Merrill Oliver of The New York Times digs into the day’s big story: “Why the hell am I riding a bicycle in freezing temperatures, on icy, sandy roads and trails lined with cacti, at altitude, with some bald-headed asshole in Albuquerque?”
Longtime Friend of the DogS(h)ite® Khal S. notes in comments that the Bernalillo County DA has leveled murder charges against the Albuquerque cops who shot dead a homeless man (as seen on CopCam!). Here’s the Albuquerque Journal story, which may require you to answer a few stupid questions but contains more detail than The New York Times piece referenced above.
This will be one to watch for a number of reasons. First, the killing was captured on video, which law prof David A. Harris says can make it “impossible to deny some of the very basic facts.” And second, the local gendarmes have thus far gone uncharged despite having compiled a body count that even Westhisface would envy.
Elsewhere, we learn about the potential for collateral damage from those cheapo flash-bang grenades the cops are so fond of. The Albuquerque officers used one against the homeless guy, before shooting him with assault rifles and beanbag guns and finally setting a police dog on him; apparently arty and air support were unavailable. Seems a flash-bang can do a lot more than make scary lights and noise. They’ve also “severed hands and fingers, induced heart attacks, burned down homes, and killed pets.”
There was a time, back when your man on the beat carried a .38 Special, that the cops considered themselves under-gunned in comparison with the bad guys. I think it’s fair to say that the pendulum may have swung a tad too far in the other direction. And some of the “bad guys” just aren’t that bad.
• Extra-Credit Reading On Crime and Punishment: Check out The Baltimore Sun story on the drunk bishop. Based on the choice of image I’d say someone manning the website has a particularly dark sense of humor.
It’s not often that I say, “Wow, I’m glad I didn’t go to cyclo-cross nationals.” But this is one of those rare occasions.
Somehow, the promoters, USA Cycling and the Austin Parks and Recreation Department — after four days of running lesser championship and non-championship events — found themselves at odds over whether Sunday’s Big Finale was appropriate given the appallingly ‘cross-like conditions at the venue, Zilker Park.
A less-than-joyous noise apparently having been made unto the Lord by some non-Belgian whose voice carries, the marquee events were first canceled, then postponed until Monday, though a sober copy editor might raise a few pointed questions about the “Barring more rain” qualifier in the headline some USAC media type slapped atop its announcement.
I’ve been to ‘cross nats more than a time or two, and I can’t recall anything like this happening anywhere else, despite flood, freeze, snow or snafu. Course changes? Si. Cops running people away from the venue, perhaps never to return? No.
Someone has intercoursed the penguin with a vengeance here, and if I were sitting on a flat wallet in an Austin Motel 6 with a useless race number, all kitted up with no place to go but home, I’d want to know who the hell the all-hat, no-cattle sonofabitch is. If he had a brain, he’d be out playing with it, as Dan Jenkins once wrote.
Everything’s bigger in Texas, they say. I guess that goes for the fuck-ups, too. Oops.
Ah, January. My least favorite month of the year.
“Uncertainty” is the word that best describes the month named for Janus, god of beginnings and transitions. Wikipedia notes that the word has its roots in the Latin ianua (door), and come January it seems one is either slamming on my fingers or ajar and letting the cold air in.
Paychecks invariably arrive late, and I often get purged from the comp-sub list, so not only am I short of cash, I can’t even see what the editors have done to my work.
Do I still have work? The Magic 8-Ball I’m behind says “Outlook good,” but that thing was made in China, so for all I know this means management has traded me to Xinhua for an iPad Pro, a low-interest loan and some dim sum.
There are a few vacancies at Charlie Hebdo, of course. But I’ve forgotten all the French I learned during grade one in Ottawa, and I bet they make the new guy sit with his back to the door.
Happily, even an old, blind dog unearths a Milk-Bone now and then. As on Tuesday, when I got to ride my bike around Santa Fe and Madrid during a photo shoot for the Adventure Cycling Association, which will be unveiling its Bicycle Route 66 early this year.
It was the second round of a two-day shoot with Santa Fe photographer Michael Clark, and the models got java, lunch and American money for their troubles, which were few indeed.
Didn’t need my Saint Laurent flak jacket or nothin’. Just some Adventure Cycling kit, is all. La vie est belle, non?
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