Robert Powell Resigns

The prick with a badge resigned. Do I feel badly? Nope. Sorry. Not a bit. There is a lot of sympathy for this guy being dispensed on the blog-o-sphere, mostly of the sort that "no one deserves to lose their job over one lapse in judgement."

First, it wasn't his first lapse in judgement and it most certainly wouldn't have been his last. Second, we aren't talking about the guy who screws up your order at McDonald's. We aren't talking about someone giving you a hard time because your credit card payment was processed on Monday instead of Friday. We are talking about someone turning of the power to a hospital because those damn doctor's need to be taught a lesson about following the rules. We are talking about the actions of a peace officer.

Cops are held to a higher standard precisely because we give them authority over just about everyone and under just about every situation imaginable. They carry a deadly weapon strapped to their side. They have the authority to shoot to kill. They can run down a citizen, throw them to the ground, handcuff them and lock them away. Not only that, but we demand that every citizen must submit to this else risk prosecution. That is an extraordinary amount of power and as Spidey-Man says, "with great power comes great responsibility."

You don't give a citizen a gun, a badge, and power like that and set them out on the street unless you know damn well they have the intelligence, training, common sense, and experience to do the job and do it well. It is too much power to risk otherwise. We need to have absolute confidence in the people we put in such positions. We also need to have absolute confidence that the weaknesses, biases, opinions, personality, and attitudes of the people in these positions will not interfere with their execution of the job. Unfortunately, we all know that there are people who thrive on power and authority and are attracted to such jobs, not because they desire to serve the public, but rather because they desire to serve their own egos. Not all police officers are like this, but that a stereotype has emerged indicates that they are out there in great enough numbers to become a parody. Only problem is, this isn't a joke.

Do I hold police officers in high esteem? Absolutely. Do I hold them equally to high standards of conduct? You bet your ass. This guy Powell did not make the cut. I'm glad he resigned. I'm glad he did so under investigation and I'm glad that it will prevent him from returning to the force. He was not up to performing the job to the standards the community demands.

Beyond getting rid of one bad cop is another issue--and that is the discretionary power we grant to the police.

According to Judge C. Victor Lander, the city of Dallas' chief municipal judge, under Texas law a person can be arrested for any Class C misdemeanor citation except speeding and having an open container.

When an officer does decide to make an arrest for a minor traffic offense, it's usually because of how the person behaved during the traffic stop, Lander said."The defense bar refers to it as contempt of cop," Lander said. "If the officer was offended by something the person said or did, they may arrest them."

WTF? In the land of personal liberties, I take offense to the idea that my attitude should matter as to whether or not I am arrested, harassed, lectured, or detained on a minor traffic offense. Anyone who takes someone to jail for a freakin' U-turn needs to seriously review the behavior they find objectionable. (Powell did this, too, and to the wife of another football player. Maybe it isn't minorities he has a problem with. Maybe it's the football team.) Anyway, I don't really give a shit about whether officers are personally offended by the behavior of the people they encounter on the job. I'm personally offended by the behavior of my fellow grad students half the time, but I keep my freakin' mouth shut and realize that it doesn't reflect on me. But saying that it is okay for a cop to detain someone for five hours because they didn't show sufficient deference, respect for authority, or whatever else sort of unspoken offense-o-meter crap they are walking around with is insane. If this is how these cops operate, I think it is time to review whether or not they deserve the power we've granted them. I don't believe anyone ever asked me whether it was ok for an officer to apply a different set of rules to some citizens than others because he's got a bug up his ass one day about something. Or because I've got a bug up my ass one day about something and act a little grumpy about getting pulled over by the po-po.

In any event, I find the party line towed by the justice system to be equally disturbing.

Assistant Chief Floyd Simpson, who oversees the department’s seven patrol divisions, added:

“It’s a judgment thing on the cops at that moment,” Simpson said. “The core of what we do is just discretion, and it needs to be that way.”

Yes it is Assistant Chief Simpson. Yes it is. You need to do some serious soul-searching and a more thorough house cleaning.

On being an unsuitable mate

Perhaps with another milestone approaching, I am given to bouts of self-reflection. And today's question is age-old. Why is it that I am so unlucky in love? And not so much unlucky in love as unlucky in finding love? This one has been ongoing for some time. Decades, in fact. This sort of self-analysis is difficult, for it is sometimes hard 1) to see one's self clearly and objectively, and 2) to face the hard realities of what is seen. Loads of things have changed from when I first became interested in men, but one stark reality has characterized the continuum: I have never felt more incompetent in any facet of my life than I have in attracting members of the opposite sex, nor have I so consistently failed at anything in my life. And I often wonder if there is anything I have sought more urgently or ardently.

From the moment I noticed boys, I noticed they noticed girls unlike me. As a teenager, I was: athletic, tomboyish, and, in one of life's truly memorable ironies, flat-chested. I was, in fact, voted the flattest girl in the 7th grade. In any event, boys liked girls who weren't like me. And this was back in the day when I wasn't at all outspoken. In fact, I don't think I spoke until I was in the 10th grade. If I was smart then, I didn't know it.

And yet, I have heard people say that so-and-so was interested in me but I was just so smart. There must have been something they saw that I didn't that made even attempting a relationship seem futile. But I have heard some variation of that intelligence theme enough to have it nag at me as a problem I can't really fix. It's not like I walk around trying to lord my intelligence over people. I just like to talk about stuff. I thought almost everyone did. I thought other people liked to think about things and knock around ideas.

Take Guv for instance. Just today I was talking to him. I was no doubt droning on about something in the news or something I'd been thinking about or how my day was going and he stopped me and said, "what is your IQ?" I mean, who asks that? I don't think I've ever asked anyone that. Ever. Because really folks, let's be honest. I'm not that smart. Guv is a college graduate. He has a masters degree. I used to think I was kinda smart. You know, I could clear a Jeopardy board as long as they didn't have some lame-ass categories like Mythology or Parts of a Diesel Engine or something. Yes, I thought I was smart enough. Right up until the day I got a job at the Field Museum and I found out what smart really is.

When I was a kid, being independent was a sign of maturity, and I wanted more than anything to be seen as mature. Couple that with the fact that my father liked to think he was teaching us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, and I'd have to say, he raised some pretty independent girls. But apparently, independence ain't sexy. The big complaint my husband had about me was that I didn't need him. I mean, I was single a long time before he came along and I had to learn to do a lot of guy things myself. Like fix things around the house and deal with car repairs. You get the picture. I have realized that I did need my husband. I needed him emotionally. Unfortunately, he couldn't provide. It was a lonely time. I'll leave it at that.

Despite never having dates, I never felt I wasn't worthy of dates. I don't think I suffered, ever, from a lack of self-confidence. In fact, I think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread, and I'm really straddling the fence whether sliced bread is all that and change back from a buck, comparatively speaking.

I don't think I have been all that accomplished in my life. I've never risen above lower middle-management and I have changed jobs and professions a lot. I'm in graduate school in middle-age for Pete's sake. I haven't exactly made my mark on any one industry. So I doubt that my accomplishments are intimidating anyone.

That leaves me with looks. Now, this is where things get cloudy. I always thought I was pretty enough, but it seems virtually impossible to be objective about one's own looks. I was able, in my youth, to attract one or two that I also found attractive, so I felt lucky that my attractiveness equaled my attraction. But with my youth slipping away (ok, humor me already), I am left to ponder the realities. If I was unable to attract a suitable mate when I had youth on my side, what chance do I have now of meeting Mr. Wonderful? In the face of such logic, it becomes increasingly difficult to concern myself with my looks. I do try. I haven't given up. But it is hard to stay motivated.

I will give you that I am outspoken. Whatever shell I lived under as a child, I crawled out of with one fist in the air as an adult. Maybe it was always having to scrape for my place in this world. Maybe it was the realization that no one was going to stick up for me. Maybe it was a refusal to be marginalized. In any event, I am perfectly capable of taking up for myself. Granted, not everyone thinks it is ladylike to hold your own in a political, scientific, or religious debate. I exhibit sound logic. Perhaps this is what is so wrong. I don't just allow the men to win.

It would seem that being self-confident, independent, self-reliant, smart, and average to slightly-better-than-average looking aren't enough to get you by in this world, romantically speaking. And if that's so, then what?

Do I resign myself to spending all my time alone? Do I go invest in some cats?

Guv says I'm just upset because I think that men should find brains and education sexy and they don't. No, Guv. It's not that. It's that brains and education are about all I've got these days and no one is buying.

I couldn't walk in a pair of 4" heels if my life depended on it. I'm not ever going to enjoy going dancing. Without medical intervention, I'm never going to have a thin waist. I never had one when I was 20. As things stretch and gravity works, you simply have to accept what you are.

I am alone as I have always been. And this is the great failure of my life.

In all fairness...

I can't rail on the rest of the world without pointing out my own foibles. So here is the list of my own behavior that, generally speaking, drives the rest of the world nuts.

• I'm late. A lot.
• I don't care that I'm late. Hardly ever.
• I can't remember names. And despite people thinking that they aren't important or that I don't care, I do spend a great deal of energy trying to imprint names in my head. It only works some of the time. That said, I can't remember names of movie stars, even ones I find incredibly handsome or talented. Heck, sometimes I can't remember names of people I see every day. If you graduate and move away, trust me, I'm not going to remember your name.
• I procrastinate.
• I sometimes say things that people (not me) perceive as stinging criticism. I guess I assume that others have as thick a skin as I do and take criticism well.
• I'm not very good with tears. Mine or anyone else's.
• I don't do being frustrated well.
• I don't relate well to children.
• I cuss.
• I cuss in front of your mother.
• I cuss in front of my mother.
• I get on my soap box sometimes.
• When someone or something gets under my skin, you may have to just listen to it for a while if you are around me.
• I often value animals more than people.
• I won't back down if I think I'm right.
• I love practical jokes.
• Sometimes I don't listen. Worse still, I'll pretend I'm listening.
• Sometimes I like to be the center of attention. Not always. Just sometimes.
• Unless life or limb are at stake, I won't try to stop you from making stupid mistakes. After all, life is an adventure, some of the best lessons are learned from experience, and I have found you often look back on those as the good times, regardless of the stupidity of the action.
• I love to eat.
• I can get wildly passionate about things. (Although Mellisa said she loves to hear me talk about things I'm passionate about, so maybe this isn't so bad?)

On the other hand, I have some good qualities.

• I am incredibly productive when I want to be.
• I often give good advice. I chalk this up to having done a lot of stupid things in my life.
• I have an overdeveloped sense of justice.
• I believe that loyalty and friendship are earned. If you are my friend, there's just about nothing I won't do for you.
• I am kind and generous with my time, with compliments, and with my energy.
• I like to laugh. A lot.
• I forgive easily.
• I can tell a joke.
• I have unusual stories. Most of them true.
• I can motivate people and get them involved.
• I am a decent leader.
• I am an excellent public speaker.
• I admit when I'm wrong. I apologize when I offend.
• I don't have a malicious bone in my body.
• I can talk to anyone.
• If you have an adventure, an idea for an adventure, a crackpot idea, a too-good-to-be-true fantasy, I will wrack my brain about how we can make it happen
• Two words: ROAD TRIP.
• I never met a dog I didn't like. Even my brother's stupid bird dog.
• I like to fancy that I'm objective.
• I'm a good listener. I've learned that sometimes all that is necessary is for someone to listen. To listen while you repeat yourself. To listen while you vent. To listen to your pain. To listen while you ask rhetorical questions. Just listen.
• I don't stick my foot in my mouth nearly as much as I did when I was younger.