Second Season Ends

Many of the lawsuits that are now in the process of being transferred to the US Courts (Federal Jurisdiction) may include my children as Plaintiffs when it is re-filed. The legal system does not permit minors to initiate legal actions in court. However, February 5th this coming year marks my daughter Ashley’s 18th birthday making her an adult and by law possessed of legal capacity to bring a legal action to court. Apart from the fact that I am an indigent, both my children are minors which partly explains why the refiling has been delayed. One question that I will pose to my daughter when she turns 18 is if she might consider participating in the lawsuit as a Plaintiff. Many of the actions that I have brought to the Superior Court have aggrieved my children just as much as I – depriving them of their individual rights and causing them considerable physical and mental anguish. Based on available statutes, they can wait until they turn 18 years old to file a case without fear of it being barred by the statutes of limitation. Certain theories in law provide for “equitable tolling”. The Law Dictionary defines “tolling” in this manner:

TOLL v. 1) to delay, suspend or hold off the effect of a statute. Examples: a) a minor is injured in an accident when he is 14 years old, and the state law (statute of limitations) allows a person hurt by negligence two years to file suit for damages. But for a minor the statute is "tolled" until he/she becomes 18 and decides whether or not to sue. Thus the minor has two years after 18 to file suit. b) state law allows 10 years to collect a judgment, but if the judgment debtor (party who owes the judgment amount) leaves the state, the time is "tolled," so the judgment creditor (party to whom judgment is owed) will have extra time to enforce the judgment equal to the time the debtor was out of state. 2) a charge to pass over land, use a toll road or turnpike, cross a bridge or take passage on a ferry.

Many things have happened in the last 12 months. The most important and the one that we are most proud of has to do with the filing of the McLain v Golden Rain Foundation case with our friend Roy. That particular case has far reaching implications on the way retirement community by-laws are developed and passed that we feel society will benefit from it immensely. The action hopes to create systems that include having laws crafted that protect the retirees from irresponsible and negligent governance by their homeowners associations. We are very pleased to be a part of that action and hope to affect change in that area in the near future.

The biggest set-back of the year was certainly losing my car - the '98 Chrysler 300M - that for many months served as my home, my storage unit and music room. It was towed away by the OC Sheriff’s Department on the 9th of June for expired registration. The car was given to me by a friend who neglected to sign the pink slip over to me. I wasn't able to register it properly without his conveyance. Prior to the towing, I was searching for him but could not find him. The last time I heard he went out of the country. From that moment on I was literally living on the streets. It may have been sheer luck that the weather has been cooperative. But that will soon change as winter rolls in and we will start getting rain. Living on the streets isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The phrase “sleeping on the streets” is a more apt description, as the situation requires some sleep when it gets dark. There are many places that one can now go to escape the elements. There is a “Subway Restaurant” that is open 24 Hours located right in the heart of Aliso Viejo. The Neighborhood Cup opens at 6 O’clock in the morning. Barnes & Noble does not close until 11PM. The Aliso Viejo library opens at 10 and does not close until 9PM during weekdays. They have short hours during on weekends. So, staying indoors can be done quite successfully.

When I was still in the selling profession, I created visuals to motivate myself and create potent and actionable goals. One year I was able to make capital purchases with hard cold cash. I once purchased a brand new and fully-loaded ’97 Isuzu Rodeo SUV with cash when my children were still very young. I even built a tuner car in 1998 and paid for everything with cash. Such is the power of the motivated mind. If you can place yourself in a compelling place somewhere in the future and your heart and mind are convinced it is attainable, you will find a way. It has to be vivid enough so the mind has a reason to overcome the obstacles and the heartaches that are inevitable. I have a dream/goal that is easily attainable if I were back in the selling profession. I just need to figure out how much units I have to sell in relation to the money I need to make. It’s a different story altogether if I were to try to do it in the field of law. Nevertheless, my dream/goal is compelling enough that I am never of lack of motivation. One material goal I have is simple. I see myself in a small Italianate detached home with a three-car garage. In the garage will be three brand new vehicles – a Red MX-5 Miata, a Pearl White Mazda 5 and a Blue Mazda CX-9. I have had that dream for about 3 years now and it has only intensified.

There are many other dreams for my children, my career and my future family. I have even found the perfect and the only woman who is equal to all my lofty dreams. She’s the one that I’ve been saving myself for (haha!) as I cannot imagine sharing my dreams with anyone else. She’s also, quite easily, the person who has kept me in one whole piece when everything around me seems to wish that I did nothing but crumble. She knows nothing about my feelings about her. They say timing is everything and the timing right now is horrendous. Until my situation gets substantially better, it will be a wonderful dream. The thing is, when every thing is taken away from you, you had better find a dream that can sustain you because if you don’t you will find yourself in a whole world of hurt. Fortunately, my dreams could not get any grander. My life is awesome that way.

The Third Season of RobertsJustice begins now …

Yestradamus 100709

CONTINUED FROM YO9O709

CLICK TO READ PART I

CLICK TO READ PART II

CLICK TO READ PART III

That afternoon, I found myself looking at the face of the most beautiful woman that I have ever known. I was braving what I knew will amount to severe punishment for violating certain relationship rules. People enter into relationships expecting half of your life would be brought to the table. I’ve gone on dates with women who neglect to introduce you to people they know. Not that they would be embarrassed to be seen with you but because they lack social graces. When you are in a relationship, omission of facts and failure to report things like when your face got rearranged a little bit is a major infraction.

In a relationship, there are many things that are expected – sharing your day, sharing your time, sharing this and sharing that. The word sharing is especially critical because if you exile the first syllable – “sha” – you end up with just the word “ring”. To a woman, a ring is not everything. But within the context of your relationship with her, it counts for much. It frames what kind of a relationship you both share. It’s a mystery to men that they will never figure out but wholly intuitive to a woman. You can be the stupidest moron on the face of the earth but when you whip out that ring, it’s like every unremarkable thing, every monstrosity that you’ve ever committed before is completely erased. This is the moment the refresh button is pressed. It was that kind of a meeting. I had to prove to her that my love for her is pure.

It was a choice of many things – a friendship ring, a boyfriend/girlfriend anniversary ring, an engagement ring, a wedding ring or simply a make up ring - all of which were being considered so I can continue on my mission and break up what has now proved to be a “Pot Ring”. The important thing about going undercover is that you must commit to symmetry. You have to dress the part and act the part. I was going undercover as a “high-school student” so that means I live on a budget given to me by my undercover parents. It is called an “allowance”, which really is a joke. And based on that mere pittance, the only ring that I can afford was the give-away inside a “Cracker Jack”. None of which would even come close to looking like a real thing making the situation even worse. Given those sets of facts, the punishment had to come in a different form – something that she’ll have to dish out to me and which I in turn will accept in a gracious manner.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”, she asked. “I have to meet with some friends, why?”, I responded.” She looked at me and said, “Clear your calendar this entire week for me. You will pick me up from my house and we will go to school together. You will have lunch with me and after school you will come with me”. Can I at least show my independence by throwing in a voice of dissent? I asked. “No”, she said. “Can you at least give me a hint of what my punishment might be?”. "I’ve volunteered for the “Annual Thanksgiving Day Feeding for the Homeless” sponsored by my cheer club. I’ve been asked to do the food shopping. I was also asked to do the shopping for the gifts that we will give away on Christmas about a month after Thanksgiving. I will need someone to help me with all the groceries.", she replied.

My fears were not realized. It wasn’t punishment at all. But, under normal circumstances, any man, much less a high school student is the last person you’d want making shopping rounds with you. Scores of people develop mild to severe depression during Christmas because they ended up with thoughtless and impersonal gifts that were hastily culled from the department store bargain bins - the miniature tool set in a wooden case, the matching his and hers toothbrush and toothpaste set, the picture frame ensemble, the perfume and soap combo in a stylish bag …

TO BE CONTINUED

(Analyst X147)

WHY THE FUNNY BLOG SERIES?

My word against the deputy ...

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

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

Attack of the Sprinklers

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

9-11 Tradition (Republished)

Last year, we started a September 11^th Tradition. We are republishing what we wrote hoping that you will join us.

A September 11^th Tradition (First Published on 11^th 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.

Yestradamus 090709

CONTINUED FROM Y070709 (Part 3of4)

CLICK TO READ PART I

CLICK TO READ PART II

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.”

TO BE CONTINUED

(Analyst 147X)

WHY THE FUNNY BLOG SERIES?