Writing dangerously & mournfully

It’s been an odd week; not entirely sure why.

One thing, maybe, is that I’ve been stuck for the past three days in a civil funeral for my murder vict… I mean, for the murder victim in my novel.

Let me just say that being mired in a funeral service is a whole lot less fun than being hung up in a country pub unable to get dinner on the table. At least there I had booze.

It’s a “civil funeral” (a term which I did not make up, but which brings to mind the probability that there are uncivil funerals) because the deceased in this case was opposed on principle to churches. He also didn’t have a whole lot of friends, so that limits the possibility of having people get up & tell remember-the-time stories.

He was, however, a blues fan, so I’ve been immersing myself in CDs from my collection. I’m not going the mournful route—the geezer was as ornery as they come—so I’ve got a few of the classics by Muddy Waters, Lightning Hopkins & some others.

But I couldn’t let it go without Bonnie Raitt. I’m thinking her version of “Louise” just has never been topped, but I can’t find a decent YouTube video of that one to share with you. (There’s something about the line “Louise rode home on the mail train” that just does me in.) So here’s another of hers that kind of speaks to me right now.

Bring on the weekend.

Another bite out of crime

Not directly related to my post last week about the Great K9 Krispy Kreme Kaper, but here’s a story out of England about another police dog giving evidence that the law is, indeed, a ass.

It seems that one PD Peach was mentioned in reports of some incident by the West-Midlands Police, and the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) requested a witness statement from PC (Police Constable) Peach.

The coppers wrote back that PD stands for Police Dog, but the CPS didn’t seem to care. They wanted their bloody witness statement, thank-you-very-much.

So Peach’s handler filled out the proper form on behalf of PD Peach—a true marvel of concise, succinct reportage, And signed it with a paw print.

Aside from being sent to the CPS, it got posted on the station bulletin board, someone took a photo of it and before you can say FacebookTwitterKaiThnxBai, it was viral.

And the CPS proved itself to be in need of a sense-of-humor transplant. They’ve opened an investigation. Like they don’t have enough actual, you know, crime to chase up.

(Okay, okay—so the form does state that it’s RESTRICTED (When Complete). Slap a fine on someone and move along. Nothing to see here.)

Naturally, PD Peach now has his own Twitter feed; although so far he’s not nearly as communicative online as he was in his witness statement. And he might take a page out of @BronxZoosCobra for engaging followers.

We’ll have to see if the CPS can get the poker out of its butt. It’s just too bad Law & Order isn’t still in production. I know they’d have got their heads around this “ripped from the headlines” story properly.

Infrastructure matters

A friend of mine who lives in Boston posted this on his FB page; I think it may have been a share from George Takei, but whatever:

& it reminded me of driving around on the borderlands between Fairfax & Loudoun Counties in Virginia, back in the wild days of the mid-90s, before cars had sat-navs & you were lucky to find some roads marked at all, much less with a name.

It occurred to me at the time that this might be some strategy left over from The Woah: in case of another Yankee invasion, while the bluecoats were milling around trying to figure out where the hell they were, the Confederate forces could group in one of the adjoining fields & just start picking off the enemy one by one, working from the back to the front like Sergeant York.

Can’t do that, now, of course—all those country roads are four-lane highways & the fields are filled with townhouses & strip malls.

Still not sure who won that war.

Crime bites

I don’t quite understand why this crime story out of Gwinnett County, Ga., didn’t make the nationals: a local man jonesing for doughnuts jacked a Krispy Kreme truck and sped off for the Interstate.

There was a high-speed chase by a variety of law enforcement teams (including a K9 unit) that ended up in a dead-end street. The suspect, James Freddy Major, 45, is alleged to have been “under the influence”, although the story doesn’t state exactly the influence was.

It (the story) does quote the police incident report: “The suspect…was apprehended by K9 dog bite”, which just makes my day.

Although I do wonder why you’d need a K9 team to follow a Krispy Kreme truck.

Truly love

Turns out I have one more story that fits in with Valentine’s Day—from NPR’s Story Corps.

I’m not going to talk about it. Except to say that you should listen to it.

If you want love, this is it.

Nothin' says lovin'...

I’ll close out the week of Valentine’s Day with one more story of romance. Or a form of it, I guess.

NPR reports that there’s an annual event in Japan called Beloved Wives Day. The object (apparently) is that husbands publicly proclaim their love for their wives.

No, no—by “publicly” I mean they get up in front of a microphone on a Tokyo street & shout, “[Wife’s name], I love you.”

I have no take on whether or not the wives appreciate this. But I suppose it makes a nice contrast to the infidelity phones there that I reported on a month ago.

Romancing products

Romance is definitely in the air. It’s Saint Valentine’s Day, so you’d expect it.

Last year the TV channels were awash with commercials for Golden Corral’s “chocolate wonderfall”, And I was kind of underwhelmed. But we’ve moved way beyond that in 2013.

Witness this ad from the coupon section of Sunday’s paper:courtesy of Walgreens:

And this one, ditto (giving new meaning to their tagline, at the corner of happy and healthy):

To tell you the truth, the Libido-Max and Fresh + Sexy constitute TMI for me, but I’m guessing someone knows what they’re doing, promotion-wise.

But CVS has also got into the act; it’s nice to know that you can save a buck on your romantic evening.

Apparently a box o’ chox and a bouquet of roses just don’t get the job done any more.

How do I spam thee again?

Well, now I just don’t know what to say. I seem to hold some massive electronic attraction for Russian, uh, sociable-type women:

Is it that we’re almost to Valentine’s Day? Or that somehow all my Google searches and trawling of spas and military history sites has resulted in some meta-profile somewhere that just screams that I’m hankering after Slavic comforts?

I mean--vodka is one thing. This...

Whatever. I’m going to take a shower, now.

How do I spam thee?

Aw, so sweet—just in time for Valentine’s day, look who’s spammed me:

Really—so tempting.

Just not to me.

Two week notice

Holy smoke!

Pope Benedict XVI has just announced that he’s retiring, citing health reasons. His departure is effective 28 February.

This is kind of strange for a couple of reasons.

For one thing, normal notice period in Europe is a month, unless you’re going to the competition, when they walk you to the door. I didn’t see anything in the news stories mentioning the Pontiff taking up residence in a Tibetan monastery, or joining one of the Pentecostalist sects. So oughtn’t he hand in a full 30-day notice? Give everyone in the Church Universal time to pass round the good-bye card for signatures and maybe kick in a little something for a retirement gift?

What do you even give a retiring pope?

Because popes traditionally die with their boots-of-the-fisherman on, so to speak. They do not go gentle into that good night; neither age nor ill health nor illegitimate children nor really bad investments prevent them from hanging on to the mitre and the crook. (Hmm—that sounds like the name of a pub, doesn’t it?)

It’s not just a job, it’s a lifetime adventure. Leaving any way other than in a body bag (or a linen shroud, if you want to be technical) is just not the done thing. Abdicating is rather like getting a divorce, you ask me. Something Benedict ought to be opposed to on moral grounds.

The last pope to walk away under his own power was Celestine V, in 1294. That so pissed off Dante Alighieri that he had Celestine appear in the antechamber of Inferno. (Without giving his name. But everyone knew whom he meant.)  I’m expecting Benedict to appear in a skit on SNL.

So, not sure what happens now—how do you elect a new pope when you’ve still got one clearing out his desk? And will Benedict continue tweeting from retirement, or will his successor take over the Twitter handle? 

Stay on the lookout for white smoke.