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'Til the Bluebells forget to Ring
Nov. 19th, 2001 09:53 amI appear to have frightened a 50-year old police sergeant very badly, to the point where he has sent a letter to my editor claiming that the media relations officers in the county all find me to be "too aggressive" and "inaccurate." He suggested the newspaper might have problems getting information from the department because of me.
In his letter, he specifically names three officers who have all, within recent months, approached him with complaints about my "aggressive" interviewing style. My editor laughed until her sides ached, because she knows just how bone-idle and inoffensive I am as a reporter. I called all three of officers specifically named in the sergeant's letter. None had any problem with my interviewing style or accuracy. One Detective Constable was extremely angry at being named in the letter, and told me that, if anything, I was the most laid back reporter she knew. She called my editor personally to tell her this. Another officer, who was named in the letter as having "serious concerns" with me, said he didn't even know of my existence before I called him.
Essentially, this police sergeant, a 50-something professional with 30 years of experience as a police officer, felt the need to lie about me. Not only does this make me extremely angry, it proves that petulant pettiness is a trait that some people hold on to well into adulthood. I know what inspired this letter - a story about some homeowners who were beaten by a gang of teens on Halloween night. The police report of the incident makes no mention of their injuries, and the sergeant told me in no uncertain terms that no assaults took place. Despite the bruises these people showed me the following morning, and despite mention of the teens being armed with bats in the police incident report.
I think what really rattled him, after the letter, was the realization that I had called all the officers he mentioned, and they'd shot down his story. At his request, we met for "java" to "clear the air." To his credit, he immediately apologized for sending the letter, but made no apology for putting words in the mouths of his fellow officers. Instead, he made general comments about how they had "concerns," but would not specify, and told me I was being too "serious" when I asked him to be specific. I suspect that if I'd not called the other officers, he would have never apologized or commented on the letter.
Essentially, the meeting consisted of me listening to him say I made him nervous because I'm always "writing things down," and because I'm too "earnest" and "serious." This is a far cry from "aggressive" and "innaccurate," I think you'll agree. I left, pleased that the problem had been dealt with, but utterly disgusted by the sergeant. He's like a sneaky, insecure, and not too bright, 7th grader.
Enough with the bad stuff. On with the good! My co-op student hasn't shown up to work since last Tuesday, suggesting I may be free of his baleful influence. If he doesn't come in today, I'll him to forget about the co-op. This prospect makes me as giddy as a school girl. Heeheeehee!
Last weekend Erin and I went to Conthulhu in Toronto, where I found I'd not been signed up for any panels, as a result of some clerical snafu. Woo! This meant I got to amble freely about the hotel during a nice, small SF con and generally glad-hand the attendees and hob-knob with the other industry guests. As an official guest, I even got to eat free food in the "Green Room." Huzzah! Erin and I pampered ourselves silly. She even got an in-room manicure.
Notable events...
- Saturday night, back in the hotel room. As a gentleman, I can say no more
- meting old friend Jeremy Buehler for a late supper at a TexMex restaurant and eating an enormous gooey burrito. Lively conversation all round.
- running a 6 1/2 hour IronClaw game for representatives from Pants-Shitting Terror (PST) Productions, the guys who do the Cthulhu LARP books.
- dancing the TimeWarp with SF/Horror author Tanya Huff and various other SF bigwigs.
- meeting and talking shop with Hilary Doda. She's the author of the Woman's Gaming Manifesto, and possibly the most successful Canadian woman in the RPG industry. She's also damned charming and pleasant.
The best part of the weekend, however, was the span of a few minutes after the monster IronClaw game ended. I joined Erin at the karaoke/dance, which by that hour had dwindled to about 20 people, all of them con organizers or industry guests. As I arrived, Erin signed up for a song, and wouldn't tell me which one she'd selected. After a few karaoke mainstays (Justin's rendition of "It's Rainin' Men" was just... gah), Erin took to the stage. My beautiful, sweet, fiercely intelligent, utterly amazing wife sang "Twelth of Never," the song her sister sang at our wedding. It's a rather slow, sentimental, and gentle song, quite a change from the usual cheesy karaoke fare, and she sang it directly to me. "I'll love you 'til the bluebells forget to ring." Quite. :-) I don't mind admitting to going a little misty-eyed, and being so again now when I think about it.
I don't think I've gone out of my way to describe Erin in my Livejournal thus far, so I will do so now. She's my wife of two and half years, and has been my significant other for nearly eight. She's utterly glorious. Physically, she's a busty, compact blonde with the most extraordinary eyes. Her eyes are very pale blue, to the point of being nearly grey. Her right eye has a hazel fleck at the top right of the iris. Complete strangers will remark favorably on her eyes. Her voice is extremely level and serious most of the time, prompting more than one person to tell her she should work in radio.
Personality-wise, she is generally very serious and thorough, but she has a sensitive and sentimental streak about a kilometer wide. She has a powerful intellect and a great love of debate and discussion. She laughs at lame jokes, which is a great boon to me. :-) She likes puns and word games and logic puzzles and trashy sword and sorcery novels, as well as cuddling under a quilt. She kicks my ass regularly at Monopoly, and speaks French fluently. She plays the piano, and sings whenever she has the chance. She crochets doilies, sweaters, and blankets, and enjoys watching Home and Garden Television. She recently discovered a love for cut-throat table-top wargames.
And this, in a nutshell, is Erin. A cuddly, voluptuous, sharply clever debate team captain with a burning passion for crochet, handicrafts, and language :-) And she married an underachiever who looks like a young version of Fred Mertz. Go figure.
Now, back to the LJ entry, which was already in progress. Last week was generally dull, aside from the con and the meeting with the cop. On Saturday I played IronClaw at Shurhaian's apartment, along with another local furry named Totempole, and my friend Justin. The game seemed to go well. Totempole, recently arrived from Poland, had a few language issues, but seemed to grasp the rules very quickly. From what he's said, it sounds like he was used to some absurdly complicated home-brew RPG back in Poland. Hmm... I wonder if a Polish RPG is like a Polish submarine? ;0)
After the game, Justin and I went to Burlington, a clean and trim (though somewhat dull) city immediately north-west of Hamilton. He wanted to introduce me to the curried fries at a restaurant called "The Poacher." Unfortunately, the place was packed, so we wandered off down the deserted midnight streets in search of another watering hole. We found several, but all seemed a little too upscale for us. (ie: the customers were wearing suits and evening gowns) Justin decided to try for a pizza place he knew of, and we headed north on Brant Street.
The pizza place was also closed, it was damn cold, and we were getting tired. We started back for the car, and passed "Conspiracy Comics." The lights were on, so we peered in, noses pressed against the glass like a pair of Dickensian street urchins. We spotted two of the staffers playing a game of Warhammer at the back of the locked store, which, for me, rather strenghtened the image of the street urchins. "Hark, good sirs! We are but two poor and gameless nerds, cast out in the cold midnight streets! Spare a few dice, or a pad of grid paper, and may Gygax bless you!"
We hastened back to the car, as a cold wind started blowing, and discussed the merits of Marvel Comic's version of Hercules as compared to Thor. On the drive back to Hamilton, we discussed Justin's IronClaw contract, the Feyadeen supplement. I was at home in bed about 1:30 AM.
Sunday was a lazy day. I woke briefly at 4:45 AM to see if I could spot the Leonids. Alas, 'twas cloudy! I went back to bed and slept till about 10. Erin and I had a nice, quiet day in while she finished marking her report cards. About 6, we went for a brisk walk in the chill twilight, and remarked on the Christmas lights. We discussed how we should decorate our own house this year - our first Christmas in our own house. I feel quite warm and fuzzy about that. :-) Bring on the egg-nog and candy canes! In just ten days, our tree will be up, and the holiday season will have started officially. Huzzah!
And now I'm at work, procrastinating. Enjoy this freakishly long LJ entry. :-)
In his letter, he specifically names three officers who have all, within recent months, approached him with complaints about my "aggressive" interviewing style. My editor laughed until her sides ached, because she knows just how bone-idle and inoffensive I am as a reporter. I called all three of officers specifically named in the sergeant's letter. None had any problem with my interviewing style or accuracy. One Detective Constable was extremely angry at being named in the letter, and told me that, if anything, I was the most laid back reporter she knew. She called my editor personally to tell her this. Another officer, who was named in the letter as having "serious concerns" with me, said he didn't even know of my existence before I called him.
Essentially, this police sergeant, a 50-something professional with 30 years of experience as a police officer, felt the need to lie about me. Not only does this make me extremely angry, it proves that petulant pettiness is a trait that some people hold on to well into adulthood. I know what inspired this letter - a story about some homeowners who were beaten by a gang of teens on Halloween night. The police report of the incident makes no mention of their injuries, and the sergeant told me in no uncertain terms that no assaults took place. Despite the bruises these people showed me the following morning, and despite mention of the teens being armed with bats in the police incident report.
I think what really rattled him, after the letter, was the realization that I had called all the officers he mentioned, and they'd shot down his story. At his request, we met for "java" to "clear the air." To his credit, he immediately apologized for sending the letter, but made no apology for putting words in the mouths of his fellow officers. Instead, he made general comments about how they had "concerns," but would not specify, and told me I was being too "serious" when I asked him to be specific. I suspect that if I'd not called the other officers, he would have never apologized or commented on the letter.
Essentially, the meeting consisted of me listening to him say I made him nervous because I'm always "writing things down," and because I'm too "earnest" and "serious." This is a far cry from "aggressive" and "innaccurate," I think you'll agree. I left, pleased that the problem had been dealt with, but utterly disgusted by the sergeant. He's like a sneaky, insecure, and not too bright, 7th grader.
Enough with the bad stuff. On with the good! My co-op student hasn't shown up to work since last Tuesday, suggesting I may be free of his baleful influence. If he doesn't come in today, I'll him to forget about the co-op. This prospect makes me as giddy as a school girl. Heeheeehee!
Last weekend Erin and I went to Conthulhu in Toronto, where I found I'd not been signed up for any panels, as a result of some clerical snafu. Woo! This meant I got to amble freely about the hotel during a nice, small SF con and generally glad-hand the attendees and hob-knob with the other industry guests. As an official guest, I even got to eat free food in the "Green Room." Huzzah! Erin and I pampered ourselves silly. She even got an in-room manicure.
Notable events...
- Saturday night, back in the hotel room. As a gentleman, I can say no more
- meting old friend Jeremy Buehler for a late supper at a TexMex restaurant and eating an enormous gooey burrito. Lively conversation all round.
- running a 6 1/2 hour IronClaw game for representatives from Pants-Shitting Terror (PST) Productions, the guys who do the Cthulhu LARP books.
- dancing the TimeWarp with SF/Horror author Tanya Huff and various other SF bigwigs.
- meeting and talking shop with Hilary Doda. She's the author of the Woman's Gaming Manifesto, and possibly the most successful Canadian woman in the RPG industry. She's also damned charming and pleasant.
The best part of the weekend, however, was the span of a few minutes after the monster IronClaw game ended. I joined Erin at the karaoke/dance, which by that hour had dwindled to about 20 people, all of them con organizers or industry guests. As I arrived, Erin signed up for a song, and wouldn't tell me which one she'd selected. After a few karaoke mainstays (Justin's rendition of "It's Rainin' Men" was just... gah), Erin took to the stage. My beautiful, sweet, fiercely intelligent, utterly amazing wife sang "Twelth of Never," the song her sister sang at our wedding. It's a rather slow, sentimental, and gentle song, quite a change from the usual cheesy karaoke fare, and she sang it directly to me. "I'll love you 'til the bluebells forget to ring." Quite. :-) I don't mind admitting to going a little misty-eyed, and being so again now when I think about it.
I don't think I've gone out of my way to describe Erin in my Livejournal thus far, so I will do so now. She's my wife of two and half years, and has been my significant other for nearly eight. She's utterly glorious. Physically, she's a busty, compact blonde with the most extraordinary eyes. Her eyes are very pale blue, to the point of being nearly grey. Her right eye has a hazel fleck at the top right of the iris. Complete strangers will remark favorably on her eyes. Her voice is extremely level and serious most of the time, prompting more than one person to tell her she should work in radio.
Personality-wise, she is generally very serious and thorough, but she has a sensitive and sentimental streak about a kilometer wide. She has a powerful intellect and a great love of debate and discussion. She laughs at lame jokes, which is a great boon to me. :-) She likes puns and word games and logic puzzles and trashy sword and sorcery novels, as well as cuddling under a quilt. She kicks my ass regularly at Monopoly, and speaks French fluently. She plays the piano, and sings whenever she has the chance. She crochets doilies, sweaters, and blankets, and enjoys watching Home and Garden Television. She recently discovered a love for cut-throat table-top wargames.
And this, in a nutshell, is Erin. A cuddly, voluptuous, sharply clever debate team captain with a burning passion for crochet, handicrafts, and language :-) And she married an underachiever who looks like a young version of Fred Mertz. Go figure.
Now, back to the LJ entry, which was already in progress. Last week was generally dull, aside from the con and the meeting with the cop. On Saturday I played IronClaw at Shurhaian's apartment, along with another local furry named Totempole, and my friend Justin. The game seemed to go well. Totempole, recently arrived from Poland, had a few language issues, but seemed to grasp the rules very quickly. From what he's said, it sounds like he was used to some absurdly complicated home-brew RPG back in Poland. Hmm... I wonder if a Polish RPG is like a Polish submarine? ;0)
After the game, Justin and I went to Burlington, a clean and trim (though somewhat dull) city immediately north-west of Hamilton. He wanted to introduce me to the curried fries at a restaurant called "The Poacher." Unfortunately, the place was packed, so we wandered off down the deserted midnight streets in search of another watering hole. We found several, but all seemed a little too upscale for us. (ie: the customers were wearing suits and evening gowns) Justin decided to try for a pizza place he knew of, and we headed north on Brant Street.
The pizza place was also closed, it was damn cold, and we were getting tired. We started back for the car, and passed "Conspiracy Comics." The lights were on, so we peered in, noses pressed against the glass like a pair of Dickensian street urchins. We spotted two of the staffers playing a game of Warhammer at the back of the locked store, which, for me, rather strenghtened the image of the street urchins. "Hark, good sirs! We are but two poor and gameless nerds, cast out in the cold midnight streets! Spare a few dice, or a pad of grid paper, and may Gygax bless you!"
We hastened back to the car, as a cold wind started blowing, and discussed the merits of Marvel Comic's version of Hercules as compared to Thor. On the drive back to Hamilton, we discussed Justin's IronClaw contract, the Feyadeen supplement. I was at home in bed about 1:30 AM.
Sunday was a lazy day. I woke briefly at 4:45 AM to see if I could spot the Leonids. Alas, 'twas cloudy! I went back to bed and slept till about 10. Erin and I had a nice, quiet day in while she finished marking her report cards. About 6, we went for a brisk walk in the chill twilight, and remarked on the Christmas lights. We discussed how we should decorate our own house this year - our first Christmas in our own house. I feel quite warm and fuzzy about that. :-) Bring on the egg-nog and candy canes! In just ten days, our tree will be up, and the holiday season will have started officially. Huzzah!
And now I'm at work, procrastinating. Enjoy this freakishly long LJ entry. :-)
