Profanity

Yesterday's post about Acuff's blog got me to thinking about about something a reader asked me well over a year ago. I must admit to not answering his very direct question and I promised I would address it via email. Call what follows my penance for not doing it sooner....

Quite some time ago, I was asked how I could claim to be a Christian when I use a fair amount of profanity in my posts. Now, I get the apparent contradictions between my beliefs and my somewhat flagrant use of profanity. I guess I avoided the question because I wasn't really sure where to start. It's a good question and one I'm not sure how to answer.

Here's something I've never done in this arena before...ladies and gents, I give you Scripture.

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”
Ephesians 4:29

“Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving.” Ephesians 5:4

So...here's my interpretation of these two (two scriptures I lifted from Acuff's comments on SCL #31, by the way). "Unwholesome talk"...hmmm...that one is pretty broad. I could make some outlandish claims about how we could lump all kinds of things in there. Everything from gossip to trash talking on the sports field could qualify. Does it hit too close to home for me? Maybe...on the other hand, my Dad always said that if we don't point out to the stupid amongst us that they are, in fact, stupid, we wouldn't be doing them a service. One could argue that it would "benefit those who listen".

Secondly, "obscenity". Also a fairly ambiguous term, yes? Wasn't it some Senator that said he didn't know how to define pornography, but knew it when he saw it? As a cop, I see a lot of things that could be interpreted as obscene. I am not particularly offended by most things. Call it cynicism, realism, or simply life, but I think we as a culture are all too sensitive about the lion's share of things this life has to offer.

My rationalization (a carefully chosen word, I assure you) for using the words I do? Sometimes, other words just don't get the job done. In a job where you need people to do things when you tell them to do them, you tend to use the ones that will make that thing happen as expeditiously as possible. I am not a prude nor a cop who thinks that using profanity is "sinking to their level". Yadda, yadda...held to a higher standard...blah, blah, blah. Listen, if the guy that wants to fight me and possibly send me to the hospital isn't responding to "Sir, please have a seat", you better believe I'm going to tell him to "sit the fuck down" if it'll get me home to the Wife and Kids. Sometimes, the shock factor is enough to verbally slap someone across the face.

Honestly, I don't find profanity all that profane. Which is an interesting conundrum because I can't recall calling a woman a "bitch" because I find it offensive to women; however, I won't hesitate to walk into the guy's locker room and say, "What's up, bitches?" (Thank you, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia).

Is this all my attempt at justifying my love of the Mother of All Bad Words? It is distinctly possible. Would I be honest with myself and my writing of this blog if I didn't use what was in my head? I don't think so. That they are in my head in the first place is a completely different topic and not something you all need to concern yourselves with, I think. And no, I couldn't resist the graphic to the right...

When all is said and done, I feel at ease knowing that the audience that I am aiming for and writing for is more like me than not. My job is often confrontational, uncomfortable, and...well...offensive. I don't use profanity when I'm contacting the public (except the unusual case in which it may have the desired affect as stated above). I don't swear around those I know are offended by it. I am not hurling vulgarities when I drop the Kid off at preschool. I'm not completely socially retarded, folks.

Am I creating excuses? Perhaps. Am I worried about my immortal soul behind it? Negative. Am I trying to curb my use of it? Maybe a little...but not so much that I compromise my integrity. Dig that rationalization!

A New Addition (Alternate Title: A Cool Christian Blog?!?!)

The whole point of the post that follows is to point you all to a new addition to the sidebar. It's another blog. This one, however, is different. It's got nothing (and everything...dammit if I'm not clever) to do with law enforcement, EMS, or any other emergency service for that matter.

As a blogger, I have opened up a bit of my professional side to you all. On a few occasions, I have seen fit to allow a glimpse behind the curtain at the great and powerful Oz...also known as my personal life. This would be one of those occasions. Through the magic of podcasts of the Dave Ramsey show, Twitter, and facebook, I have found a man by the name of Jon Acuff. He writes a blog called Stuff Christians Like (a name he admits to nicking from Stuff White People Like...he's on the homage bandwagon just like me!). If you follow me on Twitter, you've already seen the tweet (such a silly term) in which I said we have similar writing styles...except he writes about God and with significantly less profanity.

Jon is an incredible writer. As someone who grew up going to private schools and going to church, I can relate to what he writes about. I can look back fondly on my formative years and chuckle along with Jon about the things that we as Christians purport to enjoy. He is sarcastic...and we all know how much I can identify with that particular characteristic.

Please to enjoy...and I encourage you to start at post #1 and work your way through his archive. If you've ever spent a Sunday in an organized house of God, you'll identify with at least a little of what Jon has to say.

MC's First Ever Product Review

In September of this year, I had the opportunity to visit my friends at the Chronicles of EMS booth at the Tak Response Conference in San Jose, CA. While I was there checking out the other booths, I ran across the ESS Eye Pro booth.
What drew my attention immediately were some lenses that appeared dimpled on the counter. They were similar to what is pictured here on the right. I met and spoke to the ESS representative on site, Scott, and asked him to explain what I was looking at. Scott told me their high-grade, extra-thick polycarbonate lenses can resist impacts...and in the case of the what I was looking at, the lenses were blasted from a Remington 12-gauge shotgun firing #6-shot from 10 meters.

Now, make no mistake, I'm certainly not planning on getting shot in the face; however, we don't always know what the day ahead has planned for us. In the high risk employ that I and so many others choose, being prepared is the name of the game. We wear vests and carry guns. Lots of us wear shades, but how much protection are we truly getting?

Scott provided me with some different styles of shades to demo for a few weeks. About two months have come and gone. I've tried all three styles with varying lenses (a very cool feature I will explain) and frames. I think I stumbled upon an entirely new demographic Scott and his cohorts at ESS may have overlooked...the Motorcop.

Check out the picture to the left. This is the Suppressor frame. It was originally designed for use under hearing protection for the range. As most of us know, ear protection can sometimes be bulky if you use the earmuff style. Well, the thinner frame of the Suppressor was designed to be more comfortable and create less pressure when wearing something that basically squeezes one's head. A fine job of engineering, if you ask me. However, what is bigger and holds one's head even tighter? A motorcycle helmet. I wore this style for three solid weeks and I was amazed at how comfortable they felt. Just about any style of shades are wearable with a helmet for a short period of time. After a while, though, it can get uncomfortable. I never felt a moment's discomfort wearing the Suppressor. (I think Scott was quite happy to hear that, by the by...)

If there is a downside to the Suppressor, it's that without something holding them on (ear protection, helmet, etc.) they are liable to fall from your head if you make too many quick movements. The solution? An easily interchangeable frame system. Notice the thicker frame. ESS has engineered an easy way (with a learning curve, mind you) to change out the frames. There is a notch at the middle top of the frame that flips up, essentially unlocking the lenses. This allows you to either switch the lenses to a different frame or change the style of lens (clear, smoke gray, hi-def copper, and hi-def yellow). I found the interchange a little cumbersome initially, but with practice, I was able to do it with little problem.

The style of the lenses on both the Suppressor and Crossbow was a little too reminiscent of Terminator for me, so Scott was kind enough to provide me with the their CDI Max. This style was much more up my alley. The frames are obviously much thicker, but as luck would have it, they fit well inside my helmet. There are five different colors of lenses available and either black or desert tan frames.

The lens interchange with the CDI Max is simpler than the either the Crossbow or the Suppressor. All one need do is fold back each side of the frame and slide the lens out. When the frames are not folded, they serve as a lock on the lens, so it won't come out. All in all, a great design!

There are a number of different products available at the ESS website. They support law enforcement as well as the military. There have a selection of sunglass styles, eye shields, goggles, and prescription inserts for all of the above.

I am happy to give the MC Seal of Approval (now I have to invent one) for the professionals over at ESS and their outstanding products.

Christmas is right around the corner...how is the LEO or solider in your life set for eye protection?

"@&%$ You"

This particular event didn't happen to me, but to my partner; however, I thought how he handled it was not only professional, but highly amusing. Some of you may very well think that what follows would never happen. I applaud your naivety and your starry-eyed convictions.

My partner stopped some hapless fool recently for some violation or other. The why isn't important. When my partner returned to the violating vehicle and handed the citation over for signature, it was returned to him with this in the signature box:

"Fuck you".

Not skipping a beat, my partner replied, "Sir, that's fantastic, but I'm going to need your legal signature." He had the violator sign appropriately and sent him on his way. Now, I can't take exception to how he handled the situation. I can only say what I would have done in his stead.

First, I'd have written out a whole new cite. Why? 'Cause that bad boy is going in a frame. No way am I giving that one up! Too classic. Second, I'd rattle dude's chain a bit and say something to the effect of, "Sir, if you pull the same kind of shenanigans, I'm gonna interpret it as a refusal to sign. At which point, I'm going to pull you from your car, put you in handcuffs, and take you to jail. All of your protestations will fall on deaf ears because I will have given you two chances to be an adult and not a childish little prick. So, I don't want to hear your bitching when I'm booking you for delaying me in my duties."

But, that's just me. I'm nothing if not dedicated to my craft.

The Rumors are True

There have been a number of times over my career as a Motor that I have been accused of having little or no compassion. Can you imagine such a thing? I've been called heartless, the Tin Man, and the Machine...and those are my co-workers! You know the old joke about someone having ice water in their veins? Well, I'm here to admit to it...

Last week, I donated blood. They gave me the choice between whole blood and just the red blood cells. It seems the latter can be used sooner and is more beneficial. Consequently, I went that route. The interesting thing about it is they use some fancy whizbang machine to process the blood, separate it into its components and then the plasma is pumped back into the donor...me, in this case.

The staff warned me that the returning plasma would feel cooler than I expected because by the time it was processed, it was at room temperature. Obviously, my innards are warmer than that. And, I tell you what, they weren't lying! When the process reversed itself and went from suck to blow (thank you, Spaceballs), it literally felt like ice water was being pumped into me!

I started to laugh and I got some strange looks. I felt like I was being prepped to return to work with fresh determination and that now I had a legit reason to be the heartless machination I have always been purported to be.

Oh...and when they offered an array of colors for the bandage? Yeah, I went with black. You know, just to complete the ensemble.

On a side note, I'd encourage all of you to donate blood. It's easy, painless, and they give you free juice and cookies. The life you save may be your partner's.

A New Brother-in-Arms

I was contacted last week by a fellow LEO about his new (ish) foray into the blogosphere. He's one of those wacky vampire-types who love it when the moon is full and the crazies come out. Please to enjoy the musings of The Graveyard Dog. You'll also find the link on the sidebar under Code 2 Assist.

Welcome aboard, Dog!

The Crossover - A New Hope

Yeah...we're shameless about ripping off Lucas. Call it an homage...

This episode finds us wrapping up HM's ride with me, the collision we responded to, and how I handled the situation that made HM both hopeful and a bit jealous. We also answer some questions from Twitter.

New and exciting things are coming for future Crossovers, my friends! So, stay tuned and we'll update you via Facebook and Twitter!

If Otis can figure it out...

Friends, meet Otis. Otis is the Town Sot. Otis is a walking, talking .30 BAC at 0900 hours. I'm not kidding. Otis goes to jail on a weekly basis for drunk in public. He is a blight upon the Earth. He smells like desperation, shitty vodka, and urine. Every winter, we all assume he will die. He never does. He will outlive us all. Otis is like a super kick-ass steroid cockroach.

But you know what? Otis is smarter than a handful of people I met yesterday...and here's why.

I was sitting on a major thoroughfare that has a trail crossing bisecting it. This crossing is controlled by signal lights. When vehicular traffic has the red light, pedestrian and bicycle traffic has the green, and vice versa. We get complaints about the intersection all the time. Either vehicles are running the red or the cyclists crossing the road in the crosswalk ignore their red light. Pedestrians are just as bad, if not worse. They "don't want to bother the cars" so they don't push the button that cycles the light allowing them to cross with the little white silhouetted man. Typically, they'll give a casual look right and left, then dash across the busy street in what they interpret as a safe maneuver.

Believe it or not, there is a vehicle code section in California that requires pedestrians to wait for the actual "walk" signal before crossing the street. Know what that means? That means I can write 'em for not doing it.

Right now, I can hear a number of you saying, "That's a chickenshit ticket." Perhaps, perhaps. I might have been willing to listen to your argument...before yesterday. Yesterday, I saw Otis.

Otis walked (and by walked, I mean sort of stumbled and slithered in his Otis-ness) to the threshold of the crosswalk. I saw Otis's left hand float up as if unbidden and push the pedestrian button.

"What's this?!?" I thought to myself. I took my shades off to make absolutely sure I wasn't hallucinating. I saw Otis stand there for at least 20 to 30 seconds (a full 15-20 seconds longer than your average, sober adult). Sure, he was swaying, but he didn't move toward the street.

Lo and behold, the lights cycled, the little white man appeared, the audible tone sounded and Otis stumbledslithered across the street! Un-fucking-believable!! Right then and right there, I decided that I was going to cite every single person, be they cyclists or peds, that failed to do what Otis just did.

Otis is a functioning alcoholic, folks. He was able to figure out that playing Frogger across a busy intersection is a quick way to a painful experience and perhaps an early grave. Otis. The guy that obviously has no concern for what must be his basketball-sized liver and his surely pickled internal organs. Otis pushed the damn button.

But you, jogger? You just want to keep that pace up. You, cyclist? We are already well aware of your sense of entitlements when it comes to the vehicle code.

Otis is smarter than the lot of you. Kinda makes me wish I could buy the poor bloke a better brand of hooch. My helmet is off to you, Otis.

At least until the next time I have to arrest your drunk ass...but when that happens, I'll be sure to tell you this story and how your unlikely actions inspired me.

So, you say it's your birthday? Anniversary? Holiday?

I'm not sure how many of you are aware of this fact, but did you know that virtually every day on the calendar is special? It's true. Every day is someone's birthday. Every day is someone's anniversary. Someone dies every day and there are funerals held 365 days a year (except maybe Arbor Day...that one's pretty sacred).

But, you get the point, right?

No? I'm being obtuse again? Dammit...

Here's my point. I hear excuses every day for just about every violation under the sun. When those excuses don't pan out, I get the excuses similar to those above. Well, guess what, scooter? YOU CAN DIE ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, ANNIVERSARY, HOLIDAY, ON YOUR WAY TO YOUR COLLEGE ROOMMATE'S EX-GIRLFRIEND'S UNCLE'S BLESSED F'N FUNERAL!

Is that clear enough? So, no. I don't care what day of the week it is. I don't care what's happening in your personal life. You run just as much risk on every other day as you do on your special day. Don't fool yourself.

Speeding is speeding. Not buckling up is not buckling up. Driving with your head in a dark and smelly place is, well, gross...particularly when you've got your cell jammed up there as well.

Do yourself a favor. Slow down, hang up, and buckle up. If you do that, we can avoid these philosophical debates on the side of the road. Besides, I always win. *wink*

I'm a Suckerfish

You read that right. Technically, it's called a remora (you're welcome, ichthyologists!). Genus and other scientific crap notwithstanding, the point remains that I'm the suckerfish...not the shark.

By now, you should be wondering, "Alright, MC. Then just who is the shark, exactly?"

I knew you kids were smart. The shark, dear readers, is the big, shiny, red truck driven by our friends the Firemen.

Follow my logic, here. It's well established that I've got Fire roots deep within that will never fade. I grew up in the firehouse. I've got just about as many Fire friends as Cop friends. You needn't look much further than my friendship with my brother from another mother, HM, to understand. Now, don't go getting misty-eyed, my Fire friends...I'm still a black-hearted nightmare on a motorcycle. Still, I like to see you guys getting to your calls as quickly as that big ass rig and your driver are willing to go.

Enter the general public. And their seemingly incontrovertible inability to get out of our collective way.

See, when I'm en route to a call and folks don't get the hell out of my way, there's little I can do about it right then. Someone else needs my attention more; however, when I hear and/or see Big Red rolling code down the boulevard, I see a grand opportunity to exact justice and rid myself of some pent up rage at all the other clueless mouth breathers from past incidents.

I'll never forget the first time I pulled someone over for failing to yield to an emergency vehicle. I was still in patrol training and happened to see Fire headed out to do their thing. My FTO was in the car with me and we followed for a bit. As per usual, some hapless fool didn't get out of the way. He got a ticket. An expensive ticket.

After the violator drove away, I looked at my FTO and asked, "You mind if I make a quick phone call?" He seemed curious...and wary (even then my sarcasm was evident). He acquiesced. I rang my Dad and told him the whole story. I felt like I had righted a wrong from the days of yore when my Dad had those same idiots keeping him from getting to where he needed to be. It was a proud day for us both, I assure you!

So, to all my Fire friends in and about Town...if you see me posted up waiting on you to pull out of the house or you wonder where the damn Motorcop came from all of a sudden, I heard your call when you did and I'm just waiting to suck onto your bumper and exact some justice on all our behalves.

There's never a cop when you need...oh, wait, there's one.

Today, whilst sitting at one of my prized and varied haunts, I had occasion to witness a failure to yield. Not to me, mind you, but rather between two motorists at a T-intersection controlled by stop signs.

How many times have you waited your allotted time at a stop sign only to have some clueless moron (or downright jackass) jump ahead of you? Yeah...me, too. How many times have you thrown up your hands and said to yourself, "Dammit! There's never a cop around!" Believe it or not...me, too.

Consequently, when I witnessed that very thing today in uniform upon my motor, I got to see the range of emotions from the "victim car".

Picture this: a T-intersection with the top of the T running west/east and the the base north/south. Two cars approach the stop sign controlled intersection westbound. A third approaches southbound. The first car westbound stops and then goes.

Quick...whose turn is it next???

Yup, the southbound. She begins to enter the intersection...only to have the second westbound driver jump ahead of her. This all happened within seconds, by the way. At any rate, I saw the woman driving southbound throw up her hands in veritable disgust and I damn near saw one of those cartoon balloons pop up above her head with this inside:

"Seriously?!? What a jerk! How come there's never a cop arou...oh! There's one!"

At which point, our hero fires up the bike, hits the lights and rides by to cheers and beautiful, fainting women. Well, not exactly, but she did smile, wave and say, "Thanks!" Close enough, right?

Sometimes, it's just nice to feel justified and to see that look of appreciation on someone's face. Mostly, when I'm not behind them, but the point remains...

Alright, Ramblers. Let's get ramblin'...

Ah, the Rambler. I love you, guys. You embody the epitome of contradiction at every turn. Those of my ilk amongst you can attest to the Rambler's innate ability to say one thing, yet do the exact opposite.

Case in point...

MC: Good afternoon. Do you know why I stopped you?

Rambler: No, but I'm in an awful hurry, so get to the point.

MC: Odd that you should say that, sir, seeing as how I stopped you for speeding. Do you know what the speed limit is on Main St.?

Rambler: I'm not from here.

MC: Is that right? Where might you be from?

Rambler: The next town east of here.

MC: You might find it interesting to know that you have the same exact speed limit signs in your town as we do here. It's almost like they're uniform for a reason.

Rambler: Well, I don't think I was speeding.

MC: Well, sir, I assure you that not only are you entitled to your opinion and your day in court, I got you on lidar and you were, in fact, exceeding the posted speed limit.

Rambler: The hell, you say.

MC: As you said, sir, you are in a hurry and I don't want to keep you any longer than is necessary. so, if you'd be so kind, I need your DL, reg, and insurance, if you please.

*I now, no joke, scratch out the cite in about 90 seconds...after all, cat's in a hurry.*

MC: Okay, sir. If you'll just sign on the highlighted yellow portion, we'll get you on your way.

Rambler: I just don't think I was speeding.

MC: Unfortunately, sir, you were. Again, if you'll just sign...

Rambler: I'd like to see the radar.

MC: I can't do that, sir. See, I used lidar, not radar. That notwithstanding, I'd be happy to show you the lidar, sir; however, are you no longer in a hurry? Because if you want to see the lidar, it comes with an explanation and will take a couple of minutes. I'm not just going to show it to you and assume you understand the technology behind it.

Rambler: It's my right.

MC: Actually, sir, I have no legal obligation to show you my equipment. I typically show it upon request as a courtesy.

Rambler: Okay. I'd still like to see it...

At which point, I give my spiel about the differences between radar and lidar. Usually takes me about two to three minutes. That's not long in the scope of things...but weren't you in a hurry, ya jackwagon?

The lesson here is this, folks....don't think that your timetable and mine dovetail. I'm on salary and work (a minimum) of ten hours a day. I literally have damn near the whole day to write you up. Your attempts at pressuring me into hurrying only serve to amuse me and make you fodder for my blog.

So, thanks!

Return of the Crossover

As promised at the end of Episode II The Crossover Strikes Back, Happy came out to ride with me and experience what an average day is like for yours truly. I think he was surprised at the amount of similarities in our jobs and even more surprised at the autonomy that is afforded me.

I had a great time having HM out for the day! I'm looking forward to the day when the roles are reversed and I get to see things from his side of the fence!

Pay close attention to the end of the show...you'll get a preview of what's to come!

Without further brou and/or haha...