Keep your Guard up

April 9, 2025April 9, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 26 Comments

So, the New Mexico National Guard will be deploying to … The Duck! City?

Good training in case they have to go up against the Houthis anytime soon, I suppose.

But at first glance this “emergency response” to crime hereabouts seems to have a lot of wobble to it.

According to the Albuquerque Journal, the planned deployment follows “a March 31 request from APD Chief Harold Medina for the military to fulfill ‘non-law enforcement duties’ such as providing security at crime-scene perimeters and transporting prisoners, among others.”

But Medina says this thing “has been in the works for months after the NMNG offered help.”

APD is to monitor the “pilot project” with an eye toward measuring its success, says the chief. But the executive order from Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham “left the timeline for the NMNG’s presence open-ended.”

The 60-some-odd Guardspersons are to provide security at the courthouse, airport and other facilities, and medical support for the unhoused along East Central. Medina said this “would free up 20 to 30 officers for law enforcement and crime-fighting.” I’m not sure Skippy the Dipshit and his DOGEbags would call this efficient, but hey, what do I know? Onliest thing I run is this keyboard here.

Oddly, in making their case for bringing the Guard to town, Medina and Duck! City Mayor Tim Keller cited quarter-year stats indicating “large decreases in crime, compared with 2024.”

The mayor explained thusly: “What we want to do is double down on what’s working … and what’s working is technology and civilians … freeing up officers to fight crime and keep those statistics going in this powerfully good direction.”

P.S., he added: The city isn’t picking up the tab.

Neither Medina nor Keller offered any idea of how long the Guardspersons would be needed. Medina hopes to have a bunch of new cops on board — about 150 of them — before the bugler sounds “Retreat.”

The GOP said what the GOP usually says, which explains why it has as much influence on state politics as some poor sod living in a Glad bag at Wyoming and Central.

Likewise, the ACLU views with its usual alarm. Daniel Williams, policy advocate at the American Civil Liberties Union of New Mexico, said in a press release that the assistance was “a show of force, not a show of solutions.”

“History has shown that military collaboration with local law enforcement often leads to increased civil rights violations, racial profiling, and criminalization of vulnerable populations, particularly those experiencing homelessness and poverty,” he said.

The troops are to be unarmed and clad not in uniforms but rather in polo shirts (we can only hope that pants will be included). I do get that breezy feeling from the rear that our pants are being pulled down here, but you know what they say about paranoia.

Red blanket by the freeway

February 12, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments

If this looks chilly, it’s because it is.

The weather took a seasonal turn yesterday. The gods knew I’d be dropping the Subie at Reincarnation downtown around 8:30, and they didn’t want me to be too comfortable as I cycled home on the Soma Double Cross.

It wasn’t what I’d call wintry. There was a pretty brisk wind, but hey, this is New Mexico. Wind ain’t blowing when you wake up, you may have died during the night. Anyway, it was pushing me along the North Diversion Channel Trail. So, winning, etc.

I was properly attired, with a light jacket over a long-sleeved jersey and an ancient Hind base layer, bibs and tights, wool socks, full-fingered gloves, and a tuque under my helmet. Kept it all on, too, as the wind became a little less friendly on the Osuna-Bear Canyon trail.

When you start your day with a 65-mph sprint down I-40 to University and then cycle from Mountain and 2nd, up Odelia-Indian School, and along the NDCT from Indian School to Osuna, you see the homeless folks getting their mornings on, if you know where to look.

One dude was camping beyond rough, rolled up like a burrito in a red blanket on a concrete slab off on the north side of I-40. I might not have seen him were it not for that blanket. If he had a shopping cart, a bicycle, or even a bindle, it was pretty well concealed.

As I pedaled up the NDCT a small group was shaking itself awake just off the trail below Montgomery. One guy had a bike; we exchanged waves.

Later, after I was home and warm and full of lunch, Reincarnation rang me up to say my 20-year-old rust-bucket would require a deeper dip into the wallet than I had anticipated, imperiling a considerable slice of what I had until that moment considered disposable income.

I felt sorry for myself, briefly, until I remembered that at least I’d have the Subie to sleep in if everything went south on me all at once. There’s even a locking rack up top for the Double Cross.

Little pink houses

January 14, 2025 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments

From Los Angeles, via The New York Times:

Some evacuees, like Lila King, have ended up staying in their vehicles.

Ms. King, 75, has been bouncing between motels and sleeping in her truck with her 40-year-old son since they were displaced by the Eaton fire.

Ms. King recently had surgery after she broke several ribs in a fall, and the nights sleeping in her truck have left her aching. She said she has been living off tacos from a nearby gas station, and wondering when, if ever, she will be able to return to her mobile home in Altadena, the unincorporated community at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains that was devastated by the Eaton Fire.

“We’re trying to get some help to get a place,” she said. “I’m worried.”

Ain’t that America?

Ho, ho, ho

December 25, 2024December 25, 2024 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Francis Phelan explains how he wound up a bum in Albany. (Apologies to Jack Nicholson, William Kennedy, and “Ironweed.”)

Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham, via Michael Corkery and The New York Times, gives Duck! City Mayor Tim Keller a little sumpin’-sumpin’ for Christmas.

The New Mexico governor’s mansion sits on a hilltop in Santa Fe, roughly 7,100 feet above sea level.

The air smells of pine needles and sweet meadow grass. An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting greets visitors as they enter the foyer of the elegantly appointed home.

Michelle Lujan Grisham, a Democrat entering the final few years of her governorship, has been spiffing up the grounds of the residence to showcase her state’s rich culture and immense beauty. But for all its splendor, New Mexico faces some grave problems, she said. “Have you ever been to Albuquerque?”

Hoo-boy. And you thought socks from grandma were bad. I wouldn’t expect a thank-you note.

Home on the range

August 17, 2024 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments

Where the skies are not cloudy all day (lately, anyway).

On Thursday the lads at Reincarnation had a look at Sue Baroo the Fearsome Furster and told me she required no heroic lifesaving measures at this time. It’s a red-letter day when a geezer on a fixed income with an equally ancient rice grinder can escape a mechanic’s clutches for under a hundy.

Plus I managed 30 cycling miles — 15 after dropping the old gal off downtown and then cycling back home, and another 15 picking her back up. Though the mileage is identical in both directions, the first leg feels the longest, with 1,150 feet of vertical gain. There’s less than 200 feet of vertical on the return trip, most of it in the first mile.

There are still a few hurdles to clear, though. The people whose “home” is the weedy industrial area alongside the North Diversion Channel Trail huddle together in what shade they can find come the heat of the afternoon, usually on the west side of the bicycle path’s underpasses, south of I-25/Pan American.

Many wear dark clothing and are hard to spot in the shade, if you’re new around here and don’t expect to roll up on a small crowd sprawled in a blind corner. Here’s a guy who looks like the Feral Kid from “Road Warrior,” with a dog instead of a boomerang. There’s a pensive young woman who seems to be revisiting her life choices as the temperature creeps into the mid-90s.

We were all on the same path, but not really. I was riding a bicycle that’s worth more than the car I was going to pick up. I was wearing sunscreen and about half a G’s worth of cycling kit, with an iPhone in one jersey pocket, wallet full of cash, credit cards, and health insurance in another. I knew where I was going to sleep that night, even if the Subie didn’t start (I was riding a bicycle, remember). The place has food, drink, beds, toilets, showers, doors and windows that lock, climate control, and a lid on all of it.

Cycling past the street people I always feel like a tourist gawping at the wildlife in some squalid national park. Possibly because I am one, and always have been, never more so than when I was pretending to be a hippie, hitchhiking, panhandling, and taking all those gosh-darned drugs that were so much fun.

Maybe the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come showed me around one dark night, way back when. Or maybe I just wised up to all that unearned middle-class-white-boy privilege I was wearing like a Superman costume under my hippie garb. Because I never had the balls or the bad luck to take anything that might leave me sprawled under a bridge on a searing August afternoon, as some bastard on a bicycle breezes by.