My Dumb Observations

Odd thoughts come to mind while reflecting on the passing of a friend one year ago. Some believe not everyone is called to be on the planet a long time. Of course, whenever a person in his early 50's passes, it's hard to avoid thoughts of "too soon." But Howie was an outlier. Both personally and professionally, Howie sailed rogue in a world divided by labels, conjuring his Brooklyn birthright to adapt in anyone's company. Nicknamed Triple H by fellow cops, he could be observed clocking out from a double shift with little sleep, or brown-baggin' a beer with flag waving colleagues, or seen donning a helmet to ride with his crew of urban motorcycle enthusiasts, often in the same day! Super cool, Howie's persona fit the stereotype of his appearance; like a lab-made hybrid of Barry White and Issac Hayes without the velvet notes or Kung Fu moves, but that never stopped him. Always the quiet charmer, Triple H would head back to his locker after roll call to spor

Growing up in New York City during the bad old days was a wild ride. From the 1960's through the 1990's, a perfect storm amassed, creating a calamity of conditions that would erode the city. Of course, people living through those declining decades can compare notes as to when the Big Apple had rotted most- and they all have merit. The 60's saw profound institutional racism, record unemployment, and inner city riots. The 70's added a crippling financial crisis and urban decay to the recipe. Then 1980's witnessed rapid flight and a declining tax base, combined with exploding street crime, crack cocaine, and the AIDS crisis. The simmer  would then boil over, culminating in the 1990's when murder, drugs, mayhem of every flavor, and a malaise of government services would embrace Mayor Rudy Giuliani charging forward with a plan for change. Giuliani's recalibration of city services, and redeployment of the NYPD would eventually swing the pendulum back toward civili

Please stop being nosey. From minor accidents in the opposite lane of the highway, to murmurs down your block, just mind your business. Why? Because most likely, your half-assed assessment will lead to misinformation or worse if the police get involved. What dividends do being nosey pay anyway? Just think of all the yentas in your workplace and the hearsay they promote. Nosiness rarely improves your condition, and if you’re dealing with me, might even set you back. From wash-women colleagues to bystanders on the street, I always look forward to messing with nosey people. One of America’s greatest thinkers, Jerry Seinfeld, once geniusly said, “People who read supermarket tabloids deserve to be lied to.” Well, I feel the same way about people who can’t mind their fuckin’ business. In law enforcement, police are often tasked with non-enforcement matters. Sometimes we need to return property, or get signatures on documents, or to notify next of kin for an arrested family member, or other n

*reprinted from the archives circa 2012 Just when you thought it was safe to resume chewing off people's faces, President Obama signed new legislation banning bath salts and other synthetic substances. The new Federal law classifies many over-the-counter products as controlled substances with greater penalties. Other states have independently banned variations of the substances in response to publicized antisocial dietary behavior. New York recently became the 41st state to also outlaw the use of bath salts. Often referred to as 'designer drugs ’ , many bath salts sold as herbal remedies such as Ivory Wave, Vanilla Sky, and Bliss are currently being removed from store shelves.      States are responding to the current threat to public health and safety. However, many states missed the memo on crystal meth production; thinking the increase in trailer homes along the outskirts of town and rise in cold medicine sales were signs of an expanding economy. Today, particularly in t

I hate Christmas. The fake spirit, the phony joy, it’s all a big farce. As a kid, when Santa Claus was motivating, I looked forward to the seasonal customs, but was always suspicious of how Santa operated. On Christmas Eve, my parents would encourage my brother and I to “go to bed” because Santa would not arrive with people awake. Then they would stay up with a houseful of guests celebrating the holiday Italian style -drinking jugs of wine, smoking cartons of cigarettes, eating seafood, and carrying on till sunrise- while we listened and choked on the fumes atop the stairs. Christmas morning we would drag my parents out of bed. Hung over and exhausted, my father would set up the old 8 millimeter camera, flood the room with studio style lighting, and blind his children while capturing silent films of us tearing into an overabundance of gifts. We truly were blessed. We always received what we wanted, and as an added bonus, my brother often had more fun playing with the