Your Definition and My Definition Differ Greatly

So every once in a while, I'll read something in the daily news that grabs my attention.

Occasionally, something really makes my eyes open wide.

And then every once in a while, I'll read something that makes my eyes open wide, leap out of my head, fall down on the floor and roll around a while.

The following headline in yesterday's news had just this effect on me.

El Paso named safest US city

Uhhh.

Errr.

"...El Paso has taken the top spot for having the lowest crime rate among cities of more than 500,000 population in the annual rankings by CQ Press, a publishing firm based in Washington, D.C."

So, yeah, I'm gonna guess that those people at CQ Press haven't paid a personal visit to El Paso lately.

Look, I'm not going to bag on El Paso. It is the birth place of my best friend, and that itself recommends it highly.

It's also the birthplace of Sam Donaldson and Gene Roddenbury. So ok. Some decent talent comes from the town that Texas forgot.

Having spent a lot of time in El Paso, I could use a lot of adjectives to describe the city. I'm not sure that the word "safe" would burble up to the top ten.

I'll be fair here. I'll even take out the obvious concerns about El Paso sharing a border with arguably the most dangerous city in Mexico.

In the past year, approximately 50,000 additional troops were located to Fort Bliss, an army installation in El Paso. Those 50,000 include both returning troops and soldiers left after bases closed in other states. That 50,000 is soldiers only. Add in spouses, kids, other family and the number of new residents rises.

Then add in the high number of people who are fleeing the violence in Juarez and the numbers climb even higher.

Put it together and you'll find a city bursting at the seams. You can feel it when you visit, the town is growing so fast that infrastructure is having a hard time keeping pace.

That means busy police, fire and emt forces are being overextended during a period of economic downturn and government cost cutting. Sure, all of the new city residents will pay taxes into the economy which will help shore up infrastructure, but that kind of growth takes time.

And then let's talk about the ongoing immigration flow through a border town like El Paso. My best friend's folks live within visual distance of the border highway's Zaragoza bridge. They have bars on their windows. In their some forty years of living there, they've found desperate illegals hiding in their yard. Neighbors have been robbed. Violence occurs (but isn't often reported). I've been sitting in the back yard and heard shots fired.

El Paso is a fine town with a rich history. There is a lot to offer the residents who live in that city. Reasonable real estate costs. The Franklin Mountains are beautiful. UTEP is a fine university. Great weather. Even lots of job opportunities. It may even be a relatively safe city. But safest in the US? I have to question that assertion.

Evidently, I'm not the only one.

Some Call El Paso's Safest City Ranking 'Bogus'

The Power of a Good PR Rep

Here in the Halloween season, it's hard not to have one's mind turn to thoughts of monsters.

Goolish, creepy, scary monsters.

We all have the cast of characters from our childhood (or even adulthood) that can still send a chill down the ol' spine.

For me, it's La Llorona. Just saying her name aloud creeps me out.

But didja ever stop and think a bit about the positive characters in our folklore that are more than a little creepy?

Maybe our beloved heroes are really the biggest monsters.

Think about it.

Let me give you an example, without the positive PR spin.

Kids, guess what!? There is this lady, see? She's something called a fairy and that means she's pretty tiny and probably has wings on her back.

Do you know what this lady likes (and by like I mean is obsessed with)?

Your teeth.

Yes, she loves little kids teeth SO much she will even pay for them!

Be careful when you go to sleep at night because this wacked out winged lady is going to break into your house and steal your teeth! Sure, she might leave you a quarter or for lucky kids, a dollar.

Keep your mouth closed while you sleep, kids! She may steal the rest right out of your maw while you sleep!

Or, try this one on:

How does Santa Claus look to a kid growing up in Brazil?

So, December 25th is the dead of summer to you. You're wearing shorts and tank tops and hoping for a break in the heat.

On that one special night, some fat Nordic man in a snowsuit (you gotta be crazy to wear a snow suit in summer!) is going to show up, break into your house, and leave you toys. All your favorite toys.

Wait? How does Kris The Fat Man know exactly what toys you wanted?

Because he sees you when you are sleeping. He knows when you are awake.

The fat Nordic man is a stalker, kids. Can you say stalker?

I suggest you take out a restraining order now.

Ok, are you starting to see what I'm saying here?

Wanna try one more?

There is this rabbit, see? And in April, as a way to celebrate Spring, the rabbit will come to your house and leave you eggs.

But kids, you learned in your science class that a rabbit is something called a mammal, and mammals don't lay eggs!

Whoops! Where does this strange bunny get all these eggs and why does he hide them?

And...bunnies don’t have opposable thumbs, so how is he getting these eggs dyed in bright colors?

And why is he trying to lure all the little kids outside with promises of jellybeans and chocolate? Didn't your parents tell you not to take candy from strangers?

What kid of sick, twisted, walks on two feet kind of rabbit is this?

Though in this horror story, the kids get the final revenge.

They are presented with a chocolate effigy of the offending monster and are encouraged to bite the head off.

So wait a minute.

Maybe that means....just maybe...we are all the monster.

Hmmm..........

I'll Use My Powers for Good and Not Evil

For reasons I could explain, but are banal and long winded, I'll just cut to the chase and tell you that I've been thinking a lot about superheroes lately.

Good superheroes. Dark superheroes. Flawed superheroes. Just...superheroes and their super powers.

Which got me to thinking today, as I waited in the lunch line, what sort of superpowers would I like to have if I got to choose?

I think things like seeing through buildings, swinging from webs or having adamantium claws are all well and good, but realistically, are they useful?

Flashy yes, but wouldn't something a little more down to earth be more desirable?

Here are a couple ideas on the sorts of superpowers I'd lean toward:

The ability to eat whatever I want and not gain weight

Imagine it! I could save the world from illness and obesity by eating up all the snack foods!

Mayors could simply project a cookie in the sky and I'd come a'runnin'!

"Step aside small child, let me save you from that cotton candy."

Or how about...

The ability to sleep for only two hours but feels like I slept eight

Can you *imagine* all the good I could do for the world if I only slept a few hours but felt fully rested! I could move mountains! I could persuade world leaders! I could travel long distances and not feel sleepy!

Yeess!

Ok, maybe that's a lame one.

So let's try:

The ability to read small print without squinting

Zap! Pow! Ka-zam!

I shall help out senior centers by announcing, "Bring me that medicine bottle! I will read every ingredient printed in a half-point font!"

Menus will hold no sway over me!

My Kindle can be set to the smallest font available!

My browser window can be reduced back to normal size!

I can save the world, or just myself, really, from the scourge of crow's feet!

Oh, no, ok, I got it!

The ability to endure small people with a single sigh

It's the key to world peace, truly.

(and I don't mean short people....)

Now...I need a cape! Time to shop!

It's been a while

It's been a while since I had a fabulous news story about another Notable New Mexican.

From The Smoking Gun:

"The New Mexico man who earlier this year mistakenly defecated in a stranger’s car--believing it was his girlfriend’s vehicle--has cut a plea deal sparing him jail time."

This after he threw a cinder block through the glass door where she works.

Yeah.

The article goes on to state that this charming gent has since enlisted in the Army.

That's not *supposed* to be funny

And yet, it is.

Was reading an article today in the online version of the San Francisco Chronicle, the SFGate with the headline of "Flushed jail items cause S.F. court flooding."

The article talks about how inmates at the San Francisco Hall of Justice managed to flush two orange jumpsuits and a bed sheet down the toilet, thus causing a major backup of raw sewage into the courtrooms.

Workers got the mess cleaned up last night only to have it flood again in the morning.

Just. Ew. Talk about a crappy day at work.

Sorry. No really, I actually am sorry. I've been on a pun kick lately. But that's not the funny part.

The funny part comes toward the end of the article.

Here, I'll quote it directly:

"...the last major problem occurred in the mid-1990s and prompted the city to purchase grinders, known as 'muffin monsters,' that are installed on sewage pipes."

Giggle. *snort* Chuckle. Guffaw.

Muffin monsters?

Ok really. Honestly?

How am I not supposed to laugh at that?

I immediately dashed into the other room to share my new phrase with The Good Man.

Thus proving once more that I am the intellectual equivalent of a twelve-year-old boy.

But come ON. Muffin monsters?

Ok, ok, they really exist and that's really what the manufacturer calls them.

They look like this:

That's all well and good, but I don’t care who you are, that's still funny!

*giggle snort*

Seeing myself in a new way

You know, looking at a photograph of myself is always an interesting and somewhat humbling experience.

In a photo, I never quite look the way that I imagine I look.

Where did those lines around the eyes come from? Do my hips really look like that?

Ah well.

The other day, I received an interesting photograph that surely has me pondering some things.

Here, I'll share the photo with you, my fabulous readers, so you can see what I'm talking about.

It is a fun photo of me driving! Isn't that neat! A perspective one doesn't often get.

Look at me...intense expression on my face. Hands firmly at ten and two. Or maybe more like eleven and one, but no matter.

That's a concentrated and skillful driver, no?

Yup, that photo was kindly mailed to me by the Superior Court of the county where I live.

Wasn't that sweet?

It appears they are of the belief that I didn't stop fully before making a right turn at a red light into a very busy intersection.

And so for the luxury of a faboo photo of me behind the wheel, I was charged $500.

I'm *ever* so pleased about that. Tickled pink. And other euphemisms I can't think of right now to sarcastically convey that I'm not very pleased AT ALL!

Next step: onward to driving school. Yay me.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate red light cameras? Oh I really hate them.

Strange day

Among other things, April 18th marks the date of:

The Great San Francisco Earthquake in 1906

And in 1881 Billy the Kid escapes from the Lincoln County jail in Mesilla, New Mexico. (the jail is now a tchotchke shop in Mesilla Plaza.)

Romeo, Romeo, I’m calling 911

So there you are, at home alone in your second story apartment doing whatever it is single ladies do at home at night. (I'm thinking eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough, but that's just me.)

You hear a rattle, rattle outside on your fire escape and realize someone is climbing onto your balcony.

What do you do?

Well you call the damn police, that's what.

And that's what a German woman did in this situation.

Problem was, the assumed burglar was her boyfriend, bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine in hand, trying to do something romantic.

Ah, ok, no harm no foul, right?

The police all have a good laugh and let the young lovers have their peace.

Whoops, seems the boyfriend had an outstanding warrant.

So when the police arrived, he jumped down from the balcony and tried to flee, only to be tackled by the officers on the scene.

Star crossed lovers, or something....

Bonus points to the guy for giving the arresting officers the bottle of wine.

Hopefully his Juliet has a good sense of humor.

I'm thinking chocolate chip cookie dough and a Netflix movie is one heck of a lot nicer way to spend the night than bailing your boyfriend out of jail...but that's just me.

Source.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

The Good Man giggled when he brought the mail in the house.

*hee hee hee* I heard him, sneaking up on me.

Why? Why would such a nice man be so cruel?

Wanna know why he was snickering?

Because I received THIS in the mail:

Oh fine. California has instituted the "one day or one trial" rule of jury service. Much better than the days when you were "on call" for a whole week.

The Good Man was giggling especially hard because just a couple weeks ago HE was on the hook for jury service. He called in and wasn't needed, so he's feeling pretty darn good about himself for the next 12 months.

Oh well. Just another of the joys of being a grown up.

Seductive Power of Film

Over the weekend, The Good Man and I caught a double feature of The Asphalt Jungle and Niagara, both from the early 1950's.

This was part of the Noir City Film Festival in San Francisco.

I love old movies, so a double header of Marilyn Monroe at the old Castro Theater was my kind of Sunday afternoon.

Ooh, the danger, the intrigue, the double crosses and bad outcomes!

Yes!

But it was all the highball glasses of bourbon and endless chain-smoking on screen that left a lasting impression on me.

I mean, every character was lightin' up for the course of both movies. And oh do they look like they are enjoying every single inhale.

And then they'd pour two fingers of whiskey and slug that back and the shoulders come down and a nice relaxed state falls into place. The booze and the smokes were like a separate character in the film!

Man. Did those actors make it look good.

No, I'm serious. Chalk it up to an addictive personality or someone who just enjoys really seductive things, but I'm not kidding. I wanted to leave the theater and go buy a pack of unfiltered Pall Malls so I could inhale and calm down and be as cool as a tall drink of water like Marilyn or Sterling Hayden.

And if I was gonna take a long drag off a cool smoke, well of course I'd need some single barrel whiskey in my hand to wash it all down while I plotted my revenge, or jewel heist, or how to off the bad guy.

Oh I'm so suggestible!

This must be why those advocacy groups get their chones in a bunch about all the smoking in films, huh?

Because everyone looks great in the films, and you don't see the stained skin, the smokers hack or, eventually, the oxygen assisted breathing.

I mean, for a girl who lost many a family member to the perils of smoking, you'd think I'd be turned off by all of that.

But I wasn't. I craved. I'm not even a former smoker, but oh, how I craved to leave a ruby red lipstick stain on a cigarette butt while some charming man lit a new one for me. All while I swayed across the screen with trouble on my mind.

Ah well, never fear, I didn't engage in the smokes.

However, they were pouring small slugs of decent bourbon in the lobby between shows.

Sunday afternoon I had popcorn, Junior Mints, Red Vines and bourbon.

Whatta great day!!

Dear Tareq and Michaele Salahi,

Since I have now taken over the PR storytelling duties for Tiger, you're next.

So, herewith, five reasonable and acceptable stories to explain your behavior.

Pick one, say it, and then please, on behalf of everyone (I'm asking nicely) go away.

Here we go:

1) Well, you know, that Tareq (Michaele rolls her eyes here), he will *never* ask anyone for directions. I told him I didn't think turning left back there was the right direction, but he swore up and down this was the right way. We were supposed to be at a nice dinner party over at the Farklebergs. You know the Farklebergs? Lovely couple. Anyhow, I have no idea how we ended up here. Could we get a ride to the Farkleberg party? Margie will be beside herself if we are late! And I know Tareq doesn't want to miss her famous mini quiches!

2) What? Where am I? Who am I? I was abducted by aliens. The big greenish gray ones. They came into my room, forced me to put on this tux/dress and then there was a bright light. I don't remember what happened next. When I came to, I was shaking the president's hand. I really have no idea what happened! I think they may have probed me.

3) Oh heck, haw haw haw, this is all one big practical joke! I mean, everyone was in on it, c'mon, this is all a big press stunt for that reality show (which I'll refrain from naming)! No seriously, they paid us well and we donated it all to charity. No one snuck past the Secret Service, it was all planned out. Everything is *fine*, hasn't this all been a great big hoot?

4) Look, now that you have totally blown our cover...we can only say that we are part of a top secret black hole government project and we *may* have perfected the ability to beam ourselves through the space time continuum. It's not totally perfect yet, Michaele's face wasn't quite so pulled back and *tight* when we beamed up, but we're getting close to a technology that will BLOW YOUR MIND. That's all I can say. Hush, hush you know.

5) Tiger's dad told us to. From the grave. It was all very mystical.

And there you have it.

Now scootch along. We've other media whores to deal with. Where's Lindsey or Brittney or Paris? We're due for a stunt from the professional crazies!

Anyhow, hugs and kisses!

Your pal,

Karen

Hand to Heart

More homestate pride:

A Melrose man accused of drinking while driving a lawn tractor...

Why, what's the problem, officer?

He was just on the John Deere, a'going down the road to pick up his kids.

And he just *happened* to be enjoying a frosty brew as he did so.

Is that a crime?

Oh? Why yes it is!

I fought the law...

...and the law will probabaly win.

Ok, not me, but a man named Dave Vontesmar. Mr. Vontesmar lives in Arizona. Phoenix, to be exact.

And Mr. Vontesmar has to commute daily for his job at Sky Harbor airport.

Mr. Vontesmar is not a fan of the recently installed cameras that Phoenix has been using to catch speeders (and, let's be clear, raise revenue).

It is, as this article describes, a "photo-enforcement gantlet (sic) on Interstate 17, Arizona 51 and Interstate 10."

Mr. Vontesmar IS, however, a fan of going in excess of the speed limit.

And so the perfect solution is born.

Dave Vontesmar wears a monkey mask when driving. Sometimes a giraffe mask, but mostly a monkey mask.

And when the tickets, some 37 so far, totaling fines upward of $6,500, show up at his home, he says:

"'Not one of them there is a picture where you can identify the driver,' Vontesmar said. 'The ball's in their court. I sent back all these ones I got with a copy of my driver's license and said, 'It's not me. I'm not paying them.''"

Well ok. I guess they use the car registration and the driver's license photo to id the drivers and issue the ticket.

So Vontesmar is working a loophole here.

Except...

"...officers sat outside Vontesmar's home and watched him drive to work. 'We watched him four different times put the monkey mask on and put the giraffe-style mask on,' Officer Dave Porter said. 'Based on surveillance, we were positive that Vontesmar was the driver.'"

So fine, he's probably not going to get away with this, but damn...you gotta like his style!

File this under: hot desert sun does something funny to folks.

Photo from azcentral.com

Who among us...

...who has worked retail hasn't wanted to? You know what I mean? I think you do.

Radio Shack employee punches customer

Aw man, Popeye is stoned again.

From today's ABQJournal:

"New Mexico Motor Transportation Division officers have discovered 1,200 pounds of marijuana packed in cans labeled as Pacific Green Spinach..."

I actually think that is a little bit ingenious....except for the part about "An alert inspector noticed that only a few of the cans were labeled, and that the weight printed on the side of the cans didn't match the actual weight..."

Oops.

This one is for Emmett

For you, my friend, since we share a sick sense of humor about flaming squirrels.

I bring you…raccoons that can't be tased.

"Raccoon unfazed by cop's Taser during wild chase"

Best line of the article:

"'While unlocking the back door, the suspect (karen's note: suspect = a raccoon!) ran at Officer Ek,' the police report says."

Hee.

And so the officer fired his taser like a rock star from "Cops"

Only the tase didn't phase the "suspect", and he it took off.

At least he it didn't burst into flames.



Whuttre YOU looking at?

Uh oh.

I may be going to jail soon.

That is...if my new husband decides to press charges.

Maybe he won't read this article.

Best line of the day:

"A West Virginia man who police said passed gas and fanned it toward a patrolman has been charged with battery..."

Sorry for the, uh, spousal abuse.

Oh yeah, raisin' 'em right!

From today's ABQjournal:

"When Christopher Lucero was stopped by State Police for weaving in and out of traffic on Interstate 40, authorities say he had an excuse: His passenger spilled his beer, he told the officer."

Yeah, man! It's not MY fault I zigged across four lanes of traffic! My buddy spilled his beer!

One of four open containers found in the car.

Needless to say, APD doesn't have a sense of humor about such things.

Oh Fair New Mexico…we gotta do something about the drunk driving in our state. Because whatever we're doing now isn't working…

edit...faboo, this little tidbit made Yahoo's "Odd News". Good times.

The terrorists stole my plot line!

Was sitting at my desk at work, drumming my fingers on the faux wood surface wondering, "What on earth can I post about in my blog today"…and not finding many answers.

That's when nature (and two cups of hot tea) called and I was forced to rise from my desk and use the facilities. I walked along thinking, "I need a topic, I need a topic, I need a topic".

I went over to the other half of the building since the loo near me was being serviced by the faboo janitorial team.

When I went into the "other side" I noticed that the door to what I thought was a janitorial closet (and is always tightly closed) was slightly open. It's NEVER open. Being the nosy Nellie that I am, I peeked in there.

Little did I know that there's a shower and a small set of lockers in this building! I looked over the lockers and noticed that all you gotta do is slap a lock on the locker of your choice.

Nice.

So *immediately* my fiction writer brain thought "god…what a great place to stash something…"

Remember when airports and bus stations used to have lockers where, for the fee of one quarter, you could stash your suitcase or whatever for a bit while you did something else?

Whatever happened to those? They made for GREAT plot points in MANY a mystery story.

How the bad guy would stash the murder weapon there and thought he got away with it but no, he couldn't resist going BACK to the locker and by now the police were tailing him and he gets flat *busted* there in the Greyhound station, red handed, red faced, red wristed when the cuffs get slapped on.

It was fun. It was convenient! It was a great hiding place.

Why don't we have them anymore? 9-freaking-eleven, that's why.

Ok, so no more in bus station and airports, but now THIS find. I bet they don't check these lockers here at work all that often. I could put damning evidence like receipts from surreptitious wire transfers and plots to take over the world with my fleet of robot drones!

Ah hahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

Oh, @#$%.....I guess I can't do it now. I just published my idea on the interwebs.

*sigh*

Back to work.

Watch where you're pointin' that thing, Mister!

Was out running errands at lunch and whippin' my way back to the office after a successful jaunt.

Was on Highway 280, crusin', and singing along to, I believe, Nelly, when I came around a blind curve to see a CHP pointing a gun at me.

Disconcerting to say the least.

I took leave of my senses. When I regained them, I realized it was a radar gun. Or actually lidar (uses laser instead of radio waves).

The good news is, that as I was cruisin' and holding an in-car concert, I was following a mini-van. Meaning when I got clocked I was doing 65 mph, the legal speed limit.

Karen lives to see another day, ticket free.

But it took me a good ten minutes for my heart rate to settle back in.

Image via.