total idiot,” she says.
“Well…not total, I guess.”
So she follows me and I get her into town. But by the time I get there, it’s like a freaking cop convoy. There are county cops, city cops, state cops, FBI, ATF, Conservation cops, officers from Iowa and Kansas and Texas and maybe a Mexican and Canadian cop, too. And Interpol was on the radio.
Did I mention she was young and drop dead gorgeous?
So of course, since it’s a slow night and there was a damsel in distress, all the chivalrous men of law enforcement are more than willing to help.
We get her sorted out and on her way – after she changed clothes and got some gas and a bite to eat – and then sit back while I tell them the story. We all laugh and it’s a good end to a slow night and everyone is relaxed and ready to end the shift and blah blah blah.
It wasn’t until I woke up that afternoon that I realized she had all the classic signs of a cross country drug trafficker.
Ooops. Damn.
But really…those OTHER cops should have noticed the signs. They’re trained after all, professional observers. It’s sad, really, how easily we – excuse me, they – were blinded by a pretty woman in need.
Them. Them. Not me. Just them.
Got an Answer?
Saturday, June 20th, 2009Okay, so there’s a former copper who’s putting together a book of cop war stories and he’s sort of vaguely interested in my stuff. My question is: with all the CopStories I’ve posted, which are your favorites, if any? Funny, sad, infuriating, whatever. Tell me, my dear four readers, which ones you like best and I’ll see if I can’t whip them into publishable form (book publishable, not blog publishable).
Saturday, June 20th, 2009
In my naivete, I thought the entire affair was merely a history of good geography. Little did I know it included a constructed future of good geography.
Keep your friends close…your enemies closer…and those who would lie for you in exchange for economic stability closer still.
Well played. We should all put that kind of effort into winning a schoolyard game of checkers with Grand Master chessboard stratagems.
These Boots Are Made For….
Tuesday, June 16th, 2009A recent email exchange, between me and a friend who teaches at a police academy.
Me: “…and yet another footchase wherein I trip and end up in the damned hospital. That keeps happening. I gotta either rethink this whole footchase thing or get some new boots, I’m not sure which.”
Then Him: “New boots don’t fix clumsy.”
Then Me again: “I’ll have you know I had another foot chase two nights ago. I chased his ass all over Walnut, caught him, and didn’t fall once! Small victories, baby, small victories.”
Then Him again: “Hey can’t lose them all.”
Man, with friends like this….
The Stepin Fetchit Files (warning…longer post)
Tuesday, June 16th, 2009Okay, dig this: I got all kinds of friends. Theater friends. Journalism friends. Law enforcement friends. And they cover every political possibility you can imagine. So the depth and breadth of politics that floats through my inbox is staggering. Usually, I don’t read it, I toss it and move on. Life is too short for pissed off fringe activists.
But I got an email from a friend who is so conservative, he makes Cheney and Coburn and Joe The Unlicensed Plumber look like touchy-feely Kumbaya socialists. It was called ‘Police Photos,’ and I thought, cool, some great action photos of chases or whatever.
My own naivete surprises me.
The file is a series of mugshots, 15 in all, in which every single mope is wearing some sort of Obama bit of clothing. And all but two are black.
Could it have been any more obvious? Why not just call it the ‘Stepin Fetchit Files?’ Or ‘Darkies on Parade?’ Or go the whole fucking hog and call it ‘Nigger Criminals Who Support a Non-Native Socialist for President?’
Here is the text after the pictures: “Just think about this for a second: Did you ever see anyone arrested wearing a Bush T-shirt, or for you older guys, an Eisenhower, Gerald Ford, Ronald Reagan, or even Nixon, or Bob Dole shirt. Obama must be proud of his supporters!”
Okay, set aside that whoever wrote this doesn’t, apparently, understand the concept of question marks, and move on to the absolutely obvious and standing proud racism. No one ever arrested in shirts with Republicans on them? What kind of addled batshit madness is that? By that logic, what do we think of those arrested wearing suits? Or those arrested wearing gimme caps with Confederate battle flags on them?
Originally, this posting was supposed to be a short, this annoys me kind of thing. But because I’m a research geek, I did a little digging. Turns out this thing was underground for quite a while, then burst on to the public scene when an Iowa state trooper sent it – from his work email and on his work laptop – to a whole pile of people…including a “liberal columnist for the very liberal Des Moines Register.”
I’ll ignore the mind-numbing stupidity of sending something like this to the media. Here is the article from the Register (I can’t absolutely say it’s the real deal because you can’t peruse the Register archives, you have to buy it, but it has the Register’s style so I believe it. Also, I’ve snipped some non-relevant items out.)
“An Iowa State Patrol sergeant with more than 20 years on the force has been placed on paid administrative leave while authorities investigate an e-mail sent under the officer’s name that makes political statements and carries racial overtones.
(snip)
It was addressed to a variety of recipients in and outside the department, with the subject line, “The new fashion statement for mugshots!”
(snip)
An accompanying note says: ‘I’ve seen some ‘unique individuals’ aka S—HEADS wearing these type shirts myself He has quite a fan base. Nice to know that the low-lifes are getting involved in politics now.’”
Afterward, this guy issued an apology, which is great. Except it’s one of those non-apology apologies: “I apologize to anyone this e-mail may have offended….”
His apologized to those who the email MAY have offended. In other words, if you weren’t offended, cool, man, no problema.
But wait, there’s more!
According to the Register, this 27-year veteran was nailed earlier this year for violating the agency’s email policy. Apparently, he sent out ‘inappropriate emails’ on his state-issued laptop.
Now, for the part of this rant that will piss off my lefty friends.
The guy got fired. I have a problem with that. Is he a racist? Probably. Did he do something stupid? No doubt. Should he have been fired? Absolutely not. Suspend him for some amount of time and then massively retrain him on department policy regarding email and his state account and state laptop (what a fucking moron, get it through your thick skull).
But I refuse to believe he’s so bad an officer that he needs to be fired. He’s a sergeant and he’s been on the force for 27 years, protecting the public and helping people and saving lives. Would he have made 27years if he was a bad cop? Regardless of what conspiracy nuts think of a cabal of bad cops protecting each other (and yeah, it happens sometimes, look at Rampart), there is no way, in modern America, a bad officer makes it 27 years.
Look at what got him fired: a racist email. If it’s that easy to get rid of bad cops, don’t you think he would have been de-badged long before this? He should be fired for using a drop gun. Or beating suspects. Or violating someone’s civil rights (we should all be fired if we violate someone’s civil rights…in my humble and pissed off opinion). But he should not be fired over a racist email.
If you fire for racism, then what about those who can’t stand gays? Fire them, too? And what about people who hate fatties? Or who loves metal music? As long as their biases don’t interfere with doing their job fairly, don’t fire them for what’s in their head (which is also why I can’t support hate crimes legislation…quite the rightist policy for a lefty like me.)
Now, the difference between him and the friend who sent me this is that my friend – for all his political faults – is a smart guy and was a damned good officer. He would NEVER have sent that from his agency email account or an on agency computer. He’s politically twisted and stunted, but he ain’t a dumbass. He believes what he believes and I’ll debate him endlessly on that, but he ain’t stupid.
Damn. Maybe I shouldn’t have opened the file. Okay, lesson learned. From now on, I’m only opening the files that say, “Gorgeous women want to meet you,” and “It can be as long as you want it to be!”
We Are Italy
Friday, June 12th, 2009CNN this morning. A story about Amanda Knox, the American student on trial in Italy for murdering her roommate. Brutally weak case and I suspect she’s being prosecuted because she’s an American and an idiot who was so stoned during her police interview that she actually turned cartwheels in the holding cell.
But then the anchor says that under Italian law, defendants are not required to tell the truth if they get on the stand. He said it breathlessly, as though this was absolute proof of the superiority of all things American. “They’re not punished for perjury…in Italy.”
At which point I’m screaming and throwing my shirt at the TV, “Dude, been to a DUI trial lately? They’re not punished for it in America, either.”
At least, not in certain parts of America.
Some Quick Thoughts
Thursday, June 11th, 2009So I’m watching the coverage of the murdered security guard at the Holocaust Museum and suddenly, there’s his kid. Tears in his eyes, words stuck in his throat, and hordes of microphones shoved in his face.
Ah, the media. You gotta love ‘em.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m a media junkie. I used to work the media and I believe in a damn near completely unfettered press because that’s the only thing watching the watchdogs. But with that freedom, I believe, comes responsibility and it’d be nice if once, just fucking once, the media would have the responsibility to NOT get in a young kid’s face less than 24 hours after his father was murdered by a lunatic white supremacist.
And while we’re talking about this dead guard, I guess my question would be why the hell didn’t he have a ballistic vest? Sure, there are lots of security guards who work quiet warehouses and gated communities who probably don’t absolutely have to have vests (though I believe anyone required to carry a gun on duty pro’ly ought’a have one…doh!), but guarding the Holocaust Museum? In D.C.? Could this guy have been anymore inadequately equipped? The place is a living, breathing bulls eye for deniers. It gets threats EVERY DAY. And you’re gonna require your security to carry guns but not give them vests? Why not just say, “You’re expendable.”
What kind of logic is that?
Well, it’s the same bit of thinking that leaves officers around the country routinely ill-equipped; calling for help on portable radios that don’t actually work, and patrolling for and then arresting bad guys with squad cars that don’t have protective barriers between the officer and the bad guy. Are you kidding me? The bad guys are bad enough that society has decided they need to be behind bars, but the officers who are taking said bad guy to jail (and who are sitting vulnerable with the bad guy right BEHIND THEM) don’t need any protection at all.
Come on, get the vests, get the radios, get the barriers. Let these guys go home alive.
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