Welcome to The New Chainik Hocker. I am your host, the eponymous Chainik Hocker, here to share news, reviews, pretty pictures, and silly opinions with you. Contact me at chainik DOT hocker AT gmail DOT com

Friday, March 31, 2006

New To You: Sunday, July 11, 2004

I’m very tired, so my blog is in reruns. Sorry.

A Jaywalking Primer, or, Dividing the spoils of the Cold War.

I went to shopping in the Park Slope neighborhood today. Park Slope and the surrounding neighborhoods of Sunset Park, Fort Greene, and East New York is a fascinating case of shifting demographics. Just a decade ago, the area was under the control of the Brooklyn chapter of the Drug Dealers' Union, along with their affiliates, the Hookers Union local 452, The International Brotherhood of Thieves, Carjackers, Muggers, and Pickpockets (IBTCMP) and the gang banger's franchise of Murder, Inc. In other words, the neighborhood was fun and interesting. Then the white people moved in.
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against white people. Heck, I'm white myself, or Jewish, which is close enough. "White People" is what we call the people who call themselves "hipsters". You know, Midwestern-born the latte drinking, health food eating, goateed jerks who wear Buddy Holly type glasses and listen to jazz. They are ignorant of the most basic aspects of life in the city.
Say, for example, something as simple as crossing the street. These morons will stride to the nearest crosswalk, wait for the light to change, carefully look both ways, and proceed across the street at a leisurely pace, all the while blathering about the cultural diversity of the urban experience. This in the city that invented jaywalking and has since elevated it to an art form.
I or any other Brooklynite worth his rat poison will cross between two parked cars I will wait for a break in the traffic and walk briskly to the double yellow line. I will watch the car coming the other way. Provided the driver is not in a homicidal mood (by no means a given), he or she will speed up, traffic conditions permitting, causing a gap in the flow of traffic. Noting this, I will shift my weight to my left leg a raise my right. When the car's mirror passes me, I will step with my right leg and begin walking. Timed correctly, I will reach a gap between two parked cars on the other side before the next car can turn me into a greasy spot on the pavement and a forty five second spot on the five o'clock news. See? Like I said, it's an art form.
That is, if a native is driving. If a white person is driving, there really is no telling what they'll do. Sometimes, they'll slow to a crawl, causing cars behind them to drive into oncoming traffic in an attempt to pass (and narrowly missing me standing on the double yellow line, if I'm lucky). Sometimes they will panic stop, causing horrific traffic pileups. Sometimes they will gesture violently to the effect of "I'm from out of town! Take my wallet and my car keys, just let me live"! Or so I assume.
Anyway, Park Slope. There is a weekly flea market in the yard of the local public school. One can purchase hilarious neckties from the fifties, ridiculous buttons from the sixties (Make love, not war!), horrible clothing from the seventies, and horrible and ridiculous Danish furniture from the nineties. There is enough gaudy costume jewelry to bebauble every prostitute to ever work in this city going back to Tammany Hall. There is always elderly Russians Soviet era gewgaws- campaign ribbons and medals from the Great Patriotic War, tie clasps and cufflinks bearing Lenin's ugly mug, and various coins and bills.
It was at one such stall that I got into a bidding war with a soft spoken Asian guy over a Soviet tanker unit patch. "But why?" his girlfriend wanted to know. "I guess I just have a Soviet militaria fetish (the magazines and websites of which I shall leave to your imagination). I ended up paying six dollars for the patch and six dollars for a set of cool looking shoulder boards. The dealer alleged that the shoulder boards were that of a police senior sergeant, which I am still attempting to verify. The guy event threw in an officer's belt, which has a cool looking buckle. The belt itself, however, is made of the awful thin plastic-looking leather we failed to make wallets out of in summer camp. The Asian guy bought a less elaborate set of shoulder boards and an awful- looking Sam Browne belt, also police, in white patent leather. It would have been rejected out of hand by any self-respecting crossing guard (oxymoron alert) in America on account of its comical appearance. The fellow, clearly delighted at the sale, promised to have better stuff next week. "You like officer coat, yes? Maybe hat?" He solemnly shook hands with the Asian dude and me, and we walked away with our purchases.
It occurred to me that what we had here was nothing less than the spoils of our victory in the fight against International Communism (European Division). The guy walked away with twenty-six dollars between us and was clearly thrilled to be dumping the useless garbage on us. The powerful, terrifying Soviet military was nothing but junk. That's right, comrade. The revolution is over, and the bourgeoisie won. I was surrounded with elderly men desperate enough for my greenbacks to supplement their Social Security checks to part with their hard earned "Proletariat of the Week" medals and old, yellowing Ché posters (although the people selling the Ché posters were all aging American leftists). Taste the ash-heap of history, tavoritch.
It is always prudent, while doing a sack dance in the end zone, to make sure the other members of your team aren't setting fire to the stadium, defenestrating the announcers, and raping the cheerleaders. In the next stall over, there was an Author Andersen travel coffee mug. The woman selling it said I was the first person all day to recognize Enron's old accounting firm. It was labeled five dollars, but she let me have it for four. Then, with the mug of capitalism at its most rapacious sharing a shopping bag with the uniforms of the police state so total in it's totalitarianism that it simply collapsed under its own weight, I went home. I had a coffee while looking up my new purchases on EBay. The belt was selling for six dollars, but there were no buyers. The tanker patch was selling for four. I couldn't find the shoulder patch at all. The bastard had ripped me off. Maybe he was getting the hang of this capitalism thing after all. So there's hope for the Russians. At least I have the mug.


Thursday, March 30, 2006

Congressperson punches cop.

Representative Cynthia McKinney (D- Mars) punched a cop.

Allow me to repeat myself.

A member of Congress punched a cop. Furthermore, that cop did not beat her ass down with a lead-filled nightstick in the approved law enforcement manner.

According to sources on Capitol Hill, U.S. Representative Cynthia McKinney (D-GA) punched a Capitol police officer on Wednesday afternoon after he mistakenly pursued her for failing to pass through a metal detector. Members of Congress are not required to pass through metal detectors.

Sources say that the officer was at a position in the Longworth House Office Building, and neither recognized McKinney, nor saw her credentials as she went around the metal detector.The officer called out, “Ma’am, Ma’am,” and walked after her in an attempt to stop her. When he caught McKinney, he grabbed her by the arm. Witnesses say McKinney pulled her arm away, and with her cell phone in hand, punched the officer in the chest.

Hey, remember when some oily Saudi prince tried to give Rudy like a gazillion dollars? And then the Saudi guy was all like, well, the United States "should re-examine its policies in the Middle East and adopt a more balanced stand toward the Palestinian cause”? And that "while the U.N. passed clear resolutions numbered 242 and 338 calling for the Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank and Gaza Strip decades ago, our Palestinian brethren continue to be slaughtered at the hands of Israelis while the world turns the other cheek."?

And Rudy was all, like, go screw yourself, you overblown camel jockey?

And then some dipstick Congresscritter goes and thanks said prince for his generosity and suggests that perhaps the money can go to black charities? And that she agreed with his call for a re-examination of the U.S. role in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Many Americans, she said, "have long been concerned about reports that reveal a pattern of excessive, and often indiscriminate, use of lethal force by Israeli security forces in situations where Palestinian demonstrators were unarmed and posed no threat of death or serious injury" to Israelis.

You recall the name of this particular Representative?

It was, if I’m not mistaken, one Cynthia McKinney.

More here.


Mercenaries for hire

U.S. firm offers 'private armies' for low-intensity conflicts

A leading U.S. security firm has offered to provide forces for any counter-insurgency mission around the world. J. Cofer Black, vice chairman of Blackwater USA told the Special Operations Forces Exhibition (Sofex-2006), that his company could supply private soldiers to any country. Black, a former U.S. State Department counter-terrorism coordinator, said Blackwater has been marketing the concept of private armies for low-intensity conflicts.

Say it with me, now:
In 1972, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire...the A-Team.

Now I’m going to have the theme song to that show stuck in my head for weeks. Damn.

Story here.


Tuesday, March 28, 2006

The New Chargers Are Here!

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Auxiliary is getting Chargers in 2016, probably.

H/T: A top secret source which you could probably find yourself with a little effort.


Sunday, March 26, 2006

What OS are you?

You are Windows 2000 SP3.  You're a steady and reliable friend.  People think you're all business, but with your recent therapy you've become a little more playful.
Which OS are You?

Man, that is dead-on accurate.


I'm a poet, and I didn't even know it.

I love Haikus.

I recall a haiku I wrote on the occasion on the death- make that the official confirmation of the death- of Yassir Arafat:

A monster whose death
too long delayed. Say ‘hi’ to
Hitler and Stalin

Here’s another one:

Wasting my time on
Blogger dot com. My goodness
I am such a nerd.

How about:

Scalito is on
The Supreme Court now, so move
up North, damn hippy.

The reason I’m thinking of Haiku? I just found this blog. Good reading. I sense a crazy blog-money book deal in the future.


New To You: Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Here is my review of Fahrenheit 911, written before I started blogging, and posted on my old blog. If you haven’t read it, its new to you.

Chainik Hocker reviews Fahrenheit 911

Note: I first wrote this review in early July, about three days after the movie came out, and was hoping to sell it to somebody somewhere. Nobody bought it or was even willing to publish it for free. So I saved it on my hard drive and forgot about it. I just dug it up now. Here it is.

I must start this review with a caveat. Not only am I a Republican- an Orthodox Jewish Republican- an Orthodox Jewish Republican who has lost friends and relatives to Arab terror in New York and Israel- but I am also a huge Michael Moore fan.

I first discovered Roger and Me on cable when I was sixteen, and have since read all his books and seen all his movies. The man is both a genius and funny as hell. However, he has moved from his populist, mildly socialist Roger and Me (force GM to keep jobs in Flint!) to the more extremist Downsize This! (nationalize GM!) to the crackpot lefty Dude, Where’s My Country? (capitalizt GM exploits the proletariat!). Which brings us to Fahrenheit 911.

I was extremely reluctant to contribute my $8.50 to Moore’s coffers. However, I remembered all his criticisms of capitalism and realized that he probably wouldn’t want me to go to a theater (owned by Lowe’s), having purchased my ticket online (with my computer from Dell and an operating system from Microsoft), purchase a soda (Coca Cola Corporation) having traveled in my Ford automobile (powered by gas from Exxon). This one trip to see a movie would put money in the pockets of a lot of big powerful corporations. So instead I walked around the corner from my apartment and bought a pirated DVD for five bucks.

The movie is a well crafted, deliberately paced, beautifully written piece of crap. The plot, as far as I could tell, went as follows. First Al Gore is elected President of the United States. Then George Bush’s cousin, working for Fox News, tells everybody that Dubya won after all. All the African Americans in the country have their votes discounted. The US Senate doesn’t care.

Dubya is a lazy guy who spends much of the summer of 2001 on vacation. It is implied that Gore wouldn’t have taken a vacation (although he would have needed a tune-up and an oil change after 5,000 miles).

Then Osama Bin Laden crashes four planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. It turns out that Dubya’s father, Bush the Elder, knows Saudi Arabians from Saudi Arabia. He has even done business with Saudi Arabians and has visited Saudi Arabia. Also, Dubya may have known a guy who knew Osama’s father. Both the Bushes know the Saudi Arabian ambassador, who is from Saudi Arabia. Osama Bin Laden is from Saudi Arabia. Saudi Arabia is very rich and it owns precisely 7% of the United States. Saudi Arabia gave Dubya 150 billion dollars. You get paid about 400 thousand dollars a year to be President. 150 billion dollars is more money than 400 thousand.

After the WTC incident, Dubya got real mad. So mad that he invaded Afghanistan, an innocent country that had never done anything wrong to us. They were run by some real evil guys named ‘Taliban’ with funny beards and bad teeth who didn’t respect women’s rights. Also, Dubya was real good friends with the Taliban. We have proof in the form of a trip that a Taliban representative took a trip to Texas in 1997 and met with the Governor, who was Bush. Donald Rumsfeld bombed the heck out of Afghanistan, but most of the Taliban got away. He did manage to kill a whole bunch of innocent civilians, though. Then Bush decided to invade Iraq, just for the hell of it. More innocent civilians were killed. Also some American soldiers. Many American soldiers are from poor neighborhoods.

The military actually has people who go around to poor neighborhoods and encourages people to join. There is an interview with a mutinous Marine (whose first name, not that it matters, is Mohammed) who announces his intentions to go AWOL rather than return to Iraq.

Some rather gruesome shots of dead and dieing Arabs are shown. We follow an unidentified Army unit on Xmas eve arresting an Iraqi for reasons we are never told. The man’s relatives are, not surprisingly, annoyed at this. Cut to an interview of the mother of an American soldier killed in Iraq. Cut to an Iraqi kid screaming and bleeding from a head wound. Cut to American mother sobbing in front of the White House. Cut to American soldiers under attack. Some of the men have been hit. There is much shouting, running back and forth, camera jiggling, bleeding, gunshots. Cut to Iraqi with arm mostly off and bleeding all over the place. Cut to explosions, confusion, yelling, the President playing golf. The army has been brought to its knees. Fade to black.

In his terrifyingly bland, Midwestern, nose-first voice, Moore narrates our national descent into hell. Iraq is Vietnam with sand and camels. He plays six-degrees-of-separation between Bush and Osama, so convincingly that we want to leave the theater and burn George at the stake for being the twenty first hijacker. The battle scenes leave us astonished there are any Marines left alive. The powerful scene with the grieving mother causes many an eye to tear up and many a stomach to turn. The shots of bleeding and broken Iraqis looked like someone stuffed their sister’s dolls in a blender, poured in some dirt and a lot of tomato juice, and pushed puree with the cover off, and splashed the result all over the street, with extra yelling and running around. This is bullshit. This is sickening. There is no excuse for this kind of barbarism.

Burn down the White House. Hang all Republicans from light poles. Then the credits roll and you come to your senses.

Something was bothering me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. This is why, when one views a documentary on current American politics, one does so in the company of a Canadian or other some such foreigner- to provide a sense of perspective. The Canadian I was watching the film with came up with the biggest problem of the film, which proves my point. “What was the deal” he said “where they had the Senators with the kids who weren’t in the army?”

See, Mr. Moore pointed out that many legislators in this country, including those who approved the war in Iraq, don’t have children in the military. He pulled a classic Moore stunt by going around to Congressmen with military-age sons and handing out recruiting literature. The results are, predictably funny… but there’s something wrong with this picture.


During Vietnam, we had the draft. If called to serve, you damn well went into the army, whether you wanted to or not (in theory). However, now the Charlie Chaplin of the Iraq-as-Nam metaphor slips on the banana peel of logic. We have an all volunteer force nowadays. And nobody, mutinous Marine notwithstanding, is in the military involuntarily. Yes, it is possible that some joined for the benefits and not because they expected to have to actually fight. However, they did sign up of their own free will.

This is, at most, a minor quibble. However I believe it is indicative of Mr. Moore’s attempt to reclaim sixties style political activism, even if it means twisting an Iraq until it fits into a Nam-shaped hole. For most liberals today (although I hear they’re calling themselves “progressives” now, and I for one thing it’s great that they finally have the guts to show there true colors by calling themselves what Communists used to call them- although the Communists were being sarcastic and the lefties seem not to be kidding), the sixties never ended. So thrilled are they by finally being able to have everybody chant the same thing at the demonstrations that they did forty years ago, (namely, “Stop the War!!!”) they will gladly protest any damn thing. Bush? He’s a Republican, isn’t he? Booo!!! Stem cell research? The Right is against it? Yay stem cell research!!! War? Booo war!!!

This kind of knee-jerk politics has replaced careful thought and deliberate decision, followed by a knee jerk reaction. Well, my knees don’t work all that well, and I can’t jerk them. I can sit down and think about stuff, and I can remember that we did not start this damn war. We did not start this war, but we will damn well finish it. We don’t have a choice. And I don't give a crap about Michael Moore any longer.


Friday, March 24, 2006

Beards are cool again!

Thus sayeth the New York Times, whose reputation for accuracy is unparalleled. As we all know.

I’ve had a full, bushy, marooned-on-a-desert-island Talibanesque beard since I was about 15 or 16. Not because I thought it looked cool, but because it was to damn much trouble to shave. I’m a hairy bastard, and I have to shave twice a day- and I still look like a homeless person. Thus, the beard, which I used to trim once or twice a month.

As you can see (kinda- you may have to squint), I’ve begun to spend a bit more time on my personal grooming, trimming and shaping the beard twice a week, but the thought of beards becoming cool, if only for fifteen minutes, is quite gratifying.

Because I hate shaving, and I’m going to keep the beard even after it stops being cool.

H/T Karol.


Tuesday, March 21, 2006

To download or not to download.

That is the question.

Weather tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous CD prices, or to take arms against a sea of Britney Spears wannabes, and, by downloading emo songs, make fun of them?

We’ve all heard the debate over the ethics and morality of downloading music.

Music Industry Side: We like money, and if you don’t pay for the album, we get less money. Therefore, we are going to put you little hippy bastards in jail.

Artist Side: Look, after my producers, lawyers, accountants, agents, personal trainers, and astrologers get done stealing whatever money I make from this new album, there is barely any money left over for me as it is. I need the cash- drugs don’t grow on trees, man. Don’t download music.

Consumer Side: Downloading music is not just morally and ethically correct, but we are all obligated to download music in order to teach the recording industry a lesson- that lesson being, stop with all your capitalist money trip, man.

Me personally, I was the king of Limewire, but I recently decided that it just wasn’t right. I deleted Limewire and about eleven gigs of downloaded music off my laptop. You really cannot make the argument that downloading music isn’t stealing.

Mordechai Ben David, Hasidic recording artist and the genius behind “Let my People Go”, “Jerusalem is Not for Sale”, and “Just One Shabbos”, has a different approach- he asks people, nicely, not to download music.

Here’s the video.

H/T Yeshivaworld.


Thursday, March 16, 2006

I'm an Uncle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm an uncle!

Her name is Daniella.


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Freedom of Speech is the Freedom to Disagree.

Now, a lot has been said about freedom of speech in regards to the Danish cartoons, and the Muslim world’s opinion about it.

Now, before you get involved in an argument, you have to understand all sides involved.

There are a few factions in the fight:

American Conservatives (o.k. The Ones With The Guns): who believe that there are a few silly, bad, or evil people, and if they can identify and shoot these people, the rest of the Muslim world will start watching Britney Spears videos, drinking Coors Light, and listening to the Black Eyed Peas. TOWTGs believe that all, or nearly all, humans, want to make a little money, have a little religion, and have a lot of fun. The problem, to TOWTGs, is that a few maniacs usually take over a given region and force everyone to do their bidding; then you have to send in GI Joe to kill COBRA. And the villagers will rejoice.

This is Pollyannaish at best.

American Liberals (Michael Moore and Howard Dean, i.e. Hippy Moonbats): who believe that Satan sent Karl Rove to destroy mankind. Karl Rove can't be elected because the Secret Service checks all Presidential candidates' feet for cloven hooves, so he and his fellow demon, Dick Cheney, got a patsy to be President: George Dubya Bush, who is both a retard barely capable of functioning at a third grade level and an evil genius capable of knocking down levees with his mind. Halliburton, a wholly owned subsidiary of Hell, with branches in Dis, Pandemonium, and Austin, offered Dick Cheney a dollar for every innocent Iraq civilian murdered by the US military-industrial complex. So Donald Rumsfeld blew up the World Trade Center so Chimpy McBushit could invade Iraq. Plus, oil.


Europeans (i.e. Euroweenies) believe that those silly American cowboys are really dumb for trying to be heroes, but, whatever. What scares the crepe suzettes out of the Euroweenies are those violent psychopaths living in huge numbers all over Europe, usually with no jobs due to flaccid, impotent economic policies set by the EU. So the Euroweenies say whatever is least likely to get their embassies burned down, because those nutjobs are effin' scary.

Gutless, and ultimately counterproductive.

Israel (i.e. The Zionist Entity): A bunch of middle class, college educated Saudis murdered a bunch of Americans on 9/11 leading to America’s latest incursion into Middle Eastern politics, so of course Israel is at fault. Israel has been fighting Islamofascist terrorism for almost four generations now, and they are getting sick and tired of it. They've tried ignoring the terrorists, shooting the terrorists, talking to the terrorists, blowing up the terrorists, negotiating with the terrorists, launching missiles at the terrorists, giving land to the terrorists, and siccing Bill Clinton on the terrorists. Currently, the policy in TZE is to create Palestinian State weather the Palestinians want one or not. The Israelis carved out a big chunk of their territory (including some of the most advanced agricultural facilities in the country; too bad the Palestinians can't seem to make it work- that thing about "making the desert bloom" wasn't propaganda, guys. And the price of kosher lettuce is up about 30%, if you can even find it for sale.) with the intent of sealing it the hell off- give the Palis guns and some money, build a big freaking wall around it, and let them make their own damn state.

A triumph of hope over experience.

And finally, ladies and gentlemen, we have.................

The Muslims, a.k.a. the Islamofascists, a.k.a. the Terrorists, a.k.a. the violent nutfudge psychopathic maniacs.

What to say, really, that hasn’t been said before?

How about this: in the United States, as in any free society, you have the right to believe as you wish.

So does everyone around you.

If everyone has the right to believe as they wish, it follows logically, then, that people have the right to disagree with you.

In a free society, you, and everyone around you, have the right to free speech.

That is, you have the right to not only disagree with me, but the right to express this disagreement in print or on your blog or by walking up and down the street with a sandwich board.

David Irving is currently serving a three year prison sentence in Austria for denying the Holocaust. David Irving is a jerk and I sincerely hope he burns in Hell. But David Irving has the right to say anything he wants to. Freedom of speech means the freedom to be wrong, too.

In a free society, you have the right to worship as you wish, and so does everyone around you.

You can disagree, argue, denounce, make fun of or spoof anyone’s religion, just as anyone can do the same to yours.

Therefore, let us conclude that people in free societies divide the world into two parts: Me and Everyone Else.

If Everyone Else doesn’t physically harm Me, I honestly don’t care what they say, or believe, or worship, or write, or blog. Let them make fun of Me. I have the right to make fun of Everyone Else if I want.
Although, as a practical matter, members of free societies usually approach the matter of religion with respect and common courtesy. I’m not a Scientologist, but if you are, fine by me.

The Islamofascist world also, it would seem, divides the world into two parts: Us and Them.

Fine. Believe what you will, sir. Its no skin off my nose.

However, they seem to think that we are obligated to follow their rules, to believe as they do.

Respect I’ll give you, but obedience goes to far.

I do not accept dhimmitude. I do not accept Sharia law.

Publishing sacrilegious images may not have been a very politic move… but rioting and burning down embassies is not the proper response. It is the response of the barbarian.

And you just can’t negotiate with barbarians.


Monday, March 06, 2006

Meme: All about you.

I’ve decided to start a meme.

My nick: Chainik Hocker

My hometown: Brooklyn, New York

My team: Yankees

My theme song: Got No Water, Matisyahu

My drink: 12 year old Glenlivet

My occupation: security systems engineer

My spare time: Auxiliary Police Officer, NYPD

My hiding spot: The Green in Prospect Park

My book: The Case for Democracy, by Natan Sharanky

My hero: My dad.

How about you?

I tag Chas, Yaron, Abbagav, and anyone else who wants in on this. Just email me at chainik DOT hocker AT gmail DOT com, and I'll link it to you.


What American City Are You?

You Are New York

Cosmopolitan and sophisticated, you enjoy the newest in food, art, and culture.
You also appreciate a good amount of grit - and very little shocks you.
You're competitive, driven, and very likely to succeed.

Famous people from New York: Sarah Michelle Gellar, Tupac Shakur, Woody Allen
But of course.
On the other hand...

Via Exit Zero, who is Austin.


Sunday, March 05, 2006

Walking a beat.

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Our precinct has two lieutenants, who I will refer to as Lt. Spitpolish and Lt. Slipshod.

Lt. Spitpolish, the Operations Officer, has been in New Orleans, presumably with a mop and a bucket, until last week. This has meant that Lt. Slipshod and Sergeant Halfassed have been in charge of stuff like the APS 10 forms, the logbook, and organizing patrols.

We also have a Captain Rambo and a Deputy Inspector Methuselah, but they do not concern themselves much with the day-to-day operations of the unit.

The practical upshot of all this is that Lt. Slipshod has spent most of his time in the office on the computer or watching TV, leaving to Sergeant Halfassed the job of field supervisor.

Now, the precinct has a new CO, Captain Harassment, who wants to be Chief Harassment one day. Thus, he has decreed that the Auxiliaries will do more foot patrols, which should have (hope, hope) an impact on the crime rates in the precinct, thus making El Capitan Harassment look good.

Lieutenant Spitpolish, already pissed at the slipshod, half assed state of the paperwork, has seized this directive of Capt. Harassment as an opportunity to reinvent our little unit. Henceforth, foot patrol is the order of the day, with smartly turned out officers, shiny shoes, well maintained memo books, mandatory platoon assignments, and so forth.

What this means is that this past Tuesday evening, instead of cruising around in our half dead but lovingly used RMP, I was freezing my tuchis off on a foot post.

In case you’ve never walked a foot post before, here’s what you do:

Go to one end of your post.

Place your right foot in front of your left foot.

At a leisurely pace, put your left foot on front of your right foot.

Repeat as necessary.

When you reach the end of your post, turn around and go back the way you came.
Look around you as you walk. If you are unlucky, and you have been assigned to a busy spot, you will soon see something that will cause you to walk a lot faster. On the other hand, if you are unlucky, you will be bored out of your skull by the end of the second hour of this, and you must look around for something to entertain yourself. You and your partner will have run out of things to talk about by the end of the first hour, unless your partner is Jon, who never says anything at all. So look for hot girls, not so hot girls, ugly girls, double parkers, druggies, homeless people, and foreigners, in that order. Properly handled, all these people will entertain you for free and make your tour go by a little quicker. Don’t forget to keep one eye out for lawbreakers or, heaven forbid, superior officers. Both of them will soon cause your tour to be full of incident, but nothing good can come of it.

Listen to your radio. Listening to a police radio is like listening to a baseball game early in the season with the score tied at zero in the bottom of the sixth inning. Nothing has happened the entire time you’ve been listening, but there is still a low-grade tension in it- you don’t want the other team to score. Also, there are always some entertaining tidbits. For example, last Tuesday night we got a Jamaican dispatcher, who told of a “call for ‘elp”, and of “twee-one-one”. And I will always treasure my memory of the “vicious squirrel” job.

At some point, you will get yourself something to eat. If you go to Dunkin Donuts, some idiot will pull out his or her cellphone camera and take pictures of your, chortling at the thought of it- cops in a Dunkin Donuts! Ignore them. The donuts are worth the idiots.

Come back in one piece.

Jon, my partner, got a cellphone with a camera, so I amused myself by taking pictures and emailing it to my self. Here are some of the non-crappy ones.
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Me in Dunkin Donuts. Hey, clichés come from somewhere.
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Me in a train station. The subways are a good place to get out of the cold.
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Jon in front of the turnstiles, looking for fare beaters, terrorists, super villains, and people with boomboxes.
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Jon conscientiously fills out his memo book for Lieutenant Spitpolish.

Now, don’t go thinking Lieutenant Spitpolish is a bad guy- he isn’t. I genuinely like him, and he seems to take an interest in us rookies and our ability to stay alive on the street. He’s constantly giving us advice and telling us little stories. He just takes himself a little seriously, that’s all.

Maybe one of his little tips will prove useful one day, and if they never do, at least it’s better than Lt. Slipshod’s penchant for watching TV.