Showing posts with label Crime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crime. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Notebook: Sketchy Man, Sauntering

I.

 Sunday afternoon: I spotted a sketchy/methy white dude scoping out my front door and well-grown yard.  He had something in his hands--looked like a hammer or a screwdriver to me, definitely not a phone--as he skulked (really) up the short walk.  I was sitting in my study which gives me a clear view of the front yard, and he suddenly realized that I was watching him closely.  He straightened up, guiltily, spun about, and headed on down the road.  

I moved the cat from my lap, picked up my phone as a camera, and popped out the front door.  A block away, Sketchy Man was doing a loose-limbed saunter, head high and not looking back, just a trifle faster than most people walk and faster than his approach to my front yard. 

(I was pulled back to childhood and my own walking guiltily that way from almost being caught eating the neighbor's fruit off the tree, you know?) 

Most benign reading: He was looking for a place to urinate.

More criminal possibility: He saw the pile of mail on the floor (social-distanced, de-Covid-19-ing) through the curtains of the front window--which is what I saw from outside when I was scoping out what he could have been up to--and he figured no one was home and he'd pry the door open.  He had some kind of tool in his hand, after all.

I grew up in a neighborhood where this kind of guy was common enough.  It has been a while since I saw one (probably) in action.


II.

I appreciate the good wishes I received from friends after I described the situation, but the event wasn't really scary. I was secure at home, and the fellow immediately backtracked and moved on. The stereotypical aspects were funny, for if this had been a film, the director would have cautioned the fellow not to overact. As the son of a cop, I tend to see suspicious behavior maybe too much. 

One thought I had was, a home burglary, on a Sunday, during a smoky air emergency, during a pandemic? We're all home!


III.

Lanky dude, white, 25-35, 5'9+, 150, sunburnt/lined face, scraggly blond/brown hair, ripped jeans, bright green t-shirt -- that's my description, but is it really accurate? I have a powerful imagination and I was keyed up just a bit. Also, if he combed his hair, changed his shirt, and stood up straight, would I recognize him? We did look each other eye to eye, but in my mind I keep wondering which actor could play him--so there goes my ID.


IV.

I can imagine, now, the fellow taller or shorter, younger or older, etc. I think my description is accurate for what I thought I was seeing, or think I'm recalling, but at the time the skulking behavior, looking eye to eye, and the bright green shirt kept me from really assessing the man himself. I come from a police family, and so I was raised to observe, but IDs can be tricky certainly.

And I can see how my specificity of recall could be problematic if I were wrong.


V.

The man's memorably bright green shirt, which I laughed to myself about as crazy attire for a criminal (if such he was), now seems almost clever as a distraction from seeing the man himself. "He had a really bright green shirt, officer. It was almost glowing. And something odd in his hands. But the shirt. Find that shirt and you'll find that man."





Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Le Carre's "A Perfect Spy" is a Perfect Novel


Le Carre's A Perfect Spy is, I hazard to claim, a perfect novel.  It carries the adult thesis that the crucial shapings of character are emotional rather than rational, and it dramatizes such a range of humanity, such a range of response, in its pages.  I recently reread this novel -- while traveling in Germany, Austria, and Swizterland, very appropriately -- that I heartily endorse and recommend, and for some the trappings of espionage will be a feature, but I hope for others it will only be a mere distraction.



Le Carre's novel is both an excellent spy novel and a classic work of literature precisely because Le Carre is such a good watcher of humanity and such a good reporter of humane responses.  It's a thriller too.

Here's a passage that matters:

As for Pym, he was gazing on the glories of the kingdom he had dreamed of so long.  The German muse had no particular draw for him, then or later, for all his loud enthusiasm.  If she had been Chinese or Polish or Indian, it would have made no earthly odds.  The point was, she supplied Pym with the means, for the first time, to regard himself intellectually as a gentleman.  And for that Pym was eternally grateful to her.

As a first generation college student, I connect with this passage.  Studying English Literature at UC Berkeley enabled me to regard myself, intellectually, as a gentleman.  And that mattered.

Monday, March 25, 2019

Don Winslow's "The Border"


Winslow's new novel The Border picks up the storyline from The Power of the Dog and The Cartel, carrying the reader through the whole War on Drugs in a well-researched and well-imagined fashion.  This is high level novel-writing in the best sense, by which I mean that Winslow creates compelling characters even as he presents very deeply researched truths about human actions and societal developments that speak to the worst and best of humanity, often the worst.  Still, reading The Border has made me wanting to be better, to act better, to speak better about what needs to be said, and to vote better, for voting and holding our elected representives accountable is at the heart of this novel.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Crime Scene

Kelpman, sprawled.
Assaulted in the night by a racoon, apparently.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Fuzzy Boats




Police boats for the City of Richmond.

Maybe I can use these shots to help with those notes/drafts for that crime story I'm flirting with.

Water drops on the amphib-camera: my apologies.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Bob Mould: "Walls In Time"

Here is another set of lyrics from Bob Mould's oh so excellent District Line, though you should really listen to the song . . . .

WALLS IN TIME

Is it a crime to want to show your soul?
Waste enough time, another black hole
Misguided, not even lost, not even sure
Now find the disease or the cure

Has life lost all its glory and wonder
Sad tales are told again and again
Sleep, toss and turn, my old bed
What a tale, again and again

Now all the stories of the world could fit in a building
In a building high and wide
Filed under headings that no one's quite sure of
Lord knows that everyone tried

When the pen meets the paper
When the mind, it begins to stray
How a soul could lose its will to explain
Oh, explain again and again
Day after day, day after day, day after day

Flowers losing life when picked from the ground
A nice arrangement for the occasion
But flowers, when moved from place to place
Lose all meaning, dislocation, dislocation

In a fit of fitless night, a flame attempts to spark a soul
Ignite, burn, candle light, a waste of time, another dead soul
If these walls around my soul could talk
The words would lose importance
Within these walls I hold so dear these words

We all want to leave a mark somewhere
For those of us who feign to care
In all unfortunate times we find a way
To build up these walls in time
To build up these walls in time

Is it a crime?

--Bob Mould