Another day off for the story. I'm taking Sunday as a day of rest.
Be careful out there.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Chapter Two - Blog Date 042906
Cedar Rapids 18April05 0900
Melanie and Holly turned south onto tree-lined Kings Boulevard for the final leg of their training run. They had met up with about twenty other members of the Cedar County Running Club at 6:45, and after the prerequiste stretching and chit-chat, they took off just after 7:00. The two women ran with the faster-paced group that had immediately separated from the others and set about churning out mile-after-mile at an eight minute pace. Today's route was drawn for those looking to complete either 15 or 20 miles. Melanie and Holly were scheduled for the shorter route, but had elected to go the extra distance at a reduced pace.
Holly was definitely going to run in the Green Bay Marathon at the end of May, and she needed long runs each of the next two weekends before tapering the last three weeks before the race. Melanie had no plans to race before the Chicago Marathon in October, but she was glad to support Holly, and by keeping her base at a high level, the more focussed training later in the summer would be that much easier. Besides, she loved running, and it was a great activity for general socializing and for meeting new friends.
They cruised through the last 5 miles in just over forty-five minutes, reaching their cars in the parking lot of Panera Bread as the other twenty milers headed into the coffee shop for treats.
"Going in?", asked Holly as she opened the trunk of her car.
"Not this morning", said Melanie. "I need to get home and check on some things. Maybe a late lunch? Are you doing anything later?"
"I'll have to give you a call. I told Donovan that I would help him pick out a new suit for his parents' anniversary party next month. He such a klutz. You'll have your cell?", asked Holly.
"Sure", replied Melanie. "But if you have stuff to do, that's ok. Just give me a call. See 'ya."
Melanie gave a final wave to Holly, and stepped into her Jaguar XGS which came to immediate life at her twist of the ignition switch. She pulled out of the parking lot and onto 27th Street and headed East. Although the wine from last night had made the early appointment to run with the group a bit fragile, the fresh air had invigorated her and she almost felt the runners' "high" during those last cool down miles. She knew that she could easily join Holly in Green Bay, and have a reasonable time, but she was determined to break 3:25 in her next marathon, and her conditioning wasn't there yet. Chicago in the Fall. And if the moon and stars lined up correctly that day, she would definitely qualify for next year's Boston Marathon.
Melanie McDermott had run some track and cross-country in high school, but had not got the distance running bug until after law school. During her under-graduate days at St. Mary's of Notre Dame, she had concentrated on school, with an occasional tryst with a friend from across the road at "that boys' school." She had done well enough in the classroom and on the LSAT that several big name law schools offered her full rides. She had ended up at Stanford on the recommendation of her distant "Crazy Uncle Howard" who thought the Ivies were over-rated unless you wanted to work on Wall Street. And he was right. Particularly when Silicon Valley became Ground Zero for the technology revolution.
Melanie made a turn north on Marion Road for six blocks and then pushed the electronic control on her visor as she turned left into the entance of the gated sub-division known as McKelvey Heights. The automated barrier arm lifted and Melanie passed the un-manned sentry shack. There were nineteen homes on the former evening pasture for Phil McKelvey's dairy cows. The money had finally been too much for Old Man McKelvey to ignore, so he had collected his price, sold the cows and took up residence in tax-friendly Reno. The developer had created the plat for twenty building lots of two acres each, with an initial asking price of $300,000 per acre.
Surprisingly, there were takers, and when Melanie came to town in late 2002, only the 2 prime lots at the far end of the development were left for sale, and the price had risen to $750,000 per acre. She bought both lots, 4 acres at $750,000 per. Do the math. The multi-gabled house took a year to build and had everything the designer could think of included in the 5000 square feet of living space. Melanie enjoyed the seclusion and comfort of her lavish Alpine home.
Melanie punched a seconded button on the visor and the garage door raised for her. After pulling in, she cut the engine, stepped from the car and opened the door to the spacious mud room. She hung her keys on the hook by the door, grabbed a bottled water from the secondary refrigerator, and walked through the kitchen to the library located just off the main-floor great room. She had not checked her email since yesterday afternoon. She also wanted to check her Capital Asset Advisor's account and see if the Cyberware special dividend had been deposited. Even with her legal education and experience, she had trouble following some of the transactions that Anthony completed at the company. This latest one on the special dividend gave her an uneasy feeling.
The computer had been turned on automatically by a sensor when she had walked into the library. "Henri (the home interior designer) was a greedy son-of-a-bitch," Melanie thought to herself, "but I like that automated sensor stuff!" She typed in her password and her Yahoo home page came to view. She had five new emails, four of which were ads. The fifth was from Anthony. She opened it, but it was several paragraphs long and was talking about too many technical things for her current level of interest. Slipping to the final few sentences of the email, she read his final point which was, as she had anticipated, that a complication had developed on the dividend. They needed to talk.
Sure, Anthony. Let's talk. Its only 15 million dollars. Tell me a new lie. Tell me that you're not an asshole.
With no need to check her CAA account on the deposit of the dividend, Melanie rose from her chair and headed upstairs for a shower to cool down her now aggravated mental health.
Melanie and Holly turned south onto tree-lined Kings Boulevard for the final leg of their training run. They had met up with about twenty other members of the Cedar County Running Club at 6:45, and after the prerequiste stretching and chit-chat, they took off just after 7:00. The two women ran with the faster-paced group that had immediately separated from the others and set about churning out mile-after-mile at an eight minute pace. Today's route was drawn for those looking to complete either 15 or 20 miles. Melanie and Holly were scheduled for the shorter route, but had elected to go the extra distance at a reduced pace.
Holly was definitely going to run in the Green Bay Marathon at the end of May, and she needed long runs each of the next two weekends before tapering the last three weeks before the race. Melanie had no plans to race before the Chicago Marathon in October, but she was glad to support Holly, and by keeping her base at a high level, the more focussed training later in the summer would be that much easier. Besides, she loved running, and it was a great activity for general socializing and for meeting new friends.
They cruised through the last 5 miles in just over forty-five minutes, reaching their cars in the parking lot of Panera Bread as the other twenty milers headed into the coffee shop for treats.
"Going in?", asked Holly as she opened the trunk of her car.
"Not this morning", said Melanie. "I need to get home and check on some things. Maybe a late lunch? Are you doing anything later?"
"I'll have to give you a call. I told Donovan that I would help him pick out a new suit for his parents' anniversary party next month. He such a klutz. You'll have your cell?", asked Holly.
"Sure", replied Melanie. "But if you have stuff to do, that's ok. Just give me a call. See 'ya."
Melanie gave a final wave to Holly, and stepped into her Jaguar XGS which came to immediate life at her twist of the ignition switch. She pulled out of the parking lot and onto 27th Street and headed East. Although the wine from last night had made the early appointment to run with the group a bit fragile, the fresh air had invigorated her and she almost felt the runners' "high" during those last cool down miles. She knew that she could easily join Holly in Green Bay, and have a reasonable time, but she was determined to break 3:25 in her next marathon, and her conditioning wasn't there yet. Chicago in the Fall. And if the moon and stars lined up correctly that day, she would definitely qualify for next year's Boston Marathon.
Melanie McDermott had run some track and cross-country in high school, but had not got the distance running bug until after law school. During her under-graduate days at St. Mary's of Notre Dame, she had concentrated on school, with an occasional tryst with a friend from across the road at "that boys' school." She had done well enough in the classroom and on the LSAT that several big name law schools offered her full rides. She had ended up at Stanford on the recommendation of her distant "Crazy Uncle Howard" who thought the Ivies were over-rated unless you wanted to work on Wall Street. And he was right. Particularly when Silicon Valley became Ground Zero for the technology revolution.
Melanie made a turn north on Marion Road for six blocks and then pushed the electronic control on her visor as she turned left into the entance of the gated sub-division known as McKelvey Heights. The automated barrier arm lifted and Melanie passed the un-manned sentry shack. There were nineteen homes on the former evening pasture for Phil McKelvey's dairy cows. The money had finally been too much for Old Man McKelvey to ignore, so he had collected his price, sold the cows and took up residence in tax-friendly Reno. The developer had created the plat for twenty building lots of two acres each, with an initial asking price of $300,000 per acre.
Surprisingly, there were takers, and when Melanie came to town in late 2002, only the 2 prime lots at the far end of the development were left for sale, and the price had risen to $750,000 per acre. She bought both lots, 4 acres at $750,000 per. Do the math. The multi-gabled house took a year to build and had everything the designer could think of included in the 5000 square feet of living space. Melanie enjoyed the seclusion and comfort of her lavish Alpine home.
Melanie punched a seconded button on the visor and the garage door raised for her. After pulling in, she cut the engine, stepped from the car and opened the door to the spacious mud room. She hung her keys on the hook by the door, grabbed a bottled water from the secondary refrigerator, and walked through the kitchen to the library located just off the main-floor great room. She had not checked her email since yesterday afternoon. She also wanted to check her Capital Asset Advisor's account and see if the Cyberware special dividend had been deposited. Even with her legal education and experience, she had trouble following some of the transactions that Anthony completed at the company. This latest one on the special dividend gave her an uneasy feeling.
The computer had been turned on automatically by a sensor when she had walked into the library. "Henri (the home interior designer) was a greedy son-of-a-bitch," Melanie thought to herself, "but I like that automated sensor stuff!" She typed in her password and her Yahoo home page came to view. She had five new emails, four of which were ads. The fifth was from Anthony. She opened it, but it was several paragraphs long and was talking about too many technical things for her current level of interest. Slipping to the final few sentences of the email, she read his final point which was, as she had anticipated, that a complication had developed on the dividend. They needed to talk.
Sure, Anthony. Let's talk. Its only 15 million dollars. Tell me a new lie. Tell me that you're not an asshole.
With no need to check her CAA account on the deposit of the dividend, Melanie rose from her chair and headed upstairs for a shower to cool down her now aggravated mental health.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Chapter One - Continued Blog Date 042706
Iowa City 18April05 0800
Calhoun turned away from the computer, rose and stepped over to the filing cabinet that sat in the corner of the office, to the left of his desk. He smiled at the low-tech top lock on the cabinet, and the key that he had left in the slot yesterday. Most of the hard copy documents in the cabinet's files were available under the Freedom of Information Act or, if not, could probably be found on the internet by an enterprising spook doing a Google search. He opened the top drawer and pulled the file marked, "Indigo Research Corporation", known as Indigo by the public (and a very interested NSTF).
In addition to copies of the 1999 Delaware incorporation documents, including by-laws, initial Board resolution and list of incorporators, the file also had 8x10 glossy photos of Anthony Carmondii and Adeki Singh. Calhoun liked to know the faces of the individuals who were part of his cases. It gave a certain physical substance to an otherwise inanimate processing of data. He already had taken a disliking to Carmondii. His dark black hair was combed straight back in a classic Mafioso style. Dark eyes. Mediterranean skin. A facial expression that suggested he had already measured his exit from the room.
Indigo had obtained a number of large Federal and state government research grants immediatly upon incorporation, suggesting that the company's founders were especially well-connected to the military-industrial complex that has been notoriously known to benefit preferred providers. The time leading up to the year 2000 had meant big profits to tech firms who were in the business of insuring stability for the world's information systems when the clock literally struck the twenty-first century. Indigo had used a series of off-shore arrangements with Indian and Pakistanian engineering companies to leverage their primary US contracts to huge monetary advantage. Calhoun again laughed to himself. He was not aware of a single incident of computer malfunction in connection with the passage into the year 2000. "A sucker's born everyday." And with Uncle Sam writing those checks, guess who pays.
Neither Carmondii or Singh were owners of Indigo. Carmondii had been brought in from a Palo Alto software company to be the CEO. Singh came with Carmondii as a special assistant since Carmondii's technical expertise with computers did not extend beyond the "on" switch. With the contracts from Washington DC and the states of New York and California already in hand, Indigo was a start-up rocket ship. Many other contracts came in with short durations and big mark-ups. For 15 months, there was no end to "up" and the owners reaped nearly 2 billion in net revenue. The company was not "public", that is, the shares of the company's stock were not traded on an exchange. The profits ended up in a maze of off shore trusts that had been intricately arranged beforehand. The IRS was left shooting blanks at smoke. The law suits were still buried in Tax Court. The prognosis for the government was not good.
Carmondii and Singh had returned to California and picked up a struggling tech company that had been a victim of the March 2000 tech bubble burst. In perhaps one of the only questionable decisions that Calhoun could attribute to Carmondii's business history, Carmondii had the stock of the nearly bankrupt company acquired by one of his previously existing California entities, Cyberware, Inc. There must have been an element of greed that Carmondii could not control at the time of the deal. Normally, this type of corporate acquisition would be structured as an asset purchase to avoid the possible dirty laundry that might exist in the history of the acquired company. Calhoun theorized that the significant tax loss carry-forwards that were on the company's books were just too large of a tax planning opportunity for Carmondii to ignore. By buying the stock, Cyberware Inc. could use those tax losses against its own income. Purchasing the stock was ultimately worth several million in tax savings for Cyberware.
But Carmondii had been too cute for his own good. He had forgotten that the same attorneys who had come up with the creative tax dodge on the acquistion had also been the estate planning wizards who had placed ownership of his various assets into a number of trusts, parnerships and limited liability companies to save taxes down the road.
After all the paperwork on the acquisition was dry, and filed with the Secretary of State in Sacramento, a second year law clerk informed the lead partner that their primary file on Cyberware was incomplete. The file had not contained the most current stock Certificate of Transfer that showed that the beneficial owner of Generation Skip Trust A, which owned 50% of the stock, was Melanie McDermott.
Calhoun turned away from the computer, rose and stepped over to the filing cabinet that sat in the corner of the office, to the left of his desk. He smiled at the low-tech top lock on the cabinet, and the key that he had left in the slot yesterday. Most of the hard copy documents in the cabinet's files were available under the Freedom of Information Act or, if not, could probably be found on the internet by an enterprising spook doing a Google search. He opened the top drawer and pulled the file marked, "Indigo Research Corporation", known as Indigo by the public (and a very interested NSTF).
In addition to copies of the 1999 Delaware incorporation documents, including by-laws, initial Board resolution and list of incorporators, the file also had 8x10 glossy photos of Anthony Carmondii and Adeki Singh. Calhoun liked to know the faces of the individuals who were part of his cases. It gave a certain physical substance to an otherwise inanimate processing of data. He already had taken a disliking to Carmondii. His dark black hair was combed straight back in a classic Mafioso style. Dark eyes. Mediterranean skin. A facial expression that suggested he had already measured his exit from the room.
Indigo had obtained a number of large Federal and state government research grants immediatly upon incorporation, suggesting that the company's founders were especially well-connected to the military-industrial complex that has been notoriously known to benefit preferred providers. The time leading up to the year 2000 had meant big profits to tech firms who were in the business of insuring stability for the world's information systems when the clock literally struck the twenty-first century. Indigo had used a series of off-shore arrangements with Indian and Pakistanian engineering companies to leverage their primary US contracts to huge monetary advantage. Calhoun again laughed to himself. He was not aware of a single incident of computer malfunction in connection with the passage into the year 2000. "A sucker's born everyday." And with Uncle Sam writing those checks, guess who pays.
Neither Carmondii or Singh were owners of Indigo. Carmondii had been brought in from a Palo Alto software company to be the CEO. Singh came with Carmondii as a special assistant since Carmondii's technical expertise with computers did not extend beyond the "on" switch. With the contracts from Washington DC and the states of New York and California already in hand, Indigo was a start-up rocket ship. Many other contracts came in with short durations and big mark-ups. For 15 months, there was no end to "up" and the owners reaped nearly 2 billion in net revenue. The company was not "public", that is, the shares of the company's stock were not traded on an exchange. The profits ended up in a maze of off shore trusts that had been intricately arranged beforehand. The IRS was left shooting blanks at smoke. The law suits were still buried in Tax Court. The prognosis for the government was not good.
Carmondii and Singh had returned to California and picked up a struggling tech company that had been a victim of the March 2000 tech bubble burst. In perhaps one of the only questionable decisions that Calhoun could attribute to Carmondii's business history, Carmondii had the stock of the nearly bankrupt company acquired by one of his previously existing California entities, Cyberware, Inc. There must have been an element of greed that Carmondii could not control at the time of the deal. Normally, this type of corporate acquisition would be structured as an asset purchase to avoid the possible dirty laundry that might exist in the history of the acquired company. Calhoun theorized that the significant tax loss carry-forwards that were on the company's books were just too large of a tax planning opportunity for Carmondii to ignore. By buying the stock, Cyberware Inc. could use those tax losses against its own income. Purchasing the stock was ultimately worth several million in tax savings for Cyberware.
But Carmondii had been too cute for his own good. He had forgotten that the same attorneys who had come up with the creative tax dodge on the acquistion had also been the estate planning wizards who had placed ownership of his various assets into a number of trusts, parnerships and limited liability companies to save taxes down the road.
After all the paperwork on the acquisition was dry, and filed with the Secretary of State in Sacramento, a second year law clerk informed the lead partner that their primary file on Cyberware was incomplete. The file had not contained the most current stock Certificate of Transfer that showed that the beneficial owner of Generation Skip Trust A, which owned 50% of the stock, was Melanie McDermott.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Wednesday
Well, for the folks looking for an addition to the yet-to-be-named blook, you'll have to wait another day. All you have here tonight is general ramblings.
I snuck out a little early from work and did a nice ride out by the Davenport Country Club hills. The development on the far East end of Forest Grove Road is amazing. They have moved dirt all the way to I-80 on the North side of the road near the dead-end at the road that heads to Black Hawk JH. That farm homestead right before you cross the interstate is now just a couple of acres with the housing development all around it.
Good ride, but with the development out there comes traffic. Lots of that too. I came back by way of Valley Drive, up past the high school , and at 6PM, there's lots of people in a hurry to get somewhere. A little stressful for a rider, but I'm not sure that I like those conditions less than the factors on a crowded bike path. I was out for about 90 minutes which is a good workout, particularly with the hills. In a couple of weeks, I'll start increasing things, at least for a weekend ride. But there's no hurry at this point.
The post-April 15th work environment has been ok. I have lots to do. One of the by-products of the hectic times in late March and early April is that a person does get in the habit of working pretty hard. One of my goals now is to carry that required work perspective into the more normal times and be more productive. Criterium needs me to be productive.
Charlie, Susan and I are booked for travel to Reno out of Chicago on July 13th. Return July 16th. Direct flights. Expensive. Uncle Phil is doing some inquiry on accomodations.
Mary has her new laptop. She has the hassle of re-acquiring billfold essentials as a result of a small problem from last week.
So anyway, the story. I'm doing it to make myself do it. I know that it is not Pulitzer Prize journalism, but I have this writing gene that I need to give air to. Doing the blog has been fun and meaningful to me, and I will continue to add thoughts, opinions and document family history. But there are lots of times where I really don't have that much to say, and I don't want the blog to be just a plain record of what food I like, what I thought 40 years ago, or why I have a particular hat in the attic. (Actually, I don't have an attic, and I think Mom has gradually sanitized her attic of my stuff.) And one of the truely important things to me is that you maintain an interest in wanting to read whatever it is that I write.
So the blook is my own effort at mental therapy, the challenge of coming up with multiple weekly additions, and in keeping your interest. Those two-to-three page entries take me around 2 hours or so to write. I don't have the focus to do that everyday. Hopefully, both weekend days and one or two days during the week. I'm thinking 250-275 pages to completion. Which may take us to Christmas. Who knows. I may get on a roll this Summer and make progress in quicker strides. It is a work in progress. And I do not have it all planned out. Don't be afraid to make suggestions.
Have a great day. Be careful out there.
I snuck out a little early from work and did a nice ride out by the Davenport Country Club hills. The development on the far East end of Forest Grove Road is amazing. They have moved dirt all the way to I-80 on the North side of the road near the dead-end at the road that heads to Black Hawk JH. That farm homestead right before you cross the interstate is now just a couple of acres with the housing development all around it.
Good ride, but with the development out there comes traffic. Lots of that too. I came back by way of Valley Drive, up past the high school , and at 6PM, there's lots of people in a hurry to get somewhere. A little stressful for a rider, but I'm not sure that I like those conditions less than the factors on a crowded bike path. I was out for about 90 minutes which is a good workout, particularly with the hills. In a couple of weeks, I'll start increasing things, at least for a weekend ride. But there's no hurry at this point.
The post-April 15th work environment has been ok. I have lots to do. One of the by-products of the hectic times in late March and early April is that a person does get in the habit of working pretty hard. One of my goals now is to carry that required work perspective into the more normal times and be more productive. Criterium needs me to be productive.
Charlie, Susan and I are booked for travel to Reno out of Chicago on July 13th. Return July 16th. Direct flights. Expensive. Uncle Phil is doing some inquiry on accomodations.
Mary has her new laptop. She has the hassle of re-acquiring billfold essentials as a result of a small problem from last week.
So anyway, the story. I'm doing it to make myself do it. I know that it is not Pulitzer Prize journalism, but I have this writing gene that I need to give air to. Doing the blog has been fun and meaningful to me, and I will continue to add thoughts, opinions and document family history. But there are lots of times where I really don't have that much to say, and I don't want the blog to be just a plain record of what food I like, what I thought 40 years ago, or why I have a particular hat in the attic. (Actually, I don't have an attic, and I think Mom has gradually sanitized her attic of my stuff.) And one of the truely important things to me is that you maintain an interest in wanting to read whatever it is that I write.
So the blook is my own effort at mental therapy, the challenge of coming up with multiple weekly additions, and in keeping your interest. Those two-to-three page entries take me around 2 hours or so to write. I don't have the focus to do that everyday. Hopefully, both weekend days and one or two days during the week. I'm thinking 250-275 pages to completion. Which may take us to Christmas. Who knows. I may get on a roll this Summer and make progress in quicker strides. It is a work in progress. And I do not have it all planned out. Don't be afraid to make suggestions.
Have a great day. Be careful out there.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Chapter One- Continued Blog Date 042506
Iowa City 18April05 0730
Calhoun unlocked the front door of Federales with a swipe of his secure master identity chip in his faux Ironman Triathalon wrist watch. He chuckled to himself at the James Bond-ishness of some of the procedures that were now in full operation, which at one time had merely been some screenwriter's fantasies. "Kirk here. Beam me up, Scotty." He tossed the empty coffee cup in the waste basket in the entryway and swiped his identity chip again at the interior access door pad. The door catch electronically released, the door opened and he stepped into the office.
He passed through an open "bull pen" area with several empty cubicles usually occupied by "good guy" spies who spent their days, and often their nights, reading state and federal securities filings, financial reports issued by public companies, and documents from various judiciary procedings. Think Robert Redford in Three Days of The Condor. Calhoun's windowless private office was at the far end of the room. It too had a secure locking system to which he applied for a third time the identity chip's magic.
The office was about fifteen feet square. Plenty of room for a standard government-issue, gun-metal gray desk, two side chairs, a couple of bookcases and two four-drawer filing cabinets. The most important piece of furniture was a side desk upon which rested Calhoun's computer. The kid from Langley who had been in last month to upgrade the office's technology package appeared to Calhoun as hardly being old enough to own a driver's license. But he knew his stuff and had stayed on site an extra couple of days to insure that everyone was up to speed with the new operating system which linked all of the NSTF agents.
Calhoun sat down at his desk and swivelled his chair to face his computer. He flipped on the master control, the global surge protector, and the local access switch in sequence. Once the machine came to life, he logged on to the local area network (LAN), and then went through the NSTF secure linkup procedure using the GPS-controlled random number generator creatively imbedded in his desk clock. Finally, he reached his personal work space on the NSTF system.
A copy of the email had been sent to Calhoun last night after his conversation with the San Mateo analyst. There had been some concern initially over the wisdom of putting the information into the NSTF electronic system, and as to whether a new search warrant was legally required. In the end, late West Coast time, Raymond Marshall's legal eagles and their counterparts in California determined that the transmission was covered by earlier clearances. God, he hated attorneys. The email now sat in Calhoun's inbox.
The message read:
Adeki,
The message was time-dated 2:35PM May 25, 2001.
Calhoun immediately knew some of the particulars that would not be evident to an uninformed reader. Adeli was Adeki Singh, the former Cyberware systems engineer now working out of the goodness of his heart on some nebulous research project for Hawkeye Nation. VC was short for Venture Capitalists. Calhoun interpreted the use in the email to refer to the Equity Funding Group, a very private group of very rich men who had become even richer in the go-go 90's by investing in start-up tech companies.
CI must have referred to the Cayman Islands, a popular off-shore location for holding money in accounts that may not be accessible by you local IRS agent.
AC was obviously Anthony Carmondii.
And Mel was Melanie McDermott. And she was making noise back in May of 2001, maybe two years before the divorce.
Calhoun unlocked the front door of Federales with a swipe of his secure master identity chip in his faux Ironman Triathalon wrist watch. He chuckled to himself at the James Bond-ishness of some of the procedures that were now in full operation, which at one time had merely been some screenwriter's fantasies. "Kirk here. Beam me up, Scotty." He tossed the empty coffee cup in the waste basket in the entryway and swiped his identity chip again at the interior access door pad. The door catch electronically released, the door opened and he stepped into the office.
He passed through an open "bull pen" area with several empty cubicles usually occupied by "good guy" spies who spent their days, and often their nights, reading state and federal securities filings, financial reports issued by public companies, and documents from various judiciary procedings. Think Robert Redford in Three Days of The Condor. Calhoun's windowless private office was at the far end of the room. It too had a secure locking system to which he applied for a third time the identity chip's magic.
The office was about fifteen feet square. Plenty of room for a standard government-issue, gun-metal gray desk, two side chairs, a couple of bookcases and two four-drawer filing cabinets. The most important piece of furniture was a side desk upon which rested Calhoun's computer. The kid from Langley who had been in last month to upgrade the office's technology package appeared to Calhoun as hardly being old enough to own a driver's license. But he knew his stuff and had stayed on site an extra couple of days to insure that everyone was up to speed with the new operating system which linked all of the NSTF agents.
Calhoun sat down at his desk and swivelled his chair to face his computer. He flipped on the master control, the global surge protector, and the local access switch in sequence. Once the machine came to life, he logged on to the local area network (LAN), and then went through the NSTF secure linkup procedure using the GPS-controlled random number generator creatively imbedded in his desk clock. Finally, he reached his personal work space on the NSTF system.
A copy of the email had been sent to Calhoun last night after his conversation with the San Mateo analyst. There had been some concern initially over the wisdom of putting the information into the NSTF electronic system, and as to whether a new search warrant was legally required. In the end, late West Coast time, Raymond Marshall's legal eagles and their counterparts in California determined that the transmission was covered by earlier clearances. God, he hated attorneys. The email now sat in Calhoun's inbox.
The message read:
Adeki,
The VC guys think that they are legally protected if they take their backside cut three years after the issue date. We need to make sure that the trojan door is time sensitive accordingly. Mel won't last. She's already making noise. I'm headed to CI next week to make arrangements for at least four parties. Let's meet at Dante's on Pier 39 on the 4th for lunch.
AC
The message was time-dated 2:35PM May 25, 2001.
Calhoun immediately knew some of the particulars that would not be evident to an uninformed reader. Adeli was Adeki Singh, the former Cyberware systems engineer now working out of the goodness of his heart on some nebulous research project for Hawkeye Nation. VC was short for Venture Capitalists. Calhoun interpreted the use in the email to refer to the Equity Funding Group, a very private group of very rich men who had become even richer in the go-go 90's by investing in start-up tech companies.
CI must have referred to the Cayman Islands, a popular off-shore location for holding money in accounts that may not be accessible by you local IRS agent.
AC was obviously Anthony Carmondii.
And Mel was Melanie McDermott. And she was making noise back in May of 2001, maybe two years before the divorce.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Chapter One - Blog Date 042306
New News and Old News Cedar Rapids 18April05 0635
After a quick pass through the Starbucks drive-up for a grande Americano, Calhoun pulled on to the southbound entrance ramp of I-380 at Olde Coventry Road for his commute to the office on the East side of Iowa City. He had threatened himself repeatedly over the last five years to make a move closer to work, but the family compound that he had inherited from his folks was simply too much a part of him to let go. To call it a compound was a bit of a stretch, but there were two and a half wooded acres and one out-building that was perfect housing for the toys and equipment of his varied intrests. Any of the alternatives that he had seen near Iowa City not only had lousy economic outcomes, but they also were without any intrinsic appeal.
As he came up to cruising speed for the twenty-five minute ride south, Calhoun also gave a thought to lobbying his boss for an increased mileage allowance. The Ford Expedition that he had bought last year was a nice ride, but with his frequent visits to the Big K Pit Stop, and the ever-increasing price of gasoline, he was developing a new appreciation for the expense reimbursement provisions of his employment contract.
He thought for a moment of giving his boss in suburban Chicago a call to make his case for the increase, but decided that it may be a little too early to needle Raymond Marshall on a Saturday morning. Marshall was a not a man without humor, but Calhoun doubted if a discussion of mileage rates would be well-received at this hour. Maybe he would make the call after he had had a chance to review the email from California and could have real business to add to the conversation.
Calhoun remembered his first call from Marshall three years before. Calhoun had been with the Iowa Department of Criminal Investigation (IDCI) for about ten years at that point. He had arrived at the IDCI after having taken an early retirement as a Lt. Colonel from the Air Force when it became apparent that future promotion in the Service was not to be. He had crossed swords, figuritively, with one too many generals and was facing a future of endless paper- pushing which was simply too depressing for him to contemplate.
He had liked the thought of a return to Iowa and the familiar territory of his youth. An old high school classmate with whom he had shared a few drinks at their 20 year reunion and who had risen to some kind of mucky-muck status in Des Moines politics had suggested that he consider the IDCI. The IDCI was looking for military-trained personnel to staff a new division to monitor the expanding gambling industry in the state. A match was made and Calhoun eventually became the lead investigator for the IDCI on the operators and money sources of the state's casinos and tracks.
Then came 9-11. Enron. Sarbannes-Oxley. Anti-money laundering. The Patriot Act. The creation of the Department of Homeland Security. Almost overnight, Calhoun began working with so many Federal agents and agencies that nights spent checking out the losers on the Mississippi Belle became a thing of the past. Tracking money flow, off shore accounting, security transactions and electronic transmissions took Calhoun into a whole new circle of modern sleuths. He was good at it, and when Raymond Marshall was named to head the Federal Department of Justice's National Securities Task Force (NSTF), Calhoun was his choice to lead the Midwest team.
That first call was really not an offer. Although agents of his position normally have some say in their own transfers, Calhoun's superior at the IDCI made it immediately clear that he was from thereon on assignment to the NSTF. The transfer paperwork had already been signed. Good luck. Nice to have known you.
As it had turned out, the NSTF had been a good fit for Calhoun. The other field agents were all bright, dedicated people who had yet to be seriously infected by the malaise of Federal bureaucratic laziness. Raymond Marshall spent most of his time in either New York, Chicago or San Francisco and kept his staff away from the Washington Beltway where progress was most often measured in nanometers.
Calhoun slowed as he approached the clover-leaf intersection with I-80 just West of Coralville. He exited on the East-bound ramp behind two 18-wheelers. He was always amazed at the truck traffic on I-80. The Main Street of The Midwest. "What town would want this many trucks on Main Street?" he asked himself.
He came back up to speed for this short leg of his commute over to Dodge Street. His thoughts returned to Melanie McDermott. And to the email. He mentally tried to timeline the sequence of Carmondii's email with the company's initial public offering (IPO), the divorce, Melanie's return to Iowa, and the patent infringement case that Carmondii's comapny, Cyberware, Inc., had won at least two years ago. Cyberware had a current market value of nearly five billion dollars, and according to Calhoun's memory, Melanie McDermott and Anthony Carmondii still contolled nearly sixty-five percent of the corporation. Calhoun thought, "A billion here and a billion there. Pretty soon, you're talking about REAL money. I wonder how iron-clad that divorce decree really is?"
Calhoun pulled off I-80 at the Dodge Street-Highway 1 exit, turned North for a half mile and entered the business park on the Northeast corner of the intersection of the state highway and the interstate. He parked in front of an unmarked building known to the locals as, " Federales."
After a quick pass through the Starbucks drive-up for a grande Americano, Calhoun pulled on to the southbound entrance ramp of I-380 at Olde Coventry Road for his commute to the office on the East side of Iowa City. He had threatened himself repeatedly over the last five years to make a move closer to work, but the family compound that he had inherited from his folks was simply too much a part of him to let go. To call it a compound was a bit of a stretch, but there were two and a half wooded acres and one out-building that was perfect housing for the toys and equipment of his varied intrests. Any of the alternatives that he had seen near Iowa City not only had lousy economic outcomes, but they also were without any intrinsic appeal.
As he came up to cruising speed for the twenty-five minute ride south, Calhoun also gave a thought to lobbying his boss for an increased mileage allowance. The Ford Expedition that he had bought last year was a nice ride, but with his frequent visits to the Big K Pit Stop, and the ever-increasing price of gasoline, he was developing a new appreciation for the expense reimbursement provisions of his employment contract.
He thought for a moment of giving his boss in suburban Chicago a call to make his case for the increase, but decided that it may be a little too early to needle Raymond Marshall on a Saturday morning. Marshall was a not a man without humor, but Calhoun doubted if a discussion of mileage rates would be well-received at this hour. Maybe he would make the call after he had had a chance to review the email from California and could have real business to add to the conversation.
Calhoun remembered his first call from Marshall three years before. Calhoun had been with the Iowa Department of Criminal Investigation (IDCI) for about ten years at that point. He had arrived at the IDCI after having taken an early retirement as a Lt. Colonel from the Air Force when it became apparent that future promotion in the Service was not to be. He had crossed swords, figuritively, with one too many generals and was facing a future of endless paper- pushing which was simply too depressing for him to contemplate.
He had liked the thought of a return to Iowa and the familiar territory of his youth. An old high school classmate with whom he had shared a few drinks at their 20 year reunion and who had risen to some kind of mucky-muck status in Des Moines politics had suggested that he consider the IDCI. The IDCI was looking for military-trained personnel to staff a new division to monitor the expanding gambling industry in the state. A match was made and Calhoun eventually became the lead investigator for the IDCI on the operators and money sources of the state's casinos and tracks.
Then came 9-11. Enron. Sarbannes-Oxley. Anti-money laundering. The Patriot Act. The creation of the Department of Homeland Security. Almost overnight, Calhoun began working with so many Federal agents and agencies that nights spent checking out the losers on the Mississippi Belle became a thing of the past. Tracking money flow, off shore accounting, security transactions and electronic transmissions took Calhoun into a whole new circle of modern sleuths. He was good at it, and when Raymond Marshall was named to head the Federal Department of Justice's National Securities Task Force (NSTF), Calhoun was his choice to lead the Midwest team.
That first call was really not an offer. Although agents of his position normally have some say in their own transfers, Calhoun's superior at the IDCI made it immediately clear that he was from thereon on assignment to the NSTF. The transfer paperwork had already been signed. Good luck. Nice to have known you.
As it had turned out, the NSTF had been a good fit for Calhoun. The other field agents were all bright, dedicated people who had yet to be seriously infected by the malaise of Federal bureaucratic laziness. Raymond Marshall spent most of his time in either New York, Chicago or San Francisco and kept his staff away from the Washington Beltway where progress was most often measured in nanometers.
Calhoun slowed as he approached the clover-leaf intersection with I-80 just West of Coralville. He exited on the East-bound ramp behind two 18-wheelers. He was always amazed at the truck traffic on I-80. The Main Street of The Midwest. "What town would want this many trucks on Main Street?" he asked himself.
He came back up to speed for this short leg of his commute over to Dodge Street. His thoughts returned to Melanie McDermott. And to the email. He mentally tried to timeline the sequence of Carmondii's email with the company's initial public offering (IPO), the divorce, Melanie's return to Iowa, and the patent infringement case that Carmondii's comapny, Cyberware, Inc., had won at least two years ago. Cyberware had a current market value of nearly five billion dollars, and according to Calhoun's memory, Melanie McDermott and Anthony Carmondii still contolled nearly sixty-five percent of the corporation. Calhoun thought, "A billion here and a billion there. Pretty soon, you're talking about REAL money. I wonder how iron-clad that divorce decree really is?"
Calhoun pulled off I-80 at the Dodge Street-Highway 1 exit, turned North for a half mile and entered the business park on the Northeast corner of the intersection of the state highway and the interstate. He parked in front of an unmarked building known to the locals as, " Federales."
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Saturday - The Prologue
He woke to the mid-range, constant chirping of the sparrows or wrens in the trees in his backyard. His mind registered that it must be just after 5AM given the amount of light beginning to bring the new day to being. That thought was confirmed as he looked over at the bedside clock radio that digitally reflected 6:15, which he automatically reduced by an hour since he had not adjusted the clock the week before for the switch to Day Lights Savings Time.
Frank Calhoun tried to mentally retrace his steps from the night before, but the cloud from the wine made clarity an iffy proposition. He remembered meeting Donovan at The Italian Cellar, and how they were joined after dinner by Donovan's girlfriend, Holly Logan. Holly had called Donovan on his cell phone during pre-dinner drinks to say that her boss had asked her to make some last minute adjustments to a contact proposal that had to go out Fed-Ex that evening and that she wouldn't be able to join them until later. When she did arrive, she had brought along the much-talked about Melanie McDermott, and the wine flowed like water.
In a fleeting moment of uncertainty, Calhoun looked over to his side. No. He was alone.
Melanie McDermott had come home to Cedar Rapids two years ago after divorcing her husband and dot-com company partner with a settlement that made her divorce lawyer-shark the talk of Silicon Valley. Somehow, Holly's boss at Capital Asset Advisor's in Iowa City had connected with Melanie and she immediately became CAA's largest client. Although Holly did not work directly on Melanie's portfolio, she had sat in on a number of the early meetings and, since Holly was the only other female in these meetings, there had been some natural bonding. The friendship went in to full blossom when they met unexpectedly at the start of the Drake Relays Marathon that first Spring.
Calhoun rose from his bed and slowly made his way across the room to the bathroom. He flipped the light switch on and looked in the mirror. His now three-day old beard was flecked with gray, his hair was crinkled with sleep. The squinty eyes showed redness. Life had not been unkind to Calhoun, but it was mornings like this that reminded him that he was no longer the 35 year bullet-proof party animal from his earlier years. "Jesus," he said aloud. "What in the world made us order that last bottle?" Thinking of the question to himself, the answer was pretty easy to discern: the first 4 bottles.
Everytime over the last 18 months that Holly had included Melanie in one of their social gatherings, Calhoun was left with conflicting feelings. Some of these events had been just casual meetings for drinks after work. Some had been at formal civic functions. At some, they were both there as singles. At others, they were there with dates. Never were they anyplace as a couple. Calhoun had lived near the edge at times, but he didn't date the subjects of his investigations. He wasn't that stupid. And the empty bed showed that at least that part of his professional resume was still intact.
He stepped into the shower and turned on the water to as hot as he could stand. Although it was Saturday, he had no choice but to head back to the office to follow up on the call that had come in from San Mateo late yesterday afternoon. An analyst with the California Attorney General's office had uncovered a disturbing email on the hard drive of an old computer that had come to them on a subpoena from an Enron-related case. The email was from Melanie's former husband/partner Anthony Carmondii and the receipient was a systems engineer who had work on the code for the software that had been the big breakthrough for the company. As Calhoun's luck might have it, the systems engineer was now working on a high-profile contract with the University of Iowa. For free. Since he too had taken a truckload of money out of his deal with Carmondii.
The shower made him feel human again. As he dressed, he though again of last night. He recalled how Melanie had lightly kissed his cheek as they left the restaurant, and had squeezed his hand saying, "Frank, we really should do this more often. Are you ever going to ask me out on a date?" He had just smiled in answer. It was tempting.
He wondered how much she knew of the details in her former husband's incriminating email.
Frank Calhoun tried to mentally retrace his steps from the night before, but the cloud from the wine made clarity an iffy proposition. He remembered meeting Donovan at The Italian Cellar, and how they were joined after dinner by Donovan's girlfriend, Holly Logan. Holly had called Donovan on his cell phone during pre-dinner drinks to say that her boss had asked her to make some last minute adjustments to a contact proposal that had to go out Fed-Ex that evening and that she wouldn't be able to join them until later. When she did arrive, she had brought along the much-talked about Melanie McDermott, and the wine flowed like water.
In a fleeting moment of uncertainty, Calhoun looked over to his side. No. He was alone.
Melanie McDermott had come home to Cedar Rapids two years ago after divorcing her husband and dot-com company partner with a settlement that made her divorce lawyer-shark the talk of Silicon Valley. Somehow, Holly's boss at Capital Asset Advisor's in Iowa City had connected with Melanie and she immediately became CAA's largest client. Although Holly did not work directly on Melanie's portfolio, she had sat in on a number of the early meetings and, since Holly was the only other female in these meetings, there had been some natural bonding. The friendship went in to full blossom when they met unexpectedly at the start of the Drake Relays Marathon that first Spring.
Calhoun rose from his bed and slowly made his way across the room to the bathroom. He flipped the light switch on and looked in the mirror. His now three-day old beard was flecked with gray, his hair was crinkled with sleep. The squinty eyes showed redness. Life had not been unkind to Calhoun, but it was mornings like this that reminded him that he was no longer the 35 year bullet-proof party animal from his earlier years. "Jesus," he said aloud. "What in the world made us order that last bottle?" Thinking of the question to himself, the answer was pretty easy to discern: the first 4 bottles.
Everytime over the last 18 months that Holly had included Melanie in one of their social gatherings, Calhoun was left with conflicting feelings. Some of these events had been just casual meetings for drinks after work. Some had been at formal civic functions. At some, they were both there as singles. At others, they were there with dates. Never were they anyplace as a couple. Calhoun had lived near the edge at times, but he didn't date the subjects of his investigations. He wasn't that stupid. And the empty bed showed that at least that part of his professional resume was still intact.
He stepped into the shower and turned on the water to as hot as he could stand. Although it was Saturday, he had no choice but to head back to the office to follow up on the call that had come in from San Mateo late yesterday afternoon. An analyst with the California Attorney General's office had uncovered a disturbing email on the hard drive of an old computer that had come to them on a subpoena from an Enron-related case. The email was from Melanie's former husband/partner Anthony Carmondii and the receipient was a systems engineer who had work on the code for the software that had been the big breakthrough for the company. As Calhoun's luck might have it, the systems engineer was now working on a high-profile contract with the University of Iowa. For free. Since he too had taken a truckload of money out of his deal with Carmondii.
The shower made him feel human again. As he dressed, he though again of last night. He recalled how Melanie had lightly kissed his cheek as they left the restaurant, and had squeezed his hand saying, "Frank, we really should do this more often. Are you ever going to ask me out on a date?" He had just smiled in answer. It was tempting.
He wondered how much she knew of the details in her former husband's incriminating email.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Thursday
Got out on the bike path today for a nice ride. Windy, but warm and sunny.
I had full intension of doing a longer blog tonight, but Mary called and we talked accounting and taxes for over half an hour, and I have to get Margret home before dark! Maybe tomorrow.
Be careful out there.
I had full intension of doing a longer blog tonight, but Mary called and we talked accounting and taxes for over half an hour, and I have to get Margret home before dark! Maybe tomorrow.
Be careful out there.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Wednesday
Still clearing the debris out of my office.
Hope to add additional pics to the Criterium website as they become available.
My target for getting back to a meaningful daily entry into the blog is this weekend. I realize that there hasn't been much to read lately. I've been distracted.
Be careful out there.
Hope to add additional pics to the Criterium website as they become available.
My target for getting back to a meaningful daily entry into the blog is this weekend. I realize that there hasn't been much to read lately. I've been distracted.
Be careful out there.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Tuesday
Just a brief update. Tax Day came and went with the usual chaos. We will now do some investigating to see what may have slipped through the cracks, if anything.
Did have some wine last night, but got in reasonably early. Slept in today and will need to do some work around the house later. The yard is calling me. Also plan to get in a ride this afternoon. Today is truely the start of my training season.
I'll get back into the blog later in the week and try to add some meat to the literary diet that has been pretty meager these last few weeks.
Thanks for your support. Good luck on all your projects.
Be careful out there.
Did have some wine last night, but got in reasonably early. Slept in today and will need to do some work around the house later. The yard is calling me. Also plan to get in a ride this afternoon. Today is truely the start of my training season.
I'll get back into the blog later in the week and try to add some meat to the literary diet that has been pretty meager these last few weeks.
Thanks for your support. Good luck on all your projects.
Be careful out there.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Sunday - Easter
Just a quick note.
It was a nice day, but not the best since we all weren't together. Rainy. And I kept coming back to the office to get some things done. Still don't have it all covered. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
I have few memories of Easter as a child. It just wasn't a lot other than a more elaborate service at Church. I remember having dyed eggs a few times. And eating (too many usually) of those candy eggs with the white sugary insides. Getting pictures of the girls all dressed up at Duck Creek or Vander Veer are what I think of now.
Love to all.
It was a nice day, but not the best since we all weren't together. Rainy. And I kept coming back to the office to get some things done. Still don't have it all covered. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
I have few memories of Easter as a child. It just wasn't a lot other than a more elaborate service at Church. I remember having dyed eggs a few times. And eating (too many usually) of those candy eggs with the white sugary insides. Getting pictures of the girls all dressed up at Duck Creek or Vander Veer are what I think of now.
Love to all.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Saturday
Charlie looks like the sole visitor for Easter. Mare has a project to complete in IC. Sounds like several of the teams in her Investments Analysis class have holed up for the weekend to get a handle on their assignment. Its not like I haven't spent some Easter weekends doing taxes. As I am now. I hope Mare is successful in finding a career that allows for a more normal life when she gets to my age.
And the time window for Kate was just too narrow.
Miss you both.
Martha's commment about Grant Wood getting his ideas while milking a cow does strike close to home. In my younger years, say through my mid-30's, my ideas came when shooting baskets by myself at some available hoop, whether it be in the barn, the gym at the time, or an outdoor court somewhere. In the last 15 years, most of my thinking has been done while on the bike. (There was that one year of running.) The business plan for Criterium came on a bike ride last summer.
Hope to cookout tonight. But it has clouded up in the last couple of hours, so who knows. A little FFF for sure.
More tomorrow. Be careful out there.
And the time window for Kate was just too narrow.
Miss you both.
Martha's commment about Grant Wood getting his ideas while milking a cow does strike close to home. In my younger years, say through my mid-30's, my ideas came when shooting baskets by myself at some available hoop, whether it be in the barn, the gym at the time, or an outdoor court somewhere. In the last 15 years, most of my thinking has been done while on the bike. (There was that one year of running.) The business plan for Criterium came on a bike ride last summer.
Hope to cookout tonight. But it has clouded up in the last couple of hours, so who knows. A little FFF for sure.
More tomorrow. Be careful out there.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Friday
I don't have much to add today. Enjoyed the comments from yesterday. The IC girls had a little excitement last night.
Had a nice card from Kate this week. Thanks.
FFF on Saturday night. At least for dinner.
Down to the hard core stragglers in the tax return business. My buddy Roy is at the top of that list. Pretty full day tomorrow and probably part of Sunday afternoon. Monday for extensions.
Susan gets another blog DOD (Daughter of the Day) award for going over to IC to pick up Charlie for a longer weekend.
I think that I'll try to go to a couple of local high school girls track meets in the next couple of weeks. I have always enjoyed the girls' meets more than the boys'. The girls tend to show their effort more than the boys. (Anybody remember those trips to Des Moines for the girls' state meet? Was, and still is, a favorite of mine. They run state as a co-ed meet now and I doubt if I venture back to Drake until they go back to a separate girls' meet.) The Jesse Day meet at Brady was called to an end early last night because of weather. That meet is too big with too many events (both boys and girls) and goes on forever. I like the 8 team girls varsity invite where there is only one or two heats and most events are run as finals. If they start field events at 5, they're done at 7:30 or 8.
So everybody have a good night. Be careful out there.
Had a nice card from Kate this week. Thanks.
FFF on Saturday night. At least for dinner.
Down to the hard core stragglers in the tax return business. My buddy Roy is at the top of that list. Pretty full day tomorrow and probably part of Sunday afternoon. Monday for extensions.
Susan gets another blog DOD (Daughter of the Day) award for going over to IC to pick up Charlie for a longer weekend.
I think that I'll try to go to a couple of local high school girls track meets in the next couple of weeks. I have always enjoyed the girls' meets more than the boys'. The girls tend to show their effort more than the boys. (Anybody remember those trips to Des Moines for the girls' state meet? Was, and still is, a favorite of mine. They run state as a co-ed meet now and I doubt if I venture back to Drake until they go back to a separate girls' meet.) The Jesse Day meet at Brady was called to an end early last night because of weather. That meet is too big with too many events (both boys and girls) and goes on forever. I like the 8 team girls varsity invite where there is only one or two heats and most events are run as finals. If they start field events at 5, they're done at 7:30 or 8.
So everybody have a good night. Be careful out there.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Thursday
Not much to say today. Had to get 3 big returns completed for out-of-town clients and to UPS. The last one got to the drop-off box at 6:30 this evening just as the truck was pulling up for the last pick-up. I felt like I was in a sprint all day.
Different type of race tomorrow. Two very antsy local clients with big numbers. Not Roy-type of numbers, but big ones none the less. And they want their stuff. Tomorrow.
The cleaning lady comes to the office on Monday and Thursday nights. The days have been so concentrated these last few weeks that it seems like she's here every night.
I sent Mary a news article from the DM Register on the Prarie Lights Bookstore in IC. Her attraction to Iowa began, at least partially, by her exposure to the bookstore when Aunt Martha took her there at the end of cooking camp 12-15 years ago. Mary, feel free to correct my angle on that story.
The Register used to market itself as The Paper Iowa Depends Upon. When they decided 15-20 years ago to pull in their tentacles and concentrate on Des Moines, they lost their oomph with a big swath of Iowa readers, me included. The sports section, called The Big Peach because of an orangish-tinted paper, was once one of the best in the country. I also remember Daddy saying how one of his supervisor friends learned about government by reading The Register. It was a paper that Mother got in the mail a day late when we were on the farm. (Correct me if I have that wrong, Martha.)
I have got in the habit of buying The Register daily again for our Starbucks coffee group. Coverage of Iowa politics is still better there than in the local fish wrap. And It gives a few more things of general Iowa interest too. RAGBRAI. Iowa State stories. Its just old news by the time you read it in the paper.
I have no clue what any of this means. Not exactly a finely pieced-together entry, but you get what you get.
Be careful out there.
Different type of race tomorrow. Two very antsy local clients with big numbers. Not Roy-type of numbers, but big ones none the less. And they want their stuff. Tomorrow.
The cleaning lady comes to the office on Monday and Thursday nights. The days have been so concentrated these last few weeks that it seems like she's here every night.
I sent Mary a news article from the DM Register on the Prarie Lights Bookstore in IC. Her attraction to Iowa began, at least partially, by her exposure to the bookstore when Aunt Martha took her there at the end of cooking camp 12-15 years ago. Mary, feel free to correct my angle on that story.
The Register used to market itself as The Paper Iowa Depends Upon. When they decided 15-20 years ago to pull in their tentacles and concentrate on Des Moines, they lost their oomph with a big swath of Iowa readers, me included. The sports section, called The Big Peach because of an orangish-tinted paper, was once one of the best in the country. I also remember Daddy saying how one of his supervisor friends learned about government by reading The Register. It was a paper that Mother got in the mail a day late when we were on the farm. (Correct me if I have that wrong, Martha.)
I have got in the habit of buying The Register daily again for our Starbucks coffee group. Coverage of Iowa politics is still better there than in the local fish wrap. And It gives a few more things of general Iowa interest too. RAGBRAI. Iowa State stories. Its just old news by the time you read it in the paper.
I have no clue what any of this means. Not exactly a finely pieced-together entry, but you get what you get.
Be careful out there.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Wednesday PM
Just a note before heading home.
Greg Maddux and the Cubs beat the Reds today. He's about 40 and his heater is in the high mid-80's compared to the mid-90's for power pitchers. The young-ish Bulls beat the hot Nets last night in a game that they had to win to keep their playoff hopes alive.
A couple of pretty good examples of learned effort and determination. Lots of times, the individual or the team with the glowing credentials doesn't come out on top. That's why they play the games. And the same holds true in life.
I encourage you all to keep working hard at your own game. It matters.
Be careful out there.
Greg Maddux and the Cubs beat the Reds today. He's about 40 and his heater is in the high mid-80's compared to the mid-90's for power pitchers. The young-ish Bulls beat the hot Nets last night in a game that they had to win to keep their playoff hopes alive.
A couple of pretty good examples of learned effort and determination. Lots of times, the individual or the team with the glowing credentials doesn't come out on top. That's why they play the games. And the same holds true in life.
I encourage you all to keep working hard at your own game. It matters.
Be careful out there.
Wednesday
Martha advises me that Daddy's birthday is actually the 19th, which I am sure is correct. I had consulted the copy of his obituary that I have here in the office before I made that entry yesterday and the obit incorrectly lists his birthday as the 10th. I made no effort to evaluate the date before using it in the blog. Goes to show you. You have to be careful of your sources. And the newspaper isn't a very reliable one.
Daughter of the Day goes to Susan for making the unscheduled trip to Iowa City last night to get Mary a temporary computer fix. And kudos to Mom for letting Susan use her car. We're all behind you Mare!
More taxes today. The phone is pretty busy.
The news on the Hawkeyes first brought to you on 4000 Days is in the papers today.
Have a great day!
Daughter of the Day goes to Susan for making the unscheduled trip to Iowa City last night to get Mary a temporary computer fix. And kudos to Mom for letting Susan use her car. We're all behind you Mare!
More taxes today. The phone is pretty busy.
The news on the Hawkeyes first brought to you on 4000 Days is in the papers today.
Have a great day!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Tuesday
Thanks to Katie for making an entry yesterday. I totally forgot.
This is the time of tax season when lots of returns go out the door each day. Items that had been holding a return up are resolved and the return is printed. Both the preparer and the taxpayer want to get the return filed. There is a sense of urgency that doesn't really hit the players until April 1st. Now, things get done. Were it so the rest of the year.
Interesting article in the Life section of USA Today today about a woman author who has written several books. Her current book was discussed in the article. She does one book per year, usually in 9 months time, and already has her 2007 and 2008 works completed. I envy that kind of organizational skill, luck, or dogged determination to be that far ahead, with economic benefits to boot.
Word is that the basketball Hawkeyes have lost at least two underclassmen and a couple of coaches. Numbers have had the remaining team members playing 4 on 4 for lack players. Can anyone say, "not even the NIT next year?"
I missed noting that yesterday was Grandpa H's birthday. He would have been 96. His and Mother's wedding anniversary is Thursday the 13th. They were married in 1936. Do the math.
I see in the paper that Terry Bradshaw is donating a lot of his memorabilia items to Louisiana Tech, his alma mater. Superbowl rings, MVP trophies and other stuff. His comments in the news releases were to the effect that, "I played in those games and I have the memories. That's enough for me, and this may help my school by displaying tangible evidence of post-college success." Terry Bradshaw has had a checkered history. Although he had great success in leading the Steelers to 4 Super Bowl wins, he was always considered a bit of a country bumkin, a rep that I think he encouraged at times. (Terry Hanratty out of ND was the poster boy of that collegiate class, but he had very limited success in the pros.)
Bradshaw has had a number of personal problems after football, and within the last few years he either announced it or it came out in the press that he suffered from depression. He continues to play the good ol' boy in TV football studio shows. He's just another public figure whose life I would not care to trade for. Bring me another messy tax return.
So anyway. I live.
Be careful out there.
This is the time of tax season when lots of returns go out the door each day. Items that had been holding a return up are resolved and the return is printed. Both the preparer and the taxpayer want to get the return filed. There is a sense of urgency that doesn't really hit the players until April 1st. Now, things get done. Were it so the rest of the year.
Interesting article in the Life section of USA Today today about a woman author who has written several books. Her current book was discussed in the article. She does one book per year, usually in 9 months time, and already has her 2007 and 2008 works completed. I envy that kind of organizational skill, luck, or dogged determination to be that far ahead, with economic benefits to boot.
Word is that the basketball Hawkeyes have lost at least two underclassmen and a couple of coaches. Numbers have had the remaining team members playing 4 on 4 for lack players. Can anyone say, "not even the NIT next year?"
I missed noting that yesterday was Grandpa H's birthday. He would have been 96. His and Mother's wedding anniversary is Thursday the 13th. They were married in 1936. Do the math.
I see in the paper that Terry Bradshaw is donating a lot of his memorabilia items to Louisiana Tech, his alma mater. Superbowl rings, MVP trophies and other stuff. His comments in the news releases were to the effect that, "I played in those games and I have the memories. That's enough for me, and this may help my school by displaying tangible evidence of post-college success." Terry Bradshaw has had a checkered history. Although he had great success in leading the Steelers to 4 Super Bowl wins, he was always considered a bit of a country bumkin, a rep that I think he encouraged at times. (Terry Hanratty out of ND was the poster boy of that collegiate class, but he had very limited success in the pros.)
Bradshaw has had a number of personal problems after football, and within the last few years he either announced it or it came out in the press that he suffered from depression. He continues to play the good ol' boy in TV football studio shows. He's just another public figure whose life I would not care to trade for. Bring me another messy tax return.
So anyway. I live.
Be careful out there.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Sunday PM
Just a confirmation that I was thinking about this again this afternoon.
Margret has been on the streets today.
Everybody have a great week.
Margret has been on the streets today.
Everybody have a great week.
Sunday AM
Sorry about yesterday. I basically forgot to get to the blog.
Another pretty nice, but cool morning here for Palm Sunday. And I am celebrating here with a few tax returns.
I have managed to get almost nothing done this past week except stuff here at the office. No yard work and no biking. At this point, I'm just stretching to get to the 17th and then get back in control.
Had a couple of nice notes from Charlie this week. Thanks.
Margret will be out for a spin later today.
So I'll check back later today. Get out there and enjoy the day.
Another pretty nice, but cool morning here for Palm Sunday. And I am celebrating here with a few tax returns.
I have managed to get almost nothing done this past week except stuff here at the office. No yard work and no biking. At this point, I'm just stretching to get to the 17th and then get back in control.
Had a couple of nice notes from Charlie this week. Thanks.
Margret will be out for a spin later today.
So I'll check back later today. Get out there and enjoy the day.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Thursday
Hard to believe how fast the days go right now.
We end up with some clients getting us information this time of year that you find hard to believe. They might think that they have handled a transaction totally on point, and in fact, they are 110% wrong in the other direction. People and money are funny. If someone says that its not about the money, bank on this, its about the money.
It is clear that I need to reduce my tax responsibilities next year. Personally and professionally it has become very unrewarding. The ideal situation would be for Bill and I to get a new preparer whose responsibilities would take over returns from which both he and I need to detach ourselves.
I think I have created an exit strategy with Criterium which is a very viable plan. But it is not unlike a career change that many people my age do not have the flexibility to make. Say the guy on the line at the GM plant for the last 25 years. He would probably have to go through some substantial retraining to achieve a comparable new position. And 55 year olds have to be very careful with changes that involve benefits, insurances and retirement plans.
The ballplayer with the hitting streak that was was discussed here earlier this week had the streak stopped today at 38.
Wish I was more creative. Just too tired.
Be careful out there.
We end up with some clients getting us information this time of year that you find hard to believe. They might think that they have handled a transaction totally on point, and in fact, they are 110% wrong in the other direction. People and money are funny. If someone says that its not about the money, bank on this, its about the money.
It is clear that I need to reduce my tax responsibilities next year. Personally and professionally it has become very unrewarding. The ideal situation would be for Bill and I to get a new preparer whose responsibilities would take over returns from which both he and I need to detach ourselves.
I think I have created an exit strategy with Criterium which is a very viable plan. But it is not unlike a career change that many people my age do not have the flexibility to make. Say the guy on the line at the GM plant for the last 25 years. He would probably have to go through some substantial retraining to achieve a comparable new position. And 55 year olds have to be very careful with changes that involve benefits, insurances and retirement plans.
The ballplayer with the hitting streak that was was discussed here earlier this week had the streak stopped today at 38.
Wish I was more creative. Just too tired.
Be careful out there.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Wednesday
No blog tonight.
Did have dinner with Mary and her friend Amanda. At Granite City. Good time. Had one of the most annoying waitesses ever. Way over the top, cloyingly helpful and attentive.
I handed out Criterium Financial hats to the girls. Charlie, Mary has yours.
No change in the news here business-wise. Still have lots to do.
Susan's parade got rained on at work when the e-letter that she sent out to museum patrons got criticized openly by one of her bosses. I had seen it and thought it was a good piece. The parts the boss was critical of were immaterial. Goes to show you, no good effort will go unpunished by narrow-minded executives. Susan, just keep at it. You did a nice job.
Mary won the sub-clan picks contest. She was the only one with two of the Final Four, Florida and UCLA. She had Duke winning, but everyone else had worse results, including Lucy. Mary wins Daughter of the Day on the blog as her prize.
I guess that technically, there was a blog tonight. We could maybe debate at some future date what amount of blog constitutes a blog. But that is way too deep for me now. I think it does constitute a Sienfeld episode.
Be careful out there.
Did have dinner with Mary and her friend Amanda. At Granite City. Good time. Had one of the most annoying waitesses ever. Way over the top, cloyingly helpful and attentive.
I handed out Criterium Financial hats to the girls. Charlie, Mary has yours.
No change in the news here business-wise. Still have lots to do.
Susan's parade got rained on at work when the e-letter that she sent out to museum patrons got criticized openly by one of her bosses. I had seen it and thought it was a good piece. The parts the boss was critical of were immaterial. Goes to show you, no good effort will go unpunished by narrow-minded executives. Susan, just keep at it. You did a nice job.
Mary won the sub-clan picks contest. She was the only one with two of the Final Four, Florida and UCLA. She had Duke winning, but everyone else had worse results, including Lucy. Mary wins Daughter of the Day on the blog as her prize.
I guess that technically, there was a blog tonight. We could maybe debate at some future date what amount of blog constitutes a blog. But that is way too deep for me now. I think it does constitute a Sienfeld episode.
Be careful out there.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Tuesday Evening
A little more information on the basketball picks.
For the Horan Clan sheet, I had to jump onto the site on the Thursday morning right before the games started to meet the entry deadline. I literally ran through the games and didn't keep a copy to see who I had picked until Phil gave me the heads-up before the Final Four. I had visited to see the standings, but never went to my sub-sheet to see exactly where I was winning or losing. Blind luck.
Interestingly, to me anyway, is that I won the office pool here as well with a pick sheet I had completed at a separate time. On that sheet, I had both LSU and UCLA in the Final Four, although I had LSU winning it all. There were 20 some entries in that pool and I was the only one with two of the Final Four teams.
This probably means that I won't win again for 20 years or so. Or in more relevant terms, while 4000 Days keep trucking along, I will not likely have the pleasure of a similarly successful presagement. (Is that even a word?)
For the Horan Clan sheet, I had to jump onto the site on the Thursday morning right before the games started to meet the entry deadline. I literally ran through the games and didn't keep a copy to see who I had picked until Phil gave me the heads-up before the Final Four. I had visited to see the standings, but never went to my sub-sheet to see exactly where I was winning or losing. Blind luck.
Interestingly, to me anyway, is that I won the office pool here as well with a pick sheet I had completed at a separate time. On that sheet, I had both LSU and UCLA in the Final Four, although I had LSU winning it all. There were 20 some entries in that pool and I was the only one with two of the Final Four teams.
This probably means that I won't win again for 20 years or so. Or in more relevant terms, while 4000 Days keep trucking along, I will not likely have the pleasure of a similarly successful presagement. (Is that even a word?)
There was a story in the Life section of USA Today yesterday about awards being now handed out for "blooks", definded as blogs that have turned into books. See lulu.com. The first winner is some gal who spent a year writing daily about each of the recipes in Julia Child's seminal 1961 cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Can you imagine how bored a stranger would be if forced to read 4000 Days daily for a year?
Mary is headed over here tomorrow to get some computer repairs started. We have a tentative plan for dinner. I'm looking forward to it.
All for today. Be careful out there.
Mary is headed over here tomorrow to get some computer repairs started. We have a tentative plan for dinner. I'm looking forward to it.
All for today. Be careful out there.
Tuesday
Just a short note on the Horan Clan challenge.
I am humbled by my brilliance. The Oracle speaks.
I am humbled by my brilliance. The Oracle speaks.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Monday
Beautiful day here today. Almost 7PM and still light outside. Loving it.
We all have issues. Mary's computer died. Susan's office is in turmoil. Kate has bullet holes in the classroom windows. Charlie loses her mail.
Baseball has started. Cubs win! Cubs win! Cubs win! The opening game on ESPN was the White Sox and after the rain delay, they got done around 1:30AM this morning. Not that I was watching the game.
Here's a little factoid. In baseball, hitting streaks (getting at least one hit in each game) can carryover from last year to this year. Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies ended last year with a 36 game streak. By getting a hit in his first game today, his streak is at 37. (I'm not sure of the rules if the player participates in post-season games after the regular season like the World Series.) And consecutive hits in consecutive at-bats carryover from game to game. (Again, post-season games are different, I think.)
To the contrary in golf, a player making consecutive birdies cannot carry a streak over to the next round, not even if it is the same tournament. If a guy birdies the last 4 holes on Saturday and keeps it going through the first 5 holes on Sunday, he is given credit for 4 consecutive birdies on Saturday, but that's it for that round. Sunday is a new day and he has a streak of 5 birdies to start the round, but unless he keeps it going, his streak for Sunday is 5.
Then there is the business of the Grand Slam in golf, winning the 4 major tournaments each year (The Masters, The US Open, The British Open and The PGA). Bobby Jones is recognized as the only guy to do it. Tiger Woods has the "Tiger Slam" in which he won all 4 in a row, but one was in the prior or subsequent year. Tennis has a similar recognition rule.
Basketball generally recognizes consecutive free throws, regardless of the games.
Margret was on the streets yesterday! I got home late in the afternoon and it was threatening rain, but I was doing a little housekeeping in the garage and I decided to give a try at firing her up. Lo and behold, the battery was live and, after a little convincing, the ole 391 4 barrell roared to life. I hope to get her out for a longer ride this weekend.
All for today. Be careful out there.
We all have issues. Mary's computer died. Susan's office is in turmoil. Kate has bullet holes in the classroom windows. Charlie loses her mail.
Baseball has started. Cubs win! Cubs win! Cubs win! The opening game on ESPN was the White Sox and after the rain delay, they got done around 1:30AM this morning. Not that I was watching the game.
Here's a little factoid. In baseball, hitting streaks (getting at least one hit in each game) can carryover from last year to this year. Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies ended last year with a 36 game streak. By getting a hit in his first game today, his streak is at 37. (I'm not sure of the rules if the player participates in post-season games after the regular season like the World Series.) And consecutive hits in consecutive at-bats carryover from game to game. (Again, post-season games are different, I think.)
To the contrary in golf, a player making consecutive birdies cannot carry a streak over to the next round, not even if it is the same tournament. If a guy birdies the last 4 holes on Saturday and keeps it going through the first 5 holes on Sunday, he is given credit for 4 consecutive birdies on Saturday, but that's it for that round. Sunday is a new day and he has a streak of 5 birdies to start the round, but unless he keeps it going, his streak for Sunday is 5.
Then there is the business of the Grand Slam in golf, winning the 4 major tournaments each year (The Masters, The US Open, The British Open and The PGA). Bobby Jones is recognized as the only guy to do it. Tiger Woods has the "Tiger Slam" in which he won all 4 in a row, but one was in the prior or subsequent year. Tennis has a similar recognition rule.
Basketball generally recognizes consecutive free throws, regardless of the games.
Margret was on the streets yesterday! I got home late in the afternoon and it was threatening rain, but I was doing a little housekeeping in the garage and I decided to give a try at firing her up. Lo and behold, the battery was live and, after a little convincing, the ole 391 4 barrell roared to life. I hope to get her out for a longer ride this weekend.
All for today. Be careful out there.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Sunday
Just to let everyone know that I still live. Just not very creatively.
Anyone sleep through day light savings time? Susan and I saw a lady come in to church this morning right at the end of the service.
Hope everyone has a good week.
Anyone sleep through day light savings time? Susan and I saw a lady come in to church this morning right at the end of the service.
Hope everyone has a good week.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Saturday
Hello April!
Hope the girls in Iowa City had a good day with Mom.
Taxes and basketball.
My creative juices are gone.
Be careful out there.
Hope the girls in Iowa City had a good day with Mom.
Taxes and basketball.
My creative juices are gone.
Be careful out there.
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