People sometimes react strangely when they learn that I'm a criminal-defense attorney. On the one hand, some people are sort of predisposed to respect people who happen to be attorneys. I get the benefit of that sometimes, although not as often as I would have previously imagined. On the other hand, though, people are confused by the idea of defending criminals. A friend once asked me if I was revolted by the idea of having to say that guilty people are innocent. But that's not what criminal defense is all about.

First of all, criminal defense is not about defending criminals--it's about defending people accused of crimes. The difference might seem slight, but it's not. The difference between those two things is what makes our entire criminal-justice system, as flawed as it might be, one of the fairest, most admired justice systems in the world. I can think of two important justifications for the existence of criminal-defense attorneys: the need to protect the rights of the individual and the overall need for peace, order, and the rule of law within our society.

The criminal-defense attorney is the only person who takes the side of people accused of crimes. Every other actor in the system is, at best, neutral. Most are actively working against the interests of the accused. But the goal of our system is not high conviction rates. Rather, we want conviction rates that correlate with guilt and innocence as closely as possible.

We can look at someone that's obviously guilty and see the entire criminal-justice system as an egregious waste. That reasoning might make sense from time to time. But we also have to consider the case of the innocent defendant. It's easy to think that if someone's been accused of a crime, trials, juries, burdens of proof, and convictions are all mere formalities or, worse yet, affirmations of what we already knew to be true. But there are innocent defendants. Remember that Socrates, Jesus, and Superman were all criminal defendants at one point or another.

But perhaps the point will be better understood if you put yourself in the position of a criminal defendant. If you were wrongly accused of a crime, you would want an advocate who was familiar with the process, the actors, and the law. You would want someone to take up your cause and go to the mat for you. Without that advocate, you might very well be convicted and punished for a crime you did not commit.

So you need an advocate. But that's not enough. If we want fairness and justice and accurate results, we must assume that every defendant is innocent. That is the only way to make sure that those that actually are innocent are vindicated.

If every defendant must be honestly presumed innocent and every defendant that is presumed innocent must have an advocate, it follows that every person accused of a crime must have an advocate. And it also follows that it is the duty of that advocate to do everything within the law to protect his client's interests.

The criminal-defense attorney also ensures that all the other actors--judges, prosecutors, police officers, probation agents--act in accordance with the law. Although it may be rare, judges make mistakes, prosecutors overstep their bounds, police officers violate citizens' rights, and probation agents fail to follow administrative procedures. Again, if we focus on the innocent defendant, we see that the criminal-defense attorney is vital. We all agree that we want criminals caught and apprehended, but we also all agree that we want legal actors to act in accordance with the Constitution, the statutes, and the law generally. Criminal-defense attorneys act as a balance to ensure that all the other actors do everything they're supposed to and nothing they're not. It's another example of checks and balances in our government.

In the end, criminal defense is just as much about Truth and Justice as criminal prosecution. It is the goal of the system to achieve the correct result, and defense attorneys are bound to act in ways that will help the system accomplish that goal. We fight tooth and nail for our clients, but we do so honestly, forthrightly, and with integrity.

So, no, I don't find criminal-defense work revolting. To the contrary, I love it. And I am proud of the work I do.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 6:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Legal Rants , Philosophical Rants , Superman

Before so much as one other person tells me how much I should go to Primanti Bros., let me just say this: I fucking went, ok?

Anyway, our second day in the Spurgh started off pretty lazily. We got up sometime in the mid-morning. After a quick bagel, we were off. And in style, too. The weather was perfect: sunny and mid-80s, so we drove around in a convertible Wrangler the whole day. Awesome.

We got on the highway and then headed towards the city. I knew I was in for a great day as soon as I saw the city. See, we took this tunnel through a huge hill, which I later learned was called Mt. Washington. One minute, you're driving around in a rural-looking countryside. You see a looming mountain which is sparsely covered with old homes. Then you're in a tunnel. Next thing you know, the tunnel is opening up on the gleaming skyscrapers of a giant city. It's pretty much the most abrupt change from rural to urban I've ever seen. And it was awesome.

Our first stop in the city was the Strip District. It's basically an area populated by touristy stores, awesome food stores that the locals shop at, and street-food vendors. It actually reminded me a lot of the touristy sections of Nogales, Sonora, although it wasn't as sketchy and there wasn't nearly as much cheap handmade crap. There was a fuckload of Steelers (pronounced "Stillers" by the locals) paraphernalia.

We walked around in some of the shops, and there really was a lot of unique stuff in there. The food places were friggin' amazing. The coffee place made me wish I liked coffee, it smelled so good. The fish market was a spectacle. Penn Mac smelled better than almost any other place I've ever been. There was a giant cheese section, literally barrels of olives you could buy by the pound, and kegs full of olive oil that you could fill your own containers out of.I wanted everything.

But the highlight of the Strip District was Primanti Bros. There might be a way to screw up a sandwich with coleslaw and french fries right there between the bread, but I can't imagine how you could do that. And Primanti Bros. does the opposite of ruin it. The guy comes out, stares you down, you tell him what you want--no substitutions!--and he brings it out, slices it, and leaves. No places, no utensils. Just you and your sandwich. And the sandwiches are amazing. You gotta go there if you go to Pittsburgh.

After the Strip District, we drove around a little more. Some of the neighborhoods in the Spurgh were really, really awesome. The Carnegie Melon and Pittsburgh University campuses were beautiful. We walked around in Phipps Botanical Gardens, which were impressive, but I think they'll be even more so later in the season.

In the afternoon, we went to the top of Mt. Washington to see the Duquesne Incline, which chelsadilla and her brother and sister-in-law insisted on incorrectly pronouncing as "doo-CAYN" instead of the obviously correct "doo-KWES-nee." Idiots. But despite my company's problematic phonetic predicament, we enjoyed a beautiful view of downtown Pittsburgh and the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio rivers. Seriously awesome.

Then we were hungry. So we went to church. More specifically, we went to Church Brew Works, a brewery and restaurant built into an old Catholic church. Aside from the dining tables and bars instead of pews, the brewery equipment instead of an altar, and the desanctification which apparently took place, the thing looked exactly like it would have when it served as a place of worship, right down to the stained-glass windows and the pipe organ. It was sort of a mind-fuck, but the food was good, the beer was acceptable, and the company was fun. Plus I don't think that any of chelsadilla's family members hate me, so we're gonna count this as a win.

We went back up to Mt. Washington with the entire group after dinner to get a good view of the city at night, then headed back to our home base for more relaxing on the porch. After a few more beers, we all went to sleep, satisfied with another excellent day.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , Restaurant and Bar Reviews

Chelsadilla and I went to Pittsburgh (The Spurgh) this weekend. Her family is originally from there and although her mom and dad no longer live there, her grandparents and brother do. Oh, also, her mom and dad were also visiting this weekend. So, yeah. I've now met all of my girlfriend's family and have emerged without a singled punch being thrown. In fact, I think most of her family members liked me. And I'm totally in with her mom.

Oh, also, Pittsburgh is a great city.

Going into the trip, I had a few concerns. First of all, while I knew that chesadilla had told her mom lots about me and that her mom thought I was ok, I had no idea what her dad knew or thought about me. So as far as the parents were concerned, I was most worried about meeting her dad. Second, the purpose of the family get-together was to celebrate chelsadilla's grandma's birthday. That's all well and good except that the grandma had been described to me as, well, racist. She had, apparently, never met a Mexican before. And she was initially told that chelsadilla was bringing along her "friend." Great.

So, with those two worries in mind, I was somewhat relieved when my girlfriend told me that the plan was for me not to meet super-racist grandma at all. But right before we got on the plane in Chicago, chelsadilla's mom called and informed us that the plan was for the dad to pick us up and then immediately drive us to the birthday celebration where I would meet the whole family--including SRG. I was thrilled.

The flight was good, by which I mean that it was short. We were in the air for just over an hour. We landed, I met the dad--nothing too awkward or strange, and no pointed questions about sleeping arrangements or anything like that--and then we went to the restaurant. I met everyone, including SRG. I was happy not to be confused for a busboy. Everyone was really nice and welcoming and I think I came off as not a complete tool. Mission accomplished.

Eventually, we headed out to SRG's house. That place was fucking awesome. It was a huge, old brick house on a four or five acre lot. There were thousands of trees and just tons of space. The house itself was beautiful, and the inside was immaculate. It was also a perfectly preserved example of 1950s America decor. I bet chelsadilla's grandparents still do fallout drills in there.

Anyway, SRG made some of her signature chocolate cake. It was amazing. I hung out with chelsadilla's family. It was fun. I spoke to chelsadilla's grandpa. He fell asleep.

Eventually, we went to chelsadilla's brother's place. He and his wife are pretty much awesome. They live in a house that chelsadilla's great-grandfather. Apparently, the house has never not been occupied by someone in the family. I think that's really cool. The current owners have made a lot of improvements and it's really a beautiful house.

There were two highlights to the day. First, chelsadilla's brother is extremely well-known in the Pittsburgh area as a beer aficionado. He knows his shit, and he brews some damned good beer at home. Since I've been thinking about trying home-brewing, I asked to look at his set up. We went into his basement and he explained everything to me. And then I noticed a giant container full of a beer-like substance. I asked him what it was and he explained that it was some sort of experimental beer he'd been working on for two years. Intrigued, I asked for a taste. It was unique but good. It tasted like wine beer. I liked it. I also sampled some of his more conventional brews; they were all excellent. So, first highlight was sampling beers made by one of Pittsburgh leading beer guys.

The second highlight was dinner. Chelsadilla's sister-in-law is the executive chef for four of Pittsburgh's leading restaurants. This woman can fucking cook. And she did cook. For us. Marinated pork tenderloin with rosemary fingerling potatoes and sweet peas. Fucking amazing.

Way too full and slightly buzzing, it was finally time to turn in. An even awesomer day awaited.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , General Awesomeness , Reviews

Chelsadilla, R-Mac, and the girl R-Mac's seeing (is she at nickname status yet? I don't know) went to the Annex to see some heavy-metal rock show thing tonight. It was fun.

The first band consisted of four women. Everyone agreed that several of the women were really attractive, but we couldn't agree on which ones were and which ones weren't. Based on the fact that they all played Gibson instruments (including the bassist--when was the last time you saw a Gibson bass used in a hard-rock setting?) and that they all had other expensive backup instruments, I was suspicious. It just seemed to ridiculous to me that there would be an all-girl heavy-metal band with a super-hot, in my opinion, singer and some hot other girls. Also, the lead guitarist was pretty good. But, anyway, the whole thing seemed like a heavy-metal version of the Monkees to me.

Oh, and what was the all-girl hard-rock band called? Cockpit, of course.

They were just the opening band, though. The main act was a band called The Last Vegas. I was very impressed by the two guitarists and the drummer. The lead singer brought nothing new to the table at all. And the bassist was a fucking hyperdouche. I think R-Mac said it best when he opined that they sounded like a mix of AC/DC, Guns 'n' Roses, and Motley Crue. They were entertaining but not good.

The best part of the whole thing, though, was that chelsadilla had never been to a rock show before. I think she was genuinely scared at times. It was sort of hilarious.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Fun Shit I've Done , Music Reviews , Reviews

I've heard a lot about that moment when a son realizes that he's stronger than his father. Or that he's faster or smarter or more successful. The moment when a son surpasses his father, it seems, is a big deal. I didn't have a father, though. I had Billy Corgan.

Ok, so that analogy is a little much. Billy Corgan wasn't my role model; I didn't want to be like him. No, I had much better people to look up to. But at a time in my life when even my best friends seemed like cruel strangers, the stuff in The Smashing Pumpkins's songs was, well, perfect. I had never heard music that so perfectly captured everything I thought and felt at the time. This stuff was angry, hateful, beautiful, delicate, vengeful, regretful, ashamed, and vulnerable all at once. This was music made by a guy who was frustrated and isolated and lonely and depressed, just like me. This wasn't a guy who was unhappy; this was a guy who could not even understand how others could think they were happy. This was a guy who had seen startling beauty, but it didn't want to have anything to do with him. This guy felt exactly like I felt.

At a time when I felt lost and misunderstood, Billy Corgan wrote that nobody nowhere understood anything about him, that he was lost at sea.

To say that I loved The Smashing Pumpkins is an understatement. I listened to their music to the exclusion of almost everything else. I listened to them and talked about them so much that my friends--the very friends who had introduced me to the band--started hating them. They got burned out on them. But I never did. And I still haven't, over a decade later. I'll go weeks or months without really listening to them, and then one of their songs will come on iTunes and I'll go through and joyfully listen to their whole catalog.

Billy Corgan was not my father. But he played a bigger role in shaping who I am than my father did. So while I'll never know what those of you who were lucky enough to have fathers felt like the first time you beat your dad at arm wrestling, I think I have some idea. Because Billy Corgan has lost his fucking mind.

Somewhere between the extremely decent Zwan, the almost unlistenable TheFutureEmbrace, his apparent affair with Tila Tequila, and his work with the Total Nonstop Action people (which, frankly, I haven't been able to bring myself to watch due to a real fear that it will literally break my heart), the man lost his way. In fact, he not only lost his way, he raped my adolescence in the same way that George Lucas raped my childhood. Only this is worse because Mellon Collie and Siamese Dream are arguably more important to me than Star Wars while Zeitgeist is a much bigger steaming pile of shit than the last two Star Wars movies.

I was sad when my favorite band broke up, but at least they were still respected. Now that's not even the case. At this point, Billy's antics are just pathetic.

So listen, man. I'm one of your biggest fans. I really am. But it's time for you to go away. it's time for you to realize that you're not as good as you used to be and to be humbled by it. It's time for you to make up with D'arcy and James Iha and get them to play with you when you guys are inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The three of you and Jimmy, obviously. Maybe then you guys can go on tour again or something. But, until then, please just stop.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit , Life Sucks Sometimes , Rants on the News , The Smashing Pumpkins

I've been busy lately and haven't had time to blog. That's gonna change and I'll be back to blogging normally. I'll blog about something inane and dumb later tonight.

But what prompted me to blog just now was the release of some Bush-era memos concerning the torture of various terrorist suspects. You can read all of the memos here, and you can see several outtakes along with some commentary here. I have to admit that I've only read the excerpts at the second link; I have not read any memo in its entirety. I honestly don't know if I'm going to read the whole memos because, well, they're disgusting.

I've read 1984 a bunch of times. There are torture scenes in that, and they always make me uneasy, partly because the particular form of torture employed in that book would totally work on me (not that there's any form of torture that I could resist). But mostly those scenes make me uneasy because it's just horrifying to even picture one person torturing another. The excerpts I've read are pretty much the worst things ever. They're worst because they're real, obviously. But also because the torturer isn't an evil agent of Big Brother but, rather, an American soldier working under a direct order from the highest levels of government. An American came up with this idea, an American thought it was a good idea, and then an American went and tortured another human being. And each of those actors swore an oath to protect our Constitution and our ideals.

The interrogation methods described in the excerpts I've read are beyond appalling. It is wrong to treat someone who has been convicted of no crime this way--even if it's the person behind the September 11th attacks. There is simply no justification that I can conceive of that justifies these actions, and I'm ashamed that people from my country played a part in this gruesome spectacle.

Equally disturbing is the length to which officials went to justify these techniques. Jay Bybee wrote that:

An individual placed in a box, even an individual with a fear of insects, would not reasonably feel threatened with severe physical pain or suffering if a caterpillar was placed in the box.

Of course that belief would be unreasonable if the person knows it's a fucking caterpillar. But the memo specifically states that the torturers would tell the detainee that it was a "stinging insect." This sentence epitomizes the stupid pretenses that formed the basis of the justifications for these actions. And this guy's a fucking federal judge now!

This is some sad shit, is all I'm saying.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 9:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Philosophical Rants , Political Rants , Rants , Rants on the News

I was driving home. I was in the middle lane of a three-lane road. The extreme right lane is explicitly reserved for right-hand turns only. I'm driving along when I see a minivan in my rearview mirror. I see that it swerves from the extreme left-hand lane to the extreme right-hand lane. This is a maneuver a friend of mine once called the "Jersey Slide." I thought, "Fuck, this guy really needs to make a right-hand turn."

Anyway, the van drives along in the right-hand turn-only lane. It's going pretty fast. It passes me. It passes the first right-had turn. Then the second. It goes through an intersection and approaches a third right-hand turn. It turns on its left turn signal and swerves into the middle lane. Where it waits for the red light to change.

And here's the really crazy part: I got a good look at the minivan's driver, and it wasn't Mr. Vice.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit

I'm not one of those people that thinks that dreams mean something. In fact, I'm the opposite: I'm of the opinion that people who think that dreams mean something are dumb. As far as I'm concerned, dreams are a random collection of nonsense, devoid of any deeper significance. The idea that dreams are made up of representations of things that are going on in our waking lives is ridiculous to me. So that's why i was sort of shocked to have a dream last night that I found sort of relevant.

In this dream, I was a lawyer. I had my own law practice. But instead of having my office where it actually is, my office was in Nogales. In fact, it was in the neighborhood where I grew up. In the dream, I ran my law office out of the house of a kid I used to play with (I'm not gonna call him a friend). One day, I had an idea: if running a law office is a great idea, then running a moving business out of the law office would be an even better idea!

So that's what I did. I started a moving business to run alongside my law practice. I don't know why. Immediately, I got a call from someone who wanted to hire me to help him move. Fine. So L-Dawg and I got his stuff and moved it into the office. Later, I realized that we had to move the stuff to his new place, so we started moving things. The first thing we carried was a bookshelf. For some reason, it still had all the books in it. We got distracted and put the bookshelf down in the driveway of this house.

L-Dawg and I went inside and dealt with whatever it was that distracted us. Eventually, I realized that we should probably deal with the bookshelf, so I asked L-Dawg where we had left it. He said it was in the living room. I said that I was in the living room and that I couldn't see it, so he was wrong. Then we remembered that we had left it in the driveway. We looked outside and the bookshelf was gone. I started freaking out. This guy had trusted me with his belongings and I had completely neglected to care for them. Then I thought "Fuck, and I didn't even get insurance to cover our moving business's clients!" So I had let this guy down in two ways.

We started canvassing the neighborhood, looking for any sign of the bookshelf. Eventually, we walked past what was my grandma's house (my grandma lived next door to me when I was growing up). There, in her garden, we found the remnants of the bookshelf. There were the sides and the shelves, mixed in with a chopped-down tree. But there were no books. I cursed and berated myself for allowing this to happen.

My life went to shit. I was inconsolable. I gave up the moving business and the law practice and wallowed at how I had let someone down like that. And then I woke up.

So what's the lesson? Well, like everyone else, I make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes eat at me, and I blow them completely out of proportion. I lose sight of more important things. I lose sight of the fact that nothing is perfect, least of all me and the things I do. The guilt eats at me. So I woke up from that dream and I realized that I have to learn to be easier on myself about my failings. I have to keep trying to be better, but I can't throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 1:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit , Potentially Entirely Unhelpful Analogies

People have told me that I have a unique personality. I've always been baffled by this because I think my personality is fairly obvious and boring. Still, I'm putting together a list of the basic principles I follow, just in case you decide to impersonate me or something.

1. The perceived funniness of something is directly proportional to how many times your audience has heard it. If something was mildly amusing once, it'll be fucking hilarious the fourteenth time. If people tell you that something you're doing is obnoxious, you just haven't done it enough.
2. Whoever is louder is righter.
3. The purpose of youth is to accumulate good stories to tell your grandchildren. The purpose of old age is to tell your grandchildren good stories.
4. It's only rude if it's done to me.
5. When in doubt, reference semen.

So there you go. I think that pretty much sums me up. Feel free to add others, or guiding principles for yourselves.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 12:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)| Filed under Existential Nonsense , Funny Shit

So, pursuant to all the recent 911 activity and the fact that I'm sick and tired of living on the wrong side of the Beltline, I've started looking around for places to live. It's been sort of exciting, and I hope I can find a place for a little more than what I'm paying now that has a lot of cool stuff going on.

The best place I've seen so far was this townhome on the West side. It was about 1,200 square feet and had two bedrooms, a fireplace, a nice kitchen, an attached garage, in-unit washer and dryer, and an unfinished basement (can you say "band practice space"?). But, unfortunately, it was considerably outside of my price range and they don't allow pets. I told the lady that this wasn't a deal breaker, but the fact of the matter is that I'm not going anywhere without Smash and Lily.

So I've been looking at a few other places. I've visited a few and been unimpressed, for the most part. Then I found a place that's towards the upper end of what I'd like to pay but has a lot of the features I want: in-unit laundry, two bedrooms, and a kitchen that doesn't feel like a prison cell. Plus the guy told me that they'll put in new carpet before I move in. So that would be cool.

But here's the thing: I don't know anything about the neighborhood. So maybe you guys can help. This place is on Raymond Road at Whitney Way. Have you guys heard of any stabbings or anything in that area? The place seems to have some fairly decent houses and it seems sorta quiet, but there are some potentially not-that-great apartments across the street.

So do you guys know anything about that area? There's a Curves right there, so it can't be that bad, right?

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 11:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense

For the second time this week, I called 911 yesterday. Here's the story.

I had just gotten home after work. I was walking from my car to the back door of my apartment building. Right as I'm opening that door, I heard screaming and cursing coming from behind me. I looked over and I saw that a woman was using a long metal tube to hit some car, and that a man was standing there arguing with her. It looked to me like they were about to fight each other or something. They continued to scream and argue, and the woman was holding this metal tube. This was all happening right near other peoples' cars. I sighed to myself and dialed 911 again. The guy involved in this fight looked over at me and said to the woman "Look, he's calling the police." She said, "Good!" I thought that was an odd thing considering she was the one I saw damaging a car and holding a weapon.

The 911 people answered, and I told them what I saw: an ongoing physical confrontation between two people, one of which had a rudimentary weapon. I told them that they needed to get here immediately because it looked like the situation was escalating. The woman said police were on their way.

While this is going on, the woman got into a car in an adjacent parking lot and drove off. I couldn't see the license-plate number or get a really good description, so I was frustrated that I couldn't relay helpful information to the police. But my fears that she would get away were unfounded: the next thing I knew, her car was in my own parking lot, driving 30mph in reverse, directly at the guy she had been fighting with and some dumpsters. I was sure she'd hit one, the other, or both. She screeched to a halt, parked, got out, and started screaming again.

At some point, a second woman became involved. She was carrying a baby, and the dude that had bee fighting with the first woman was talking to her. The baby somehow ended up on the ground and the first woman was still screaming, now at several other people that had come out of the building. She was accusing them of beating her. All the while, the baby's sitting there on the parking lot.

So I said to the dispatch woman, "Look, there's a baby involved now. Please get someone here immediately." She said that she'd sent the message and that she had some questions for me. I said that was fine, and she asked for my address. And the area code for the phone number I was calling from. Completely fucking important shit given that there was a fucking riot brewing in my parking lot. I looked at my phone; it had been seven minutes since I was on the phone with this woman and she first assured me that the police were on their way, but no police were in sight.

Then two women came out of the apartment building next to mine and started walking towards the car the first woman had been hitting. I now saw that the car had a broken window; my neighbors told me that the woman who was carrying the metal tube had kicked the window out. As these two other women were walking towards the car, the first woman ran up to it and started screaming and kicking the rear driver's side window. She couldn't break it, though. Then the two women got into the car and drove off. I gave the 911 woman a perfect description of the car.

The screaming woman was relatively close to me at that point, and she started waking towards me. She asked if I had called the police, and I told her I had. She said to please tell them to hurry, and I said ok. She told me that the women that had driven off and the man she'd been arguing with had beaten the shit out of her. She showed me bruises on her face and arm that looked pretty severe. I asked if she wanted me to ask for an ambulance, and she said she didn't need one. Then she went back to the other building and started screaming at people some more.

Finally, ten minutes after I called, the police showed up. It seemed like everyone who lives in that other building was outside now, screaming at each other and the police. I recognized one of the officers as one of the ones that had responded the last time I called 911. At one point I think tasers were drawn.

Things calmed down from there. I don't know if anyone was arrested, but I do know that the police made only the most cursory investigation. By the time the cops got there, four or five of my neighbors and I were watching this situation unfold. The cop came by and asked us what we saw, which we told him. He didn't take notes or ask for any of our contact info. He didn't even get our names. We told him where the metal bar the woman was holding was, he went and looked at it, then threw it right back down onto the ground and walked away.

I've learned some lessons: first, I need to move. Right now. Second, Fitchburg cops are fucking slow. Third, they're fucking lazy.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 5:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)| Filed under Existential Nonsense

So, yeah, I called 911 today. It wasn't a big deal, really, but I was scared and pissed at the time. Let me explain what happened.

Behind my building, there's a parking lot. I was backing out of my spot, turning slightly so that I could then turn and drive forward out of my spot. The scene was something like this:

Right as I was reaching that position, intending to head left out of the parking lot, I looked left and saw that a white car had just pulled into the parking lot and was heading towards me. I thought that it was going pretty fucking fast for a parking lot, but I still expected it to pull to the right so that I could get out of my spot and then pass it to get out of the lot. But this is not what happened.

No, instead, the white car decided that it was going to keep going just as fast as it was, and then swerve in front of me, cutting me off and barely missing hitting me. It was like this:

This was some fucking bullshit. This car was speeding in a parking lot, saw that I was clearly backing out or getting into this spot. Instead of slowing down or even stopping, this asshole drove on the parking spaces to get to the other side of the lot two seconds faster than if it has just waited. I mean, maybe I'm not expressing this correctly, but this is a huge fucking dick move. He drove on parking spaces. And this isn't a Wal-Mart parking lot, it's a fucking apartment parking lot. It's small. There are children in the area, and he had no idea who or what was on the other side of my car. Not to mention that, fuck, it's just not right to drive in front of a car that's clearly just backing out or getting into a parking spot. In front of the car!

Anyway, the white car ended up parking a few spots down from where I was. I rolled down my passenger side window and saw that these were some hooligans in their late teens or early twenties who were clearly up to no good. I said some rude things to them, something to the effect of "What the motherfuck are you doing?" At that point, they started cursing and threatening me. Then one of them got out of the car and kept saying some pretty crazy things. Then he started running towards my car as if he was going to try to get in or something.

At that point, I drove off down the parking lot, not wanting to find out exactly what this guy had in mind. And that's when i called 911.

This wasn't the crime of the century, but these fuckers were driving like assholes in a residential parking lot and, frankly, made me feel unsafe. That's not cool.

The cops eventually showed up and I gave them a description of the guys--I swear one of them looked like Omar from The Wire--and their car. The cops politely told me that it was probably a bad idea to say anything to them at all, but said they'd keep an eye out for a car with people matching the description.

I'm sure nothing will come of it, but the whole situation left me feeling pretty freaked out. These kids were not just idiots out behaving like idiots, I don't think. I'm sure they were up to no good. Or maybe I'm just a cranky old man.

Either way, one thing is certain: I need to move out of this neighborhood.

Posted by Ismael Tapia II at 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)| Filed under Existential Nonsense