On a Lighter Note

Lighthearted Posts

Closing out a satisfying Saturday. Plus, UFO caught on tape here.

~ Ron Walker ~ 18 Comments

It’s been a great day. I visited blogs and read great posts.  We’ve had a ton of rain the last 3 days, 3 inches just yesterday. I think it has all moved on through thank goodness. The ground is so saturated, we are having flooding and water standing in the yards.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, my mother-in-law”

This afternoon was spent watching a marathon of Ancient Aliens. Nearly 5 hours of it. Why? like I described in my other post a while back, cable is about worthless. As the song says, 57 Channels and nothing on. As Michelle came through the living room (she enjoys teasing me about the show) the second time, she asked if I was trying to see some distant relatives. I said “Yes, as a matter of fact, my mother-in-law”. I can still see through the swollen eye if I squint just right, to finish watching the last episode.

News Flash!
I managed to catch a UFO on tape, here in my office/computer room.

Seriously, had I observed a UFO around here today, it would have had an umbrella and pontoons. Have any of you ever seen a UFO or something you couldn’t explain? Do you believe in them? Or is Dennis Rodman just a fluke. 🙂

Comments welcome,

Come on, let’s go to New Orleans, it’ll be FUN she says.

~ Ron Walker ~ 19 Comments

I need to preface this with the fact that I am not homophobic. Some great friends are gay. You have to remember that this was back in 1984, things were not quite as liberal as they are today. Let’s go to New Orleans, it’ll be fun she says. I remember standing there with a strange feeling. After all, I was a cop, I’d never been a party animal, neither of us were. But the “history” and “sights” would be wonderful according to her.

You shouldn’t totally trust anything, with too many A’s in its title. A call to AAA for accommodations was made. Wow! We would be staying in a highly recommended location across the street from the legendary Marie Laveau’s apartment?, located in the French Quarter. Sounds pretty good. Naturally being me and wanting to be safe, I insist she ask about the safety of the location. “Great location! No problems ever.” Even a continental breakfast.

When traveling as a cop, you try to be courteous of the locals. Being a police captain, I had no desire to get entangled with local police over whether it was permissible to carry a concealed firearm in my vehicle while traveling. I would have to pass through Mississippi, so a call there to the Attorney Generals office resulted in, “No sir, we’d rather you leave it home while traveling through our state, we have enough problems here.” A call to Louisiana was greeted by, “Sure! Bring your weapon, we need all the help we can get.”

The trip there unarmed was uneventful. Arriving at the place we would stay was “historic.” It was one of the original apartment/townhouses on the main street leading down to bourbon street. There was a girl that staffed the location from a small desk in what appeared to be a closet in the main hallway that was barely wide enough to walk down without bumping into the card table that contained the “Continental Breakfast” (A doughnut and orange juice). I’m a cop. I’m trying to decide if the doughnuts are a joke, or a coincidence. Either way, I’m unarmed. Oh, and the pictures never seem to match the actual location.

Being me, unarmed, in the french quarter of New Orleans, I asked about the safety outside coming and going. With a smile she replied, “I have no problem, when I close for the night, I just place my hand in my purse on my gun, and walk straight to the car”. She never dropped the smile. “Oh, by the way, make sure you move your vehicle from the street out front by 5AM. The street sweepers come by and they will tow your car if it’s in the way.”

On our first day, we realize we have booked into the middle of the Gay community. Again, nothing wrong with gays. However, In 1984, a straight vacationing cop, was about as out of place there, as me booking onto an all ladies cruise.

There were three really memorable moments or comedy during that trip.

 

“Ron, your shoe is untied”

The wife and I are walking down the street from the hotel on the second day. I am always aware of my surroundings, noting any places of danger the previous day, or places of rowdy behavior to be avoided. As we approached the first corner of our street, walking towards Bourbon St, I noted the medium-sized crowd of guys at the corner bar. It was a gay bar, we had already ignored some whistles the previous day. Not sure if they were meant for the wife or me, not interested in asking. Suddenly she says, “Ron, your shoe is untied”. “I know.”
“Stop and tie it then.” I continued walking and let her know that I was not about to stop and bend over to tie my shoe right across from a gay bar full of guys standing on the sidewalk, particularly that looked like “Hell’s Angels.”

 

I’m shirtless, barefoot, and my belt not fastened

The third morning, at 5 AM, my eyes flew open as I heard what sounded like the street sweeper. I jumped up, snatched on my jeans, and bolted out the door to move the car. I moved it down and around the corner to park it on a main street. You guessed it, right in front of another gay biker bar. Some of the patrons were standing outside talking and holding pool cues, Do these people EVER sleep? This was across the street from the Louie Armstrong park, where two tourist were robbed and killed the month before. I exit the car, and start jogging back towards the hotel. A couple of cat-calls and whistles helped quicken the pace. It’s 5 am, I’m shirtless, barefoot, and my belt not fastened, running in front of a bar that looks like they would issue you a knife or gun before letting you in.

 

There were these wooden shutters

Our last night was on a Friday and they were in party mode on the strip. We avoided that area preferring to just take in the sights and a couple street car tours. That night we had what must pass for entertainment there. There was no TV in this huge room/bathroom. There were these wooden shutters on the outside of the windows, huge 8 foot tall shutters that they closed at night.
It started with a thump as someone leaned against them, then giggles, then more thumps, more giggles. Then the panting started. Groans, then the crazy rhythmic thumping of someone having sex against the shutters at 11PM. They must have taken a lot of vitamins that day. I should have taken a continental doughnut out there, and lured them down the walk away from our shutters.

So, never trust a company with more than one consecutive character in its name. It could spell a wild time.

Comments welcome,

Throwback Thursday : Memories of pranking police partners.

~ Ron Walker ~ 19 Comments
Left to Right: J.C., The Mayor, Ron. 1997

A quick memory came to mind this morning. While reading an account of scaring someone with the flash from a camera, I remembered my flash prank from long ago (1994). On duty, I carried small teddy bears to give to crying children at accidents, or domestic disturbances. I was all business with the bad element. The troublemakers had nicknamed me “Ice Man” on the street. There could also be a humorous side to me, it could be morbid, strange, and at times twisted. It was a good way to relieve stress. My jokes and pranks were always directed towards partners, never citizens.

I enjoyed photography (still do),  I also owned a large flash unit for my camera. Lets just start with that.

Xenon strobes generate between 300-500 to flash.

J.C. was my traffic partner. We had just taken possession of brand new Harley-Davidson Police Motorcycles a couple of weeks earlier. Shiny, beautiful, equipped with the latest new lighting in our department, strobe lights, two in the front, one at the rear on a metal pole. They had installed the driver unit that powers the strobes in the left-side saddle bag, with a caution of keeping metallic things from coming in contact with the box in the bottom rear of the compartment. As some may be aware, the old style xenon strobe lights generate voltage between 300-500 to flash.

As I left for work that day, I placed my camera flash in a small towel and put it in the saddlebag. That evening just as it was getting twilight, we had stopped at a large convenience store in the center of town. We were taking a break, standing around talking to a couple of other patrol officers who had dropped by to kill time.

I mentioned to J.C., that my rear strobe mounted on the pole had flickered, instead of firing brightly a couple times. I knew he would want to take a look at the box, he was a tinkerer type. Now I had turned the camera flash on just after we arrived, so it would be charged up. J.C. starts moving things around and checking connections on the box. He knew the unit was not “on and operating” at the moment, so felt safe reasonably safe checking the connections.

Once he stopped jumping around

As he was saying he couldn’t see or feel anything loose, I asked him to let me move more things out of the way. Stepping next to him while he was still bending over looking, I reached in the towel drawing the flash unit out into the dimly illuminated saddlebag. I pressed the test button and the flash fired. It was a brilliant flash with a soft popping sound that seemed to be amplified in the saddlebag. J.C. thought he had been “bit” (electrocuted) by the power unit. Once he stopped jumping around, like a crack head attempting the “White boy wiggle”, and realizing he was still upright, conscious, and breathing, he nearly collapsed with relief. When it dawned on the others I had caused it, they laughed so hard they cried.

When the flash fired, J.C. jumped. For the briefest moment, he actually appeared to be levitating in the air. His body responding in anticipation of a shock, by trying to curl at hyper speed into a fetal position while standing. We learned several things that evening.

  • J.C. had a healthy heart.
  • He was capable of levitation if needed.
  • I am an ass. (as declared by him)
  • Cops can cry crocodile tears while laughing.

Sometimes it’s enjoyable to recall the good memories from long ago.

Comments welcome,

We shouldn’t complain, but I think I will. Some days are just fodder for posts.

~ Ron Walker ~ 32 Comments

After all, laughter is the best medicine.

What’s the old saying? “I could complain, but it wouldn’t do any good”. Sometimes it can be fun to complain, groan, moan, bitch (pardon my french), or otherwise let it all out. It can be a type of therapy. Especially if you’re as twisted as I am in the brain pan. The best thing is to look back over the day, appreciate you are here to have witnessed it, and try to laugh at it, or yourself. After all, laughter is the best medicine. There are a couple of links here referencing some past posts new followers may enjoy.

Yesterday we had a 40% chance of rain, according to the weather guessers on TV. So naturally we had thunderstorms and 2 inches of rain in one hour, on top of all the rain that had fallen.

Thought I saw Noah’s Ark

Now I live in a fixer-upper. You can’t beat the price with one of these deals, but you do get a surprise from time to time. Last night was no exception. The roof is old, and I have fixed a couple of leaks over the last two years. Last night during the storms, the wind reached about 40 mph with torrential rain, as in 2 inches in an hour. I thought I saw Noah’s Ark glide by, but the rain was too hard and I couldn’t see plainly through it.

Shingles, not the itchy kind.

This morning I discovered we had sprung a leak right over the dining room table. Not on the right, not on the left, but dead center. The good part? The double wide is not level, so it ran mostly to one side and soaked the carpet, instead of all around. If I had known, I would have placed the flowers that reside on the covered porch on the table and saved watering them. I could of also pre-soaked some laundry for today. Checking outside I find that there are numerous dark rectangular objects laying about. Yep, they’re shingles alright. On the bright side, I can now build the dog house and not make a trip to Home Depot for shingles, it appears there are enough to cover it. Now what was that insurance deductible?

Roadkill anyone?

Time for breakfast. My mother-in-law stays with us as she is in poor health, which I think has led to my poor health, but I digress. She decides to cook breakfast, which usually ends with the smoke detector going off. No, I’m not joking. Sausage and gravy over biscuits. Canned ones thankfully. Last time I ate her homemade ones, I nearly had to have a tracheotomy because they would not, go, down. The sausage she likes is good once it’s cooked. While it’s cooking, it smells like it might be roadkill 3 days old. I usually get nauseous and open windows. I went to the front door this time and opened it and the screen, and just stood there to get some fresh air. It appeared someone had rang the dinner bell for the flies that showed up, not a full minute later. Yes, go ahead and call me stupid. I was hungry and the smell had wafted on out. I should know better because usually if she cooks meat in anything, I wind up with an ailment that rivals the results of preparation medicine, for a colonoscopy. Michelle says I never learn not to eat her Mom’s cooking. Let’s just say I pulled the pin on that breakfast grenade, we’ll see what happens later on.

“Hey! Here’s lunch on me!

Reboot, where she likes to sit.

As if the gods, didn’t hate me enough. My sweet, lovable cat, Reboot. Jumps up on the

desk and assumes her spot she takes at times, in the space between me and the keyboard. Apparently, she doesn’t feel well. After a couple moments, she gave one funny sounding wet burp, and then expelled undigested kibbles. No gloop gloop, I’m going to throw up, best sit me on the floor warning. This gave me the fleeting urge to show her mine, but I resisted with great effort.

Nothing funny about a roof leak, wet dining room table and carpet, shingles blown off, or breakfast by the enema queen, but if I put it down in a humorous context, it makes it all better for me and I can smile at it.

Have a great Sunday, comments always welcome.