Snowpocalypse 2010

I felt right at home! It’s about time I was in a decent storm.

Here are shots of what it was like, starting with a timelapse.

Timelapse

Watch my neighbor’s tree and porch get completely obliterated!

Feb 5, 8am:

Feb 6, 8:30 AM


Feb 5, 7pm:

Getting Deeper


Feb 6, 2am:

Getting Deeper


Feb 6, 9am:

Getting Deeper


Feb 7, 1pm:

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Feb 10, 10am:

Blizzard!


Feb 10, 6pm

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Other photos

Icicles hanging from our bathroom window out back.

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Augusta St. Still hasn’t been touched by a plow. People dig their cars out in vain. The white pickup truck is there because he can’t make it down the street.

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Nya comes out to shovel with Nuuta! Cute! She is so excited about the snow.

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Frederick Ave East

Frederick Ave 1


Frederick Ave West

Frederick Ave 2


Potter St (my street) looking South. I’m standing on about a foot and a half of snow.

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Potter St looking North. Somehow I think the chair is in vain…

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I turned on my car to warm it up while I dug. It looks like an alien.

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Looking up

Bank of America - Good or Evil?

So, things are looking up.

Tamika and I remembered that I had some money saved up in our 401k that I started last year, and so I talked to Stacey, my day job’s accountant, about how to use that money for the foreclosure.
Stacey told us that, fortunately, 401k lets you take you money for foreclosures without much in the way of fees. She did, however, need proof faxed over that we were indeed in foreclosure, though.
No problem, I’d call Bank of America.

So, I call them up.

A little background, we’ve been in foreclosure before, last year. We paid them off somehow, and were good for a while, but then slipped back in because I’m not making enough.
This time, we were 5 months past due. Basically, we make enough money to pay for all bills except the mortgage. Typically, I work harder at Zerflin, make up some money, and pay it back. In the meantime, we spread around the damage, missing a month on some bills, then paying them back the next, and skipping out on some other bill. But with our Bank of America loan, (we have two) it’s over $1000 a month. My 2 week paycheck is just barely $1000, and on top of that, they won’t let us make a partial payment.
Simple math; we’re stuck in a really bad rut.

In addition, we had gotten letters from a law firm, saying that they were a collection agency for Bank of America, but because we’d gotten LOT of scam letters and hadn’t heard anything from Bank of America, we thought that they were fake.

So, I called them to ask for the documents.
They said sure, they’d send over the documents, but when I ask them how much I owe at this point, they won’t tell me.

Me: Why not?

BoA: It’s our policy. We have to go over your financials first.

Me: Seriously? I’ve done that nearly every month for 5 months… nothing’s really changed about my situation. Can you just tell me how much I owe?

BoA: Well, if we could go over your financial information–

Me: Fine. Let’s do it.

BoA: Ok. Thank you sir. Your bi weekly paycheck, is it still–

Me: Same.

BoA: Your electric bill–

Me: Same.

BoA: Your water–

Me: Same.

This went on for a while.

BoA: Thank you sir. You’ve been pre-approved. I can send the foreclosure documents over right away. What number would you like me to fax them to?

Me: Wait… pr-approved? What does that mean?

BoA: It says here you’ve been pre-approved for a loan modification on your mortgage with us.

Me: It DOES? How? Wait… are you sure?

BoA: Yes sir. Your monthly mortgage payment has been temporarily reduced and is up for review.

Me: How is that possible? Listen, no disrespect, but I’ve been calling you guys for over a year trying to get this mortgage modified. Nothing about my financial information has changed since the last go around, so…

BoA: Well, sir, the computer tells me you’re pre-approved, so…

Me: But how?

BoA: I don’t know, sir.

Me: Ok. So, um… So, yeah. Now what?

BoA: Well, we put you on the temporary reduced payment of… $918 a month, just about $200 less. Then we’ll assign an adjuster to your account, who will review your mortgage in detail.

Me: $918 for how long?

BoA: Well, usually it takes about 3 months, but to be honest, we’ve been kinda swamped here with mortgage foreclosures here, so it may take longer than that, perhaps 5 months…

Me: 5 months. Ok. So, what happens after that?

BoA: Your mortgage will be reviewed.

Me: And?

BoA: If you’re approved, your mortgage will be modified.

Me: And if not?

BoA: Well, you’ll go back to your old amount.

Me: Ok. So, you still need me to pay the balance? What is it, by the way?

BoA: Over $5,000. But you don’t need to pay that now. It’s been absorbed back into your loan.

Me: Oh wow. oh wow. Uh, that’s good.

BoA: Now, if you’re not approved, you’ll owe it again. But we’re not putting any interest on it during your review period.

Me: Great. Wow. This is really good.

BoA: Very good, sir.

Me: Now, I got this letter from this law firm…

BoA: A collection agency?

Me: Yeah. Do you need to give them a call.

BoA: Actually… no…

Me: Why not?

BoA: Well… to be honest, they weren’t actually going to kick you out…

Me: Wait, what???

BoA: We never gave them the order to forclose.

Me: So, all those letters…

Boa: Were just to scare you, yes.

Me: Oh.

Yeah. Oh. So they were only messing with us.

Thanks, BoA.

And please modify our loan…

Nöel chez Pinkneys

Christmas was nice, all craziness aside.
We drove up to Perkasie on Christmas Eve, making it there at dusk.
Christmas Day was waves of excitement, mounds and mountains of packages, which Nya and Arion seemed to enjoy the piles of discarded paper from (though Nya picked out a Dora the Explorer cooking set as her favourite gift from her grandmother Angel). We then went to visit Aunt Cookie and Uncle Jimmy, and ended up at Tamika’s grandparents, each visit followed by food and more presents.

By the time we arrived at the grandparents’, the poor Subaru was stuffed to the brim with all manner or toys and clothes for the little ones.

Tamika and I kept our gifts for each other modest, both by choice and by force, though I would have liked to get her more. It’s not always easy to look at ones own small gifts when surrounded by opulence.
Nevertheless, she seemed to appreciate the matching sets of cloth jewelry I got her from Etsy.

The day after was spent lounging around. I missed the laptop badly, but it was probably the best to unplug.

I was going to go see Avatar with some of the family, but everyone bailed at the last minute. I was pretty dissappinted, but Tamika and I rented The Soloist from RedBox instead, and enjoyed each others’ company.

Came back today (Sunday), battling bad traffic, got unloaded, and had a little time to do catch up work. Tamika is on the prowl for a new home, which is great, leaving me to focus on other things. If you want to help, we can afford something around $800 a month, and are looking for at least 3br.

Much love to you all…

Robbed – the full story

So, Christmas Eve we got robbed. Here’s the full story.

Wednesday night, Tamika had a show with The Reality Band, the group she’s been singing with. We were originally going to drive up to Philadelphia that evening after her show; I was going to take a nap, load everyone up, and let them sleep.
We changed our minds at the last minute, though. Tamika came home, wrapped up some presents, and went to bed around 3. She was going to sleep downstairs on the couch and watch TV, but changed her mine and came to bed with me.

About an hour later, our teenaged neighbor Karon came home from a party, saw two European American men on our porch smoking, and noticed the screen off our front window laying in the ground. He figured they were our friends, said hello, and went to bed.

Sometime between then and 8:30, at least two men shoved the front window open and crawled into our house. They unplugged and took our big screen TV, our iPod nano sitting in a stand in the kitchen, went through Tamika’s purse, took her iPhone 2G and her car keys (left her credit cards), and went out the front door, locking the deadbolt behind them.

Outside, they found our Subaru Forester.

They unlocked it, loaded the stuff up, and took off.
Inside, they found my Apple G4 15″ aluminum laptop, and my brand new Canon 7D digital camera, and 4 4GB memory cards (with my name on them), all packed for our trip.

They destroyed my camera bag trying to get the camera out and scattered the contents all over the car. They went through the ashtrays and glove compartments.

They delivered everything wherever they went, then ditched the car up the street from our house, leaving the keys on the front seat, along with the remenants of the camera bag. They left my notebook with the bag, fortunately.

At 8am, we woke up, stumbled down the stairs, and found the tv gone. Then the car, then everything else. We called 911. I threw on some clothes, checked the Zerflin computers, then ran outside. I banged on the Bowrin’s (our neighbors) door. Tamika had already called them.
I spied the car up the street. I started running toward it, then thought better of it. Wait until the cops come.
The Bowrins came pouring out. They were horrified. They took the kids. Tamika was in shock. I was mad. I was beyond mad. I went back in the house.

I went over everything. There was a large handprint on the window where they had shoved the window open. They hadn’t bothered to take over the G4 tower that was sitting behind the TV (I’d been trying to turn it into a DVR for Tamika). And they had never gone upstairs, praise the Lord. And why did they lock the door? Seems so ironic.

20 minutes later, the cop shows up. Young guy (same age as me, I found out), very polite, very understanding. We went to the car, went through it. Drove it back to the house. He questioned me, my wife. He checked the back doors. The windows. Got me to get the serial numbers for everything I could. Assured us that he was going to get everyhing he could. Called for a crime lab. Called for the detective.
The crime lab lady came. Told us she probably wouldn’t be able to find much. Told us everything was dusty. Told us she probably wouldn’t be able to find much. Told us her dust makes things dirty. Told us she probably wouldn’t be able to find much. Wasn’t very reassuring.
The detective showed up. He asked us a bunch of questions. Asked us why we left our window unlocked (one of us must have left it cracked in the summer). Asked us why we didn’t have an alarm system (we do, we haven’t been able to afford it, so we haven’t been setting it). Asked us for a list of everything we lost. Said he wouldn’t be working on the case, but Detective Simpson would be. Checked with the officer and the crime lab lady.
Eventually, they all left. The detective said if we could be as detailed as possible, they would monitor all the local pawn shops for our stuff.

After several hours of sitting shell-shocked, calling everyone, and figuring out what to do next, we decided to head north to Philly.

I’m listing the make and model and serial number of everything I can. If anyone Googles this stuff, I want them to find it here and really want them to read this story.
It’s a long shot, sure, but I figured it’s worth a shot.

  • PowerBook G4 (15-inch 1.5/1.33GHz) (serial W84180F0QW2), in a black Targus leather laptop case, with retractable ethernet cord and optical mouse. The laptop case is pretty distinct, it’s got two giant stainless steel caribiners and a black leather guitar strap on it.
  • Wacom Intuos2 6×8 USB Platinum Tablet
  • Canon D7 DSLR (serial 0220104902, Model EOS 7D), brand new, with a Canon EF 28-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS USM zoom lens (serial 5602012730, Model EF28-135/3. 5-5. 6 IS USM). Has an 8GB compact flash Lexar (gold label) card in it with “Benjamin Jancewicz” written on one side. Also probably accompanied by a beat up silver case with 4 pqi (blue label) 4GB compact flash cards in it.
  • Yamaha PSR-330 61-Key (Full Size Key) MIDI Portable Keyboard. It was in a badly beat up cloth case with a broken strap. The keyboard itself had a huge crack in it on the right hand side, and also had my name written in silver marker on the battery box cover. The LCD on it did not light up like it’s supposed to.
  • Electrovoice N/D267 a/as N/DYM Series wired microphone. Came in a black leather pouch.
  • Large camera case full of cords and connectors.
  • Silver iPod Nano (Serial # SU6347CHV8T)
  • iPhone 2G (IMEI # 011245009754605, SIM Serial # 89014103211398078174), in a black and white rubber case. Has a picture of Arion on the password screen.
  • Apple Headphones with Remote and Mic (MB770G/A)
  • RCA LCD Flat Panel HDTV 72″ TV (part no. 72-TV5221-E001B).

This has shaken things up.
We’re going move. Our house is worth less than our mortgage, and our bank is unwilling to help us. Tamika’s family is working together some money to help us find a new place.
My job has sliced my paycheck, and we can no longer afford the payments along with everything else we have to pay.
This makes it very very hard on us. The only way we’re making it now, is through the profits from Zerflin.

So, it’s all on the table. And we’re leaving it all up to God.

Thank you everyone for your prayers and willingness to help. We love you all so much…

Piyuun

It’s snowing (piyuun, in Naskapi).
Probably the biggest one I’ve seen in Baltimore. Nearly a foot of the stuff is on the ground already, and it’s supposed to keep snowing until Sunday night.
It makes me miss home. I really miss snow.
I can’t believe it’s been 10 years since I left Schefferville.

We’re in forclosure again. I called Bank of America, they said they were going to send us a renewal package. instead, they sent our account to a collections agency. In the meantime, we’ve almost been able to raise enough money to pay them back in full.
It’s still not sustainable, though, and my day job still is enforcing paycuts.
People are looking out for me, though. Dinorah and Roger are encouraging me to hone my skills. Jason Knauer has also been taking an active role in mentorship as well, and has also encouraged me to learn more video editing.
I’m realizing that web and graphic design knowledge just isn’t enough. One also to know either deep coding, flash, or video to be marketable.

It’s discouraging. Essentially, my day job doesn’t have the need for what I have as a passion (graphics and illustration).
Tough pill to swallow…

We’re going out Christmas shopping in a little bit. Riding around to multiple stores buyin stuff isn’t my idea of fun, but I suppose it must be done. How did the most giving holiday of them all become the biggest shopping season? Why can’t we share company, food and friendship and let that be?
I’m not trying to be Scrooge, it’s just hard to spend when you really don’t have it…

Master and Commander

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A great friend of mind, Iya Isoke, wrote a post on Facebook examining this quote:

“The Prince” by Nicolò Machiavelli
Written c. 1505, published 1515

For my part I consider that it is better to be adventurous than cautious, because fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly. She is, therefore, always, woman-like, a lover of young men, because they are less cautious, more violent,and with more audacity command her.

She then asked for reactions, and posed the following questions:

LADIES: When you look at a man’s attributes, the men in your life who you can not, absolutely can not, leave alone or leave, is he a man who has the ability to check you? Does he have that thing that tells you to pump the brakes when you know you’re coming out the box? And do you love him for it or because of it or both? Are you “mastered” by the stronger man who has the audacity to command you?

MEN: Do you have the audacity to command her? Do you know the difference between demand and command? Or do you allow a woman to “live her life” the way she wants…in yours? What does it take to be a successful handler?

Facebook rejected my post (too long), so I finished writing it here.

First of all; one must come before the other, (adventures & women) and both must continue, but I’ll get into that.
Secondly; as there IS a difference between commanding and demanding, but the difference lies in the man, not the method. You can teach a fool a method, and it will work for a short time, but eventually the fraud will be put out. Truly learning how to command comes with a price, and that price is wisdom. That is difference between Master and Amateur.

One cannot command something without being the Master of it.
Now, I know Massa has got some other connotations, but hear me out. The master I’m speaking of has to do with eminent skill and knowledge of a subject, not the act of beating someone into submission (which is what Mr. Machiavelli is referring to).
A Master someone so good at what they do that everyone around them can’t help but bow in respect.

So, an Amateur demands, a Master commands.
In addition, the only way to become a true Master at something is be be humbled enough to learn. A man who knows they do not know everything is a man who has wisdom without bounds. So while a Master knows his stuff; he also recognizes that he is constantly learning, and works hard to stay on top of his game.

And women, take note. A man who claims to know everything about women has put a limit on his ability to learn and must be taught a lesson. Put him out on his head!
A man who appreciates the mystery of women is wise, and does everything he can to gain skill and knowledge on the subject. And frankly, men are not naturally able to have that kind of patience until they’ve been through some stuff.

Which leads em back to my first point.
Adventure before women.
Adventure, fortunately, is what young men lust after. This act of throwing ones self to the wind give them much needed experiences. With experience comes pain, but those who come out as men on the other side are those who are able to rise up out of the hardship and succeed. After this period of difficulty, the tenacity they learned in their adventures will help them with the rest of their lives. This tenacity is a necessary quality of being a Master.
Another thing that is learned  is the ability to decide when to check things and put them to a halt. That ability during an adventure means the difference between success and failure. Let something be, and it festers into a monstrosity. Cut it too early, and you sell yourself short on gain.
These things can only be learned from experience; from trial an error. And therefore should be confined to adventures, and not women.

And this is where Nicòlo gets it right (hear me out).
In this particular passage, Machiavelli is talking to meek men. Men too scared to have that original adventure, who lack the courage to step out and be reckoned with. He’s essentially bribing them here, letting them know that they will never gain wealth or fortune if they don’t show some gumption.

I would caution any man who subscribes to heavily to this author, however… Machiavelli is man who gave rise to Machiavellianism (using this very work, “The Prince”) which adheres to the the idea of brute force to preserve the status quo. That philosophy is the one and the same that helped American colonists justify slavery, as well as the rise of dictatorships at later dates in other countries.

But I digress.
I would argue that a man also needs to perpetuate his adventures. In essence, he must never stop challenging himself in new ways, and keep his mind sharp. This will enable him to always become a greater and greater master, and if done correctly, gain more respect. A woman in this mans life would be wise to encourage such adventures, as well as the exploration of their relationship.
The lack of growth in both areas leads the one thing many are far too familiar with: the mid-life crisis. The leads to acting out, to divorce, to loss of fortune… to loss of Mastery.

So there we are, open discussion!

Sleep, I must.

MAN, I’m tired.
I have got to figure out a way to get more Zerflin work done. I need some kind of schedule, something consistent…
And email answering has got to be in there somewhere. I usually like to keep my inbox managed to 30 messages.
But which is more important? Finishing up work or answering emails?
The answer is that they’re equally important.
The answer is that I don’t have enough time.
The answer is that I’m too tired manage my time properly.
Sleep, I must.

Rain on Tin

Rain is falling.

Our house is refurbished.
The couple who bought it from an older woman had planned to own it. They were a husband-wife team, the Shoens; he was a general handyman, she was a realtor.

They may have seen it coming, because they put it up on the market right before the market fell off a cliff.
Either that or they ran out of money.

I’m thinking the latter. There are just a few things that were never done… The insulation under the back porch, the front porch railing, the rear gutters…

They did do a fantastic job. But three years into living here, all of those things still aren’t done. We haven’t even painted the walls. We hit the ground running, and there hasn’t been time. The market dipped shortly after we got the house, and our financial situation never really improved much from that point.

It’s so weird to hear about celebrities lives on tv, how they squandered their money on parties and cars, and now live in a modest house or are in a rehab center.
It’s weird because we never squandered anything.
Even when dating we were frugal, making the most of our meager pay by spending time picnicing on abandoned railroad bridges or in parks.
When we got married, we went even further to make our dollars go far.
And yet, it’s been a quick rocking ride to the bottom.
If you squander your money, it’s easy to place the blame. You made the choices, you deal with the consequences.

But who do you blame when you tried to do everything right? When you worked hard to be good stewards of your cash? What do you look at and point out, “yeah, we could have done that better”?

The Shoens, because they were going to keep this house for themselves, left a lot of neat stuff in from the original house.
Tall living room windows, hardwood floors… And an tin skylight in the stairwell.

When it rains, the water dances on the tin, tapping out a rhythm so peaceful it could set all worries at ease. At least it tries to.

Rain is falling.

Elan in Ice

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When I was 15 years old, my father and I built a snowmobile for me. I collected the parts for a Skidoo Elan, the smallest snowmobile that Bombardier ever built.
Several of the elders my family was close to had them when I was a kid; Noah Einish, Tommy Einish, Johnny Uniam… Even Giles Porlier owned a set of the newer ones. But by the time I could actually afford gas, Bombardier had stopped making them. Very few running ones were left in Schefferville.
I scrounged around everywhere to get parts.
I got a motor from McGill, a frame from the dump, bogey wheels from an abandoned house, handlebars from a pile of garbage I came across, skis from Aaron Einish’s wrecked Elan, a headlight from a ’55 schoolbus, and my mother made me a new leather seat from an old one I’d rescued from a bad encounter with a husky dog.
I named it The Monopod.
The engine was a ’77, and had been modified with the governor removed. Even in the bitter cold, with a $45 tank of gas curling up in smoke behind me, I would ride to school and park the machine proudly next to the sleek multicoloured rockets my classmates rode. I remember the vice-principal Doug racing along next to me in his Nissan, clocking my speed. 55mph, faster than any other Elan.

I remember my dad and I dragging the Monopod into the back of our pickup truck and hauling it out to our cabin at Iron Arm for Goose Break.
Aaron Einish had brought out his brand new Mach II, a sleek yellow and red beast of a machine that would be far to heavy to ever dig out, but was so powerful it never would anyway.
Elans were built to ride nimbly on top of the snow; the Mach II would just plow through it. We raced up and down the lake all week, Roger Nabinicaboo eventually joining us in his Elan. His was a newer one, and ’92, but it never had the governor taken off of it. I beat him every time.

Goose Week begins when a patch of water out past the island eventually opens up, with enough water for Canadian Geese to land. Men set up gooseblinds around the hole against the forest, and call for the geese.
You have to park your Skidoo on the near side of the island, and trek along the edge of the forest to get there; the noise of the machines would scare away the geese.

No fires to keep you warm, just hot tea in thermoses. Even conversation is kept to a bare minimum.

We kids had no interest in such stoic silence. We thundered up and down the lake near the cabins, pausing only to watch the dotted V’s make their way slowly across the warm grey April skies to the open water, and certain death. We didn’t mourn them much, we knew that soon we’d be eating them with hot buttered raisin bannock.

As the week went on, more ice began to melt on the lake in other areas. A patch opened up at the stream mouth near Tommy and Annie Einish’s cabin (Aaron’s grandparents).
This was perfect.
The narrow strait separated the nothern half of the cabin line from the southern.
Aaron thought of it first. He had seen his big brother Jeremy do it first.
Aaron gunned his engine, picked up speed, and then at full throttle, skimmed across the water.
The depth at this point was easily 50 feet, near the marshy lagoon fed by the stream.
Safely on the other side, Aaron called to us.
Roger gave me a nervous glance, but then gave the engine an extra prime, and started for the water.
His Elan reached peak speed right about when he hit the gap, but he wasn’t able to speed up any faster. The machine seemed to grow sluggish as it made it’s way across, but he was able to to reach the ice shelf on the other side just in time. He grinned at me, but his face was whiter than mine was.

I hit the brake, then the throttle, and peeled out in a 180 and took off in the opposite direction. Aaron and Roger booed and howled after me. After about 500 feet, I hit the brake and spun again, shooting back toward the gap at top speed.
My skis rattled against frozen chunks of torn up snow, and I struggled to keep it pointed in the right direction.

I hit the water.

Momentum carried me across half way, and then the Elan’s track kicked in and churned the water underneath, pushing me further forward.

The ice shelf was partially covered in the overflowing water, and I was feeling pretty good.

The shelf began to disintegrate. Chunks of ice broken up by my track began appearing behinds.
All of a sudden, the entire shelf tilted up! The weight of my Elan bore down the the shelf, swinging my end down like a see-saw! I opened the throttle up all the way.
The track kept trying to grip the wildly swinging chunk of ice, but kept breaking off!
I leaned forward, hanging over the handlebars, trying to bring more weight to keep the shelf from flipping entirely over.
The engine began to strain. I could hear the bogey wheels inside the track screeching, seizing up as ice began caking up on them.

With a lurch, the track took hold.

The Monopod crawled up the ice, and as it did, reset the balance and the shelf came crashing down in a wave of icy water. The machine pulled forward, shot over the crack, and I came skidding to a steaming smoking stop in front of my friends. The Elan, exhausted, wheezed to a halt.

I took the forest trails to get home.

That’s a little bit how I feel right now, teetering on that chunk of ice, straining with all my might to get out of certain doom.

God helped me then.
God, please help me now.