www.TheEnemyBlog.com

Somebody Put Up a Wikipedia Entry For Me

     Someone sent me a link to a page on Wikipedia for "BJ Schaffer" and sure enough, there it is.

     Very strange. 

     I am a frequent user of the site, and rely on it heavily for my writing.  There is even a mention of the story "BJ Schaffer is Dead" on there, but no link to Philadelphia Stories.  Apparently the article is marked for possible deletion, because they can't authenticate it. 

     I really have no idea how to contribute to Wikipedia. or to assist them in authenticating it, but rest assured, if the person who did author it would like me to verify the facts, I will.  Thanks for doing it, I think... at least they didn't put up anything bad. 

Vote For "BJ Schaffer is Dead"!

Vote For "BJ Schaffer is Dead"

Philadelphia Stories is holding an online poll to see which stories should be included in their second anthology.  If you enjoyed the story, please be sure to vote for its inclusion.  

Thanks!  

A Truly Humbling Thing

 

    As far as I can tell, the Summer 2009 issue of Philadelphia Stories comes out tomorrow.  I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw it on the cover page.  Thank you!!!!!!!

"BJ Schaffer is Dead," Philadelphia Stories Magazine, June 6th!

    Available at fine purveyors of books and periodicals all throughout the Phildelphia Region.  Make sure you check out their website for a list of locations.  HERE

    I've already gotten some inquiries about signing copies, so I'll tell you what: Anybody who picks up a copy and wants to get it signed, shoot me an email.  I'll give you an address where to send it to me, and I'll hook you up with a personal message.  Maybe someday you'll make big bucks on Ebay with it. 

    Cheers. 

To Be A Rock and Not To Roll

     So I don't write on The Enemy Blog for weeks, because I am completely focused on getting "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" finalized, and then so many things happen in a short period of time that I wind up writing twice in one day.

     If I had any doubt that you guys were still out there, they are removed now.  The earlier post today got over a hundred hits.  I am humbled.

    I'm going to back up now, before I get to the good news. 

    It was the mid-90's and I went with my friend Adam to the Philadelphia Comic Book Convention.  I wasn't really keen on the comics back then.  I went just to meet a friend.  Well, we were meeting for the first time, but this was someone I felt I already knew intimately.  Kind of like that girl from Kentucky that you talk to on the internet.  You two have shared everything but the same time zone.  

    Harlan Ellison, mercurial science fiction author and essayist, was coming to the convention.  For a nominal fee you could meet him, have him sign a few books, and hear him lecture.  I spent my early years studying everything the man had written, and knew more details about him than anyone should reasonably know about another human being they are not in a relationship with.  Well, let me scratch that.  I was in a relationship with Harlan.  He just didn't know it. 

    It is probably the same relationship that most writer's share with their readers.  A writer's job is a complicated one, but at the essence of it, we are supposed to break off little pieces of ourselves and present them for our audience's inspection.  Some really gloss it over and leave you with the impression that the author is some sort of holy man imbibed with God's wisdom.  Come to think of it, that might describe Harlan a little. Others not only don't polish it, they purposely leave it crusty and ugly, almost proud of their lesser-nature.  I'm thinking Bukowski. 

    So I waited in line to meet Harlan Ellison, getting more and more nervous the closer I got.  Finally, when it was my turn to approach him, I blurted out the first thing I could think of.  "You're going to read about this someday!" I said. 

    "Call security," he said, over his shoulder. 

    "What I meant to say was, I am a writer, and I'm going to write about meeting you," I said.  

    "Ah," he said, suddenly looking back at me.  For a second our eyes met, as if he were an old gunfighter assessing the young gun across the saloon.  "You're a writer?  What have you published?" 

    And that was the Atom Bomb that Harlan chucked into my lap, folks.  The truth was, I had published nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Not one single person in the whole planet had ever read anything I'd written and said, "You know what?  This kid can write.  Roll the presses!"  

    But rather than lie to Harlan, who I suspected would sniff it out instantly, I said, "Nothing.  Yet." 

    He looked back down at the book I was having him sign and said, "If I had to do it over again, kid, I'd have been a plumber."  He handed me the book, and that was that.  

    It wasn't hard for me to unravel the brilliance of Harlan's question.  What he was telling me was that you can write all day, you can fill up volumes and volumes of the greatest literary feats known to man, but if nobody publishes it, you ain't shit.  And I wasn't shit.  

    "Still ain't shit, stupid!" 

    Ah well, nice to see Aunt Jane is still with us.  

    I told you guys awhile back that I was stepping away from The Enemy Blog in order to pursue a legitimate writing career.  In fact, I have done what I said I would do.  My goal was to attempt to get some solid publishing credits under my belt before trying to sell "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror."  You already know about the "American Police Beat" article, which came out two days ago.  I got more good news today. 

    There I was coaching first base for Enemy Blog Jr.'s little league team, and I happened to check my email on my phone.  It was from "Philadelphia Stories" magazine, telling me they want to run the "BJ Schaffer is Dead" piece.  That's a good week, folks.  The best thing about it is that I'm getting very positive feedback from the people I submit to.  Professional people who have no reason to lie to me one way or the other, but they are telling me that my writing is strong.  They are telling me my work is worthy. 

    As far as the novel goes, there are some interesting things happening on that front as well, but I am in no way ready to talk about them.  All I can ask you to do is cross your fingers and wish me luck.  Blind luck.  The kind of luck that favors children and idiots.  The kind of luck that if you are bold, sends mighty forces to your aid. 

    And just for the record, I sent Harlan a message, about fifteen years after the fact, that I finally had an answer to his question.  I am extremely grateful he asked it, because he taught me the difference between the Boys and the Men in that one brief exchange.  Not that I'm any hot item now.  I'm just one of another of thousands of writer's who have managed to get something into print.  But I do not intend to stay that way.

    Everything has a beginning.  I say we see where this thing takes us. 

    On a funny side note:  Adam and I later met another famous author named Neil Gaiman.  Adam was a HUGE fan of the Sandman comic series, and we waited in a long line that snaked around the upper-level of the Willow Grove Mall just for the opportunity to have Neil sign a book. 

    So we get to the front, finally, and Adam walks up to Neil Gaiman, takes one look at him and goes, "Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah...."

    And Neil smiles kindly at him.  "You know, you are under no obligation to say anything remotely intelligent when you get to the front of the line." 

    Adam presented his book for Neil's signature, and fled the store so quick that I lost track of him.  I handed Neil my book and said, "I really wish somebody had told me that when I met Harlan Ellison." 

    Neil smiled and said, "I bet we're going easier on you than Harlan did."

    Yep. 

    But Harlan showed me the line of division, and I'll be forever in his debt. 

    

       

American Police Beat Article is Published!

    "It's Hard to Find the Right Words, But Try We Must" is the new article published in the May 2009 issue of the American Police Beat magazine.  (Pg. 6)

    I only have one issue of the magazine, and am not really sure how to acquire more, so requests for copies should be directed to APB itself.  American Police Beat Magazine

     Thanks to Cynthia, the editor at APB for giving me the opportunity to talk about such an important issue in their fine publication.  I look forward to submitting them again in the near future.

We Knew From The Start That Things Fall Apart

    Look around a minute.  You'll see some changes.  That's a good thing.  Some people don't deal with change well.  It makes them nervous.  Goofy.  Afraid. 

    I am officially retiring The Enemy persona, and with it, many of the rants and raves that were formerly found on this site.  My reasons are pretty simple.  I don't want to be a blogger anymore.  For over a year, I've committed to posting regularly on the EB, and found myself covering a wide array of of topics, ranging from politics to poetry, fiction to historical research. 

    There were benefits, and also negatives, to this.  For one, writing the EB, and finding an audience there, made it easy for me to communicate my ideas in a written manner and get instant feedback.  I'd sit down, start typing, and before you know it, people were reading it.  Compared to the actual process a writer has to go through to get work submitted, approved, and published, it was like a dream come true. 

    But that dream has since gone thin.  You see, if truth be told, I shouldn't be doing a blog.  If truth be told, I'm starting to see the whole thing as kind of masturbatory and self-indulgent.  I want to be a published, professional author.  And to do that, you gotta follow the Big Folks rules, kids.  There's formats, structures, word counts, and genre issues to deal with.  There's also a hell of lot of research and gruntwork that goes into mailing, copying, and following-up submissions.

    In the past week, I've grown serious about getting some real publishing credits.  I submitted five pieces to five different periodicals.  I only heard back from one so far, and they accepted it.  One of my "Way of the Warrior" essays will be appearing in the American Police Beat in an upcoming issue.  The first thing they told me was that it was too long, at 1,500 words.  The second thing they told me was that they normally only give people 450 words.  The third thing they told me was that they are giving me 650 words because, and I quote (Irene can back me up on this), it is "So good."

    And maybe that's what I need to know.  Am I really good?  I can blog all day, and get comments and feedback, and everything is groovy, but can I hang with the big boys?  Can I do this, for real?

    That is exactly what I intend to find out, folks.  I will keep this page as active as I can, always updating it when I have news to report.  God willing, you can read here to see whenever a publication will be carrying something written by Yours Truly.

    It may take some time for me to make the complete transition on this page from "Enemy Blog" to "Official Website," so for now, continue to write to me at BtheEnemy@comcast.net, or add me to your Facebook and message me there. 

    Thanks. 

                                                                                b. 

PS: I just checked the America's Most Wanted website and saw that Philadelphia Police Officer Richard Bowes is now a FINALIST.  That is AWESOME.  Thank you to everyone who voted!  You helped him get there!  Please continue to check the AMW site (Follow the link below) to see when we can vote to help Bowes win the whole thing. 

Vote For A Good Cause

Richard Bowes AMW 2009 Link

     America's Most Wanted is holding their annual All-Star awards, and I want to ask all of you to click the above link and vote for a cop from our local region who deserves the award, and a community (both law enforcement and public) that desperately needs a little boost. 

     On September 23, 2008, Ofc. Richard Bowes responded to Patrick McDonald's request for backup on a car stop.  Before Bowes got there, McDonald was murdered by the subject he was stopping.  The gunman was attempting to flee, when Bowes arrived and began to chase him down.  

    Bowes got shot in the pelvis, and the scumbag came back, standing over Bowes and reloading his weapon to take a second cop's life that night.  But Richard Bowes, shot, bleeding, still had some fight left in him.  He pumped five rounds into that piece of shit and put him in hell for all eternity.  

    Richard Bowes is still out of work.  He was Officer of the Year in 2006, and Officer of the Month on fifteen separate occasions. 

    Now, I want us to help him receive this award as well.  Start voting, and do it every day.  I'll appreciate it, the cops will appreciate it, and we can help make honor a cop who more than deserves it.  Deadline is April 1st, but we can vote every day. 

    Thanks for voting, and thank you, Officer Bowes. 

    Vote For Richard Bowes 2009 AMW All-Star 

 

Don't Have Heroes, Be One

    It's been a little while since I wrote to you directly.  There's a reason.  I've been sorting some things out lately.  Trying to fit the pieces together.  Trying to get a grip on what is happening. 

    But the truth is, I'm not the one who needs the grip.  My grip is pretty good, to be honest. 

    It's like I'm a mountain climber, making my way up toward the top of the mountain, and all around me, I see dear, beloved friends and family who are also making the same climb.  My spikes are set.  My ropes are tight.  And I'm looking over at them yelling "You are going to fall!!!!!!!"  Because they are.  For a multitude of reasons.  And they look back at me and shrug.  They know it too. 

    I really am at a loss to explain it, but for some reason, a majority of the older men in my life who I have spent a long time looking up and emulating have really gone off the deep end.  I am stunned to be watching them crash and burn, waiting for them to pull out of their nose dives, and it just isn't happening.

    So what do I do?

    And please, spare me the platitudes.  Don't write me any bullshit like, "Just be a good listener."  I know that.  I did that.  I listened until my head was spinning.  I tried to offer advice to people who I should be asking for advice from.  I tried to give counsel.  Want to try something odd on for size?  Have your male role model breakdown in front of you and tell him to knock it off and act like a man.  Or, even better, just sit there in despair and bitterly wish it. 

    One thing about me is I don't like celebrities.  I don't want to meet the people whose work I admire.  I don't particularly want to hang out with them. I know in my heart of hearts they are just like I am.  They might play guitar better than anyone else on the planet, but after 24-Hours of being in the same room with them, I'm ready to throttle them just like anybody. 

    It's probably a result of being exposed to so many famous people as a kid.  I saw lots and lots and lots of celebrities and politicians and artists.  I saw their hangers-on.  I saw the makeup people they bossed around.  I saw the screaming fans.  I saw it all, and it just seemed ridiculous. 

    Now, don't get me wrong.  I have people I admire.  I admire the President a whole lot.  I would buy him a beer any day.  I admire a wide variety of artists and authors and actors and writers and founding father's and more.  But they aren't my "hero's."  I don't have any.  I don't want any.  Call it a result of my job.  I can tell you with all certainty that any person on the planet is capable of anything you can imagine, as long as they are given two things: The opportunity, and the motivation. 

    And the list of those possible things runs deep and wide, folks.  Very deep.  Very wide. 

    I had a conversation with my sister last night, which is noteworthy because she and I are not on speaking terms.  We've talked twice on the phone in the past year.  I saw her once, at a funeral, and we didn't say more than three words.  It's stupid, I know, but it is a reality. 

    So she called me and asked me what I thought about someone we both know, one of the people I am talking about here.  She asked me if it were possible that this person would ever do anything so foolish as to hurt themselves, or someone else.  And you know what I told her? 

    Hope not.  

    I hope not, and I've talked about it with that person, and they've assured me it won't happen, but you know what?  I can't say for certain.  It is out of my control.  It is beyond my reach.  Furthermore, at the end of the day, it is not my responsibility to chase after that person to get help, make ammends, stay healthy, come home, or what have you.  It's on them.    

    I get into this conversation alot with Agent Provocateur.  She's one of those people who assumes jurisdiction over every person's well-being who is in her life.  If you are close to her, and you have a cold, you can bet she is running to your house with a box of tissues.  She takes it further than that as well.  She is one of those people who will become physically ill with guilt that she didn't "Do Enough" to help someone if they are on a downward spiral.  

    Tonight, she and I were talking about drunks at bars.  She was saying how she raced after a friend who was trying to leave a bar, trying to stop this person from driving drunk.  It was a whole big scene, with flocks of people trying to prevent this person from doing something that would harm them, or someone else.  I just laughed.  I promise you, you will not see me doing this.  I might beat your ass to stop you from driving.  I might take your keys and chuck them into the woods.  I might call the cops and tell them where you went.  I might give you a ride home.  I might do a whole lot of things to help you if you are open to it, but I guarantee you that I am not taking responsibility for your stupid ass.  That's on you.  

    And if you don't believe me, you can ask my son.  

    When Enemy Blog Jr. was five years old he was running down a gravel driveway at his pre-school.  I told him EVERY day not to do it.  Every day he didn't listen to me.  Every day I raced after him to grab him and keep him from falling.  One day, he took off on me, and I said, "Whoa!  Stop!"

    And he didn't. 

    "You're going to-"

    POW! he went face down into the stones, and all I heard was shrieking.  I ran over to him, picked him up, and saw his lip was busted up and there were stones in his face.  All the mom's and teachers came running over to us.  All of them were saying, "Oh my god" and "Awww, poor thing," and you know what I said?  I said, "Serves you right, dummy."

    I caught SO MUCH FLAK over that, let me tell you, but to THIS DAY when I tell him to stop something and he doesn't listen, I say, "Okay.  See what happens."  And you know what?  He stops. 

    My boy suffers for the simple fact that he is a boy.  I expect him to be tough.  I expect him to be strong.  My widdle biddy baby girl is a different story.  Her, I baby.  Of course, I plan on teaching her the fine art of combat with edged weapons as soon as she is old enough to hold one, but that's really just for when she starts dating.  That being said, those are the two people I love wholly and unconditionally.  No matter what.  I would risk life and limb for either of them without hesitation, and destroy anyone or anything if need be. 

    But all the rest of you motherf***ers are on a conditional basis. 

    Even those who I've gone into battle with.  Even those who brought me into this world.  I love you all to death, but goddamn, if you're going to act in a way thats an embarassment to the both of us, don't expect to hear much from me.  I'll call at Christmas.  Vaya con Dios, muchacho.

    You see, I don't believe in pity parties.  I don't believe in whining.  I don't believe in rolling over and showing your belly and hoping someone takes mercy.  And I don't believe that people who set the events of their own demise in motion, and are too entrenched in their own chaos to knock it off will come out of it any other way than if they decide to.  No matter how much I ask them to.  No matter how much I wish it were so. 

    And I'm not going down with that ship. 

    I can trace my bloodline all the way back to the Merovingian Kings.  To Aethelwulf.  To Fulk the Red.  To freaking King Charlemagne.  And to some of you who are reading this, I can probably trace yours along the same exact line as well.  Maybe it's time you took a good look in the mirror at how you stack up to that noble lineage and what you'll say to them when we go to sit in that Great Hall.  Do you really want to tell them how you laid down and gave up?  I would hope not.  We come from warriors and kings.  I'll never be anything less than that.  If you choose to turn your back on who you are, I can't help you.

    I won't help you.  

    I'll tell you that you are about to fall.  I'll extend my hand and say, "I've got you while you refasten the riggings."  I'll listen to what you have to say and give you my thoughts.  But, if none of that works, and you plummet to your doom, or you crash and burn, or you self-destruct, guess what? 

    You did it to yourself.   Serves you right, dummy. 

    

    

    

Used To Be A Gentle Soul

she said

you used to

be such a sweet boy

such a

gentle soul

now you've grown cold

when I look into your eyes

I don't see the joy

that I used to know

almost as if

the innocence has been lost

what

was the cost?

Where did it go?

You used to

be the boy 

I wanted to know

now there sits

something new

tell me

what did they make you do?

you can tell me

what did they do to you?

you can tell me

if you

come closer

...like that

just like that.

It's not me

you see

It's only the world.

I swear

the darkness that you see

is just me

reflecting the world.

 

No Risk

the sun sets on some distant ocean

a clock ticks, timeless on a wall

a diamond mine's cruel reality claims a worker's limbs

multiple dangers loom upon us all

somewhere, someone loses

someone undeservedly wins

somewhere, somethings are less complicated

and sometimes it's just better before it actually begins

odds are we will not succeed

odds are our engines will stall and fail

odds are before it is all said and done

someone will turn and tuck their tail

but

if that's always the case

what really makes a difference in the end

between the ones who somehow pull it off

and the ones who never contend

and take

no risk?

the moon is full and high

somewhere it drives men strange

hidden weapons zero in

and you never know when you are down range

somewhere, someone good dies

someone unworthy lives

somewhere, somethings are not what they should be

and some people you just cannot forgive

odds are the plan will not work

odds are we'll be caught and tried

odds are someone is watching closer than we thought

and not all of us will survive

but what

if we stayed home

and the resistance never arose

and the forces standing firm

never found themselves opposed

because we took

no risk?

Blue Steel In The Hour Of Chaos

    Back in April 2007 I wrote the post Sometimes You Just Gotta Knuckle Up in reference to a discussion I had with my son about being cornered in a bathroom.  I also made reference to the fact that the crewmembers of the British HMS Cornwall had just surrendered to a bunch of Iranian speedboats without firing a single shot. 

    They were then forced into making videotaped "confessions" declaring the awe and glory of the oh-so wonderful Iranians and how crappy their own country was.  You probably remember.  And if I'm willing to call my own brothers-in-blue from Columbine cowards, I am damn sure willing to say it about a bunch of British deck-swabbers who don't know enough to fire up the gatling guns when the enemy is threatening to board you.

    And here we go again.

    Lest anyone think the Philadelphia Metropolitan Area has the market cornered on cops getting killed, our brothers South of the Border in the Mexican City of Ciudad Juarez are facing their own epidemic. 

    Juarez is right on the Texas border.  It is a major metropolitan city with approximately 1.5 million people.  In 2008, it was designated the "City of the Future" and is routinely declared one of the best Mexican cities to eat, party, and socialize in for us gringos.

    Oh, and it is also infested with drug gangs.

    It has the highest murder rate in all of Mexico, and last year a staggering FIFTY to ONE HUNDRED (I found different counts) police officers were killed.  Recently the drug gangs told the Chief of Police Roberto Orduna that unless he resigned they were going to kill a police officer every 48 hours. 

    They meant it.  Last Tuesday they killed the Deputy Chief of Police, then killed another officer and a prison guard that Friday.  Each body had a note taped to it from the gangs declaring their intention to keep up with the killings until the Chief quit.  And you know what?  That's exactly what Chief Orduna did.  On February 21, 2009 he tendered his resignation. 

    Did I mention he'd only been on the job since last May, after the last Chief of Police was driven across the Texas border to seek safety.

    Ciudad Juarez has a 1,600 man police force, half of whom are brand new because Chief Orduna cleaned house in an attempt to get rid of the entrenched corruption.  In the midst of his tail-tucking and resigning, he said, "They started killing police officers when they were going home or getting into their police cars." 

    The Mexican federal government, under Felipe Calderon, has flooded the area with 40,000 troops across the region to fight the drug gangs.  More than 1,800 people were killed by drug-related violence last year.  There were also 17,000 car thefts, and 1,650 carjackings.  Plus, in the past ten years, over 400 women in that region have been the victim of sexual homicide.  Their body's are found in ditches or vacant lots.   

     Now, the mexican authorites have already assured the public that losing the head of the police department won't even make them "blink."  They'll just replace him and keep right on truckin'.  But, to my keen investigative mind, it has to make me wonder why, if the Chief of Police is so easily replaced, are the drug cartels so eager to get rid of him?

    And what chance does the next one stand?

    Essentially, Chief Orduna, or Ciudad Juarez's other government officials, are telling their entire city, country, and the rest of us, that they would rather stand down than fight.  They would rather appease than conquer.  They would rather throw up their hands and show their bellies than draw a line in the sand and say, "I wish a mother f-cker WOULD." 

    What can they really do, you ask? Well, Presidente Felipe Calderon has several options.

    1.    Declare martial law in Ciudad Juarez

    2.    Issue Kill-On-Sight orders for every member, affiliate, or associate of the drug gangs in your region, including those in the prison system.

        In America several states have standardized gang-validation systems.  If a person meets the criteria of three or more of the requirements, they are officially documented as members of a street gang.  You could do the same thing, Ciudad Juarez.  But, while we just use that information for intelligence purposes, you could use it to put up big "GO GET EM" posters in every police barracks in the region.

    3.    Put a bounty on the same, for either information or their dead bodies, and let the private citizens have some fun as well. 

    4.    Appeal to President Obama for military and covert assistance.  We Yanks just LOVE to go kick ass in other places when we really aren't supposed to be there: Just ask the Delta boys who got Pablo Escobar. 

    And that is how you solve the problem. 

    Or, you can just keep on finding more temporary Chiefs of Police, ever ready to bail when the going gets rough.  Knuckle up, Ciudad Juarez.  The world will understand. 

    

Executive Beat-Down!

 

TO:        B the Enemy, CEO, Enemy Blog Productions

 

FROM:   Irene Adler, Chief Operating Officer (COO)

 

DATE:    February 19, 2009

 

RE:        Response to “007 Is Back” 

 

You’re back? Well, isn’t that just great.  Uh, I mean…oh, great!  Welcome back!

 

First, let me fill you in on how Enemy Blog Productions has been doing.  I’m pleased to report that  in your absence we improved operating efficiency by 50%, increased employee satisfaction & engagement by 75%; grew revenue by an astounding 100%; and improved overall profitability by a record breaking 60%.  So I’m sure the Enemy organization as well as our shareholders will be thrilled to know, as you so eloquently put it, ‘Daddy is home”.  VERY reassuring.

 

Next, I need to brief you on two key organizational changes:

 

• As you may have noticed above (refer to the ‘FROM’ line), my title changed; I received a promotion from Senior VP to Chief Operating Officer (COO).  Who promoted me?  Me, of course.  If you have any queries or require additional detail, please contact our Human Resources VP.  You know, the HR VP who reports in to the COO (again, that’s ME).

 

• Enemy Blog Productions now has a proper IT Department, complete with an official policy governing usage of the internet for personal purposes on company time (i.e., goofing off).  Consequently, you will find that access from our Enemy network, including your office, to Facebook, YouTube, and MySpace is blocked.  I realize this creates a lot of free time for you during business hours.  However, fear not, B., I left you access to Metal Gear Online.  After all, those 12 year olds are formidable opponents and given the difficulty you have with shooting accuracy, you need all the practice you can get.

 

Now that you’re back, I will continue with BAU (business as usual) – doing my job and yours – and re-engage in running interference and doing damage control between you and Rest of World. 

 

I will also be reading your new novel.  And that I’m truly excited about.  Yes, I received the printout of, "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" earlier this week; without any suspicious marks on it, lipstick or otherwise.  Since I was in a particularly foul humor earlier today, I felt primed to begin the job of reviewing and editing.  Happy to report that after expending much red ink on those pristine pages, I am feeling so VERY much better. 

 

Cannot manage lunch tomorrow.  Perhaps next week after my meeting with HG.

 

 

 

PS: An intern snuck into your office and left ‘interesting’ photos?  Oh, that’s right, you said a female intern.  Really? Those photos must be beyond interesting, given we only have a male intern.  

For Your Eyes Only (Executive Communications)

"Here we go y'all

little by little you know

we got the knowledge, the power, to move 'em and still rock

a super song for the cause, feel the load on your brain for the episode..

and we've just begun

it's Number One y'all

brother black

The B is back

so just..."  (Public Enemy B-Side Wins Again)

TO:        Irene Adler, Senior Vice President, Enemy Blog Productions

FROM:   B the Enemy, CEO

DATE:    February 17, 2009

RE:        007 Is Back 

Irene, I flew in last night from Argentina.  I was sitting in the hotel's salt-water pool, sipping a magnum of champagne, looking out over the city skyline across the sea.  The pool's contents were spilling out of the side of the pool back into the sea, and then constantly being recycled back in, in a never-ending cascade of warm, clear, clean sea water.  So, as the girl next to me (I can't quite pronounce her name...I surely can't spell it.  I think is was Gisele, or Garlotta, or...oh hell.  No, that was two nights ago.  It was a LONG vacation.  This one was something-something Ramikov.)  

But I am getting off track.  So there we were in the pool, watching the city's lights twinkle in the sun set, and she was rubbing my shoulders as I drank from the champagne, and just as she kissed my neck, I thought, "I really must return.  The people need me." 

I am happy to report that the new novel is finished.  "Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Horror" is about to go out to a fleet of Enemy Blog staff for editing and review.  You received the first copy, as is only appropriate, and I eagerly await your thoughts.  If your manuscript arrived with any suspicious substances on it, I assure you it was only lipstick.  In a rather embarassing display, the girl who printed out your copies began reading it as it was printing, and the next thing you know, she was trying to wrestle the damn thing away from me!  When I finally had to grab it by force, she would not let go, and began kissing the paper the book was printed on.  Ah well.                 

I missed you all.  Please tell the staff that I am sorry to have left on such short notice.  I read all of the guest appearences on the Blog, and was very impressed that you were able to get such talent to contribute on such short notice.  But, rest assured, daddy is home. 

PS: Apparently one of the interns snuck into my office to take some rather...interesting photographs while sitting in my chair and sprawled out on my desk.

    The young lady was kind enough to leave me a few copies, but please do remind the staff that my office is off-limits, even when I haven't been in it for months on end.

    And promote that intern immediately.  Make her Vice President of some division that can't do too much damage, all right?  Just tell her to come see me when she has a minute.

PSS: As you can see, I added a button for my new Facebook page.  I figure since I'm going to be in my office more from now on, I'll need a way to waste time looking at how my ex-girlfriends look while you do all the hard work.  

                                                                                    Lunch today? 

                                                                                    B.                                                 

Way of the Warrior: Us, Now

    I was at the Lodge on Friday night, and tend not to check my phone until I am leaving.  It was around Ten PM.  I had received a few text messages from other cops telling me that it had happened again.  Unbelievably, astoundingly, unforgivably, it had happened again.

    On Friday night the seventh Philadelphia Police Officer in the past three years was murderd in the line of duty.  Seven. In three years. 

    I say a Police Officer, and by that I mean, a cop.  There is a difference. 

    Ofc. John Pawlowski was a cop.  Like a few of you who might read this blog.  Unlike a few of you who might read this blog, although you are also a police officer. 

    The kid had his bullet-proof vest on.  He wanted to work.  He was a cop, who came from a family of cops, and at twenty-five years old was expecting his first child.  And with one foul deed, a piece of shit named Rasheed Scrugs took that young man's life. 

    I got a request today to say something in tribute to John, from a person who is friend's with John's dad.  It is about the only thing that could make me break my self-imposed silence on the EB.  I am not quite sure what information I can share with you from what I was told, because I make it a rule not to talk out of school, but I will do my best. 

    This is not easy for me.  I want to tell you that I hold every person who has an NRA sticker on their car responsible for Pawlowski because if the gun lobby weren't so strong, we might be able to impose real regulations that would prevent guns from getting into the hands of people like Scrugs.  I want to tell you that I hold every judge responsible who turns a blind eye to violent criminals and lets them out of jail without serving a proper penalty so that they can go murder police officers.

    And it doesn't end there.  If I told you all that, I'd have to tell you that I also hold the government responsible for letting inner-cities get as bad as they are so that they constantly create new Rasheed Scrugs's.  I'd also have to tell you that these are the reasons I believe what I believe, and get so up in arms when I hear idiots talking about politics, as if there are not real world consequences for decisions that are being made just to appease the gun-toting, tax hating, Great White Right. 

    But, that is not what I am going to do.  That's a divisive conversation, and I am not using this platform to interject my own personal opinions into it. 

    Unfortunately, I am simply at a loss to explain any of this in any other way.  It was requested that I find a way to give this all some meaning.  That I make an attempt find a tiny little bit of light in the rampant darkness surrounding us all.  And I can't.

    Maybe Abraham Lincoln can.

    On November 24th, 1864, Lincoln sent a letter to Mrs. Lydia Bixby.  Bixby was a widow who lost five sons in the Civil War.

Executive Mansion,
Washington, Nov. 21, 1864.

Dear Madam,--

I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle.

I feel how weak and fruitless must be any word of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.

Yours, very sincerely and respectfully,

A. Lincoln

    Although the authorship of the letter is much-debated, the words still ring true.  It is right that in the face of such an extreme loss, we have not words to offer.  It is right that we still offer our condolensces. 

    It is also right that we acknowledge that the lives were not lost in vain.  They were spent on the altar of freedom, and given with honor.

    There is a quote in existence that is often attributed to various people, including John or Robert Kennedy and Mikhail Gorbachev, but the truth is, the source of the quote is unknown: 

    "If Not Us, Who?  If Not Now, When?" 

    Although we do not know exactly who said it, or what they were referring to, it is a universal sentiment that we, as humans, must take it upon ourselves to shoulder an enormous burden at times.  Because if we don't, not only might it never get done, there may not be anyone left to do it.   

    At risk of revealing too much, I can tell you that John Pawlowski understood that burden, and that he'd recently signed a transfer request to go from the 6th District (Relatively low crime) to the 35th District (Relatively LOTS of crime) because he wanted to see and do more.  If not him, who?  Follow me? 

    One of the things I said after Chris Jones was killed in Middletown was that it really bothered me to think that at one moment we can all be standing around at roll call, laughing, and the next time I see you, you are pinned under a car, dying. 

    Think about that. 

    I am talking to you, we are kidding around with one another, or we are ignoring one another because we are both pissed off about something stupid, or we are making plans to get together for lunch, and we both leave to go our separate ways to start working.  And the next time I see you, you are dying.  Or you are already dead.

    That is heavy-duty shit.  It hurts just to think about it. 

    I normally get a few phone calls from my family after they hear about a cop getting killed and the question they ask me is, "How does it make you feel when you hear about something like this happening?  Does it scare you?"

    Absolutely.  Terrifies the living shit out of me.  Not because of me, but because of my kids and because of my friends and because of those I love.  I don't want them to be handed that folded flag.  I don't want my Chief to have to stand in front of my family and tell them that my call sign is officially out of service for all time.  Screw that. 

    But that fear cannot, and will not deter me or you from doing our jobs.  The risks involved with us NOT doing our jobs far outweighs the ones that are involved with actually doing it. 

    At times like this I think about the cops who were standing around outside of Columbine High School.  Teachers and students are getting shot up inside.  Those cops can HEAR the gunfire.  They can hear the screams.  People bailing out of the school are begging the cops to go in.  Nobody is moving.  Why?  They were told to stay put until it was safe to enter.

    But that is not what we do.  We do not wait until it is "safe" to enter.  We go in, while everyone else in the world is racing to get out.  And we do it because if we do not, who will? 

    It seems to me, based on what I've heard, Ofc. John Pawlowski would have understood that it is better to die fighting than to live hiding.  He would have known, if given the option between being those cops at Columbine who live to this day with the memory of their cowardice, or taking a round in the back from Rasheed Scrugs, that there is really no choice at all.

    My thoughts and prayers go out to the Pawlowski family and friends.  Thank you for your enormous sacrifice.  My sincerest appreciation goes out to my fellow cops who take it to the streets every day and night, fighting against crime, against complacency, and against bureaucracy, all in the name of keeping the Blue Line strong.  Rest in peace, John.  We'll take it from here, brother.