You hear it from everyone. Save your money. Put your money away for retirement. Invest! I normally hear these things from those fortunate enough to have already set up their financial nest eggs and/or have the financial means to put aside 30% or more of their paycheck into savings.

So, I’ve been trying to behave. I contribute the max of my 401(k). When I exercised my stock options this year, I put 30% of the proceeds in an ING Direct savings account. I’ve reduced my debt sources. Aside from my motorcycle loan and house-related loans (including our windows), I have almost completely recovered from being underemployed for a year in Oregon.

I thought I was doing well for myself until this month. Funny how things come at you all at once.

First off, the stupid monkeys at my employer didn’t withhold Maryland local taxes, so I owe Montgomery county a nice $541 instead of getting a refund like I did last year. My responsibility to check? Maybe, but why the fuck do those people have a job in the first place?

Even with the house deduction, I owe the fed about $1800 due to my stock options. That’s actually less than I thought, and less than I’d saved from my stock purchase. So between the fed and MD, I have my taxes covered this year. Unfortunately, I could have used some of that money to pay for our fence, which started to lean last Sunday. It turns out that the fence company just put the posts in the dirt, instead of in concrete. 12 years of rain and water drainage rotted five of our back posts, of which one post has completely rotted through. He’s the one responsible for our fence, and the other posts now have lots of pressure on them. I can’t wait to wake up one morning to find the entire back fence line lying on the ground.

We’re having the old fence ripped out and a new fence put in starting February the 10th. That’s the to the tune of about $3800.

And to top it all off, as Lady Jaye was talking with the fencing company, she noticed that one of the planks on our deck was warped, and has broken free of the rest of the deck. The good news is that I’ll be able to vent a little frustration on it when I nail that bastard back down.

I’m finally getting traction on my case. I’ll update more later, but for right now I want to know if anyone reading this can recommend a good lawyer in the Richmond or NoVA area. It turns out there was a lot of mistakes made on the part of our local Costco, and I need some advice on how to proceed. Please send a note to DrFaulken or my personal email addy if you have it. Thanks!

A croc and a dinosaur! This Ars Technica Nobel Intent post discusses how the recent processing of material excavated 60 years ago. The efforts of a graduate student revealed a dinosaur with some crocodile features and some dinosaur features, indicating a possible common ancestor between crocs and animals such as the velociraptor, which would not make an appearance for another 80 million years. Of particular note was the foreleg of the dinocroc, which was so croc-like the grad student thought he was excavating a crocodile instead of a dinosaur.

The analysis of this fossil evidence also bolsters a theory on efficient forms. Apparently there are at least three non-primate examples of thumbs in the historical record, but despite the thumbs belonging to animals in different evolutionary trees, the bone structures of the thumbs are all the same.

The FIOS crew completely finished the work in our yard late yesterday evening, and have moved on to our next door neighbor’s house. You can hardly notice that anyone was even here. Partly because we didn’t have a lot of grass to begin with (oak trees), and partly because they did a good job. I’m not sure how long it will be before they light the fiber. I reckon they will need to complete the entire street before service is available. I still check the FIOS availability page every day, although at this point I am sure it will be behind the service curve.

Note: I posted this yesterday but figured that after a rather dry LJ spell I wouldn’t cram three entries in one day. Enjoy.

I have about 1400 miles on Cylon thus far. I’d like to keep with the sport-standard tradition of the bike and ride for as deep into the winter as possible. I haven’t installed my heated undergrips yet or hacked my lowbeams to both be on at the same time (I’m afraid to do the wiring). Aside from that, however, there isn’t much reason for me to stop riding unless it’s raining and/or colder than 35 degrees out. Unfortunately, thanks to my last real ride out in the cold I’m a bit nervous about venturing out along the highway at colder temperatures.

Nevertheless, I’d like to put in a total of 3000 miles before the average air temperature is 60 degrees this year. If I recall correctly, the February and March months are particularly gnarly in Richmond, with rain and some snow being the typical weather pattern. My buddy Bond will have to validate this, as it’s been some time since I’ve gone through a winter here.

Total winter miles so far: 0

Our doorbell rang at 8AM this morning, which is intolerably early given that we don’t go to sleep in this house until 3AM at the earliest. I hobbled out of bed and went downstairs to see a gentleman in a hard hat and reflective vest standing on our porch. It was the FIOS installation crew!

The gentleman informed me that they’d be digging in our yard today. I thanked him for his time, relocked the front door, and went back to sleep. Apparently they were making lots of noise with their Ditch Witch and other machinery, but after slaying dwarves and night elves all evening I was too tired to care.

This little guy barely fit past our cars and my motorcycle in my driveway. I’m glad that it did, because otherwise the construction crew would have had to dig the trench for the fiber by hand. That would have taken longer, and any more time that I have to wait for FTTP goodness is more time spent in wretched anticipation.

Happiness is a spool of fiber

I’m not sure how long they’ll be doing work in our yard. The crew is already in our neighbor’s yard, so perhaps they’re just about finished with ours. They’ve already been at it for five and a half hours, although accounting for lunch and Construction Worker Time™ that’s only about 45 minutes of actual work.

After my rant about the Bodum Assam teapot we own, Lady Jaye bought me a very fine Japanese cast iron teapot for the holiday. Weighing in at a hefty six pounds empty, this black beaut has a removable stainless steel infuser basket.

The teapot holds about five cups of water. For most of our green and white teas, that’s about two tablespoons of tea per pot. I preheat the pot with hot water, and between the preheating and the water used for the tea I’d say that the tea stays hot for about an hour or so. I haven’t actually timed this, so your mileage may vary. I may be completely lying.

I’ve been worried about putting more flavorful teas in this pot (such as spearmint or cinnamon) because you are not supposed to use any type of soap on the cast iron. After drinking a pot of cinnamon tea, for example, the inside of the pot still smells like cinnamon — despite running hot water through the teapot repeatedly. Any suggestions? I’ve mitigated this issue by not having two pots of “flavorful” tea back to back, i.e., mint followed by lemongrass.

Hot whistle blowin’ action

• Large capacity
• Pours quite easily, especially in comparison to our previous teapot
• Very handsome
• Stays warm, especially after preheating it with hot water

Leaves ya steamed

• If anything, it’s too big, especially when it’s just me drinking the tea. This is no fault of the pot itself, and I should buy a smaller one for when I’m drinking alone
• Might be too expensive for some. This pot was at least $40 less than what Lady Jaye saw comparable teapots for at our local tea shop.

Japanese Cast Iron Tetsubin Teapot, I grant thee:

Five out of five STFU mugs!

I guess I should break out the big tirades more often. This morning I recieved a voice mail from Officer Francis. It turns out that the white kid from the carry crew stole multiple items from the courier company — including a truck — and was fired. He is also wanted in nearby Hanover County for failure to appear; Officer Francis did not elaborate for what charge(s) the kid did not appear.

So, that’s the good news. The not so good news is that no one can find the kid. His last known address was his mother’s house, and he hasn’t shown up there.

At least the two other guys are off the hook a little bit.

Warning: this is a long entry. Believe it or not, what follows is the short version. Some of you already know this story, some of you don’t. It partly explains the paucity of my journal entries, and partly gets something off my chest that I meant to kept hidden if my plans came to fruition.

About a month ago, Lady Jaye and I bought a king sized mattress. It was a big, exciting purchase for us. With Rosie growing up and both dogs sleeping in the bed with us, my old queen sized bed wasn’t doing the trick. After testing out the 12″x12″ mattress squares at our local Costco, we ordered the set online from costco.com to the tune of $800 delivered. The mattress was delivered on the 21st of December by three men from a third party courier/delivery company used by Costco. In preparation for their arrival, I put all my guns and Lady Jaye’s lockbox in the master bathroom and shut the door.

The first man to arrive was Ernie the truckdriver, a middle aged man. He said his “carry crew” was running late, and sat outside in his truck for a bit. I felt badly making him wait inside, so I invited him in for a glass of water. We started chatting about how long he’d been in the Richmond area (20+ years), all the states I’d lived in, etc. etc. The next thing I knew the carry crew showed up and it was half an hour later.

The carry crew was comprised of a young white male (later identified as 18 years old) and a young black male, whom I’d put at about the same age or possibly a few years older. Now, carrying a king sized mattress set is a bit of a chore. The boxsprings aren’t too bad — as the boxspring on a king is actually two twin-sized boxsprings — but the mattress itself is a big, heavy monstrosity.

Being my normal paranoid self, I followed each member of the carry crew upstairs while each man carried a boxspring. The white male remarked at how cute Porter and Rosie were, behaving quite well in their crates. When I followed the black male up, he said how much Porter looked like his brother’s dog and how good both of them looked. I went downstairs, and saw that the white male had brought Ernie some chicken wings. Ernie waved me over. “Let’s get this paperwork taken care of while they’re carrying the mattress upstairs.” I nodded, eager to get these men home so close to the holiday, especially after Ernie had been waiting at my house for the carry crew to show up.

“May I use your microwave?” Ernie asked. “Sure thing,” I replied, and nuked his chicken wings while we went over the paperwork. The carry crew wrestled with the mattress and got it up the stairs with a minimal struggle. I turned my attention to Ernie, his wings, and the paperwork. I signed a few sheets, and Ernie asked for some hot sauce — I gave him tobasco. All in all, the carry crew was unsupervised for probably five minutes.

The carry crew rumbled down the stairs, wished me a happy holidays, and I ushered them out of the house with a smile on my face. They were all exceedingly pleasant. I never got the impression that anything untoward had happened. That is, until Lady Jaye and I received our bedframe on the 27th of December.

The bedframe, purchased and delivered by Haverty’s, was ginormous. Unlike the Costco delivery, the two of us followed the delivery men around the entire time. They were never unattended. Lady Jaye and I were laughing about Rosie no longer being able to jump on the bed. She put her front paws up on the super-high bed, with her muzzle between her paws. Whining and wiggling her tail, she’d hop about two inches, unable to fully scramble to the top of the bed. I wanted to film Rosie’s mad hopping action, especially after I filmed her triumphant first leap onto our old queen.

I looked for the camcorder where I last remembered seeing it — between Lady Jaye’s jewelry box and our bedroom television. It wasn’t there. No worries, I thought to myself, and looked in my office, home of many a gadget. No luck. I looked downstairs on the kitchen island. Then the living room. Then the master bathroom. Then the guest room, the guest bath, the half bath downstairs (including under the sink), the dining room, the attic, and even the refrigerator. Lady Jaye and I took each room apart. No camcorder.

We decided to wait an evening before completely freaking out. We invited our friend Peaches over for a fresh set of eyes, and she couldn’t find our camcorder, either.

I called Costco on the night of 12/28 and spoke with Jack Williams, one of the store managers. He sounded genuinely distressed about our camera, and suggested I call “Steve” over at the courier company. Jack has been with Costco since the store opened 15 years ago and said no one has ever reported anything untoward about the delivery company.

I phoned Steve at the courier company on 12/29. He said he’d been with the company for 10 years and had never had anything reported stolen from someone’s house. He actually laughed at me a little bit when I told him my story and that I thought his employees were responsible. He said he’d “talk to them” and call me back.

I waited exactly 24 hours before I called Steve again. According to the man who answered the phone, Steve was on a conference call and would call me back. He never did. My next phone call was to the Chesterfield county police.

I figured I needed to go through the formality of filing a police report, and didn’t expect anyone to show up for a few days after I hung up with the dispatcher. In the meantime, I called every pawn shop in the greater Richmond area, trying to find my camera. I still had the box, with the camera’s serial number on it. I was hoping it’d turn up, but more importantly I was hoping any store that bought my camera would have information on who took it. More than retrieving our camera (despite the content of the tape within), I wanted justice. I wanted revenge.

To my surprise, Officer Francis was at my door in less than an hour. A 12 year veteran, Officer Francis was immediately sincere and upfront. He didn’t think I’d see my camera again, but given my thoroughness in my own investigations he said he’d go down to the courier and question the three men. He also noted that all pawn shops that receive any merchandise of value (such as my camera) were required to report their acquisition to the police, along with any serial numbers. If someone tried to pawn my camera, the police would be notified. Lastly, Officer Francis said that even though the value of my camera wasn’t extremely high, its $400 value put the theft into the felony range.

Officer Francis asked me what I would do if I had to choose between getting my camera back and punishing the men responsible. I told him that the camcorder itself was nearly without meaning. The tape and any copies thereof was next. Preventing the men from stealing anything else from anyone was of next importance. The most important thing, I explained to him, was that the people responsible were punished. I wanted justice. I wanted revenge.

I called Jack Williams back at Costco. I told him that I’d tried to talk with his pal Steve and hadn’t gotten anywhere, so I had to call the police instead. Jack’s demeanor changed. Instead of being apologetic and understanding, he became blunt and short-worded. He told me that Steve had gone on vacation for a week and to wait until the following Monday before doing anything else. I hung up with Jack, fully expecting never to hear from Steve again (I still haven’t).

Next step was to call a lawyer. I took a recommendation from Bond, and called his family’s lawyer. Unfortunately my case didn’t smell of enough money or fame, and the lawyer did not return my inquiry. I explained my situation to , who asked his wife (a lawdog herself) for her opinion on what my options were. She said what I thought all along: that even if we could surmise that someone from the courier company had stolen my camera, there was no way to prove which person(s) did it. I could take them to court for anything, but to what purpose?

My options were dwindling rapidly. I’d called the principal store I’d bought my bed from. I’d phoned the courier company. I filed a complaint with the police. I had called every pawn shop in town — which was no friendly task. I’d called a lawyer. My remaining options were very long shots in a long shot situation. Write Costco’s corporate office. Hire a private investigator, offsetting the manpower issue with the regular police and possibly uncovering more courier customers with unexplained/unreported missing items. Contact a news agency and hope for a “5 on your side” type of investigative reporting, with the eventual goals of finding more victims, escalating my case with the police, and with Costco going with a different delivery vendor. I wanted justice. I wanted revenge.

My most direct option, of course, was the one I am best suited to take. My most direct option is to punish the three men with the most direct and final means at my disposal. Unfortunately for them, since I don’t know how many of them (all? Ernie had a great patter in retrospect) were guilty, so they are all guilty. Anyone in the way, anyone would also suffer at the most direct and final of means.

I let three men into our home willingly and with great courtesy and kindness. I never once suspected that they would do any wrongdoing. I reheated Ernie’s chicken wings so that he could enjoy a warm meal. In exchange for not bearing them any overbearing suspicion or racial-socioeconomic prejudice they stole my camcorder. Given the location of the camcorder when I last saw it, you can imagine the content. These men violated our property, our trust, and our privacy. These last two things I hold above everything else. I want justice. I want revenge.

So, why am I typing this out instead of getting what is easily obtainable? Do you think it’s because of some cosmic reckoning with a made-up god? Maybe because I don’t know exactly who is responsible, and might be giving at least one man an undeserved ultimate punishment? Perhaps some indoctrinated sense of what’s right and wrong, “do no harm,” any of that nonsense? If so, you don’t know me one whit. The world has far too many people, and the earth isn’t going to miss these three motherfuckers.

The one thing that gives my trigger pause is, ironically, what started this whole mess in the first place. Lying in our new bed, with Lady Jaye breathing softly in her sleep, Porter and Rosie nestled in quietly between us, I realized that for the first time in my life I have something to lose. Destroying the three men would be effortless. I have the means, the training, and the cold heart. What made me stop was that I knew I would get caught, and getting caught meant I would put the three most important things in my life in jeopardy. I wouldn’t be able to see my sweetheart and our two babies again. To me, this is more important than getting my revenge.

For better or worse, I have something to lose. And having something to lose is what allows those three men — and those like them — to go on betraying, to go on stealing, and to go on living.

Rosie had her hernia sewed up today! It was a quick procedure, about 20 minutes, and the doctor said she did great. He said the hernia itself was very small, especially given the size of the visible bubble on her tummy. There was a lot more fat than he anticipated, so I’m glad we got her hernia taken care of before anything bad happened.

The vet suggested she might be in pain today and might benefit from pain medication. Lady Jaye asked how we could tell if she was hurting. “Trembling, loss of appetite, and not wanting to drink water,” he replied. We got Rosie home and she immediately ate half the food in her dish and slurped down a bowl of water. So much for being in pain!

She’s asleep on the floor next to us, under the influence of 25mg of benadryl to make her neepy. We gave her brother one too — the hard part is going to be keeping them from playing and jumping around for the next two weeks.