By now, you’ve probably heard that several officers of the law have tragically fallen in the line of duty recently. First, there was the shooting in Dallas, where five police officers lost their lives, and then the shooting in Baton Rouge, where another three officers fell to gunfire. Since the attacks, the internet has once again begun to point the fingers of imaginary justice, trying to make sense of these senseless killings.

The Black Lives Matter movement has been targeted, with people who were posting All Lives Matter quickly changing their colors to Blue Lives Matter. It was originally thought, that because there have been a number of deaths of black men at the hands of police, that these were retaliation killings. An unprecedented amount of young black men have been killed by police in recent years, and it was originally what sparked the Black Lives Matter movement. Even though the group is consistently making headlines, both shooters had little or no affiliation with the movement.

The numbers are staggering. Over 500 people have died in the United States at the hands of police officers this year alone. In contrast, only 63 officers have lost their lives in the line of duty. Looking at the statistics, the average person should be a lot more afraid of the police than the police being scared of civilians. Since 9/11, and the subsequent Iraq war, the police have been given access to a high volume of military equipment.

Being a police officer is obviously dangerous job, but how dangerous is it exactly? If we go back to look at the numbers, being a cop is dangerous, yes, but it’s certainly not the most dangerous job out there. I looked at list after list after list, and the hard truth is, being a police officer doesn’t even break the top ten. The most dangerous job in the world isn’t policing, it’s logging. Hell, even the people who pick up garbage are statistically more likely to die on the job than an officer of the law.

I’m not trying to downplay the role the police have in our society, but social media is currently flooded with police stories talking of heroics and holding dead colleagues. You don’t see posts saying ‘Everyday, I put my life on the line so that people like you can buy affordable lumber to construct your birdhouses out of’. Loved ones aren’t lining up at the door in tears every morning that a sanitation worker puts on their overalls and goes to pick up garbage cans. But if you look at how dangerous these jobs are, compared to policing, then they should be lining up at the door in tears. If we’re going to base our respect on how dangerous a job is, there should be parades for lumberjacks. There should be little kids running around, saying ‘When I grow up, I’m going to pick up trash for a living’ and we should be ecstatic at their choice.

Being a police officer isn’t hard because they’re constantly in fire fights (they’re not). It’s hard because you are having to deal with people at their worst. It’s a hard job because they have answer a call for domestic violence, and it’s the third call from this house in a month. It’s a hard job because you’re often the first on the scene to a car accident, and you see an entire family dead at the hands of a drunk driver. It’s a hard job because you’re dealing with drunks, drug users and mentally ill people, and you’re expected to maintain a calm, professional demeanor. I refer to the police as ‘having the world worst customer service gig in the world’. That’s what makes being a police officer hard.

At the same time, there’s always good in the world. In Wichita, instead of holding a protest, the Wichita Police department and Black Lives Matter had a bar-b-que. The police brought the burgers, with members of both sides bringing a mess of side dishes. I’m not going to state that everything is fine and the problems are all solved, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction.

People are going to have to recognize that there is a problem with the status quo with race relations in the United States, because unless there’s change, you’re going to keep seeing more of the same. I think more meetings between the Black Lives Activists and the Policing community should involve cookouts. People are a lot friendlier when they’re full.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Burgers, not Bullets.

Well, I fucked up pretty badly recently. Not a complete failure, mind you. No one died, property wasn’t damaged, and all of my appendages are still attached. But at the same time, I still made a huge, huge mistake, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to correct it, although there’s a good chance that ship has sailed.

Now, I’ve been known to procrastinate. Not a little bit, but an absolute master of putting things off until the last minute. I would finish homework on the bus to school, I would prepare for a test the night before. Once, in college when I was building a bridge out of popsicle sticks for a class in strength of materials, I was haphazardly gluing bit of wood from frozen treats the day before. I cut myself pretty badly, and the bridge ended up with a bunch of blood all over it. Needless to say, the bridge wasn’t the best in the class, but to my credit, it also wasn’t the worst.

Normally, I’m one hundred percent aware that I’m putting something off. It never sneaks up on me, I’m never caught by surprise. When a deadline is looming, I’m staring that asshole down the entire time, making sure not to break eye contact. It’s not that I want to put it off, it usually that I’m a sucker for short bursts of dopamine hits that are provided by doing anything else but the task at hand. I’ve developed some very poor habits over the years, habits that I’m trying to break.

I’ve been focusing a lot on a book I’m reading, called ‘Learning How to Learn’. It’s by Dr. Barbara Oakley, and it’s basically the study of how to focus your mind, stop procrastinating, and start getting to work. It’s an incredibly fascinating read, and I’ve been picking at it for a while now, doing the exercises, writing down my progress. It’s been a really enjoyable process.

Let’s get to the part where I fall flat on my face. I’m part of a writing group, called the Bow Bottom Writers. It’s nice to be part of a little group of writers and have the opportunity to chat with other folks about it. It’s also cool that even though we’re all writers, that’s pretty much where the similarities end. All sorts of people from different walks of life are there, and it’s refreshing to be in a room full of people who you respect but disagree with on a number of subjects. We meet once a week, on Thursday at the college. We either do a writing exercise or we have a guest speaker come in and talk about craft.

We’re not a huge group by any stretch, so there isn’t a budget to have a speaker come in and chat with us all the time, so we take turns picking a topic, making a little presentation, and giving a lecture to the rest of the group. It’s a fun exercise, and it changes things up a bit.

To anyone who knows me, you can see where this is going.

Now, last night was my turn. Apparently. I say apparently because it’s the first time I had been completely caught off guard forgetting to do something. I’ve never been that blindsided before. And I should have known! I had it on the calendar, had started on the presentation already, done some research, and was slowly putting the pieces together. Here I am, and I have to give a presentation in fifteen minutes about a subject I’m not ready to give. So I leave the room, get some water, and float some ideas around in my brain. Should I set fire to the building? Should I leave right now, head back home, pack up my things and leave town forever?

All of those ideas were actually considered, even if very briefly. In the end, I sat in front of six adults, and through a combination of information I hadn’t looked at in a week, bullshitting skills I had thought I had forgotten, and the help of the woman who organizes the writing group as she asked a bunch of questions to light the dark recesses of my brain, I managed to stumble through the presentation while only losing most of the respect of my peers.

At the end of the day, everyone walked away knowing that I’m not nearly as intelligent as I play myself off to be, and that’s what really counts.

It’s weird to think that even though I’ve been reading and studying a book that supposedly helps deal with your procrastination, I hit the worst case of it in my life. Maybe that means I should go back to doing things the old fashioned way, on the back of the bus an hour before class.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Oh my god Leslie, I am so sorry about last night. I absolutely hate Tim Hortons, but I owe you a damn coffee.

p.s.s. Seriously though, this is straight up old school Mr. Charlton right there.

The United States of America. The original melting pot. One of the largest countries in the world, both by population and by shear size. Today is the fourth of July, their independence day, the day that the United States stopped being a colony of the British Empire and became their own nation. That declaration happened 240 years ago today.

It’s a strange place, any time I’ve been it’s felt like some sort of bizarro Canada, with more liquor stores, ammo depots and gambling. I’ve only had the pleasure of going a couple of times. Two trips to Seattle, which due in part to its music culture might be one of my favorite cities of all time. I’ve been to Hawaii, when I was sixteen and probably didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have. Our family also did the Disneyland trip to California, and soaked up the Hollywood magic as well as too much sun. Beyond that, my foray into the States has been limited to day trips to Montana, Washington and Idaho. Little hops over the border, plus a short camping trip my family went on when I was maybe all of eight.

The United States is a massive country, and it’s a shame that I’ve only really experienced a fraction of it. Even though it’s still a relatively young nation, it’s a cultural power house. Their contributions to music have been stellar, with the creation of Jazz, the Blues, Hip-Hop, Rock and Roll. All of these forms of music were birthed in the United States. Rock  and Country both owe their roots to the Blues, famed for it’s Devils Note. The Blues originated in the Delta of the Mississippi, created by former slaves on the plantations.

The film industry has been largely centered around Hollywood since the creation of film. Roughly a hundred high budget movies come from the major studios, and countless other films are produced and created from independent film makers. It’s hard to think of the United States without thinking about Hollywood.

There food and drink is unreal. Even though the country is a goddamn runt when we’re talking about how long it’s been around, some of the original cuisine that hails from the States is something else. From the humble hamburger to the mighty slow roasted barbecue, the United States is home to some of the best food, period. Even though much of the food hails from other cultures, they’ve turned a lot of it into their own unique cuisine. And the beer and wine! Right now, I think some of the best beer and wine in the world is coming from the US right now. There is a ton of craft beers coming out of the States, and I’m not sure if anyone else is doing what they’re doing. Screw the Reinheitsgebot, they’re throwing in a crazy variety of stuff in their beers. Their wine is nothing to sneeze at either. Californian wines are constantly winning awards, and the entire west coast, from California to Washington is dotted with vineyards and wineries.

On the flip side, ever since the attacks on 9/11, going to the United States make me uneasy. Before the attacks, our borders were pretty open. You only needed a drivers license to get across. Now, even almost fifteen years since the attack, tensions still seem high. Border guards on both sides seem to be less friendly, more on edge. The questioning seems to take longer, more of an interrogation. Not to mention the US leads the world in mass shootings.

It’s a place that seems like home, but not really. It’s brighter, faster, louder than Canada. And for some reason, I still find myself drawn to it. I still want to go to New York and take a bite out of the Big Apple, get a slice of famous New York Za. I want to head to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, and stuff my face with Creole food. I want southern barbecue, I want lobster from Maine, I want to hit up jazz bars and the weird little museums that dot the landscape. I want a frank at a baseball stadium, hitting up a game of Americas favorite pastime.

Even though it makes be nervous, the United States is still a place I want to experience, the pros far outweighing the cons. And who doesn’t want a baseball frank?

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. It’s just that whole section in the middle of the US I have no interest in. It just seems really damn boring.