• Twitter Feed
  • Welcome!
  • The Savvy Bandit
  • Archives
  • Categories
  • Archive for November, 2009

    A Code


    2009 - 11.25

    The talented Erin of Fierce Beagle fame made a post concerning how people respond differently to her husband once they learn he is a cop.  During our long-day, er, day-long trip to Houston, my Hubby mentioned the article and wanted my opinion on it.  Please note I had not yet read the article, since that morning I had been too busy wrangling the SlobberTot to even log the internet, so I had only my Hubby’s description to go on at the time.

    Hubby was Noah’s roommate in college.  I sometimes joke that if Noah were a woman, Hubby would have married him instead of me, because that’s a good representation of how much Hubby loved hanging out with Noah.  After both men got married (to willful, wonderful women) they went their separate ways, but still stayed in touch until Noah moved with his new family to North Carolina.

    And this is where Hubby’s Secret found its beginnings.  Hubby and Noah grew out of touch.  It was a passive thing; there was no big fight, it just slowly happened and I never witnessed my Hubby fighting to maintain that connection.  I firmly believe that people go through various stages in life, and that relationships come, go, and change; I viewed the growing distance between them as an example of this, and never really questioned it.

    Until recently, when Hubby started pursuing contact with Noah.  He began talking about how much he missed his college roommate, how he wished they had gotten back in touch sooner.  It raised the question of, “Why didn’t you?” in my mind, but I waited patiently (SO hard for nosey me, so VERY hard) for Hubby to tell me on his own time.

    Erin’s article revealed that Secret, the answer to my question of why it had taken so long for Hubby to reconnect with his college friend.  In a moment of (shockingly straightforward) honesty from Hubby, he admitted to me, “I’m one of those people that got weirded out by Noah becoming a cop.”

    I wasn’t sure what to say at first.  I later asked him if it was solely Noah’s profession that made him uncomfortable, or if there were other things, and he finally decided that it was a mix of the physical distance, Noah’s new status as a father, and his profession that caused his personal response, but during our car ride these other topics didn’t pop up.

    Instead, he asked me why, in my opinion, would people respond to cops as he responded to Noah.  This is delicate ground because usually when we turn from something there is an element of fear/insecurity involved, and we don’t like to hear about that quality in ourselves.  Yet because Hubby values honesty, and because I am blunt to a fault, I immediately quipped, “Alpha dog syndrome.”

    Hubby:  Alpha dog syndrome?

    Me:  Yep.  Police have to be alpha dogs and it makes a lot of wishy-washy people uncomfortable.

    Hubby:  (Unoffended by my wishy-washy comment) Why would it make them uncomfortable?

    In my opinion, a good cop has to shape a code for himself and he has to believe strongly enough in that code to adhere to its principles without hesitation and without doubt (military does this as well).  It takes a strong person to so fully commit to something that he no longer needs to be told what to do, he knows his code and his objectives well enough that he will pursue them despite the odds and opposition, an alpha dog, if you will, who is able and willing to dominate a dangerous situation.  It’s an unfortunate truth that a cop’s backup could be wounded and the responsibility for resolving a violent situation could fall on one man’s shoulders; cops are the incredible few who willingly offer to bear that weight.

    I think that our society is so caught up in political correctness and relativism that some people feel threatened by “alpha dogs” because the alpha dogs can’t abide by such a wishy-washy code of conduct–when working.  They aren’t mean about their code, it simply is, but I think too many civilians believe a cop’s job defines them as a person and fail to realize an important truth: cops go off-duty to live as husbands and wives, brothers and daughters, fathers, mothers, friends.  Sure, because of the altruistic person they tend to be, they would still leave a BBQ to save a stranger, but they can also enjoy a really corny joke that they would never tell at a traffic stop.  They are still human.  For the wishy-washy, there is, even in these off-duty situations, a lack of confidence that stems from a lack of ‘code,’ and so the wishy-washy will always be uncomfortable around an alpha dog because he has something they don’t.  It’s a line of separation that marks the alpha as somehow more complete, more mature in their personal growth, and it is instinctual for the less-complete, less sure individual to flee from such a strong competitor.  It sounds really harsh when put in those terms, but I’m speaking from a perspective that believes we’re all very animal on some level.

    Hence the reason why, all too often, the phrase “I’m a cop,” incites a shirking response where the wishy-washy listener lowers his head between his shoulders and tucks his tail.  He’s waiting for the alpha to tell him what he hasn’t yet discovered for himself: what does it mean to live with a purpose, and what’s worth dying for?

    He IS An Aries. . .


    2009 - 11.18

    As I’m lying in bed, reading to wind down and prepare for a restful sleep, Hubby comes in and does a bit of a stutter-step, looking at me.  After a few years of marriage, you learn to read these subtle signals for what they are; the stutter-step-stare is non-verbal code for “I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to interrupt your reading, yet I know that a stutter-step is a random enough movement to get your attention.”  I bookmark with one finger and give him the slightly-raised eyebrow stare, which is non-verbal for “Yep?”

    Hubby: When you go outside tomorrow, you should check out the graffiti on our trash can.

    Me: Wha. . . ?  Who would graffiti–?

    Hubby: (Walking away)  I was angry when I wrote it.

    Call Me


    2009 - 11.16

    Dear Sanity,

    It is day 16 of NaNo, and I am pleased to inform you that I have not only kept up with my word count goal, I have exceeded it.  Furthermore, I have found the spare time and motivation to write on my non-NaNo novel, and the gettin’ is good on that front.

    Thus a quandary presents itself: if in my sane state, I could only conceive of tackling one creative project, yet in your absence my creativity flourishes on not one, but two fronts, what then could your return offer but a 50% decrease in productivity?

    I eagerly await your reply.  Perhaps, in my sleep-deprived state, I’ve fuddled the math.

    Where’s the Love?


    2009 - 11.08

    My Nano novel hates me.  Getting my characters to talk about anything besides the most mundane of things (they took a 400 trip to the shopping mall, seriously, it’s painful to type) would require some sort of sacrifice (and after watching _Drag Me To Hell_, I’m thinking anything I offer these characters would probably get the same reception as that poor dead cat).

    Drat you, Nano, for your aggressive demands.  I’m not so smooth as to be capable of wooing a dozen characters into soul-revealing banter in less than a week.

    On a more positive note, I’ve managed to crank out over 8k of dialogue and description that I *love* with my non-Nano novel, which brings my over-all word count for the last week to 22k.  Not as much as those crazy-fast writers that whipped out over 50k in the first weekend of NaNo, but, for a slightly OCD non-regurgitative writer like myself, I consider the output to show an immense amount of personal progress.

    For tomorrow:

    • Priority 1–Buy canister of coffee at Trader Joe’s
    • Priority 2–Take Savvy on long walk
    • Priority 3–Destroy Nano week 2

    Bad Habit


    2009 - 11.05

    Thanks in part to NaNo, I’ve upped my coffee consumption from two cups a day (plus 1-2 espressos over the course of a week) to a minimum of six cups a day, with a free pass to down an espresso whenever I like.

    Savvy has caught on to this.  Being the darling Velcro On Tippy-Toe that she is, she follows me wherever I go.  In less than a week, she has learned to anticipate that, when I begin grinding the beans for another cup-o-joe, my next stop will be the laptop.  Nylabone securely in maw, she leads me back to my cozy perch on the couch and sets up shop near my feet.

    I just hope my plot is less predictable.