If the case hinges on the word of an “Officer” (Police) and a defendant, courts usually rule in favor of the officer. There is the presumption that all members of the law enforcement community are not only experts but they also have the requisite moral character to be the stewards of the law. The way laws are written right now, the only place that a member of the law enforcement community cannot tell a lie is in the courtroom. While collecting information from defendants, it is permissible for them to use deceit to acquire information.
Enter the incident of the 16th of September (READ BLOG ENTRY). Here’s a classic example of an officer’s word against a potential suspect. While I was under a short side-walk detention, Officer Wagoner of the OC Sheriff's Department took possession of my wallet and when he released me, he failed to return my wallet. He drove off with it still sitting on the hood of the squad car. A call to dispatch asking for the officer to return my wallet was met with a stern and clinical “the deputy advised me that he returned your wallet”.
A few days letter, I retrieved a message on my voicemail from Liza Fadeel from Bank of America at the Aliso Viejo Branch. She said that a customer dropped off my wallet at her branch. She was able to track down my number because the wallet contained an old BofA BankCard. So, here we find two contradicting statements. I said he never gave me back my wallet. He said that he returned it to me. Fact finders will ask, how is it that my wallet ended up with Bank of America? Who, then, was telling the truth?
I added this to my ever increasing inventory of incidents that support my claim under 42 USC §1983.
VIEW PICTURES OF THE WALLET
(PS CHECK OUT AN OLD PICTURE ON MY ID)
Sniper's Nest
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How would you like to be always punctual in the morning? How would you like to have an alarm system that guarantees you jump out of bed the moment it goes off, landing you straight in the shower?
I slept by some shrubbery beside the AV Fire Department last night. I chose that spot primarily because it was the closest to the library. There are volumes and volumes of legal briefs that had to be produced in the next few days. So the destination for the day was the Neighborhood Cup that opens at 6AM. It has become my virtual office for months now and is conveniently located across the street from the AV Fire Department.
There were clusters of low growth flora beside the Fire Station that I was able to re-arrange so I can bed there with little visibility from the street. It looked like a hurried up version of a "sniper's nest". After my unwelcome encounter with sprinklers the other evening, I was pleased to find a place that I could sleep without getting into a fetal position. I slept there the other evening without a sprinkler incident.
5AM and I was already thinking of getting up but was still very sleepy because it was still dark. As it turns out, someone had set an alarm system for me and it was set to wake me up at 5AM. Consider an alarm clock that you cannot negotiate with – that guarantees that you wake up instantly. It has neither a snooze button nor a stop button. Imagine waking up to the watery and mind jarring wake-up call of a sprinkler system.
It went like this: A courtesy wake up call for VIP Guest Robert staying in the Green Suite was set for 5AM by the Front Desk at the Fire Station. 5AM rolls around and the valves open and water pushes through the pipes finally arriving at the sprinkler/wake-up system above Robert’s head. Robert gets the wake up call and jumps out of the bushes straight in a cold shower. An OC Sheriff’s Deputy named Deputy Wagoner is rolling by in his squad car on his way to get his morning donut and sees someone jump out of the bushes. He delays his donut run, backs up his squad car and stops to investigate. What happens next is a source of controversy.
Upon seeing me, Deputy Wagoner yelled, “Ben para aqui!”, thinking I was a Mexican. “I speak English”, I yelled back. After I got out of the shrubbery, he asked me to sit by the curb and called dispatch. Then, he asked me to stand up and patted me down for weapons. I had my wallet in my right pocket, which he pulled out and placed it on top of the squad car. Do you have any identification on you? It’s in my wallet. He took out my ID and called my information to dispatch. After realizing everything checked out, he gave me back my ID and sent me away. The only problem was he didn’t give me back my wallet and it had enough money to buy more than a dozen donuts. That was all the money I had – about $15.00 and documents that are difficult to replace without considerable cost and effort.
I called dispatch and spoke to a “Brian” who took my number and told me he was going to get a hold of the deputy. Within minutes, he called me back and said, “The deputy advised me that he returned your wallet”. It’s a classic confrontation that happens in court all the time. It is the defendant’s word against the officer’s.
I’m going to have to subpoena the squad car tapes to prove that the officer drove off with my wallet on his hood because he was in such a hurry to get to the donut shop.
VIEW THE SNIPER'S NEST
I slept by some shrubbery beside the AV Fire Department last night. I chose that spot primarily because it was the closest to the library. There are volumes and volumes of legal briefs that had to be produced in the next few days. So the destination for the day was the Neighborhood Cup that opens at 6AM. It has become my virtual office for months now and is conveniently located across the street from the AV Fire Department.
There were clusters of low growth flora beside the Fire Station that I was able to re-arrange so I can bed there with little visibility from the street. It looked like a hurried up version of a "sniper's nest". After my unwelcome encounter with sprinklers the other evening, I was pleased to find a place that I could sleep without getting into a fetal position. I slept there the other evening without a sprinkler incident.
5AM and I was already thinking of getting up but was still very sleepy because it was still dark. As it turns out, someone had set an alarm system for me and it was set to wake me up at 5AM. Consider an alarm clock that you cannot negotiate with – that guarantees that you wake up instantly. It has neither a snooze button nor a stop button. Imagine waking up to the watery and mind jarring wake-up call of a sprinkler system.
It went like this: A courtesy wake up call for VIP Guest Robert staying in the Green Suite was set for 5AM by the Front Desk at the Fire Station. 5AM rolls around and the valves open and water pushes through the pipes finally arriving at the sprinkler/wake-up system above Robert’s head. Robert gets the wake up call and jumps out of the bushes straight in a cold shower. An OC Sheriff’s Deputy named Deputy Wagoner is rolling by in his squad car on his way to get his morning donut and sees someone jump out of the bushes. He delays his donut run, backs up his squad car and stops to investigate. What happens next is a source of controversy.
Upon seeing me, Deputy Wagoner yelled, “Ben para aqui!”, thinking I was a Mexican. “I speak English”, I yelled back. After I got out of the shrubbery, he asked me to sit by the curb and called dispatch. Then, he asked me to stand up and patted me down for weapons. I had my wallet in my right pocket, which he pulled out and placed it on top of the squad car. Do you have any identification on you? It’s in my wallet. He took out my ID and called my information to dispatch. After realizing everything checked out, he gave me back my ID and sent me away. The only problem was he didn’t give me back my wallet and it had enough money to buy more than a dozen donuts. That was all the money I had – about $15.00 and documents that are difficult to replace without considerable cost and effort.
I called dispatch and spoke to a “Brian” who took my number and told me he was going to get a hold of the deputy. Within minutes, he called me back and said, “The deputy advised me that he returned your wallet”. It’s a classic confrontation that happens in court all the time. It is the defendant’s word against the officer’s.
I’m going to have to subpoena the squad car tapes to prove that the officer drove off with my wallet on his hood because he was in such a hurry to get to the donut shop.
VIEW THE SNIPER'S NEST
Attack of the Sprinklers
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We missed today’s installment of “Rich and Nina” because of unexpected events this last week. In effect, I am not only out of a job but I am also living on the streets once again. My job was eliminated on Tuesday the 8th and I have been living on the streets since Saturday, the 12th. This will be my third evening living out on the streets after camping in someone's backyard for a little over a month. I have gotten used to it by now but wish that my situation were substantially different.
The events of last night are examples of what can all go wrong with the accommodations while living on the streets. There was a spot that I’ve slept at many times in the past that gave me a little quiet. I picked that spot particularly because it didn’t have a sprinkler system that worked – or so I thought. The night before, I slept at the very same spot and did not have a misencounter with any of the sprinklers. I was already sleeping when all of a sudden I started feeling water drench my crotch area. It surprised me a great deal because the last time I urinated in my pants was in my youth while sleeping. I heard the sputtering of water and the sudden gush on my pants. Only then did I realize there was a sprinkler head underneath the carton that I had laid on the ground.
Within seconds the spot where I was laying was flooded with a thin sheet of water. After discarding the carton, I walked about 20 minutes to a park that I recently discovered but never slept at. No more than a few minutes after I had settled, the field sprinkler went off sequentially to cover the whole area of several football fields. I tried finding a spot but found either a sprinkler close spitting water furiously or the ground was already wet. I tried sleeping on one of the benches but the wind made it miserably cold. So I took off.
By this time, it was already 3AM. There wasn’t a single car traversing the streets of Aliso Viejo. I walked through the center of town just to see if I could find a spot and decided to settle on a bench beside Staples. I was able to position the shopping carts in a way that partly concealed me from view. I tried to sleep and had swatches of solid sleep but was interrupted by the street sweeper and the sudden spewing of a sprinkler at the end of the bench. It was facing the opposite way so I didn’t have to jump out of the bench. It wasn’t until just before 6AM that I left after hearing a couple of the employees waiting for the manager to open up the store. One gentleman in particular who I would trade pleasantries with on my many trips to their store looked at me funny. We just traded a generic, “Hey, how you doin’?” “Fine. How are you?” There was none of the other sharing of life’s many vagaries that gave us both the opportunity to share our version of the human condition. It was a moment of revelation – the moment he discovered I was actually homeless.
It was harshly wintry that morning at so many levels.
VIEW ALBUM OF THE ATTACKING SPRINKLERS
Within seconds the spot where I was laying was flooded with a thin sheet of water. After discarding the carton, I walked about 20 minutes to a park that I recently discovered but never slept at. No more than a few minutes after I had settled, the field sprinkler went off sequentially to cover the whole area of several football fields. I tried finding a spot but found either a sprinkler close spitting water furiously or the ground was already wet. I tried sleeping on one of the benches but the wind made it miserably cold. So I took off.
By this time, it was already 3AM. There wasn’t a single car traversing the streets of Aliso Viejo. I walked through the center of town just to see if I could find a spot and decided to settle on a bench beside Staples. I was able to position the shopping carts in a way that partly concealed me from view. I tried to sleep and had swatches of solid sleep but was interrupted by the street sweeper and the sudden spewing of a sprinkler at the end of the bench. It was facing the opposite way so I didn’t have to jump out of the bench. It wasn’t until just before 6AM that I left after hearing a couple of the employees waiting for the manager to open up the store. One gentleman in particular who I would trade pleasantries with on my many trips to their store looked at me funny. We just traded a generic, “Hey, how you doin’?” “Fine. How are you?” There was none of the other sharing of life’s many vagaries that gave us both the opportunity to share our version of the human condition. It was a moment of revelation – the moment he discovered I was actually homeless.
It was harshly wintry that morning at so many levels.
VIEW ALBUM OF THE ATTACKING SPRINKLERS
9-11 Tradition (Republished)
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Last year, we started a September 11th Tradition. We are republishing what we wrote hoping that you will join us.
A September 11th Tradition (First Published on 11th of September 2008)
I could still remember vividly the day the World Trade Center was attacked on that September morning in 2001. Seven years have passed and yet the images and emotions that swirled inside me have not gone away completely. I have often asked, what could have been done to prevent the events of that fateful day? I suppose many things, but there were only a few that were even in my own control – like how I feel about people. One thing is certain, the world has never been the same since.
Starting today, let us work on things that we can control. I submit that 9-11 was a product of man’s self-loathing and lack of respect for the sanctity of life. There are three things that we can do to alter the paradigm. As a matter of tradition, we should find a way to reach out to someone in our life whom we have lost track with or simply have not communicated with in the past. We will try to usher an era of understanding. There cannot be understanding without communication.
First, write a letter to someone you have not seen or heard from in a long while – a friend, a colleague, a classmate etc. Draft your letter with your computer but when you are done, handwrite your letter. This is essential because anything that you create with your own hands has the power to touch a person’s heart. Limit your letter to one page and mail it within the next few days.
Second, from this point forward, you will promise yourself (not anyone else) that you will make a conscious effort to stop the act of terminating life – be it a bug, a bee, a fly or anything that you can crush with your feet with (snails). The exception will be for those that you will need to nourish your body. You cannot kill anything that you will not eat. If you find an insect or bug in your house, simply flag it out the window or door. I have been doing this for many years and find that I unshackle myself from the misperception that a small animal no more than the size of my nails can bring me significant harm. There are always exceptions – we leave that to your own discretion.
Third, show your child how to value life by being a great example. One day while my daughter was still young, she called me screaming that she saw a spider. I found a harmless “daddy-long-legs” spider. I grew up in the Philippines and was always around insects and bugs. I used to play with spiders so it didn’t bother me. I told her that the spider is my friend. As a defensive weapon, the “daddy-long-legs” will vibrate up and down to make it appear bigger to an adversary. So, I inched my finger to touch one of its legs and when I did, it made that vibrating movement that made it appear as though he was shaking my hands. “See, Bambina”, I told my daughter. “You mustn’t be afraid because he is my friend, and he's shaking my hands”.
You don’t have to do the exact same thing. You can simply have a walk with your child and when you come upon a snail, show your child how to pick it up and move it to a safe place so it doesn’t get crushed by cars or pedestrians. Little things like that will make an indelible impression on a child and teach them how to value life. I would suggest to you that a person who can value the life of a lowly snail will likely not pick up a weapon to hurt another human being in anger.
I could still remember vividly the day the World Trade Center was attacked on that September morning in 2001. Seven years have passed and yet the images and emotions that swirled inside me have not gone away completely. I have often asked, what could have been done to prevent the events of that fateful day? I suppose many things, but there were only a few that were even in my own control – like how I feel about people. One thing is certain, the world has never been the same since.
Starting today, let us work on things that we can control. I submit that 9-11 was a product of man’s self-loathing and lack of respect for the sanctity of life. There are three things that we can do to alter the paradigm. As a matter of tradition, we should find a way to reach out to someone in our life whom we have lost track with or simply have not communicated with in the past. We will try to usher an era of understanding. There cannot be understanding without communication.
First, write a letter to someone you have not seen or heard from in a long while – a friend, a colleague, a classmate etc. Draft your letter with your computer but when you are done, handwrite your letter. This is essential because anything that you create with your own hands has the power to touch a person’s heart. Limit your letter to one page and mail it within the next few days.
Second, from this point forward, you will promise yourself (not anyone else) that you will make a conscious effort to stop the act of terminating life – be it a bug, a bee, a fly or anything that you can crush with your feet with (snails). The exception will be for those that you will need to nourish your body. You cannot kill anything that you will not eat. If you find an insect or bug in your house, simply flag it out the window or door. I have been doing this for many years and find that I unshackle myself from the misperception that a small animal no more than the size of my nails can bring me significant harm. There are always exceptions – we leave that to your own discretion.
Third, show your child how to value life by being a great example. One day while my daughter was still young, she called me screaming that she saw a spider. I found a harmless “daddy-long-legs” spider. I grew up in the Philippines and was always around insects and bugs. I used to play with spiders so it didn’t bother me. I told her that the spider is my friend. As a defensive weapon, the “daddy-long-legs” will vibrate up and down to make it appear bigger to an adversary. So, I inched my finger to touch one of its legs and when I did, it made that vibrating movement that made it appear as though he was shaking my hands. “See, Bambina”, I told my daughter. “You mustn’t be afraid because he is my friend, and he's shaking my hands”.
You don’t have to do the exact same thing. You can simply have a walk with your child and when you come upon a snail, show your child how to pick it up and move it to a safe place so it doesn’t get crushed by cars or pedestrians. Little things like that will make an indelible impression on a child and teach them how to value life. I would suggest to you that a person who can value the life of a lowly snail will likely not pick up a weapon to hurt another human being in anger.
Yestradamus 090709
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CONTINUED FROM Y070709 (Part 3of4)
Her face looked like she just saw the nastiest character in a horror flick. The only difference was she was looking at mine. “What happened to you. You look busted up?”, she asked. “That’s the fashion of the day, baby. Do you like it?, I replied in a muffled tone battling with the gauze on my lips while trying to mask my head on encounter with the side table.
“Do you like it?”, I asked “Are you kidding me? I’m worried about you. Did you get in a fight?”, she asked as she carefully inspected the bandage on my lips. “Baby, you already said you’re worried. I don’t want you to worry any more than you are. Let’s not talk about it now.” I was trying the best that I can to wiggle out of the conversation. I knew that I had to tell her a white lie to keep my cover. But as in any lie, it will more than likely grow into a bigger lie because then, I’ll have to think about some sort of sophisticated cover-up. That's always what ends up happening.
We were on our way to school. In high school, getting an injury is a somewhat of a badge of honor if you know how to spin it properly. Of all the corporal pain that a person can experience or inflict on a living thing, sending someone to the hospital is one of the all-time fantasies of any male who is going through puberty. And doing it after a fight is at the top of the male food chain of hormonal consequences. I knew that I was going to be asked the question and so I rehearsed my answer a few times before I went to school.
“Hey man, what the hell happened to your beak? Did someone serve you an asphalt sandwich?”, Smith, the biggest of the group asked me while laughing. “No, gentlemen, the name is Jimmy Joe Jim Jake.” “What do you mean? You had a fight with a redneck named Jimmy Joe Jim Jake?”, he shouted back. “Nope”, I replied. “Four guys just came out of nowhere. They wanted my wallet but I told them that I needed my wallet more than they did so they jumped me. One guy ended up with a broken collarbone, another left a few of his teeth on the street and the two others ended up in the hospital. You should have seen this one guy. I kicked him in the nuts so hard that his hair stood up and wax actually came out of his ears”, I responded as I stood there in a machismo pose.
That was pretty much all I needed to say to get a reputation around school. Off course, at some point I’ll have to back up what I said so I’ll have to expand the story by actually hiring Jimmy Joe Jim Jake. But if I had to break into the “Pot Syndicate” I’ll have to make some people think that I’m dangerous - even a little crazier than most of them.
I was too busy telling the long tale to the guys that I didn’t notice she was feeling a little left out. She was staring at me – boiling inside. Then it started. “So you’ll tell everybody else in school but you wouldn’t tell me, huh. What boyfriend you are” she roared at me. She walked off with the body language that told me she felt more than a little dejected. I started to run after her and started explaining as I walked backwards. “Baby, I told you I don’t want you worrying about me. Plus, women don’t like hearing about testosterone stuff like this anyway, right?”, I asked.
“I’m not like any other woman. I want to know everything about my man and it’s your responsibility to tell me. Do you understand me? I can’t be with you all the time”, she replied while stopping at the middle of the corridor and within ear shot of other students.
Are we fighting?, I asked to slow her down. “Yes, we are”, she replied. “You realize this is our first fight, right. And I must say you look beautiful when you are mad. I’m not saying I want you mad all the time. But this time I’ll agree and own up to my fault. I apologize for not telling you before I told everyone else”, I said groveling.
She just stood there with her hand on her hip tapping her right foot. “That’s right. You are to be punished so you’ll never take our relationship for granted ever. I’ll tell you your punishment after school. Pick me up at the library entrance. Don’t be late.”
“Do you like it?”, I asked “Are you kidding me? I’m worried about you. Did you get in a fight?”, she asked as she carefully inspected the bandage on my lips. “Baby, you already said you’re worried. I don’t want you to worry any more than you are. Let’s not talk about it now.” I was trying the best that I can to wiggle out of the conversation. I knew that I had to tell her a white lie to keep my cover. But as in any lie, it will more than likely grow into a bigger lie because then, I’ll have to think about some sort of sophisticated cover-up. That's always what ends up happening.
We were on our way to school. In high school, getting an injury is a somewhat of a badge of honor if you know how to spin it properly. Of all the corporal pain that a person can experience or inflict on a living thing, sending someone to the hospital is one of the all-time fantasies of any male who is going through puberty. And doing it after a fight is at the top of the male food chain of hormonal consequences. I knew that I was going to be asked the question and so I rehearsed my answer a few times before I went to school.
“Hey man, what the hell happened to your beak? Did someone serve you an asphalt sandwich?”, Smith, the biggest of the group asked me while laughing. “No, gentlemen, the name is Jimmy Joe Jim Jake.” “What do you mean? You had a fight with a redneck named Jimmy Joe Jim Jake?”, he shouted back. “Nope”, I replied. “Four guys just came out of nowhere. They wanted my wallet but I told them that I needed my wallet more than they did so they jumped me. One guy ended up with a broken collarbone, another left a few of his teeth on the street and the two others ended up in the hospital. You should have seen this one guy. I kicked him in the nuts so hard that his hair stood up and wax actually came out of his ears”, I responded as I stood there in a machismo pose.
That was pretty much all I needed to say to get a reputation around school. Off course, at some point I’ll have to back up what I said so I’ll have to expand the story by actually hiring Jimmy Joe Jim Jake. But if I had to break into the “Pot Syndicate” I’ll have to make some people think that I’m dangerous - even a little crazier than most of them.
I was too busy telling the long tale to the guys that I didn’t notice she was feeling a little left out. She was staring at me – boiling inside. Then it started. “So you’ll tell everybody else in school but you wouldn’t tell me, huh. What boyfriend you are” she roared at me. She walked off with the body language that told me she felt more than a little dejected. I started to run after her and started explaining as I walked backwards. “Baby, I told you I don’t want you worrying about me. Plus, women don’t like hearing about testosterone stuff like this anyway, right?”, I asked.
“I’m not like any other woman. I want to know everything about my man and it’s your responsibility to tell me. Do you understand me? I can’t be with you all the time”, she replied while stopping at the middle of the corridor and within ear shot of other students.
Are we fighting?, I asked to slow her down. “Yes, we are”, she replied. “You realize this is our first fight, right. And I must say you look beautiful when you are mad. I’m not saying I want you mad all the time. But this time I’ll agree and own up to my fault. I apologize for not telling you before I told everyone else”, I said groveling.
She just stood there with her hand on her hip tapping her right foot. “That’s right. You are to be punished so you’ll never take our relationship for granted ever. I’ll tell you your punishment after school. Pick me up at the library entrance. Don’t be late.”
TO BE CONTINUED
(Analyst 147X)
Live, Work and Litigate
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Considering my limited financial resources, I’m fortunate to have been able to arrange for some decent lodgings. I am a trail-runner/ adventure racer and need the outdoors to just function normally. By some curious celestial assemblage, perhaps the product of my deepest subconscious yearnings, both my bedroom and my office are within 10 feet of each other and completely under the open Southern California skies. I literally roll out of bed to go to work – after rolling my beddings, that is.
For just over a month now, I’ve been camping in the backyard of a couple I met at the Neighborhood Cup, a place I frequent for their great coffee and free internet access. This couple, Luis Antonio and Cheryl Vargas who own two companies – an art distributorship and a medical equipment company, hired me to do marketing work. Currently, I have been doing phone work selling diagnostic and surgical equipment to Optometrists and Ophthalmologists three hours a day on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. On Tuesdays, I do a double shift of three hours in the morning and another three hours in the afternoon. I make $12.00 per hour plus 3% commission of gross sales. So far, I’ve gotten one commission check of $195. But one of the most exciting transactions thus far happened two weeks ago when I placed a diagnostic instrument in the office of the #2 volume Lasik Surgeon in the country for trials. We’ll know whether or not the sale is final in a few days. And if you must know where his office is, it is in Beverly Hills.
I've had to take on a job just so I can continue my fight. Curiously, I absolutely love it. I’m a glad-handing, back slapping salesman in the morning and a crime fighting litigator in the afternoon. It’s definitely a case of multiple personality disorder. I told my employers that I’ll continue working for them until I win a trial or one of my defendants settle so I can afford to do litigation full time.
Here’s a first look at my lodgings and my office space.
CLICK TO VIEW VISIONAR’S WEBSITE
CLICK TO SEE WHERE ROBERT SLEEPS AND WORKS
For just over a month now, I’ve been camping in the backyard of a couple I met at the Neighborhood Cup, a place I frequent for their great coffee and free internet access. This couple, Luis Antonio and Cheryl Vargas who own two companies – an art distributorship and a medical equipment company, hired me to do marketing work. Currently, I have been doing phone work selling diagnostic and surgical equipment to Optometrists and Ophthalmologists three hours a day on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. On Tuesdays, I do a double shift of three hours in the morning and another three hours in the afternoon. I make $12.00 per hour plus 3% commission of gross sales. So far, I’ve gotten one commission check of $195. But one of the most exciting transactions thus far happened two weeks ago when I placed a diagnostic instrument in the office of the #2 volume Lasik Surgeon in the country for trials. We’ll know whether or not the sale is final in a few days. And if you must know where his office is, it is in Beverly Hills.
I've had to take on a job just so I can continue my fight. Curiously, I absolutely love it. I’m a glad-handing, back slapping salesman in the morning and a crime fighting litigator in the afternoon. It’s definitely a case of multiple personality disorder. I told my employers that I’ll continue working for them until I win a trial or one of my defendants settle so I can afford to do litigation full time.
Here’s a first look at my lodgings and my office space.
CLICK TO VIEW VISIONAR’S WEBSITE
CLICK TO SEE WHERE ROBERT SLEEPS AND WORKS
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