All personally identifying information on this site discovered utilizing resources readily available to the general public. All publicly-obtainable court documents, media reports, and any content of similar nature, provided herein or linked to were pre-published elsewhere by parties other than myself. General images along with my personal photographs are garnered via publicly accessible sources through legal means. The purpose for republishing or otherwise publicizing the information is simply to support the content contained herein.


It All Started With An Ewwwwww...

Yours truly is now officially Facebooking. Which is odd, because I have been extremely vocal about what a bad idea it is to belong to social networking sites. Aside from the majority, I believe, of participants being unaware of how much personal information they are unwittingly making publicly available -- Think you’ve got your page under heavy lockdown? Think again! --, your merely signing up gives Facebook the authority to do anything they so wish with what you publish:
Sharing Your Content and Information

You own all of the content and information you post on Facebook, and you can control how it is shared through your privacy and application settings. In addition:

1. For content that is covered by intellectual property rights, like photos and videos (IP content), you specifically give us the following permission, subject to your privacy and application settings: you grant us a non-exclusive, transferable, sub-licensable, royalty-free, worldwide license to use any IP content that you post on or in connection with Facebook (IP License).
What triggered my mind change enough to disregard my feelings about the abovementioned was that I recently got disturbingly sickening details about Special Agent Gattuso and I was compelled to comment on it. However, it doesn’t yet go with the flow of my blog about him and I’m trying not to clutter up I HeArTE JADE with stuff about the guy -- not too much, that is. Plus, since pictures in web tables do not look pretty on blogspot, I wanted a convenient place to create a photo album for my My State Policeman site.

Mostly I think it’ll be interesting to finally have a corner where I’m not limited to specific topics; I can blather about anything. Hoorah!

For kicks, I’ve sent friend requests to various members of Law Enforcement who know me to see if they’ll be daring enough to accept.


/Waves At Virginia State Police High Tech Unit Surveillance Agent Kenneth Hicks

Given that you seem to have taken a special interest in the other one from my post, I can tell you there are beaucoup more for your stash:

Oh, yeah, and congratulations on becoming my very first “K” entry label.



How I Spent My Sunday Vacation

This was supposed to be a strictly State-Police Sunday for me.


Usually I’m content to “shoot and scoot;” -- you know, snag a photograph or twelve of a traffic stop or radar control then move on before subjecting myself to a vindictive-given sham citation.

It’s a little after 2:30PM. Impulsively I decide to swing by the Area Three Division Headquarters. Considering it’s a weekend, I believe there will be no chance of me encountering BCI Special Agent Jason Trent.

I motor the short distance down Police Tower Rd. Often there are specialty vehicles at the far expanse -- same place I almost got my first picture of SA Tony Gattuso -- however I don’t detect anything remarkable today. Instead I proceed into the front part of the lot at the main building on 3rd Division Loop. There are two cars present but since neither appear official, I drive around to the back. Now I remember why I don’t bother with this place on Sundays. The concrete square dominates the sparse smattering of metal on wheels stationed in betwixt the painted white lines. I circle to make my way out. I am about to go right at the T, intending to leave. I glance left, in case of unexpected oncomers, before pulling forward. Is that... oh my gosh... that looks like... Curiosity forces me to dart where I gazed.

I haven’t seen the Beater belonging to the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force in eons but, wow, the ugly rusted Chevy sitting in the space close to the double towers sure seems to be it. So much time has passed, I can’t even remember its license plate. Without slowing, I edge the block of bricks and head west down the narrow plot of pavement out. An east-bound marked gray and blue cruiser is traveling in my direction. My brain is so focused on recalling the JADE tag, I devote nearly no attention to the VSP officer as we cross paths.

Because it’s bugging me, and for the sake of blog fodder, I return to where the abandoned Beater is. Once I break the corner, I observe the abovementioned Trooper’s prowler. I ignore it and bring my Toyota to a halt beyond its rear bumper. Feh, I’m not doing anything wrong. I tug my camera out of the bag and power it up. I adjust the settings, debate for another moment whether JFW-4327 is familiar, aim, and push the shutter. What in the world is it doing all the way the hell down here in my neck of the woods? They donate it to the VSP?

In my side mirror, I catch the Trooper approaching me.

I can direct quote the following because I’m all audio-record-y like that.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” asks the young man wearing the hat -- not especially politely, I might add.


I glimpse his name badge then pivot my face away from him. He inquires about my purpose for being there.

“Oh. I wanted to take some pictures” I declare.

You can imagine how he handled the information.

His tone oozing with superfluous suspicion, he queries “What’s your name?” I supply my first. Once it dawns on him I’m going to leave him hanging on my last, he progresses to “Pictures? Of what?”

I’m not going to lie. “Well, of your --” And I totally blank on what it is. “Umm, that, uh, tank… thing.”

“Tank thing? Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

That’s great ‘cause I have no idea what I’m talking about, either. “You know, big, boxy thing -- it’s silver -- you use it for... I can’t remember what it’s called. Your Tac team uses it. I thought y’all kept it here.”

Though he’s now aware of what I’m referring to, he fails to assist me with its title. “We have several of them. It’s in Richmond.”

“Them” implies plural. “It’s” implies singular. Heh. I don’t point out his inconsistency. Rather, I state the obvious. “That’s far away.”

He glares at me through his pricey sunglasses. “Yes ma’am.”

“Okay” I smile.

He bids me a good afternoon and spins on his heels, returning to his ride.

What a d... I am not giving up on capturing a close-up of the possible JADE assault SUV. Dismissing the existence of the PITA with a Sig Sauer, I remain in position. I hold the Canon up again and zoom in on the Beater.

I spot the Trooper come tearing back at me full speed. Good grief. My eyes roll. I drop the device between my seat and door panel and pick up my cellular phone.

When the Trooper tries to communicate to me this time, I raise my index finger at him to shush him and make him wait. He listens silently to the monologue I have with my Samsung. When I decide he’s been adequately delayed, I hit the end call button and direct my brown orbs at him to signal he can continue.

At that point, the uniformed fellow gets quite aggressive. He notifies me that, although I am “not violating any laws,” I must vacate the premises or he will arrest me for “trespassing.”

“I can’t take pictures?” I question.

“You can take pictures during normal business hours” he responds and starts to ramble about opening at 9AM tomorrow and something-something speak to a supervisor then.

I can… take pictures… during… normalbusinesshours?! Ahahahaha… Hahahahaha… Bwahaha… It is one of the most nonsensical things I’ve ever heard one of these guys say.

Ridiculousness aside, awful nice of him to give me a great opportunity to intel gather. “Who is your supervisor?” He identifies the higher-up.

“Do you have a number for him?”

“352…” He pauses as I grab paper and pen and jot down “Randy Campbell.”

He resumes “7…”

I realize he’s merely going to offer the general Appomattox number for the Virginia State Police, so I end up writing the rest of the digits -- 128 -- faster than he says them. “And your name?” I stare at his pin, as if I haven’t read it already.

“Buzzard. Trooper Buzzard. Like the bird.”

“Ha.” I mention my maiden name to him. “Like the bird.”

He nods. “It’s kind of the same thing, yeah.”

The uniform-donned male advises me to drive safe and I encourage him to do the same. As I exit I see he’s animatedly rushing into the small structure, his cell phone plastered to his ear.

I don’t trouble sneaking a still of Trooper Buzzard or his duty-sedan; I have enough of a site story as it is.

The most hilarious part is I got all this, believe it or not, just because I planned on scanning in, for my other site, a copy of a hotel receipt from one of my and VSP Special Agent Gattuso naughty romps. I’ve redacted his home address but notice he listed Virginia State Police under company when he checked in:


From The Pads Of Fingertips...

Thanks to my operating, like, 25 thousand blogs, I’ve learned a lot about html, formatting, and specialty scripts. It’s remarkable how even a tiny string of coding can accomplish oodles. A key set of lines inserted for a site can reveal beaucoup information about visitors -- from their location right down to their bookmarks. Currently I am studying how to create web tables.

-- ♥ --

Also, I’ve discovered IP anonymizers seriously do not work the way folks assume they do. The gist of clandestine surfing software is to secret personal data. What happens, though, is that stats simply show the user went to a proxy then the proxy came to the site one hoped to conceal that he or she is visiting. In other words, when people go through a proxy to look at my sites, not only do I know who they are, I know that they are making an effort to hide who they are from me. Fascinating, eh? Bottom line: you want to be undetectable and unidentifiable? Stay. Off. The. Frigging. Internet. Definitely don’t come to my cyberspots.

-- ♥ --

Strangely enough the traffic to My State Policeman is practically double that of I HeArTE JADE. Daily readership includes, but is not limited to, Department of Justice (DOJ) and Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) personnel, a handful of County of Henrico employees, several distinct Troopers, the spouse of a Trooper, a Bedford Sheriff’s officer, an acquaintance of Brenda Priebe, and a freelance journalist from overseas. I’m not sure if they’re interested in Tony’s activities or mine.

-- ♥ --

Incidentally, judging by the relationship status recently added to Facebook, my State Policeman, Tony Gattuso, and pseudo wife apparently had a pseudo break-up; I guess that makes her pseudo single. I’m sorry, but, ya’d think that with all her education and all his training, they woulda come up with a little more innovative con. His repairing her house and mowing her lawn as she keeps better sight on him than a hawk does a snake just doesn’t represent separation. Lest it isn’t obvious by my tone, I don’t believe their split is legit.

-- ♥ --

Speaking of dumb and dirty State Policemen, on the 23rd of this month my bout with local VSP Trooper Brandon Long will be finalized. I intended weeks ago to finish my account of the interaction I had with him and Sgt. Bailey, however my hard drive died -- taking the audio of the exchange with it. It’s subsequently been resurrected plus backed-up, backed-up, backed-up. I hope to type the remainder of the report soon.

-- ♥ --

I got pulled over the other night for one of my tag lights being out. Of course when the officer ran my plate and license, the dispatcher kicked back all the gratuitous nonsense -- gang member with known drug ties, infamous anti-Law-Enforcement chick, ad vomitus. Next thing I know I’ve got a stationary train of three cruisers behind me with their bubbles flashing in full glory and a request to search my vehicle. Normally I would’ve refused on principle, but, feh, I was in the mood for some entertainment. “Knock yourselves out” I told them. I stood behind the car and chattered openly with one badge-wearer, watching as the pair of others nosed inside my auto. During the process, to check what kind of bulb I’d need to fix the violation I leaned over and barely bumped the unlit one. It illuminated immediately! Jeez. Only me.

The officials located the pouch of handgun ammunition, which I carry, again, on principle, in my trunk and emphasized worry. “What exactly is it about a bag of loose ammo that ‘concerns’ you? Whatcha think I’m gonna do -- flick a bullet at you?” I was impressed when the lawman I directed that at grinned. By that time, my demeanor had plainly put them all at ease anyway.

They let me go without a citation. I love me some decent cops.

-- ♥ --

“What about JADE?” you ask. “JADE who?” I reply. Ha! Well… my two years of “good behavior” are coming to an end. Freedom at last! Thing is, I can’t say I really give half a dang what the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force or its members are doing these days. I suppose I HeArTE JADE might become a place for ecumenical Law Enforcement coverage, although, shoot, it’s kinda that already, huh? By the by, good call Chief Longo. ;)

-- ♥ --

In conclusion, albeit with zero proper segue, a new or replacement scanner is still top o’ my wish list. C’mon. Help a girl out?

-- ♥ --

Obligatory police-related photographs: