My thoughts and opinions on the local news this morning:

Taser

This one really bothers me. A 13-year-old girl was tasered by an off-duty policeman here in Sioux City a day or two ago.

It seems that the policeman was working as a security guard at the roller-skating rink when a fight between two 14-year-old girls broke out. When the man tried to break up the fight, one of the girls wouldn’t listen and kept fighting, prompting her 13-year-old sister to jump in and start fighting as well. After being kicked and bitten, the policeman pulled out his taser and used a “short burst” on the younger girl, thus subduing her and stopping the fight.

The two sisters who resisted were taken to jail (or juvenile detention, I guess), and were apparently released to their mother shortly thereafter.

The mother is raising a fuss about this whole thing. “My daughters are going to carry this brutality around with them for quite some time,” she said on TV. “Why that man had to use such force on an 85-pound girl is beyond me.” She’s appealed the matter to the City Council, who’s reviewing and investigating the incident.

Police Chief Joe Frisbee issued a short statement on TV that went something like, “There were three combatants. One of them obeyed the officer, stopped fighting, and answered his questions truthfully. She did not go to jail. The other two continued fighting. They went to jail.” In a later interview at the City Council, the Chief said the officer was licensed to carry and use a taser, and “utilized it minimally” in the altercation.

To me it seems pretty simple. Take responsibility for your actions. This is a prime time to teach a lesson to these young ladies — if you disrespect authority, use violence instead of diplomacy, and ignore lawful commands, you will be punished. There is nothing personal about this.

If, at the age of 13, I had gotten into a fight, I doubt my parents would have even bothered to find out what caused the fight or who was right or wrong — they simply would have drug me home by my ear and taught me not to fight.

Is it right for police to taser 13-year-old girls? Hmmm… Ask it another way. Is it right for 13-year-old girls to attack police officers and get away with it? What made this girl think she could beat up a policeman and receive no repercussion? Could it be that she’s never been disciplined, or taught to respect elders in general? Or rather has she been taught that she can do whatever she wants, as long as she plays the role of wounded victim afterwards? That seems to be the lesson she’s learning now…

You can learn more about the incident HERE.

Murder

This one’s a little more clear-cut. “Yes, I shot my husband, but I don’t remember doing it, therefore I shouldn’t go to jail.”

Well, do you know that killing people is against the law? Did you kill someone? Yes? Okay, what’s the question?

Take responsibility.

Violence

This story positively sucks. There’s nothing good at all about this. I didn’t see it on the news, but my beloved Austrian snowflake Dagmar told me about it.

A 14-year-old boy was standing on 14th and Douglas waiting for the school bus when two men approached him and asked him for a cigarette. The boy told them he didn’t smoke. The men then beat the boy so severely he’s in the hospital now — I don’t know what his condition is, but it sounds kinda bad.

The city responded by saying they’d “move the bus stop to a safer location.” Well, that’s a good start. But how about making the first location safer while you’re at it? Simply saying, “well, since that neighborhood’s so bad and violent, we’ll move the bus stop to a different location” means that the thugs won! They just took over the neighborhood.

I hope they catch the two buttheads who beat the boy, and I certainly hope and pray the boy recovers. And I hope the city wakes up to the fact that ignoring violence and gang activity is not the answer.

The last few days have been busy indeedy.

Last week I went with the American Legion Riders to Onawa, IA to escort The Wall That Heals to South Sioux City, NE. (The Wall is a half-size replica of the Vietnam Memorial.) So, a group of us put on all the leather we could find, got on our motorcycles and off we went through the drizzle down the Interstate. It never got above 50 degrees that day, which is awfully cold when you’re going 70 miles per hour, wet. But we were all dressed properly, and no one complained. Much.

We met the semi-trailer and the rest of the convoy at a rest stop, where we regrouped, got the plan together, then off we went to South Sioux — bikes followed by the semi carrying the wall, followed by more bikes.

I was honored three times that day. Once simply by being with the guys. Once by being one of the few chosen by the Ride Captain to do an interview for the local TV station. And I was honored to be one of seven riders chosen to do the “missing man” formation. (The “missing man” formation is when we ride in a block of eight riders, four rows of two, with one spot left open for the rider who can’t be with us. So, there are seven riders in an eight-man formation. Normally riders will ride in a staggered formation while at highway speeds — the missing man formation is one of the rare times when you’ll see two bikes side-by-side. It’s a bit tricky.)

Once we got to South Sioux, we paused at the outskirts of town to put our flags up (we don’t ride under flag at highway speed simply because the flags will fray in the wind), then we proceeded through town. At the very first turn we made there were people sitting on the corner in their lawn chairs, in the drizzle and cold, waiting to stand up and see the wall come past. At the next intersection was a Legionnaire standing proudly, saluting as we went past.

I truly felt proud to be part of the whole thing. I can’t imagine how the Vietnam Vets in our group felt — and there were a good number of them in the escort. They must have felt some pretty strong emotions.

A few blocks later we saw a line of people along both sides of the street, waving signs. As we got closer, I could see they were school children. Standing quietly, hands over their hearts, some waving hand-drawn signs saying “Thank You” and “U.S.A.,” the children watched the bikes and semis come past.

A few blocks later we went past another school — again, all the children were lined up on both sides of the street.

Six blocks later, more children.

I thought of my buddies, the Vietnam Vets, and wondered how they were feeling. Their generation lost over 58,000 people in Vietnam. My generation was blessed — we lost 148 soldiers in the Gulf War. I consider myself very lucky to NOT know what my father’s generation knows, and what the younger generation is learning today. Both the generation before me and after me suffered casualties in an unpopular war, returning soldiers being shunned by parts of society. But today, a few Vietnam Veterans were riding their motorcycles through town, being saluted by school children.

When we arrived at the park where the Wall was to be placed, we got off our bikes in order to mill aimlessly around the parking lot, stretching our legs. Most everyone was wiping their eyes.

It was quite the experience!

Friday night was a different sort of experience — we went to McKenna’s in Omaha with some friends from Los Angeles for our yearly get-together. I was happy to find out Studebaker John and the Hawks were playing! Good band! It was a good time indeed — good food (though the wings had quite a bit of after-kick), good beer (Fat Tire and Boulevard Wheat on tap), and good friends.

Saturday we got on the bike and went back to South Sioux to actually SEE the wall (all I’d seen on the escort was the truck). Again, it was quite the experience.

Even at half-size, the Wall took up considerable real estate. I’m not sure how long it was, but I imagine the “real” Memorial in Washington, D.C. must be quite impressive. They had several tents and exhibits set up, explaining the war and the memorial itself. If you wanted, they had people there with computers who could look up any name on the wall for you and tell you which panel the name’s on, and what line. With over 58,000 names, there really isn’t any way of finding a name by simply wandering around looking for it…

A few quick facts about the memorial: The Vietnam Memorial was designed by a young lady of Asian descent. The names start with those killed in 1959 in the middle of the monument, and continue to the right in the order of when the individual was killed. When the wall tapers to an end on the right side, the names continue from the left panel and meet up with the beginning, so the last casualty of the war and the first casualty of the war are placed in the middle of the monument, bringing about a sense of unit and closure. Most lines have five names on them, but there are some with six names — they’re still adding names to the monument, people who died of combat-related injuries after the war, and those remains who were listed as prisoners of war who have been identified by DNA.

I always assumed the wall was simply a wall with names inscribed upon it, but it has a distinctive shape — tall in the middle, sloping gently to a point at either end.

Watching people’s reaction to the wall is a lesson in humility and respect. So many people lost so much in the war… It’s hard to imagine.

Sunday found us in Le Mars at the monthly Legion Riders meeting. We’ve been planning a fund raiser for local soldier Joe DeLaschmutt — he went to Iraq with the Army National Guard unit in Le Mars and was sent home with leukemia. He’s had several bone marrow transplants and is waiting to undergo further operations and procedures. His wife and two-year-old son have pretty much been living at the hospital with him, I guess. Insurance is NOT covering the medical bill. So anyway, we’ve decided to put on a Soup and Pie Supper for Joe next Saturday. We’re gonna have an auction afterwards, too, with all proceeds going to Joe’s family. If anyone wants to make a donation, feel free to e-mail me (chris at radloffs dot net) and I’ll make it happen.

Random Sentences:

Overheard (in my mind): “Gosh, we’ll finally get to see what the Bush administration can offer us after six years of the Rove administration..”

We went to the local Renaissance Faire (called Riverssance hereabouts) last weekend. I found myself watching the tin men on horsies bash each other with big sticks, wishing I knew someone named “Shirley,” simply so I could wait until she said something silly about the event. Then I could say, “Shirley, you joust.”

“I’m so hungry my stomach is looking at my liver and dreaming of onions.”

Voting Woes

I went to the polls to vote (why else go to the polls? to go swimming?) over my lunch hour last Tuesday. I had a choice of five mayoral candidates, and was allowed to vote for one. The top two vote-getters get moved on to the finals in November. Anyway, as I plugged my ballot into the machine, I noticed the little counter doohicky on the top click from “12” to “13.”

“Does this mean I’m the thirteenth person to vote?” I asked an official.

“Yep.”

“But that’s only on this machine, right?” I asked.

“Yep,” was the answer.

“How many machines are there?”

The official shrugged at me. “Just the one.”

“Oh,” I said. “Thirteen people all morning. That’s not a lot, is it. What time did you open? Noon?”

“Nope, we’ve been open since 7:30.”

The guy I voted for came in third with 687 votes. The top two candidates tied with 1,956 votes each. Slightly less than 12% of the registered voters in Sioux City showed up at the polls. This makes me sad, but what makes it even worse is that this is the first time we’ve been able to vote for a mayor in 50-some years, and we still didn’t bother to come out and vote. (But, conversely, a weak turnout at the polls makes MY vote worth much more — my one vote counted for eight citizens this time. Made me feel powerful.)

Black Flag

Just out of curiosity, what is your opinion about THIS? I’d like to hear what people think…

I just realized something. My representative to congress, Steve King (R-IA), wants it both ways. He wants his cake, and he wants to eat it too. Go figger.

After United States President George Walker Bush, Republican, vetoed giving poor sick children medical help, Representative King stepped forward to defend the President. This in itself is not unusual — looking at Mr. King’s voting record reveals that he votes with the President nearly every single time he casts a vote. What was unusual in this matter is that people in Sioux City gathered outside Mr. King’s office in peaceful protest, waving signs with the number of children in Mr. King’s district that will be denied health care due to his refusal to stand up for his constituents.

I don’t remember the exact quote, but I saw Mr. King on TV saying something like, “just because a bunch of people stand on the sidewalk with signs doesn’t make them right.” Mr. King never did talk to the gathered crowd, from what I understand.

The very next day (yesterday) I again saw Mr. King’s face on TV. This time he was participating in a demonstration, standing on a sidewalk waving an anti-choice sign. I guess he felt the best way to get his point across was to stand on a sidewalk with a sign… I doubt the irony of this crossed his mind.

But what bothers me MUCH more than his “sidewalk politics” is the overall message Mr. King is sending. He protested abortion, yet voted against health care for children. So what he’s saying to women is basically, “We demand that you have that child, yet we’re going to block any legislation that might actually help you raise the child.”

I guess it doesn’t surprise me that a politician that supports cock fighting is capable of thinking women’s rights and children’s health are irrelevant.

As a sidebar, I’ve noticed that the Republicans have avoided rational discussion of SCHIP (health care for poor, sick children) by labeling it “socialized medicine.” SCHIP is not “socialized medicine,” it’s health care for poor sick children.

The Bush administration is against SCHIP on the theory that it may help a few children who are either wealthy or here illegally. So they’re not going to help ANY children, rather than run the risk that a fraction of a percentage of the funds may be misused. Here’s a question… What would Jesus think if you told him you stood by and let a child die because if you had helped the child you might have, by accident, helped another child as well? I know what my conscience tells me.

An Open E-Mail to My Wife:

Hi Honey!

I went home for lunch… I had some of the chicken wings, but I was still hungry so I had some chips and salsa too. I tried that new “Classic Marinara” salsa you bought (it was right in front of the fridge, so I thought I’d try it), and I really don’t care for it much. It’s kind of bland and, well, tomato-ie. Can we go back to using “Pace Picante” sauce? I like that better.

I hope your day is going well!
Chris

Got any bread, man?

The other day I had to go to the Legion Club to help someone with a project. The guy paid me in beer, bless his heart… I drank Miller Lites (shush — it’s all they had) on his tab all night. Wheee! It was fun. I enjoyed myself…

“Ve need to stop und buy groceries on the way home,” my beloved Viennese Snowflake Dagmar said as we got in the car to leave. She slid behind the steering wheel and continued, “Do you tink you can handle valking through the grocery store, mister ‘Just One More Beer Please’?”

“Yeah,” I said from the passenger seat, stifling a hiccup. “Yes, I c’n go grocery shopping.”

“Und you’re not goink to yell at the stock boy for raising the prices?”

“I’ll try not to,” I said, my fingers crossed.

Within minutes Dagmar was leading me by hand into the local food market. She grabbed a cart, looked me in the eye, and said, “I’m going to go buy groceries for the week. You go find something colorful to look at and don’t vander off.” I nodded, and off she went.

Ten minutes later I met her up front by the cash registers. “Vhat do you have there?” she asked me. “What’s all dat stuff?”

“I found some stuff,” I said, my arms full. “I’m hungry.”

“You vant a loaf of Italian bread, a loaf of French bread, a bag of bagels, wheat crackers and some croutons?” she asked.

“I’m hungry for carbs,” I said.

“You’ll never eat all that,” she replied. “Let’s put some of it back…”

“NO,” I blurted. “No. I’m hungry. I want bread.”

“Okay… But if we have to next week feed ten dollars worth of stale bread to the birds I’m going to laugh at you.”

That was days ago. I’ve eaten nothing but bread since. I’m sick of bread. I don’t want any more bread. I don’t like bread. But I’m NOT going to admit defeat. I will, however, stipulate that one should probably not go grocery shopping after drinking beer…

Arrrghhhh!

I just got an e-mail forwarded me from a friend of mine bashing a political candidate. A quick check on snopes.com verified what I had thought — the forwarded e-mail was pretty much entirely wrong.

I don’t mind political discourse. In fact I like it, though I’ve kind of been staying out of political thought the past month or two, simply ’cause I’m too busy to do the research necessary to write original political theses, and I rarely write about issues without checking the facts.

But candidate-bashing is not political discourse. Especially when the facts are wrong.

It really raises my blood pressure and, to be honest, makes me mad as hell when these e-mails hit my in-box. It only takes thirty seconds to check the facts… Why can’t people check FIRST, rather than making me do it? Gaaaahhhh! And, of course, when I send an e-mail back to the person saying, “I’m sorry, but the e-mail you sent me was incorrect, here’s the correct information,” I know they’re NOT going to read it, and they’re NOT going to send a retraction to everyone in their address book — because they want to believe what the e-mail said so badly they’re willing to let the lies lie.

The truth should not be sacrificed. I just got done defending Hillary Clinton, and I don’t even like her much. (Go Richardson.)

(Note: After I wrote this, I checked my e-mail. Sure enough, there was a message from my friend, the one who send the message that prompted this little rant. “I should have checked this before I sent it to you,” he said. “It sounded too extreme to be true. Thanks for correcting me.” He’s a good man.)

Live receptionists

I’m so used to going through computer switchboards (“Press 1 to talk to the morons, or press 2 to talk to the idiots…”) that I just about panicked when I called my wife’s new work number and a real live human being answered the phone. A receptionist.

It’s eerie.

“Hello, this is Company A, may I direct your call please?”

Caught completely unprepared to talk to someone in the “Not My Wife” class of humanity, I had no idea what to say. A normal person would probably have said something like, “Hello, may I speak to Dagmar please?” or “Can you connect me to the new lady with the European accent?” But all I could think of was, “Duuaaaahhhhhmmmmm…”

“Sir? Are you okay?”

“Gaaaahhh… You’re a human, aren’t you? Like, wow… Sorry. Um, can I talk to my wife?”

“That would depend on, like, who your wife is, now, wouldn’t it?”

I have the distinct feeling that the nice lady who answered the phone will be wondering to herself the next time she sees my lovely, elegant and very intelligent wife just how poor Dagmar got saddled with such an ignorant (by the way, that’s pronounced “ignernt” around here) boob for a husband. My poor wife. I’ll have to do something nice for her to make up for it. Maybe I’ll give her a nice loaf of bread or something…

Neato!

I’ve been listening to Pandora Radio on the Internets all day today. Good stuff. Thanks to Bert for pointing it out. I’d reward him with a nice piece of bread if he lived around here.

A national embarrassment

Hey, you know how the Nazis controlled the German population? The same way the Soviet Union kept generations of citizens under control, and the same way many Islamic nations in the Mideast handle their populace… Childhood indoctrination, coupled with hatred. Teach children to hate a group of people and they will continue that hatred, no matter how illogical, through adulthood. The Nazies taught their citizens to hate and fear the Jewish population. The Soviets taught their population to hate and fear capitalists. The fundamental Islamic nations seem to be teaching hatred and fear of Christians. (Please note, Jews, capitalists, and Christians are all, last I checked, human beings.)

We don’t do that here in the United States, though. We’re open-minded. We realize that hatred fosters naught but violence and ignernts. The nation is already feeling fractured and fragmented due to the war in Iraq and a government that seems uncaring at best, cruel at worst. We’re America, after all. We’re understanding, enlightened people. Aren’t we?

I thought so. Then I saw this book… (See photo to the right. If you can’t see it, the title is “Help! Mom! There are Liberals Under My Bed!”

We need this like we need a hole in the head. “Yay, let’s teach our children to hate and fear HALF of our own population, and distrust an entire political philosophy. Yes, that will unite us…”

I’m not a big fan of the Republican party. They simply don’t reflect my personal values. But I’d like to think that I’d blanch a bit if I saw a book like this targeted against conservatives. I wouldn’t want to see a book like this targeted against any group.

Children understand a lot, but let’s leave politics out of the nursery, shall we? It can’t do anything but make them distrustful, hateful and fearful. There’s enough to distrust and fear out there without this sort of thing… Let the children grow up first. If you teach your children honestly and well, they’ll turn out just fine. They can make up their political mind when they’re old enough to decide for themselves.

Slightly on the same topic, sort of… The book mentioned above deals with two children trying to start a lemonade stand (from what I’ve seen on the Internet — I have not read the book). The children are hassled by the bad liberal who comes and demands half their money in taxes. I’d like to think that the book would point out that without taxes, we’d have no roads, no schools, no water, no sewers… Personally, I’m pretty happy to pay my taxes, simply because I know I’d have to pay a helluva lot more to flush my toilet if the sewers were run by the same people who run the insurance, oil and power companies.